More Than Neighbors

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Daisy was a shepherd mix. At eleven-plus years, she wouldn’t appeal to many potential adopters.

Ciara found her gaze fixed on the card that said, Good with cats and dogs.

No, she told herself. The dog was for Mark, not her. He needed a pet that could keep up with him, that was fun.

Daisy’s tail thumped a couple more times, and she hoisted herself to her feet. Her gait was rather stiff when she came forward to allow herself to be patted.

“She’d do well on glucosamine,” the other woman said. “Her owner was elderly, and I suspect she didn’t have much chance for exercise.”

This is too big a commitment to make out of pity, Ciara told herself, with what she hoped was resolution.

“I want Watson,” Mark said, right behind her.

The attendant started. “Oh! Did you latch the kennel door?”

“Yes, but he didn’t like it when I left.”

A mournful howl rose, which started a sympathetic barrage of barks and howls from other shelter dogs. Daisy’s ears twitched, but she only wagged her tail a couple more times.

“Crap,” Ciara mumbled.

“Mom! You won’t let me say that.”

And that’s when the attendant suggested craftily, “You know, dogs are pack animals. They love having a dog companion as well as a human family. If you’d consider taking two, I’m sure we can waive Daisy’s adoption fee, given that she’s a senior and her chances—” She took a quick look at Mark and changed her mind about what she was saying. “Given her age.”

And so it was that Mark was buckled into the middle of the backseat and had not one, but two dogs draped over him. Watson had bounded into the car. It had taken two of them to lift Daisy so high.

A little late, it occurred to Ciara that they’d bought a reasonable amount of food for one dog. For two, they should have bought more. Plus, Daisy should probably be on a diet formulated specifically for seniors, and Ciara could already envision the hassle of getting each dog to eat his or her own food instead of the other’s.

She sighed.

Daisy’s tail thumped against the door. Or maybe it was Watson’s. Or both.

Mark laughed, and Ciara’s mouth curved into a reluctant smile.

Hey, on the good-news front: one of the two dogs crowded on the backseat wouldn’t be interested in tearing around the pasture chasing horses.

* * *

GOD DAMN IT.

The sharp sound of a whinny had brought Gabe out onto his back porch Saturday morning before he’d had more than a couple swallows of his coffee.

Both horses bolted across the pasture, manes and tails flying, and right behind them came a brown bullet.

A dog.

An expletive came out of his mouth even as he took off at a run for the pasture.

He didn’t bother with the gate, instead planting a hand on the top rail and vaulting over. Hoodoo and Aurora spun past him, the dog in close pursuit. He whistled sharply, and the dog actually hesitated then stopped. The animal’s whole body swung with its tail. A long, pink tongue lolled out.

“Come,” Gabe snapped, and to his mild surprise the dog obeyed. Gabe was able to wrap his fingers around what appeared to be a brand-new collar, from which two shiny, silver-colored tags dangled. One was the expected rabies tag; the other, bone-shaped, gave the dog’s name as Watson and his owner’s name as Mark Malloy. The phone number was now familiar to Gabe.

Not letting go of the collar, Gabe walked the dog out of the pasture, in the side door of his garage and popped him into the cab of his pickup. Hoping like hell the damn animal wasn’t still young enough to want to chew whatever was in front of him—say, the seat upholstery—Gabe hurried back to the house to grab his wallet and keys.

When he returned to the pickup, Watson barked happily, slopped a big kiss on his face before he could evade it and thrust his nose out the window when Gabe lowered it a few inches to entertain him during the short drive.

His jaw ached from clenching his teeth by the time he pulled up in front of the neighboring house. Ciara burst out the front door before he could get out.

“Oh, no!” she said. “Watson went to your house?”

Despite his severe aggravation, he couldn’t help noticing how gracefully she moved, and how much he liked her long, slim body in tight jeans and form-fitting T-shirt.

Do not get distracted, he ordered himself.

“What was the one thing I said?” It came out as a roar. “Don’t get a dog that’ll chase livestock!”

“Oh, no,” she said again, more softly.

Watson, still in the cab, barked at her.

She tore her gaze from the dog and fastened it on Gabe. “The thing is the shelter doesn’t know how most of the dogs do with horses or cows. When I asked, they gave me blank looks. Probably Watson has never seen a horse before. I...I’m sure he can learn.”

