by Amelia Adams
Daniel
Seven Sons Book Four
by Amelia C. Adams
With thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Deborah, Erin, George, Laurie, Mary, Meisje, Renee, and Shelby.
Copyright ©Amelia C. Adams 2017
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter One
Daniel McClain swung his duffel bag off his shoulder as he stepped inside the cabin he’d be sharing with his brother Ephraim and their next set of assigned boys. “Honey! We’re home!”
“You’re so funny.” Caleb walked out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Hey there. Ready to take over this motley crew?”
“We are,” Ephraim said, coming in right behind Daniel.
Nick came bounding down the hall, his backpack in hand. He stopped short when he saw Daniel and Ephraim standing there with bags of their own. “What’s going on?”
“It’s time for rotation,” Caleb answered. “Remember how we explained it when you first got here? Us six brothers rotate around between the different cabins so we each have a chance to teach you different skills.”
“Yeah, I remember that. I just didn’t know when.” Nick dropped his backpack by the door and stomped into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door.
“It’s been on the calendar since day one,” Caleb called out, but there wasn’t any reply.
“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Rotation’s always a little hard on the boys.”
“Yeah, I know. I just have to wonder about it sometimes. I feel like Benjamin and I made some good progress with Nick, and I don’t know if he’s ready to move on.”
“You know we’ll keep a close eye on it,” Daniel reassured him. “If we need to make an exception, we’ll figure it out.”
Caleb nodded. “All the chore assignments are on the fridge, same as usual,” he said by way of reply. “Natalie packed up her stuff before work, so I’m the only one you need to get rid of now.”
“Take your time,” Daniel said. “Mom’s over at your next cabin right now trying to decide what fabric to use for her curtain project, so the boys aren’t alone.”
“Another project?” Caleb shook his head.
“She just wants everything to be nice for Christmas.”
Caleb laughed as he headed down the hall. “I won’t be long. Just gotta grab a few things from the closet.”
The other five boys assigned to this cabin thumped into the kitchen, ready for breakfast, and Ephraim greeted them there and started them on their kitchen chores. Daniel paused for a moment in the living room, clearing his head. He and Ephraim had just spent two pretty intense months with another group of boys, and they’d developed some good relationships. They’d still see those boys and work with them, but now it was time to shift their focus to these six boys. He’d already gotten to know most of them because they’d been here a while, but Nick was new, and the McClains were still digging through his layers. Daniel hoped he could find a way to help the boy.
“Hey, I said I was making the orange juice!”
Angry voices exploded in the kitchen, and Daniel took a few steps that direction just in time to collide with Nick, who was barging out of there as fast as he could go. As soon as their arms touched, Daniel was overwhelmed with pain, and he gasped. He staggered backwards and leaned against the wall.
Nick didn’t notice and kept his pace toward the front door. Just then, Christopher called out, “Hey, Nick, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d already dibsed the juice. Come back, and I’ll do the eggs instead.”
Nick paused, his hand on the doorknob, and then he slowly turned and walked back to the kitchen. As he passed Daniel, he paused. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Daniel managed, and Nick nodded before heading back to his task.
The voices in the kitchen returned to a normal pitch, and it sounded like everything was fine now. Daniel pulled himself along the wall and lowered himself onto a chair, dizzy beyond belief. He barely noticed when Ephraim crouched beside him.
“What’s the matter?” his brother asked, his voice low. “Nick just told me you don’t look so good.”
“That boy . . .” Daniel was so nauseated, he could hardly talk. “That boy’s been hurt. Badly.”
“Recently, or in the past?”
“Up until he came here.” Daniel pulled in a breath and tried to sort through everything he was feeling. As a doctor, he used his gift to diagnose. His body took on some of the symptoms of his patients as he was touching them, and then those symptoms faded within a few minutes. This was taking far too long—he shouldn’t still be in so much pain from touching Nick. “Broken wrist, broken arm, broken ribs. Concussion. Burns. I know Caleb got some information out of him already, but this is more than I realized.” The pain was finally starting to recede, and he unclenched his fists.
“I’ll call Adam and see if we can meet up with him after the boys leave for school,” Ephraim said. “He needs to know about this.”
“Yeah. And I should probably talk to Dad, too. My gift’s gone haywire—it’s never been as strong as this.”
Ephraim stood. “Need anything?”
“No, I’ve just got to rest another second.”
Ephraim nodded and moved back into the kitchen to oversee cleanup. With teenage boys, the actual eating part of breakfast only took five minutes, and the rest took half the morning.
By the time he was back to himself, the boys had headed out the door to the bus. Ephraim came into the living room and plopped down on the couch. “You’ve got some color back in your face, at least.”
“How could someone do that to a child?” Rage coursed through Daniel, replacing the nausea. He wasn’t sure yet which he’d rather have—they were both debilitating. “How could anyone be so . . . so evil? These weren’t accidents—this was abuse. No question of it.”
