More Than Neighbors (16 page)

As if he was Mark’s father.

It won’t last, she told herself. Mark had had teachers before who started the year positive but lost patience with him. This wouldn’t be any different. She couldn’t expect any different.

Gabe chuckled low in his throat, and she opened her eyes to see cow and girl face off with near identical expressions on their faces.

Ciara took a deep breath. Damn it, she could revel in the moment, couldn’t she? Was that too much to ask?

A few minutes later, Jennifer was grinning in triumph as she backed her horse off and let the steer trot back to the herd. Mark was applauding like mad right along with the other boys beside him.

Like one of the guys, she thought in bemusement.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
T WAS
M
ARK
who gave Gabe the opening he guessed he’d been subconsciously waiting for.

After the little skirmish with Ciara over his poor choice of words, Gabe had made up his mind to back off. He wasn’t making any long-term commitment to either her or her son, which meant the boy’s issues weren’t his business. He sure as hell had no right to judge her decisions.

But damn, the itch to know more about these two people didn’t go away. It was just there, a constant irritation that got more and more insistent until it was rubbing itself raw like a saddle sore. What would drive a woman like her to change her life so drastically? Given the limited formal education she had admitted to, he couldn’t imagine she’d ever expected to turn her back on the public schools and educate her own kid. And the move over here, so far from her parents as well as her ex, not to mention from malls and movie theaters, fast-food restaurants and friends, indicated motivation that had to go deeper than feeling Mark wasn’t being adequately protected at school.

He resisted the impulse to scratch that itch during the next week, though. For one thing, he didn’t want to endanger a relationship that was coming to mean too much to him. For another...well, it was his way to think long and hard before he formed an opinion, never mind made it known to someone who might not want to hear what he thought.

But today he’d “borrowed” Mark with his mother’s permission to help install kitchen cabinets at a new construction in Post Falls, Idaho. He didn’t mind spending the day with the boy, and Mark had shown enough aptitude for woodworking and interest in cabinetmaking, Gabe thought he might enjoy seeing how it all came together on the job site. Sure, the contractor would provide the help Gabe needed, but there was no reason he couldn’t bring his own labor, was there?

The drive passed quickly enough. Mark never ran short of things to say. For long stretches, all Gabe had to do was grunt now and again. He couldn’t say he was bored, though; the kid had a quick mind and a bottomless sense of curiosity.

Once they arrived, Gabe did his best to turn the job into a classroom for Mark while still accomplishing his own goals. Mark learned how to locate studs, and already understood why Gabe measured and marked carefully before he so much as touched a cabinet. Being perfectionists was something they had in common.

The carcasses of solid wood cabinets were damned heavy, even without drawers and doors. Mark proved to be stronger than he looked when it came to helping hold upper cabinets in place as Gabe drilled pilot holes, set the first couple of screws in place and then meticulously made sure the top was level and the front edge plumb before continuing the installation.

As usual, they hung the upper cabinets before starting on the lower ones. Despite the best measurements and planning he had been able to do, he still had to tap some shims into place to achieve the results he wanted. No drawer in one of
his
cabinets would stick because of a subtle skewing. He was paid to produce the best, and he did.

Mark’s focus as he worked wasn’t that different from Gabe’s, and the boy fit in just fine with the construction workers at the house. The two of them finished and left right on time to get home for dinner, to which Ciara had invited Gabe.

Man, he was getting spoiled. He hadn’t stopped for a solitary burger in weeks now. This almost felt like—

He stopped himself before he could complete the thought.
Not going there, remember?

They hadn’t been on the road more than a few minutes when, out of the blue, Mark said, “Were you always good at math in school?”

Wondering what inspired the question, Gabe said, “In math, I was. It came easily to me.” He hesitated only briefly. “Reading was different. It still doesn’t come easy. I’m dyslexic.”

Mark kind of knew what that meant, but they talked about Gabe’s particular form of it. The boy had a little trouble imagining how letters could reverse themselves to Gabe’s perception when really they stayed right where they were supposed to be on the page.