She kept talking. There was something about a potential obedience class, and a learning curve—he tried to imagine how that would work—and she concluded by saying maybe she could pay to have wire mesh fencing added to his board fence along their property line.

He shook his head. “That’s a mighty long property line. Unless you’re made of money...”

The alarm that widened her eyes was answer enough.

They both fell silent for a moment, looking at each other. Her expression was oddly defenseless. Maybe because it was so early in the morning. At least she was dressed, but the hair he’d so far seen captured in a braid hung loose and was tousled enough, he had to wonder if she’d brushed it yet. Sunlight caught fire in the curls.

“I didn’t think,” she admitted at last. “I let them out when I first got up—”

“Them?”

He swung around, expecting to see another dog tearing through his pasture. The Hound of the Baskervilles.

“You won’t have to worry about Daisy.” She turned, too. “I wonder where she is.”

A second dog toddled around the corner of the house. Her legs were stiff, and the effect with her too-well-rounded body was more of a waddle than a walk. As she got closer, Gabe saw the milky film in her eyes that went with her graying muzzle.

He crouched and held out his hand. “Here, girl.”

Her tail swung a few times, and she came right to him, accepting his scratches and soft words.

Finally, he straightened. “Her, I’m okay with.”

Ciara’s face became mutinous. “You’re not telling me we have to take Watson back. That would kill Mark!”

Gabe groaned and let his head fall back. This was every bit as bad as he’d imagined. No, there weren’t little kids next door running around screaming, but the one kid who was here didn’t disappear daily to school, either. Instead, he wanted to be friends. He wanted lessons. He’d be calling every damn day if Gabe didn’t shut him down. And now a cheerful young dog with no manners at all had been added to the mix.

He lowered his head to see Ciara watching him anxiously.

“If he attacks one of the horses or Henry Beem’s cattle, you have to either find him a home where there’s no livestock around, or you’ll need to have him put down. Do you understand?”

Her chin trembled a little bit. “I understand.”

The foundations of his anger began to crumble. Damn it, he thought again. This felt like kicking a puppy, too, even though she was now glaring at him.

“All right,” he said abruptly, wheeled and opened his door.

The dog exploded out, jumping and barking in delight because he was free, and now there were two people to love him. No, the front door was opening. Mark came out on the porch, and now there were three. Jubilant, Watson leaped up the steps to greet his boy then sprang back down and headed for Gabe.

“Sit!” he snapped.

The dog looked astonished, but his butt did momentarily touch the ground. Didn’t last long—next minute he was jumping on Gabe, trying to kiss his face again.

“Sit,” he repeated, this time laying his hand on the dog’s head to quell his quivering desire to spring back up.

“He knows how to sit.” Mark grinned in delight. “See, Mom? He’s already trained.”

“Do you have a leash?” Gabe asked grimly.

He looked puzzled. “Yeah.”

“Go get it.”

While her son was gone, Ciara said, “I’m so sorry. I did ask.”

“You ever think of checking in town? Somebody around here probably has puppies that have been raised around animals.”

“No-o.” She drew the word out. “I researched shelters. We got Watson and Daisy at the Spokane Humane Society. I meant to get only one. You know, for Mark. But I was afraid nobody would take Daisy, and I thought maybe she’d have a calming influence on Watson.”

Daisy had planted herself at Ciara’s feet, appearing completely content.

“They already have those names?”

“Yes. I asked if they’d been named at the shelter, but those are the names they came with, so I thought...”

Gabe nodded. “It’s something familiar. They should be able to keep them.”

Her smile brought something to life inside him he’d never wanted to feel again. “That’s what I thought, too.”

Gabe tore his gaze away, concentrating on the dog squirming in front of him. He released him from the sitting position but whistled sharply every time he got too far away. When Mark returned with a short red leash, Gabe had him fasten it to the collar. “Now go get some carrots, if you have any.”

“Mom bought lots!” Mark raced back into the house, almost falling halfway up the porch steps.

Gabe winced in sympathy despite his irritation. I am still irritated, he assured himself, although his emotions had already become way more complicated than that, as seemed to happen every time he got close to these new neighbors. Either of them.

