Free More Than Neighbors by Janice Kay Johnson Page B

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.”
    “I think so.”
    Feet thundered on the stairs.
    “Can I carry anything?” Gabe asked.
    She gave him the salad bowl and carried the glass baking pan filled with manicotti herself, using crocheted potholders, then went back for the garlic bread.
    “This is our first meal in the dining room,” she said, pulling out her chair.
    As he took his own seat, Gabe looked around reflectively. As with the rest of the house, Ephraim had let the room get shabby. In retrospect, Gabe felt guilty that he hadn’t done more to help. At the time, he’d thought his neighbor would be insulted at any implication he was letting his place get run-down.
    The house was solidly built, older than his own, Gabe thought, but the wallpaper was peeling, the wood floors were scratched and had lost much of their finish, and the molding needed either to be refinished or painted.
    Ciara handed him the spoon to serve himself first. “Do you know Vince Mays? Audrey Stevens recommended him.” Her thoughts had obviously paralleled his, or else she’d been able to tell what he was thinking.