More Than Neighbors (21 page)

“Mom says we can go again in a couple of weeks,” Jennifer called from where she was sliding the saddle pad off her own mare. “You’ll come, too, won’t you?”

“Sure,” he said confidently, before his gaze slid sidelong. “I mean, if it’s okay with Mom. And...” He hesitated.

Gabe nodded at Ciara, who said, “Of course you can.”

She looked almost dazed, he realized. She really had expected the worst. He wanted to tell her the worst would never happen to her son again, but couldn’t. When he was growing up, Goodwater had had its share of cruel kids, but he had a suspicion there was less of it in such a small community. Parents heard really quickly if their kid had been a shit. And, in general, around here people were decent to their neighbors whether they liked them or not. As he aged, Ephraim had done his damnedest to alienate most people, but Gabe hadn’t been the only one to bring him meals, do repairs on the place, give him rides to appointments. Gabe did believe Mark would be treated with more kindness here in Goodwater than he would have been in a huge, urban school.

His jaw squared. By God, he’d be talking to some parents himself if it came down to it.

Frowning a little at the strength of his reaction, he watched Mark lead Aurora up the ramp into the trailer and loosely tie her. He liked the way the boy’s hand slid along the horse’s back and down the slope of her rump as he came back out. There was assurance in that touch, and affection, too, telling Gabe he’d been right to trust Mark with his horse.

He slapped the boy on the back then helped him slide the ramp into place and close the double doors.

“Time to get on home.”

He wished he’d be going to the Malloys’ for dinner, but thought it was just as well he wouldn’t. Spending too much time with them, he’d take to imagining too much.

* * *

C
IARA HOVERED IN
the kitchen. “Are you sure I can’t do anything to help?”

Tenderizing steaks, Gabe shook his head. “You brought dessert. Wander around if you want.”

“I’m afraid Mark already is,” she said ruefully.

He shrugged. “He’s been in the house before.”

She hadn’t thought about the fact that, when Mark stayed for lunch, the two of them must have come into the house. “Oh. Okay,” she said, feeling awkward because she wanted so much to poke her nose in every room and...well,
be
nosy.

Gabe’s farmhouse was as basic as the old Walker place she’d bought, but larger and in better repair. She’d been surprised to see what had to be original kitchen cabinets, dating as far back as the 1940s, at a guess. The countertop was equally ancient, edged with metal. Somebody had updated the appliances, but otherwise...she was willing to bet this kitchen hadn’t changed since he’d been a boy, waiting for his mother to put dinner on the table. Hadn’t his wife wanted to put her stamp on the house? Hadn’t
he
wanted to build beautiful cabinets for his own house?

She had no idea where Mark was, but she decided not to worry about it and stepped into a living room as dated as the kitchen. The walls were papered in gloomy stripes of tan and dark green. The wood floors gleamed; probably Gabe hadn’t been able to stand seeing good wood go uncared for. A massive sofa looked like it might have belonged to his grandparents. Heck, he probably headed straight for the single recliner that faced an aging television set.

It was the framed photos on the fireplace mantel that drew her, although she almost tiptoed as she approached. He’d given her permission to look—in fact, wasn’t that what his invitation, followed by a suggestion that she wander, was really about?—but the minute she saw the woman and little girl in the photos, Ciara felt as if she was intruding anyway.

His wife had been...maybe not beautiful, but pretty. Petite, fine-boned, with a chin that was just a little pointed and fine, pale blond hair cropped short. From the way the woman’s smile glowed, Ciara had to guess it had been Gabe behind the camera. That smile made Ciara’s heart cramp with pity and sadness for the quiet, guarded man she knew.

She felt even more reluctance when she turned her gaze to several pictures that included his daughter. The first looked as if he’d taken it when he and his wife were bringing their new baby home from the hospital. His wife—Ginny—looked so happy. In another, Ginny had probably been the photographer. He was holding a blonde, laughing toddler high above him, and was laughing himself. It was hard for Ciara to look away from that one. His face was so open—and beardless.

He wasn’t hiding, not then.

For a moment she studied his face, like the Gabe she knew and yet not. That face was angular and very male. But the laugh displayed creases in his cheeks she hadn’t known were there.