Once the boy returned with carrots in hand, Gabe led a parade to the pasture fence. Even Daisy roused herself to toddle along behind.

Gabe was far from sure the horses could be persuaded to come, but eventually they got near enough to be sure one of those humans was Gabe, and that there were carrots in the offing. Every time Watson barked, Hoodoo and Aurora neighed and shied away, but Gabe had Mark put his hand around the dog’s muzzle while reminding him sternly to “Sit,” and eventually he was able to persuade the two horses to come to the fence for their treat.

There was a lot of backing and shying, but finally Watson touched his nose to each of theirs, and Gabe made sure they all stood there long enough for the animals to develop some level of comfort with each other. He knew damn well it wouldn’t last, but it was a start. He just hoped the dog was high-spirited rather than having a killer streak. He didn’t think Mark would take it well if the dog he’d picked out to be his had to be put down.

“Use the leash a lot these first days,” he instructed him. “If your mom is okay with it, you can walk him in the pasture, as long as he’s always on the leash.”

After a moment, she nodded. Reluctantly, he thought, but she must have been able to see the sense in his suggestion, and had surely become convinced his quarter horses were too scared of her son to want to trample him to death.

“Why don’t you pet them?” he suggested, having noticed she was hanging back like she had last time.

He stayed where he was to gentle the horses, which might have been a mistake. She stepped close enough to allow a citrus scent to rise to his nose. Probably shampoo. He studied her fingers as she tentatively stroked one sleek neck and then the other, giving a surprised squeak when Aurora lipped her fingers.

“Her mouth is so soft!” Ciara exclaimed.

He couldn’t help thinking her lips looked soft, too. So did her skin. It was exceptionally fine-pored, more like a young child’s than an adult’s. In self-defense, he began to scratch Hoodoo’s poll. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so tempted to touch a woman. Hell, if he laid a hand on her, she’d probably jump six inches and shy away just like one of the horses did to an unwelcome surprise, he thought ruefully.

But the face she turned up to him was alight with pleasure. “They’re so friendly! They’re just like dogs.”

For that moment, all the guardedness he’d seen in her was gone. Those eyes, huge and bright, shone with delight. And the way her mouth curved...

He’d have sworn he heard a cracking sound, the first ominous fissure in the Grand Coulee Dam, holding back the weight of enough water to wreak havoc through the whole Columbia River basin. Nobody else seemed to hear the sound, originating in his chest, where he’d built walls he would have sworn were rock solid.

Panic spiked, and he took a step back.

Irritable, that was his defense.

“Just so you remember, horses weigh two thousand pounds,” he reminded her and her son.

She shot a worried look at the boy before fixing her gaze on Gabe again. “Do they ever, well, step on you?”

“Yeah, I’ve had horses step on a foot. Sometimes they don’t even notice. That’s why it’s a good idea to wear boots around them.” He glanced at Mark. “You have any?”

“Uh-uh. Maybe I should get some, Mom.”

“Is leather really good enough?” she asked Gabe. “Or do you get steel-toed or what?”

Amusement eased his panic. “You ever seen a cowboy boot coated in steel?”

“Is that what I should get him? Cowboy boots?”

“Yeah, probably,” he said in resignation. Sure as hell, he’d be putting the kid up in the saddle before he knew it. Might have to do it on a lead line, if Mark didn’t turn out to have any more ability to center his weight when sitting than he did on his feet. Quarter horses had been bred to turn on a dime, whether their rider went with them or not.

“Well, okay.” Ciara gave him another sunny smile that had him backing up yet another step. “Thank you for...well...”

His eyebrows climbed. “Not shooting the dog?”

The boy grabbed his dog’s collar. “You wouldn’t!”

His mom’s smile turned to a glare. “Don’t say things like that!”

Gabe chose not to say anything.

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have a gun?”

“A rifle. Yes, I do, ma’am.” Ma’am—that was good. Distancing.

“You hunt?” Her voice spiked with disapproval.

“I was raised hunting,” he said. “My family needed that meat on the table. But no, actually, I don’t.”

“Then why—?”