“I don’t understand it either,” Ephraim said. “Their own children. Plus, when I look at some of the animals we’ve taken in, the things they’ve been put through—but we can’t focus on that, Dan. We’re the healers. We’re the fixers. We’re the ones who can set things right—that’s where we need to concentrate.”
“I know.” Daniel pulled in another breath and came to his feet. “And I’m grateful we have these gifts so we can do some real good. I just wish . . . I just wish people would love each other as they’re meant to. That hatred and cruelty could be done away with. That we could all see the best in each other and expect it from ourselves.”
“That’s a pretty tall order, brother.”
“I know it is, and I’m probably pretty naïve for thinking it’s possible. But I’ll never stop wishing for it.”
Ephraim stood up as well. “And I don’t want you to. If anything’s going to change in this world, it’s because of people like you who know how it should be and fight for it to come true. Here, on this ranch, we’re setting things right. We’re making a difference one hurt boy at a time.”
Daniel laughed and shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that? You go on and on about how you don’t know how to talk to people, you only know how to talk to animals, yada yada yada. And then you go and make a speech like that. You’re confused, bro. You don’t know what you’re good at.”
Ephraim looked down at the carpet, then back up. “You’re my brother. That’s different from trying to reach out to these boys. I never know what to say.”
“We’re all brothers here. Think about that for a while before you lay any more excuses on me. Now, is Adam free?”
“Yeah, and Dad’s waiting for you too. They said to be there around ten.”
“Thanks. Let’s have a good breakfast of our own before we head up to the big house.”
Chapter Two
Claire Hudson steered her motorcycle through the gates of the property marked “McClain Boys’ Ranch” and brought it to a stop in front of a small building with a sign reading “Office.” She’d never been out this way before, and it was nice that everything was labeled so she’d know where to go. At the same time, it did make her smirk a little bit. She wondered if everything was labeled. “Bathroom.” “Kitchen.” “Front door.”
She pulled off her helmet and took a second to rake her fingers through her short auburn hair. There really was no way to fix helmet head, but this was a job interview, after all, and she wanted to put in some kind of effort. Once she’d done that, she took off her leather jacket and draped it over the seat of her motorcycle. Her white blouse underneath was only a little bit wrinkled from the ride.
When she climbed the steps and entered the office, she saw a young woman sitting behind a desk, talking on the phone. The girl cupped her hand over the receiver and said, “Please have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” Then she turned back to her conversation—something about needing paperwork for one of the boys. It sounded important, so Claire decided she could be patient and took a seat.
“I’m so sorry about that,” the girl said a moment later after she hung up. “I’m Brittany. You must be Claire.”
“I am.” Claire stood up and awkwardly shook the hand Brittany was offering. Women shaking hands with other women had always seemed so weird to her.
“Welcome to the ranch. Your interview today will actually be with Lillian McClain over in the main house. Let me show you the way.”
Claire crunched across the parking lot behind Brittany, glancing around at the layout of the place. It was really a pretty property, and they took care of it, too. The trees looked pruned, there wasn’t any litter kicking around, the little decorative-whatever flowerbeds were weeded. She followed Brittany up the steps and into a huge house, then into the most amazing kitchen she’d ever seen.
“Lillian, this is Claire,” Brittany introduced.
Claire was blindsided by a hug as it descended upon her with more speed and determination than she’d thought this older lady was capable of. “Um, hi,” she said with what air was left inside her after it got squished out.
“Hello,” Lillian said, stepping back and looking into her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
If she greeted all the job applicants like this . . . “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’ll be back at the office if you need me for anything,” Brittany said before leaving the way she’d come in. Great. Now Claire was alone with the attack hugger.
“I’ve read over your resume, and I have to say, I’m impressed,” Lillian said. “You’ve worked in some very nice restaurants.”
Claire shrugged. “I got lucky.”
Lillian motioned for Claire to have a seat at the table. “I didn’t see much listed for your education.”
Her words were spoken kindly, but Claire felt them like a stab in the chest. “I didn’t have a chance to go to school,” she said after she swallowed. “I’m self-taught, mostly—and the Food Network.”
Lillian chuckled. “I like that channel too. I just have to wonder. You were working in one of the best restaurants in Los Angeles and then you suddenly decided to apply out here in Texas at a boys’ ranch, where you wouldn’t have opportunities for advancement like you would in a city.”
She didn’t ask a question outright, but Claire knew she wanted an answer. This was the part she’d dreaded. She could keep this light—she really could. “I wanted to go somewhere different,” she replied. “Someplace where I wouldn’t blend into the crowd.”
Lillian beamed at her. No one had ever beamed at her before. It was kinda weird. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Let me tell you a little bit about our ranch. We have thirty boys living here now. All of them have come from troubled backgrounds—drug abuse, violence, theft, all kinds of things. They’ve been turned over to us by the state as an alternative to jail. We love them and teach them and show them a better way. Then we send them back out into the world where they can do some good in exchange.”