With some reluctance, she transferred her gaze to his daughter, who was darling. She might have been three or four in what looked like a studio portrait. Dressed in green velvet trimmed with lace, she looked like a tiny elf, taking after her mother with that pointy chin and blond hair captured in a side ponytail and carefully curled. Ciara knew how much she must have loved to twirl with that full skirt and shiny, patent-leather shoes.

She heard a footstep behind her.

“My wife and daughter,” Gabe said.

She turned to see that he was looking past her, at the row of pictures he couldn’t avoid seeing every time he walked into this room.

“They’re so beautiful.”

“I thought so,” he said gruffly. After a moment—she thought it required an effort from him—he looked at her. “Ginny and Abigail. We called her Abby.”

“Audrey told me what happened.”

“It was so damn fast.” His jaw muscle spasmed. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t go on, but then he did. “We’d been to see the touring production of
The Lion King
in Spokane. Abby was singing one of the songs from it. She knew them all from the movie already.” A faint, reminiscent smile curved his mouth. “She couldn’t carry a tune, but that didn’t bother her.”

Struggling against tears, Ciara nodded, unsure if he was even seeing her.

“A traffic light turned green. The nearest vehicle on the cross street was a ways off. Plenty of time for the driver to see his light had turned red and stop. Police say he accelerated instead. He was drunk as a skunk. Slammed into Ginny’s side of our pickup.” He hesitated. “It was an extended cab. Abby was sitting behind Ginny instead of behind me. I’d...left a box of tools on the seat behind me.” He turned again to look at the pictures of his family.

Oh, Lord,
Ciara thought, seized by pity. As the driver, he’d have felt responsible no matter what, but he must have gone over and over the decision not to take the toolbox out of the truck. If he had, his daughter might have lived.

He couldn’t have known. And maybe she’d have decided to sit behind Mommy so she could see Daddy better anyway.

“Abby was—” His throat worked. “Ginny lived in a coma for a few days, but I knew. I wasn’t sure she’d want to wake up and find out— But it didn’t happen. Next thing I knew, she was gone.” Pause. “They were both gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ciara whispered.

“You don’t expect—” He kept looking at the photos for a moment and then faced Ciara. “It’s been a long time.”

“But you must look at them every time you come in here.”

“I wanted to hold on to what I could,” he said simply. “But time passes. I sit in my chair—” he nodded toward the recliner “—read the paper, turn on the TV, don’t always give them a thought.”

She wasn’t sure she could imagine. If Mark— No, the concept was unimaginable. Except it wasn’t, because this man had suffered that loss, the most terrible of all.

“Neither of them knew. They were both happy when it happened. Maybe there are worse ways to go,” he said.

“Oh, Gabe,” was all she could manage.

He looked fully at her, his forehead creasing. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“It’s you I feel sad for.” She wanted quite desperately to put her arms around him. She saw something in his eyes to make her think he wanted the same, so she stepped forward and his arms closed around her, even as she wrapped hers around his torso and laid her cheek against his chest.

They stood there for what felt like a long time. He rubbed his face against her hair. She shed a few tears but let his Western-style shirt soak them up. Eventually, she realized one of the pearl snap buttons was embedding itself in her cheek.

Finally, self-conscious, she stepped back, her gaze flicking guiltily to the mantel, where his wife smiled at the man she had loved.

Gabe followed Ciara’s gaze then shook his head at her. He had an odd expression on his face. “It’s been a long time,” he repeated, his voice so sure she knew what he was telling her.

The thought brought a lump to her throat along with a buoyant sensation of hope.

But...he couldn’t mean what he was suggesting, could he? Unless all he wanted was a lover. If he was thinking about having other children...

He won’t want them with me,
she thought, ice weighing down that hope.
Not if he knew.

Did he have to find out?

Not if, well, they went on the way they were. Or even if they did become lovers. Maybe she could have that much. He hadn’t kissed her again; he’d hardly touched her since the night in the kitchen. But she knew he wanted her. He couldn’t always hide the appreciation and the heated need in his eyes.

“You didn’t have a beard,” she blurted out.