“Do I keep the Remington on hand?” He hesitated, not wanting to tell her it had been a gift from his dad, which at the time had meant something. In these parts, giving your son a fine rifle was a way to acknowledge he’d reached manhood. His father hadn’t been very good with words, but sometimes he’d done something that had made Gabe glow with pride. Not often, which is maybe why those rare moments stuck with him. “Anyone with livestock has to worry about coyotes or wolves,” he said instead. “If I heard someone breaking into my workshop, I’d reach for it, too.”

She looked shocked, giving him an idea how she’d cast her ballots. His mouth twitched. If he was right, she’d be in a minority in this corner of the state. The thought made him wonder anew what she’d been thinking, a woman raising her child alone, buying a house so isolated, in a county where she and her son might both have trouble fitting in with what neighbors they did have.

He glanced from her outraged face to Mark’s. The kid was kind of dorky-looking to go with his personality. Lips a little too big and loose, expression too open. Gabe’s amusement faded. Sure as hell, Ciara Malloy had gone for isolated on purpose. He just hoped she hadn’t made one hell of a mistake.

He dipped his head. “I need to be getting back.” He met Mark’s gaze. “You want a dog, teaching him what’s acceptable and what isn’t is your responsibility. You understand, son?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, then.” Gabe walked back to his truck, not allowing himself any softening chitchat. Whatever that strange feeling he’d had when Ciara smiled, he had to have imagined it.

He was going to be pissed if he was back here in two hours because the damn dog was already in the pasture nipping at his horses’ heels again.

“Sir? I mean, mister...I mean, Gabe?”

The driver’s-side door was open; he didn’t have a lot of choice but to glance back.

Neither woman nor boy had moved. The old dog had settled her butt and looked as if she’d be content never to move. The young dog, however, was getting antsy.

“Yes?”

“I can still come to your place this morning, right?”

Oh, hell. In his exasperation, he’d forgotten. He wanted to say, You’ve already wasted enough of my day, but the apprehension coupled with hope that the boy couldn’t hide stopped the words in Gabe’s mouth.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be expecting you.”

He took one last look as he started the engine, bothered by the knowledge that he wanted to see warmth again on Ciara’s face. That it would be easy for a man to get to crave the sight of that expression.

And there it was, just as he’d envisioned it, and the crack in his protective wall groaned a little as the damage done to it allowed further weakening.

He drove faster than he should have down their long, dusty driveway.

* * *

STARING IN DISMAY at the math problem Mark didn’t understand, Ciara wished she’d escaped to her workroom immediately after breakfast instead of making the mistake of lingering to ask if he needed any help. She’d mostly been okay with the seventh-grade math in the original curriculum, but once she downloaded the kind of work he’d already been doing in his advanced class, she was lost.

What’s more, this was the first major download she’d tried since discovering high-speed internet wasn’t available. In moving to such a rural location, they’d apparently lost a decade or two. Dial-up was torturous.

“This is geometry, isn’t it?” she said unhappily.

“Um...yeah.”

“Sarcasm is not appreciated.”

“Well, it’s about angles.”

“I can see that,” she snapped. It showed a shape—God help her, she didn’t even know what the shape was called—and wanted to know the sum of the angle measures in it. She’d taken geometry in high school and hated it. “You know, if you’re going to work on this stuff, I’ll have to review it in advance to be any help to you.”

“But Mom, it’s only eighth-grade math!” her son exclaimed.

Gee, and she hadn’t already felt stupid enough.

“Do you know how many years it’s been since I took this stuff?” she asked. “Things like percentages I use once in a while in real life. Geometry, never.”

“Oh.”

They both stared at the peculiar shape.

“Maybe Gabe knows the answer,” he suggested.

Because you had to know angles to shoot a Remington rifle?

“’Cuz he has this cool gauge that measures angles!” Mark said with new enthusiasm. “So he must understand them, right?”

“You have my blessing to ask.”

“Yeah!” He grabbed the worksheet and stuffed it into the daypack that already sat on the table. “It’s time for me to go anyway.”

“You’ve got the cookies?”

“You saw me put them in the pack.”

“Right.” Of course she had.

Anxious mother that she was, she walked as far as the front porch and stayed there while he pedaled down the driveway, turned right on the road then up Gabe Tennert’s nicely paved driveway. When he disappeared from sight behind the house, she figured he’d made it safely. Watson, nose pressed to the screen door, whined miserably. He’d wanted to go, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t. Ciara shuddered at the thought of him in Gabe’s workshop.