“Means I didn’t do real well in school,” Gabe admitted. “I still read slowly.” He glanced at Mark. “You haven’t said much about your other lessons. You do okay in social studies and the like?”

“Yeah, it’s mostly really easy.” He grimaced. “Some of it is awfully boring, though. I mean, it’s just, like, reading and worksheets. Mom thought we could do more with some really cool websites.”

“Until you found out we have only dial-up.”

“Yeah. And I don’t
care
about stuff like government. I’m more interested in sciences. I wish I had a real lab. And Mom
says
we’ll go on field trips, but then we never do ’cuz she’s always working.”

“You didn’t move that long ago,” Gabe pointed out. “It must be tough for a parent who has to work full-time to homeschool, too.”

Slumped low in his seat, Mark grimaced.

“You miss school?” Gabe asked after a minute. “You must have had teachers you liked. Maybe a counselor.”

“My math teacher was okay, but the science teacher had us do really stupid projects like make up animals that would live in a certain environment. It was like creative writing,” he complained. “I wanted to learn
real
stuff.”

“I can understand that.”

“English class was dumb. I don’t like
stories
. Anybody can make things up. Kids do it all the time. They were always saying I—” He applied the brakes.

Gabe wondered if he wanted to hear this, but how could he resist now? “You?” he prodded gently.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “That I’m weird or something.”

“You must have had friends.”

He shrugged, head down, voice still subdued. “Not really. So maybe I am weird.”

Well, yeah,
Gabe thought, but not necessarily in a bad way. Asperger’s was his best guess.

“You’re a smart kid. I’d expect you to be a good student.”

“I guess my grades were okay. But Dad—”

Gabe had a really bad feeling he was going to detest Mark’s dad even more than he already did as soon as he heard what the guy had had to say. Maybe he should stop with the prodding. Instinct told him some things had to be spoken aloud, though, and that those might be the very things Mark wouldn’t tell his mother.

So he went ahead. “What did your dad say?” he asked, as gently as he could.

Mumble, mumble.

He had to have misheard. “He said what?”

“That I’m some kind of retard!” Mark yelled. “Okay?”

The steering wheel creaked, Gabe’s grip on it was so tight. His molars were about ready to crack, too. “No,” he said, “it’s not okay. You
are
smart. You must know that.”

The slouching posture had gotten downright sulky now. Mark’s shoulders jerked.

“He said that to you?” Gabe asked.

“Nah.”

“Then what makes you think—?”

“I heard him tell Mom.”

Gabe flinched. “Bet she was mad.”

“Yeah, but—” Those skinny shoulders jerked again. “She probably thinks so, too. ’Cuz I can tell teachers and everyone think, you know, that I’m weird, too. And probably dumb.”

Through his icy rage, Gabe managed to come up with a tone that was almost matter-of-fact. “I guarantee you, nobody thinks you’re dumb.”

“Dad does.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant, either.”

Another shrug. Mark had his face averted now.

Not paying much attention to the passing landscape, Gabe still let a mile or two pass before he spoke again. He had to stop at a red light, which allowed him to glance at the boy. “You spend much time with your dad?”

“Nah.”

The traffic light turned green, and, very conscious of having a passenger, Gabe took a careful look each way before he started forward. On his own, he’d gotten so he could go through busy intersections without remembering, but it was different when he had Ciara or Mark with him. They probably thought he drove like a little old lady.

Better than the alternative, he told himself. And it wasn’t as if he was having flashbacks. Just...a prickle of anxiety.

“You miss him?” Gabe asked finally.

Not usually slow to speak, Mark took his time before answering. “I dunno.” Another pause. “Sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.” Gabe hesitated. “I didn’t always have a great relationship with my father, either.”

“Really?” Mark looked at him again, surprise on his face. He’d probably never imagined Gabe had been a boy with a father and mother. Kids didn’t tend to think of adults that way. “How come?”

Gabe brooded about that for a minute. “He was always hard on me. Couldn’t understand why I struggled in school.” He frowned. “My father owned an airfield. Have I told you that before?”

“I think so.”

“Well, he had a flight school, too, and offered charter flights. Me, I never liked flying. Heights scared me. Dad couldn’t understand that, either.”

