Free More Than Neighbors by Janice Kay Johnson Page A

“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.
    * * *
    C IARA 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.
    * * *
    F RIDAY, G ABE 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,