by Holly Jacobs
He walked Michelle and Brandon to the car. "About tomorrow. Rather than meeting at the school, would you two like to meet at my place? I have a few ideas for fixing up a few of the games and could use the help."
"Sure," Brandon said before Michelle had a chance to answer. "That would be cool, wouldn't it, Aunt Shell?" He looked at her with undisguised delight.
As much as she'd like to have said no, she couldn't. "That would be fine. I'll pick Brandon up after school and then we'll drive to your place."
"See you then," he said, and headed toward his truck.
"He's the coolest, isn't he, Aunt Shell? How long till we get the tests back?"
"A couple weeks, Bran," she told him for the umpteenth time. "Honey, you can't get your hopes up. Not until we know for sure."
"I know, I know. I need to be realistic." He echoed her own words.
Be realistic. It had sounded like good advice, but listening to Brandon parrot it, Michelle wasn't so sure. "Yes, let's both be realistic, but it's okay to hope."
She saw the happiness in his expression. "Yeah, I guess I can hope. 'Cause he's a nice guy. Just look how he took time off to help with the Christmas Fair, so he could spend time with me and I could get to know him."
"That was a nice thing."
"So, I'll be realistic, but I'll hope."
Despite her fears of losing Brandon and shaking up the life they'd so painstakingly built, Michelle found herself hoping, for Brandon's sake that Daniel was his father after all.
"YOU HAVE A LOVELY FAMILY." The waitress's words echoed in Daniel's head all night. They'd left him feeling like a total fraud, and he hadn't known how to respond.
Michelle hadn't appeared to know what to say, either, so in the end he'd simply said, "Thanks."
Michelle and Brandon. . .they were a family.
He was the outsider. An interloper.
Even if he was Brandon's father, he wasn't sure where he'd fit in.
Chloe walked over and placed her head on his knee. He brushed the sawdust off her nose. "Occupational hazard when you come and help me out," he said aloud.
She wagged her tail encouragingly.
At about three in the morning he'd decided he wasn't going to get any more sleep, so he'd come out here to work. It was six now. He'd managed to get a lot done.
"I think they'll like them, don't you?"
Chloe wagged her tail again.
That was the nice thing about a dog, she pretty much always agreed with him.
He rubbed his hand through her winter-thick fur and tried to figure out what he wanted. Brandon was a great kid. Any man would be proud to be his father. But did Daniel want the hassle? He'd built a comfortable life, doing work he loved. He had Chloe for companionship.
Life was simple. He didn't answer to anyone, and no one counted on him. He never had to fear letting someone down.
That's how he liked it. He should be praying with every fiber of his being that Brandon wasn't his son.
And yet. . .
You have a lovely family.
When the waitress had said the words, he'd wished he could claim Brandon and Michelle as his family. For just that briefest moment, he'd wanted it desperately. Even though he knew his family track record was less than stellar.
Knowing what he should want, and not wanting what he shouldn't want—that wasn't always easy.
The head might understand what was best, but the heart didn't always listen.
Chapter Six
It would be easier for Michelle if she didn't like Daniel McLean. She'd be able to tell herself that she was going along with his seeing Brandon just in case he was Brandon's father.
But since she did like him, it was hard to tell how much of her decision to be here today was because it was best for Brandon, and how much was because being in Daniel's company was easy.
Very easy.
Too easy.
"Aunt Shell?" Brandon's tone said whatever he was going to ask next was important to him.
"Yes, Bran?"
"What should I call him?"
She didn't need to ask him who they were talking about. "What do you want to call him?"
She glanced at him in the passenger seat. His hair, as usual, was a tousled mess. And he wore a perplexed expression, as if wrangling with a question of the utmost import. "Well, Mr. McLean doesn't sound really right."
"Too formal," she agreed.
She made the soft left from Wattsburg Road onto Old Wattsburg Road.
"I tried Daniel, but that's what everyone else calls him," Brandon said.