“Really?” Mark’s voice rose in surprise. “You were
scared
?”

“Don’t you think we’re all scared of something?”

“Most kids don’t act like they are.”

Gabe half smiled. “They just don’t want to admit to it. Most adults don’t like to, either. Especially men.”

“How come you told me, then?”

He had to think about that. “I don’t see you making fun of me because you know I’m scared of heights.”

“You wouldn’t care if I did, would you?”

Gabe smiled. “Probably not anymore.” He paused, feeling clumsy. “I told you because you need to know that nobody is perfect. Most people have things they’re good at, things they’re not. That’s the way it is.”

“I don’t know anything Dad isn’t good at,” Mark muttered.

“What’s he do for a living?”

“You mean, for work? I don’t really understand it. Mom says he’s called a financial manager.”

Gabe nodded. “So he’s good at math, too. He passed that ability on to you.”

Mark looked perplexed at the concept, but then his expression cleared. “Because Mom
isn’t
good at math. So I didn’t get it from her.”

“Right. But don’t tell her I said so.”

They exchanged a grin.

Time to change the subject. “So...do you know what your mother is making for dinner tonight?”

“You really like her cooking, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I really do.” He didn’t say,
I like sitting at the table with the two of you, too. Laughing. Hearing Watson whine from the other side of the door. Looking at your mom. Imagining my fingers slipping through her hair. Kissing her. Seeing her naked.

Nope, there was a lot he didn’t say.

* * *

“
S
O, YOU HAD
a good time today?” Ciara asked as she hung up the dish towel and Mark sat down in front of the computer that sat on a small desk in a nook of the big kitchen.

Gabe had left after dinner, and Ciara was thinking about settling down with a good book while Mark prowled the internet—an exercise in patience. She paused behind him and watched as he logged on then swiveled on the chair to face her.

“Yeah, it was super cool,” her son declared enthusiastically. “He really let me help. When we were done, he took some pictures with his phone. Next time he’s here I’ll have him show you.”

“That’s great. I’ll bet the cabinets were beautiful.”

“He said thank you for the sandwiches.”

She smiled. “He told me.”

“Usually he goes to Subway or something. Or he doesn’t eat lunch at all, ’cuz once he starts working he doesn’t like to stop.”

“I can understand that,” she agreed.

She asked about the town of Post Falls and learned next to nothing. It was lots bigger than Goodwater.

Of course, almost every town was.

Sure, the river was pretty. The cabinets went in a
big
house. Lots bigger than this house.

Her son was not destined to become a travel writer.

“Did you two find enough to talk about?” she asked, indulging her curiosity. She only hoped Mark had let Gabe get a word in edgewise.

“Yeah.” His forehead pleated. “On the way home he asked me a bunch of questions.”

She slowly straightened. “A bunch of questions?”

“About school and stuff. Why I don’t go anymore. You know. And he wanted to know about Dad and why I don’t see him.”

A giant hand squeezed her rib cage. “Did he?” she said grimly.

“Yeah. Usually he just talks about what we’re doing. When he talks at all,” Mark said. “He’s kind of quiet. This was different.”

What was different was that he’d gotten her son away from her long enough to grill him, and she knew damn well what conclusions he’d come to.

“Speaking of,” she said, keeping her tone casual, “there’s something I forgot to ask Gabe. I’m going to run down to his place right now.”

“Really?” He gazed at her in bemusement. “You’re going to run? You never run, Mom.”

She faked a laugh. “I’m going to drive. Not run. You’re right. I never run if I can help it.”

“Okay.” He turned back to the computer, and she sensed he’d dismissed her from his mind. “I’ll see you later.”

She grabbed a down vest on her way out the door, even though she was mad enough to be steaming.

Lights shone in the windows of Gabe’s house, but no porch lights were on when she pulled in. She leaped out, went to the back door and rapped hard on the glass inset.

A moment later, he appeared, a big man whose solid body usually offered reassurance and a shiver of excitement she’d forgotten she could feel. Not tonight. Tonight she was too mad.