“No.” He lifted a hand to his jaw, rubbed it over his brown whiskers. “I quit shaving then thought, what the hell. Truthfully, though, I’m not sure it isn’t more work than shaving is.”

But saving work hadn’t been the point, she knew.

“I might shave it off one of these days,” he said, watching her.

Was he really asking a question? Ciara smiled tremulously at him. “I like you either way.”

His eyes warmed. “Good.” He kissed her, the merest brush of his mouth against hers, but enough to make her shiver. Then he said, “I came to say the steaks are ready to go on the grill. Mark wants to help.”

“Lucky you,” she said, her laugh
almost
genuine.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

U
SUALLY GIVING GRAIN
to his horses in the evening was a solitary activity. Not usually. Always. Since Ginny and Abby died, and then he’d only had Aurora. Ginny had been as hesitant about riding as Ciara was, but they agreed that Abby, growing up with horses, would be a natural. She had loved being led around or sitting in front of him clutching the saddle horn, safe within the circle of his arm, when he let Aurora canter. In one of the photo albums, he had pictures of his little girl laughing in delight, begging for him to go faster.
Faster, Daddy!
The voice was barely a whisper now, but he still heard it.

He’d already bred Aurora when the accident happened. Hoodoo had been born only a couple months later. Part of his instant attachment to the gangly colt had to do with knowing how fascinated Abby would have been. They’d talked constantly about what color the foal might be, whether it would be better if it was a colt or a filly, whether eventually she’d ride Aurora or Aurora’s son or daughter.

Abby wouldn’t understand if he didn’t love Hoodoo. Selling him was never an option, even though Gabe didn’t need a second horse.

How many times had he had to justify to himself feeding two? Now, it was a good thing he did have both. Mark wasn’t far away from getting into more serious riding. Gabe had no idea if Ciara could afford a horse for him.

She was getting more comfortable on horseback, too. He didn’t see her taking up cutting, but thought she’d enjoy trail rides. The time might come when they’d need three...

He shook his head as he walked back to the house after seeing them off. He could hear a soft crunching sound coming from around the side of the barn. Mark had happily measured out the grain and fed Aurora and Hoodoo. All three of them had leaned against the fence, even Mark seemingly content with the quiet.

With Ciara to one side, Mark to the other, Gabe had become aware of the strangest sensation. It was as if he’d become hollow, and now life was pouring back into him. It felt damn good at that moment, but these past weeks he’d felt plenty of discomfort, too. Two months ago, he’d told himself he never wanted a close relationship with another human being again. Now he knew he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a matter of coolly weighing risks versus benefits. His heart seemed to be opening despite himself.

After locking the back door for the night, he went straight through to the living room, wanting to see his wife’s and daughter’s faces again. Earlier, with Ciara, he’d been stunned by the truth of what he said to her:
It’s been a long time.

Another thing he’d have told anyone a few months ago was that the wound was as raw and open as it had been the day he buried the only two people he loved. He guessed he’d known on some level that wasn’t true. When he’d heard himself inviting Ciara to dinner, he understood that he was ready to tell her about them. But not until he’d stood there beside her, seeing her expression and the familiar photos on the mantel, had he realized how much time had healed.

She was alive and vivid. What he felt when he looked at the photos had become muted. Softened into sadness instead of tearing grief. Gentle affection. Memories. The ability to smile at the happy ones, like Abby singing joyfully if tunelessly. The glance he and Ginny had exchanged just before—

His throat tightened. Oh, the grief was still there. Still sharp on occasion, but not the same. He had looked at their pictures, looked at the woman beside him who carried wounds of her own, and known he was ready to try again.

Something he wasn’t sure would have happened if those two hadn’t moved in next door. If Mark wasn’t such an odd duck, so impossible to rebuff. If Ciara didn’t have this need to balance the scales, or maybe just a need to feed people.

If she wasn’t such a good cook.

He chuckled, low in his throat. He picked up one of the framed pictures, this one of Ginny beside Abby at three or four years old, both sitting on the fence with Aurora grazing in the background. He gently touched each of their faces with his callused fingertip, then carefully set it back in place.