"And you want something different?" Michelle asked.
He nodded. "I think, if he doesn't mind, I'd like to call him Dan."
"Why don't you ask him to be sure?"
She quickly looked at him and he nodded. "Okay, I will."
She made the left onto Daniel's road, and about a half mile later, turned into Daniel's driveway.
"Come on, Aunt Shell," Brandon cried as he bolted from the car the moment she put it into Park.
Chloe ran out from behind the house to greet him. Brandon was immediately down on the ground, rolling around with her in the snow. Michelle sat in the car watching the two of them before she got out. The sight made her smile.
They were both covered in snow and, when Brandon sat up, Chloe backed off him and shook. Snow flew everywhere.
Her smile evaporated as Daniel came out of the barn. He walked over to Brandon, who immediately forgot about the dog and got up, watching this man he hoped was his father.
Michelle got out of the car.
"Hey," Brandon said by way of a greeting to Daniel.
"Hey, Brandon." Daniel looked at Michelle as she approached them. "Michelle, hi—"
Brandon interrupted. "I know you said I could call you Daniel, but I talked to Aunt Shell and she said if it was okay with you, I could call you Dan."
"That's what they called my grandfather. I was named after him. Everyone called me Daniel to differentiate between us. I always thought it was better than being called Little Dan. I'd be proud to have you call me by his name."
"I mean, if you are my dad, Dan is awfully close to Dad, so it won't be a hard change."
He hadn't mentioned that part of it to Michelle, but she could tell he'd thought long and hard about it.
Daniel agreed. "You're right, Dan is awfully close to Dad."
"So, if you are my dad, you won't mind me calling you Dad?"
Daniel knelt so that he was eye level with Brandon. "Son, any man would be lucky to have you calling him Dad." Daniel stopped, seemingly unsure what to say next.
Michelle took pity and stepped in. "Well, Daniel, why don't you show us what progress you've made."
"That sounds like a good idea." He led them to the barn. "Come on in."
As she entered the barn, Michelle saw two giant wooden panels with holes in them leaning against a workbench.
"I hope you don't mind. Your old beanbag toss was beat. I thought it might be time for an upgrade. I have the wood all sanded, and thought you two might help me paint one with a Santa. I already sketched it. And I thought, just to switch things up, we'd do a snowman, as well. I made the holes a lot smaller on him, so it's more challenging for older kids. When we've got them painted, I'll put a few coats of a sealant on them. They should last the school for years."
"Daniel, you spent so much time. I thought maybe you could just slap some staples or some more glue on the other one, and fix it. I didn't imagine you taking time to do not just one, but two new ones."
"Slapping some staples and glue onto a project to hold it together isn't how I do things. Imagine what it would do to my reputation," he teased.
"Well, thank you. We can certainly help with the painting."
Before they got started, she took another look around Daniel's shop. She wasn't a woodworker, but if she was, it would be paradise.
There had to be a dozen big machines. Saws she could recognize, but some were out of her league. Huge workben
ches. Vises. And a giant Peg-Board with tools of every shape and description hung neatly.
"This is amazing," she said. "It's even more amazing than the first time we saw it the other day."
Brandon called. "Hey, Dan, can I start painting?"
Michelle could tell he was trying out the name on Dan, and from his happy expression, she gathered he was pleased with it.
"Sure," Daniel said easily. "Let's get you set up."
Michelle watched as Daniel got an old shirt and put it over Brandon's clothes. Then he laid the snowman beanbag toss on the ground, opened a can of paint and got him started.
Brandon dipped the paintbrush into the can, then stopped, the paintbrush dripping over the can. "What if I do it wrong?"
"Well, if you like how you paint it, then it's not wrong."
"But what if I don't? What if I make a huge mistake?"
Michelle started to answer, but decided to hold her tongue and let Daniel take the question.
