More Than Neighbors (25 page)

Because she’d assumed the sex would remain casual? Gabe didn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it.

This time the word he said aloud was one he rarely used. Hearing himself, he shook his head. Work had always been his solace. Even in the worst of his grief, he’d been able to lose himself in the care it took to create beautiful cabinetry and furniture. The concentration required allowed him to block out everything else.

He’d done it before. He could do it again.

But the pain that felt like a fist beneath his breastbone reminded him why he’d never wanted to let anyone into his life again. To
love
anyone.

He’d been stupid enough to do it, and was now suffering the consequences.

* * *

“
Y
OU KNOW, THEY
won’t get here any faster just because you’re staring out the window,” Ciara pointed out. “A watched pot—”

Her son rolled his eyes. “Never boils. But why aren’t they
here
? It shouldn’t take them more than five hours, right?”

“Or six. We’re north of Spokane.”

“But they live in Bellevue,” he argued, “so they didn’t have to cross the bridge or anything.”

“No, but you remember how Aunt Bridget is sometimes. If she got upset...” As an adult, Bridget was mostly calm if she was surrounded by the familiar, if her routine had no deviations. She would agree she wanted to go somewhere and then flip out five minutes after leaving home.

“They wouldn’t turn around and go home, would they?”

“They might,” Ciara said honestly. She wouldn’t even blame them, although growing up she had bitterly resented the fact that whatever Bridget wanted, Bridget got. She’d known on one level that wasn’t true, of course, because it wasn’t as if her sister was a spoiled brat. She truly couldn’t bear any kind of sensory overload. And an upset Bridget was unbearable. If she threw a screaming fit halfway over Snoqualmie Pass—Mom and Dad would be crazy if they
didn’t
turn around and go home. Only— “They would have called,” she said, “and they haven’t. They’re probably just taking their time. They’ll have stopped for lunch.” And at every rest stop, and every park. Bridget’s tolerance for confinement was shaky, too.

Suddenly intent on something outside the window, Mark stiffened like a bird dog that had spotted a quail. “I think that’s them, Mom! They’re here!” He raced for the front door and tore out, Watson barking and whirling around him. Even Daisy was stirred to rise to her feet and trundle out to see what was happening.

Ciara followed more slowly, apprehension balling in her stomach like a greasy meal that wouldn’t digest. She wanted to see her parents; she’d missed them. But...there was so rarely quiet time when she and Mom could just talk, or when they could all, as a family, joke and laugh. Part of her—the petty, childish part of her—thought Bridget sensed when attention wasn’t on
her
, and made sure it was.

And Ciara knew that wasn’t true, she really did, but so many years of her life had been dominated by a sister whose needs always came first, who was an embarrassment Ciara had kept hidden from friends.

Since Mark had been a toddler, she had
hated
seeing her sister side by side with Mark, in case— No, that was ridiculous, of course, but Jeff had said enough to make her look anxiously for comparisons that didn’t exist.

Now she felt as if she didn’t really know Bridget anymore.

An unfamiliar SUV was rolling to a stop in front of the porch steps that Mark and Gabe had painted just last week. Dad had told her they’d traded in their van for a Toyota Highlander. She’d teased him about going for stylish this time. He drove a Lexus himself, but only, he always assured her, because with his job, maintaining an image was important. The family’s second vehicle had always been something roomy and often aging. Buying new furniture or a new vehicle wasn’t done lightly in the Malloy family, not when Bridget was likely to throw multiple tantrums until she adjusted to the change.

Ciara followed Mark down the steps as the doors opened. Her father got out on his side, stretched then grinned and grabbed Mark for a quick, one-armed hug. After releasing his grandson, he held out his arms, and Ciara threw herself into them.

She hugged him back, tears burning in her eyes. “Daddy,” she whispered into his chest.

And he said softly, “Ciara girl. You don’t know how much we’ve missed you.”

He gave her another squeeze, which she returned then stepped back.

Mark, of course, was talking a mile a minute. Her mom was trying to get a word in edgewise, not trip over an excited Watson
and
open the back door to let Bridget out.

