More Than Neighbors. Janice Johnson Kay
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to his feet. “Can I call him? Right now?”
She hoped this wasn’t a huge mistake. She was torn between discouraging Mark from forming any deep attachment to a man who might lose interest in him any day—and, okay, keeping her own distance for personal reasons—and bribing said man to keep providing something Mark obviously needed desperately.
Something his father would never give him.
“I think this is one invitation that should come from me,” she said firmly. “He needs to know it comes from me.”
“Then will you call him right now?”
“After dinner. Sit,” she ordered.
He sat. From then on, all he talked about was how cool it would be, having Gabe here. He bet Gabe could show him how to make Watson sit. ’Cuz he knew all about animals. Had he told her...?
Oh, Lord. What if Gabe Tennert politely declined her invitation? Mark would be heartbroken.
The phone rang. Once more, Mark erupted from his seat.
“I bet that’s Dad!”
He returned a moment later with her cell phone, his expression downcast. “It’s that man who came out here about the floors.”
She accepted the phone, saying brightly, “It’s still early,” even though she knew damn well Jeff wouldn’t call.
What was she thinking, letting Mark get attached to a man whose only connection to them was a property line?
Even as she greeted the local contractor who was ready to offer a bid on refinishing floors, all she could think about was their next-door neighbor’s slow, deep voice and a face not quite as expressionless as she suspected he wanted it to be.
* * *
CIARA DID LET him call his grandparents that evening, and took a turn talking to them herself. Dad said hello, there was a Mariner game on and gave the phone to Mom, who laughed.
“He started watching so he could sound intelligent when clients commented on games or players or whatever, and now he won’t miss a game. Bridget, too.”
“Bridget?” Ciara repeated. That, she’d have to see to believe.
“You know, if you gave your dad a chance, he could get Mark interested, too.”
Ciara snorted.
Mom laughed again.
“What about you?”
“I still can’t figure out why I’d want to waste hours watching grown men adjust their balls—and I’m not talking about the stitched leather kind—and stare intently at someone crouching behind the plate holding one finger or two fingers down between his thighs. Or, come to think of it, just below his balls.”
Ciara laughed hard enough to get tears in her eyes. Only her mother. “Have you expressed this opinion to Dad and Bridget?”
“Yes. Bridget said there is only one ball, and what am I talking about. Your dad snorted wine out his nose.”
“I miss you,” Ciara said with complete sincerity.
“We miss you, too, honey. We’re dying to see your place. Just let us know when you’re settled enough to welcome visitors.”
“I will,” she promised, disturbed to find herself torn between an aching need to see her family, and a reluctance to let reality intrude on the new life she and Mark were creating.
* * *
FRIDAY, GABE WAS disconcerted by how much he anticipated having dinner with the Malloys, mother and son. He tried to convince himself it was only that he didn’t get good, home-cooked meals very often. His own repertoire was basic and pretty limited. After the samples of her baking he’d devoured, he was willing to bet Ciara would feed him something mouthwatering.
Usually after a long day like this, he’d have stopped for a burger or even a pizza somewhere on the drive home. There weren’t many places to eat out in Goodwater, and when he did occupy a booth in one of the two cafés, people insisted on pausing to talk.
Not like I won’t have to make conversation tonight, he reminded himself, but was perplexed to realize he didn’t so much mind the idea. He was used to Mark; that had to be it. And Ciara—well, she seemed like a comfortable enough woman, except for her looks, which stirred him into a state that wasn’t comfortable at all.
It felt odd to turn into the driveway before his own. The horses wouldn’t like their dinner being late, but they could live with it. He winced at the dust rising to coat his truck. He’d paved his own driveway to avoid jarring and potentially damaging a finished cabinet or piece of furniture, but he was particular enough about his vehicles, keeping them clean had been a bonus.
Before his pickup even rolled to a stop, the front door sprang open and Mark and Watson burst out. Gabe yanked on the emergency brake, turned off the engine and jumped out before the dog could leap up and scratch the paint on his truck.
“Down!” he ordered, and the surprised mutt aborted his delighted spring.
“No leash?” Gabe asked.
The boy’s gallop down the steps had been only slightly slower but considerably less graceful than the dog’s. “He’s getting better. He comes right away when I call. See? Watson. Hey, boy, come here.”
The dog kept big brown eyes trained on Gabe’s face. His tail swung wildly.
“Watson!”
“It’s okay,” Gabe said. “He’s excited because I’m new, that’s all.” He laid a hand on Mark’s thin shoulder and gently squeezed. “You’re right. He seems a little less excitable.”
“Mom makes me take him out for runs all the time.” His face scrunched. “She says I need the exercise, too.”
Gabe laughed. “She’s right.”
“Mom made one of my favorite dinners. I told her I bet you’d like it, too.”
“So what’s this favorite dinner?”
Watson whirled around them as they walked toward the porch. Gabe noted how many boards on the steps were cracked. Might be an ideal example of good, practical carpentry Mark could help him with.
“Manicotti. Mom makes really great manicotti.”
Gabe’s stomach growled. Lunch seemed like a long time ago.
Daisy was waiting on the porch, her tail wagging. He stopped to give her a good scratch and speak softly to her, even though Watson and Mark were seething with impatience. They all entered the house together.
“Mom won’t let Watson in the kitchen when she’s cooking or when we eat,” Mark confided. “Only tonight we’re eating in the dining room—you know, because you’re a guest—so I have to shut him in my bedroom. He might howl.”
“I suppose you can’t put Daisy in with him.”
“Uh-uh. She can’t climb the stairs.”
“She looks good, though,” Gabe observed. “I think she’s walking a little better.”
“Mom’s giving her some pills the vet suggested. Do you know Dr. Roy?”
“He takes care of my horses. Rides in cutting-horse competitions, too.”
“Really?”
Gabe nodded toward the staircase. “Why don’t you go on and take Watson up? I’ll go say hello to your mom.”
“Okay.” The two raced up the stairs, sounding, as Gabe’s mother would have said, like a herd of elephants.
He pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen then stopped, hit with sensory overload. The manicotti smelled amazing, and Ciara was bent over, removing garlic