More Than Neighbors

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 bread from the oven. The sight of her in tight jeans and a frilly lemon-yellow apron made his mouth water in a different way. She either heard the door or his stomach growling again, because she swung around quickly, her eyes startled.

“Oh! I heard your pickup, but I thought maybe Mark had dragged you upstairs to see his room.”

Gabe ambled forward, hoping he looked unthreatening, although he wasn’t sure why it mattered. It might be best if she did find him intimidating. “No, he’s currently dragging Watson upstairs to lock him in solitary confinement.”

Ciara made a face. “I swear that dog’s last family must have let him help himself to food right off their plates. I refuse to gobble down my meals, ready at every moment to defend my food.”

Gabe found himself smiling at the picture. “Might be good for your reflexes.”

“More likely it would cause indigestion.” She tilted her head. “Was he coming right back down? Dinner is ready to go on the table.”