"Then we'll fix it," he said with no hesitation. "My grandpa used to say, 'Mistakes are like rocks. If you try to drop them, you're bound to hit your own foot and it'll hurt. But if you study them carefully and put them in the creek, you'll eventually have enough to get to the other side.'"
Brandon looked confused. "What does that mean?"
"Well, my grandpa had a lot of sayings, and none of them were really clear, but I always thought this one meant, if you try to get rid of your mistakes by ignoring them, they're bound to end up hurting you. However, if you take them out, and study them carefully, trying to figure out where you went wrong, then you can use them as a stepping stone to new things."
"So, if I make a mistake painting?" Brandon persisted.
"If you do, then we'll correct it and the next time you start painting, you'll do it just a bit better. You can't learn anything without making a few mistakes. That's what my grandma used to say. She was more to the point than my grandfather."
"They sound nice." There was a wistfulness in Brandon's voice that tore at Michelle. "I have a grandma, but she doesn't live here, and doesn't visit much. She just sends me a present on my birthday and Christmas."
"I'm sorry," Daniel said.
Brandon shrugged. "Aunt Shell says she loves me in her own way. That you can't make someone love you the way you want, that you just have to take what they can give and accept it."
"Your aunt is a very smart lady."
"Yeah, I think so, too," Brandon assured him. Then more loudly, he said, "But don't tell her I said that, 'cause she'll remind me of that next time I want to do something and she has to say no."
"I won't tell," Daniel promised, looking back at Michelle and winking. "But I suspect your aunt already knows how smart she is."
"Sure, she's real good with math. I mean, most of the kids' moms and dads can't help them with math homework, but Aunt Shell always can. And she can explain it better than the teacher. So, I go home, ask her, then show my friends the next day before class."
Brandon started painting in the snowman's bottom snowball.
Daniel turned around and looked at Michelle. "I have something else to show you."
"My, you were busy last night."
"I didn't sleep well, so I worked," he admitted as they walked across the workshop.
"I didn't sleep well, either," she told him.
He went over to a the workbench, and reached underneath it and pulled out a wooden Christmas tree. It was composed of graduated stars, stacked one on top of the other on a thick wooden dowel, the biggest at the bottom and gradually getting smaller toward the top. The ends of the stars had holes drilled in them. "Your foam tree was a little beat-up, too. I've got this green stain, and then with a few coats of polyurethane, you'll have a sucker tree—"
"That will last for years," she finished for him. She ran a hand over the bottom star. The wood was sanded to a silky smoothness. "You like making things to last."
"It's what I've built my business on. The antique pieces that I restore. . . Hopefully my repairs will help them remain for future generations."
Michelle had a sudden burst of insight. "You're a dreamer." She hadn't meant to say it out loud, and hadn't even realized she'd done so until she saw Daniel's expression.
"Pardon?"
Now that she'd said it, she had to explain. "You don't live just in the here and now, you live in the past and the future. A dreamer."
She felt embarrassed by the explanation.
"And what are you?" he asked.
"I'm a realist. I live in the here and now. I deal with the concrete. That's why I like numbers. They're solid. They're always the same. One and one always equals two. I like that certainty."
"When I was in college, I thought I was a realist, as well. I followed my grandfather's advice and was a business major. Business was something you could count on. That's what he wanted for me. Stability. Then I met your sister and she taught me to dream."
THE MINUTE he mentioned Tara, Daniel knew he'd made a mistake. He could almost see Michelle physically shut him out. It was as if a wall had gone up.
"Yes," she said. "Tara was a dreamer. It didn't matter who she hurt getting what she dreamed of. My whole life has been spent picking up the pieces of Tara's broken dreams."
"Michelle, I'm—" He started to apologize, but she cut him off.
"If you find me that stain, I'll get to work on this. You can help Brandon paint."
He'd been dismissed.
He wanted to talk to her about Tara, but clearly Michelle wasn't in the mood, so he let it go.
"The stain's right here." He pointed to the small container on a nearby workbench. "I left out gloves, a sponge brush and a rag. Just brush the stain on, wait a minute and wipe it off with the rag."