He almost escaped when she opened the door, but swift use of her foot allowed her to slide inside and latch the door. “Not a chance,” she told him and went upstairs. He followed, of course, while Daisy lay at the bottom, watching sadly. She could barely handle the couple of steps from the back porch to the yard; a whole flight was out of her capability. Watson, on the other hand, would want to go in Ciara’s workroom, where he could do as much damage as he would in Gabe’s. The damage wouldn’t be as expensive, but Ciara couldn’t afford it.

She shut this door firmly in his face, too. He moaned but then subsided. As she plugged in her iron, she hoped her neighbor had a sweet tooth. Although she still found him alarming for reasons she hadn’t altogether figured out, ones that didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she also found him sexy, he’d so far been exceptionally nice to Mark. Oatmeal-raisin cookies were probably inadequate thanks, but she didn’t know what her next option would be.

Did he cook, or was he the kind of single guy who lived on microwave meals? Maybe tonight she’d bake bread. Everyone liked homemade bread. And if he kept letting Mark go over, she could invite him to dinner one of these nights. That would be the nice thing to do, wouldn’t it?

Steam puffed from her iron, and she gasped at the realization of how long she’d left it pressed on the delicate damask she was working on. Damn, had she burned it?

No, she saw in relief, but that was pure luck. She had to concentrate. Why on earth was she worrying about what a man she didn’t even know liked to eat? Mark’s sixth-grade teacher had been a man, and she’d never once considered sending him home-baked cookies.

Yes, but he’d been paid to teach her son. Nobody was paying the closemouthed, bearded guy next door to spend any time at all with Mark.

She winced, wondering what he’d think when Mark whipped out the geometry worksheet.

And then she wondered what Gabe Tennert would look like if he shaved off that beard.

CHAPTER FOUR

“IT’S A HEXAGON,” Gabe said absently. “Six sides.”

The boy’s forehead crinkled. “I thought it was a polygon.”

“It’s that, too.” Gabe explained that a polygon was a closed shape that usually had straight sides. “A triangle is a polygon.”

“Tri.” Mark’s face brightened as if it were lit from within, like his mother’s did. “Three.”

“Right. Four sided is a...?”

“Quadrangle.”

“Five sides makes it a pentagon.”

“Cool,” the boy decided. “So how do I figure out the sum of the angle measures in a hexagon?”

“Do you know what the measures of the angles of a triangle add up to?”

“A hundred and eighty degrees,” he said triumphantly.

“Good.” Gabe got out a ruler and pencil and showed him how to divide the shape up into triangles, then watched as Mark divided it into four triangles. He was able to multiply 4 times 180 in his head and come up with the right answer, which Gabe thought was pretty good.

“I don’t remember getting to geometry until high school,” he commented.

“My school did it in eighth grade. Except, if you were ahead, you did the eighth-grade stuff in seventh. Then if you were pretty good, you could skip Algebra 1 and take geometry as a freshman.”

“Gotcha.” Gabe nodded. “You okay with the next problem?”

They talked about a couple more, after which he put the worksheet away but pulled out a lidded plastic container. “Mom made cookies. She thought you’d like some.”

Gabe’s fingers were peeling the lid back before his brain gave the order. “What kind—” He inhaled. “Raisin oatmeal. My favorite.”

“Really? I thought she should make chocolate chip. That’s my favorite. But she says these are better for us.”

“I like chocolate chip, too,” Gabe admitted. “I wouldn’t turn them down. But these are great.” He took a bite and closed his eyes to better savor the burst of flavor. “Really great,” he mumbled a minute later.

He gobbled two before he remembered he shouldn’t waste the time eating when he was supposed to be—teaching, he guessed. He turned his mind back to his woodworking class and said, “I want you to do some measuring, and then you can experiment with the saw.”

Having seen how clumsy Mark was, Gabe did a lot of talking about safety precautions but was still a little unnerved when they got to the stage of practicing first with a handsaw, then a jigsaw and finally a circular saw. Interestingly, he found that the boy was both careful and precise. His focus was as intense as Gabe’s was when he worked. Gabe began to relax. They talked about the options for corner joints and decided that for Mark’s first effort, they’d go for a rabbet joint, good-looking and relatively simple.