“Hi, Aunt Bridget,” Mark said. “This is Watson. He’s my dog. Mom has her own dog, but she’s waiting on the porch ’cuz she’s old, and she doesn’t go up and down stairs very well. But she’ll like it if you pet her. And look! There’s horses in the pasture. They’re the neighbor’s, but we get to ride them. Aurora is the brown one, and Hoodoo is her son. I’ll bet you can give them carrots, too, if you want.”

Ciara hugged her mother, too, whispering, “Motor mouth,” and her mom laughed. And then she faced her sister, who had her arms wrapped tightly and was darting looks around as if she expected small explosives to go off. Which they were, in a manner of speaking, thanks to dog and boy.

Seeing Bridget, Ciara felt a little shock. It was easy to forget how much they looked alike, how obviously related. Her hair, more brown than auburn, was short, because she had no patience for the care longer hair required; she was a couple inches shorter than Ciara and a little plump, but her eyes were the same color, and then there was the shape of her face, even the freckles.

“Hi, Bridget,” Ciara said, keeping her voice soft. “This is my house. I’m glad you could come for a visit.”

“This isn’t your house. I’ve been to your house.”

“Mark and I moved. We wanted room for dogs and maybe, someday, horses.”

“Okay.” Bridget looked at her mother. “I want to go home now.”

“We’re here to stay for a few days, honey. Remember us talking about it? It takes so long to get here, we can’t visit and go home the same day.”

“I want to go home,” she repeated, her voice rising. “Goodbye, Ciara. We have to go home.” She had begun to rock.

Ciara braced herself. Bridget would start screaming any minute. Maybe throw herself on the ground. Have to be restrained so she didn’t hurt herself.

I can still call Gabe and tell him tonight isn’t good,
she thought in panic.
Bridget is tired. He’ll understand.

It was hard enough for Bridget to accept new surroundings, never mind to have a stranger sprung on her. One with a beard. The beard might scare her. Tomorrow would be better.

But the coward in Ciara was thinking Bridget might be so upset, tomorrow Mom and Dad would apologize but say they had to take Bridget home, and when Gabe came to dinner it would be just the three of them, like always.

“Come inside and see Ciara’s house,” Mom said calmly. “Don’t you need to use the bathroom?”

Still rocking, Bridget stared at the house. “I do have to use the bathroom.”

Whirling by, Watson bumped into Bridget, and she recoiled. “I don’t like dogs! You know I don’t like dogs, Mom!”

“You do like dogs,” Ciara said. “Do you remember Charlie, the golden retriever that used to go for walks with us?”

Charlie had belonged to a neighbor who tried everything from six-foot board fences to a collar that gave an electric shock to keep the dog in his own yard. Eventually, he had to give up. Charlie was such an extrovert, he just wanted to be with people. Whoever barbecued outdoors had a temporary dog. He waited for the school bus with neighborhood kids, went for walks with anyone, looked both ways before crossing streets and lived a long, happy life. Ciara hadn’t thought of him in a long time, but maybe Charlie explained why she’d always wanted a dog for Mark.

Bridget crimped her lips and glared at Watson, still racing around and letting out an occasional bark. “I liked Charlie,” she agreed grudgingly. “That’s not Charlie.”

Although Ciara tried to explain, she doubted her sister understood the concept of Watson being young and not very well-behaved yet. Their mother coaxed her into climbing the porch steps, however. She balked at the sight of Daisy, but relaxed when Daisy didn’t get up. Her tail thumped as she gazed at the visitors with her milky eyes.

“I like this dog,” Bridget declared at last.

Ciara smiled. “Me, too.”

Bridget used the downstairs bathroom and then announced again that she wanted to go home. Somehow Mom kept distracting her. Every so often she remembered that she was glad to see Ciara, and she’d say, “Hi, Ciara. Bye, Ciara. We have to go home now.”

But she was hungry, and Ciara had been careful to make a meal she knew her sister liked. The last time she remembered Mom trying a new casserole, Bridget had screamed and thrown handfuls of it, making a truly awful mess and burning her hands, besides.

In the kitchen she paced restlessly while Mark set the table and Mom took salad makings from the refrigerator.

“Six places?” her mother murmured.

Ciara knew her cheeks were heating. “I invited our next-door neighbor to dinner, so you could meet him.”

“Is this the Gabe we’ve heard so much about?” Mom said in amusement.