She nodded and picked up the gloves. "I can handle it. Go spend time with Brandon. That's why we're here, right?"
"Yes, I guess it is." And it was. He was spending time with Michelle and Brandon in order to get to know the boy who might be his son. But there was something about Michelle that made him want to know her better. He wanted to talk about Tara, wanted Michelle to open up to him again, and he wasn't sure why.
Having an amicable relationship with Brandon's aunt was going to be important if Brandon was his son, but that wasn't the reason he wanted to spend more time with her.
He liked her.
It was that simple.
But she was already busy sponging on the stain, ignoring him. So he left her to it and joined Brandon, who was meticulously painting in his outline. "This is going to be so cool, Dan. Do you think, sometime, you'd let me help with the tools, not just the painting?"
"Sure, if you want to learn to use some of the tools, I can show you. We'd have to check with your aunt, but as long as you follow the safety rules, you'd be fine. And the first safety rule in my shop is don't touch any of the power tools without my express permission. Some of them can be dangerous. Actually, I guess all of them can be dangerous, if you don't know what you're doing. I wasn't much older than you when I started working in the wood shop."
"You learned when you were my age?" Brandon asked.
"My grandfather worked for the city streets department, plowing the roads in the winter, filling potholes and that kind of thing. But when he got home, he'd head to the garage and make things. He was a talented carpenter. He didn't do furniture and renovation work, but he did a lot of carving. He especially liked Santas. I've got a whole cabinet full of them, and some of the other things he made, in the house."
"Can you show me?"
"Sure. When we're done here, if you like and your aunt says it's okay." He tried to be careful to not step on Michelle's toes. She was in charge of Brandon. He wasn't sure how that would change if he found out he was Brandon's father. Would she consider sharing custody with him? Would she let him take an active role in Brandon's life? And what if she wouldn't? Would he be willing to fight for his rights?
He glanced at her systematically staining the tree. She'd been accom
modating so far, but right now he was temporary. What if he was permanent?
"Well, if you are my dad," Brandon said, echoing his own thoughts, "that would make your grandpa my great-grandfather and I'd like to know about him." The boy paused. "Do you think he would have liked me?"
"I'm sure he would have. He was a nice man. And talented at what he did."
"Was he happy you were going to be a carpenter?"
Daniel had just told Michelle this story, and turned to see if she was listening. But she was intent on staining and far enough away that he wasn't even sure if she could hear, so he told it again. "My grandfather wanted me to be a businessman. He thought it would make a more secure job. It was your mom who told me I shouldn't worry about what was safe. I should follow my dream instead."
"She did that?"
"She did."
Brandon nodded and looked as if he was digesting the new fact about his mother.
Daniel finally said, "Tell me, what sort of things do you like to do. . . when you're not painting snowmen and Santas? I have a whole list of things I'd like to know. Do you play sports? Do you like to read?"
"I just finished Lord of the Rings. I liked the movies, and Aunt Shell said the books were even better, and they were. At least, once I got used to the way Tolkien wrote. It was. . ."
"More formal," Daniel supplied. "I remember that from when I read them. Your aunt was right, the movies were great, but the books were better. I'm glad you like books. I can't remember when I wasn't reading something."
"You can thank Aunt Shell for that. When I was little, right after I came to live with her, she let me stay up an extra half hour if I read."
"And so you read?"
Brandon laughed. "Yeah, or she'd read to me. She liked fairy tales, even though I kept telling her they were for girls. They all started with once upon and ended with happily ever after. That's not a boy thing." He shot a look at Michelle.
"After a while," Brandon continued, "I'd find a book that I couldn't wait to read the rest of, so I'd read during the day, and now, I just read whenever I get a chance."
"Well, we've already covered that your aunt's a smart lady."
"She is. She worries a lot, though." Brandon's eyebrows creased with concern as he said the words.