“You make that sound so simple,” Claire said. “Like love is all it takes to turn someone’s life around.”
Lillian raised an eyebrow, looking curious. “Love is the first and most necessary ingredient, but of course there’s work and patience and some good old-fashioned boundaries. We’re successful here, Claire. We see miracles every day. I hope you’ll get a chance to witness some of them—seeing a boy so sad and scared come in through our doors and then later leave as a confident, strong young man? There’s nothing more rewarding. I get goose bumps just thinking about it.” She rubbed her arms for emphasis.
Claire managed a smile. In her experience, that wasn’t how the world worked, but maybe the McClains had hit on some magic formula that no one else knew about. “Can you tell me a little bit about the job?”
“Of course. We have six employees who help us run the cattle. The boys do a lot with the animals as part of their chores, but for the more dangerous or difficult tasks, we hire ranch hands. The boys do their own cooking—again, as part of their chores—but the ranch hands need someone to prepare their meals. They’re sometimes out until eight at night, and they’re so tired when they come in, they need something hearty and hot.”
Claire nodded. “Just dinner, or what about breakfast and lunch?”
“A good breakfast before they head out, and then just sandwiches to pack along with them. They follow pretty much the same pattern even when they’re not out with the cattle, so plan on lots and lots of sandwiches.”
“Okay.” That sounded doable.
“And then there’s the matter of Friday night dinner. I do that myself, but I have to admit, as the years go by, I’m getting a little slower. I could use another pair of hands.”
“What’s so special about Friday? Is it an anniversary or something?”
“What?” Lillian blinked. “Oh, I don’t mean just this Friday—I mean every Friday. I make a huge meal for everyone on the ranch. It’s our way of celebrating all the hard work that was done that week. It’s a mile marker, in a way. We talk about the boys’ accomplishments and give them a chance to be recognized for what they’ve done.”
Claire shifted a little in her chair. “Forgive me for saying so, but this all sounds a little too good to be true. Shouldn’t these boys be in jail? And instead, they’re having parties thrown for them?”
Lillian’s eyes flashed. “My dear, every single boy on this ranch has been badly hurt by people who were supposed to take care of him. That’s why they’ve acted out and gotten into so much trouble. Broken hearts aren’t healed behind metal bars.”
Claire couldn’t help the emotion that welled up inside her just then. She dashed away her tears with the back of her hand, embarrassed that she’d let them slip free. She couldn’t reply, but just nodded.
Lillian must have seen her reaction, but for whatever reason, she chose not to comment on it. Instead, she went right back to business as usual. “For your trial run, I’d like you to make lunch. Not for the whole ranch or even the employees—just for me, my husband, and two of my sons, Adam and Daniel. The kitchen is fully stocked. We’re pretty simple around here—this is Texas, and we like our barbecue and our Tex Mex and other hearty meals. Of course, we should eat our vegetables too.” She laughed and stood up. “I’ll leave you to it. Oh, and plan to eat with us so we can pepper you with questions while we eat. Um, that was a to
tally unintentional cooking pun. Sorry about that.” She laughed again before leaving the kitchen.
Claire sat there for a moment, stunned. An entire kitchen had just been turned over to her—a kitchen in a place that believed in miracles and possibilities. If this was for real, if it was really real, what had she done to deserve it? Nothing. Not one thing. And that made it all the more frightening. If she hadn’t earned it, it could get taken away. Then the dream would be over and she’d be worse off than before because she would have tasted it only to have it snatched away.
She started by opening the fridge and freezer, then looking in each of the cupboards. There was a huge pantry just off the kitchen, and it was stuffed to the gills with everything she could have imagined. As Lillian had already said, there was nothing fancy here—no capers or anchovies or brie—but Claire had just about had it with fancy cooking anyway.
They wanted downhome hearty—that’s what they were going to get. She started pulling out everything she’d need and piling it on the counter. She filled a pot and put it on the stove to boil, and washed up six potatoes to dice and throw in there. She then chopped up some green peppers and onions and sautéed them for just a minute, then added in tomato sauce and her own special blend of spices. Hamburger went into another skillet—she’d never seen a home kitchen with so many great pots and pans—and she chopped up radishes, green onions, and olives into a bowl.
Finally, she stirred some mustard, mayonnaise, bacon bits, and pickle juice together and poured that over the drained potatoes, then added the chopped vegetables. She tossed that all together and put it in the fridge. That really was better when it had overnight to sit, but she didn’t have overnight. She hadn’t been given a deadline for this meal, but it was ten thirty and she assumed they’d like to eat at noon, so that would give the salad ninety minutes to chill.
She drained the grease from the hamburger and then poured the sauce over it. She’d let that all simmer together for a while. Now for a dessert . . . Hmm. Chocolate cake sounded about right, but it wouldn’t be cool on time. No worries—she’d do a molten lava cake. Those were supposed to be served warm.