“Motor mouth at it again. Yes, it’s the famous Gabe. He’s been amazing with Mark.”

“I see,” her mother said, and Ciara was afraid she really did.

“Bridget,” Ciara said, “a friend of Mark’s and mine is coming to dinner. He’s a nice man. The horses you saw outside are his. His name is Gabe.”

Bridget looked alarmed. “I don’t have to talk to him, do I?”

“No. He’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

“Besides,” Mom pointed out, “who’ll have a chance to talk with Mark around?”

Even Bridget said, “That’s funny, Mom. He does talk
a lot
.”

From beyond the swinging door came her son’s voice. “He’s here, Mom! I see him coming. I’ll go let him in.”

Ciara’s heart performed some gymnastics beyond her level of conditioning. She yanked open the refrigerator and let the chilled air wash over her as she struggled for calm.
I can do this.

Only...it might have been better if she’d warned him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

W
ITHOUT REALLY THINKING
through why he was doing it, Gabe shaved his beard off the day Ciara’s family was expected.

Frowning at himself in the mirror once it was gone, he decided all he’d wanted was to look respectable. Not everyone admired beards. He didn’t like the idea of her parents looking at him askance.

Now that it was too late to change his mind, he kept staring at himself, tilting his head this way and that, disconcerted by how unfamiliar this face seemed. Feeling uncomfortably exposed, he rubbed his hand over his chin, even the contours strange to his touch. Was this how he’d looked five years ago, when he first grew the beard?

Not exactly, he was loath to admit. Five years took a toll. Lines that didn’t use to be there had formed on his face. Ones that were there had deepened. Damn, he was getting something like crow’s feet beside his eyes.

And now his face and neck felt cold.

He should have done it a couple days ago, he thought uneasily, let Mark, at least, see him in advance of the big family occasion. Crap. Now his face wasn’t the only part of him that was cold. His feet were, too.

Yeah, and what was he going to do? Not show? Right. He wouldn’t do that to Ciara and Mark, even if a powerful curiosity wasn’t driving him.

“Damn it,” he growled at the mirror then flipped off the bathroom light.

He’d decided to walk. It was just plain silly to drive around now that days lasted long enough for him to make it home before dark. Hoodoo and Aurora seemed to enjoy the stroll, too. From experience, he knew they’d hang around at that end of the pasture, waiting to amble home with him, too.

Careful not to step in a pile of manure as he crossed the pasture—now, that’d be a social faux pas, stinking when he showed up—Gabe felt as nervous as a teenage boy heading out on his first date. He assumed he hadn’t been expected to dress up, but her father was white collar, probably well-to-do, not a man who worked with his hands, so Gabe had changed from his usual T-shirt to a button-up sports shirt. Defiantly, he’d stuck with jeans. That’s who he was. Work boots, too. He couldn’t hide the calluses on his hands, either, and wouldn’t want to try.

Didn’t mean he looked forward to seeing disdain on the faces of Ciara’s mother or father. Something told him they didn’t know he was anything but a neighbor, though, who was spending some time with Mark and coming to dinner now and again, so maybe they wouldn’t be judging him the way they would if they knew he wanted to marry their daughter.

God. His stomach was so tied up in knots, he didn’t know if he’d be able to eat a bite. It had been a long time since he’d felt inadequate, and he didn’t like it one bit. As down to earth as she was, Ciara had never made him feel this way, but he had the feeling her parents were from a whole different world.

One she’d run away from,
he reminded himself.

No, he wouldn’t be apologizing for who he was. They could like him, or not. If Ciara chose to take a look at him through their eyes...well, what would be, would be.

Man, he desperately wanted to have a do-over. Never get involved with the new neighbors. Go back to vaguely thinking the woman was pretty, but never even dreaming he’d kiss her, much less be willing to expose himself to this kind of apprehension.

Yeah, except he’d still be dead inside. He wouldn’t have made passionate, searing love with her.

He cursed as he ducked through the fence at the top of the pasture, unaware he’d been spotted until the front door of her house opened, and Mark and Watson came out.

“Gabe!” The boy waved as if Gabe wouldn’t see him. “Hi, Gabe!”

Mark hovered on the porch, but Watson raced to meet Gabe. The horses, heads hanging over the fence, didn’t even bother to shy from the rambunctious dog.