Frank (Seven Sons Book 6)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Frank

  Seven Sons Book Six

  by Amelia C. Adams

  Copyright © Amelia Adams 2017

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  With thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Erin, George, Laurie, Mary, Meisje, Melissa,

  Shelby, and Tammy.

  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 One

  “Okay, guys, what’s going on here?” Frank stepped into the kitchen, where Hunter and Nick seemed to be having a little bit of an argument. He glanced around and took in the situation—Hunter seemed ashamed, Nick looked belligerent, and the other boys didn’t know what to do. Gideon, Frank’s brother, lifted an eyebrow from where he stood in the corner, one hand on Christopher’s shoulder. A powder keg of six teenage boys all crammed into one kitchen, trying to do their dinner chores.

  “I’m just tired of trying to live Hunter’s stupid diet,” Nick said, slouching against the counter. “Why do we have to eat the same way just because he’s sick?”

  Frank tried hard not to smile at that. He’d had the same thought several times since he and Gideon had moved in with this group of boys—he wasn’t crazy about Hunter’s low-fat, high-protein diet either. But he’d tell Nick what he’d been telling himself, sending a ray of calm and teamwork with his words. “We’re doing it to support Hunter because we’re a family. Besides, you get to eat plenty of other stuff—Lillian’s been keeping a really good variety on the table at our Friday night dinners, Claire’s been sending over treats, and you eat school lunch every day.” Not that school lunch was the most delicious thing, but it was a change from dinner.

  “And Maria says this is temporary, just until Hunter feels confident eating this way on his own,” Michael piped up. His sister was Hunter’s nutritionist as well as being Ephraim’s new wife.

  “What do you think, Nick? Is it survivable for a few more weeks?” Frank asked, leaning against the opposite counter, but with a posture much more relaxed than Nick’s. He sent another wave of calm, encouraging the boy to loosen his stance.

  The boy pulled in a long breath. “Yeah, I guess,” he muttered.

  “Great. Because those burgers you’re cooking smell really good,” Frank told him.

  “Claire showed us how to season the meat so it still tastes good even though it’s not as fatty,” Nick said, picking up his spatula and turning back to the stove. He was trying to hide it, but Frank had seen his flush of pride at the praise.

  “I can’t wait to taste it.” Frank glanced around the room again. There wasn’t nearly the tension there had been before, and he gave a nod. That was better.

  He met Gideon’s gaze over the heads of the boys. Gideon had the same calming gift Frank did, and he’d been using it, but Frank’s was a little more focused, more direct. It was the only gift Frank had whereas Gideon had six—that was hard to juggle.

  “I forgot to bring in one of the sacks of groceries,” Frank said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Gideon nodded, making a silent promise to keep an eye on the situation, and Frank walked toward the front door.

  “Hey, Frank,” Hunter called out from behind him, and Frank came to a stop, his hand on the doorknob.

  “What’s up, buddy?” He mentally crossed his fingers that Hunter wasn’t getting sick again—they’d been working so hard to give his body what it needed.

  Hunter walked up to him slowly and looked down at the floor. “I feel really bad that everyone’s having to eat the same as me. Can’t they do their regular thing? I’m used to being different now—I can take it.”

  Frank smiled, appreciation for this boy welling up in his heart. Hunter had grown up a lot in the last couple of months since his diagnosis of lymphangiectasia, and if anyone was ready to go it alone, he’d bet Hunter was. “I tell you what. I’ll talk to Maria and see what she thinks. And I’ll tell you something else, too.” He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll keep eating with you, okay? That way, the boys can eat their regular food, and you still won’t be alone.”

  Hunter’s whole face lit up. “You’d do that for me, Frank?”

  “Sure I will.” Inside, Frank was kicking himself. Why did he do that? But Hunter’s reaction was the reason why—he’d just made that boy’s life better with a simple sacrifice. And Hunter wouldn’t have to know if he hit the diner for a bacon cheeseburger once in a while . . .

  “Thanks! You’re the best!” Hunter ran back into the kitchen, and Frank smiled, shaking his head as he went out to the truck for the forgotten groceries. It didn’t take a lot to make someone feel loved.

  He had just hefted the sack into his arms when he saw Tiffani walking toward him across the compound. “Hey, how’s it going?” he called out.

  “I really don’t know,” she said. She reached his side and leaned on the hood of the truck. “There’s a reporter coming out to interview me about the ranch’s fundraiser, and while I think it’s a great opportunity to get some publicity going, I’m a little nervous. She’ll be taking pictures and quoting me and asking all kinds of questions. I’m not used to being in the spotlight—I’m in the background. That’s what I’m good at.”

  Frank could feel her nerves radiating off her. He slung his free arm around her shoulders and sent her some calm, laughing when she slumped against him in relief. “Better?”

  “Yes, much. Now if you could just follow me around the whole time she’s here . . .”

  Frank shrugged. “Why not?”

  Tiffani looked up at him. “You’d do that? Seriously?”

  “Well, probably not every single minute because I do have work to do, but yeah, I can hang out. Answer questions about the ranch you might not know. You could call me the family liaison or something . . . not that you’re not family, but you know.”

  “Yeah.” Her face lit up. “You have no idea how much better that makes me feel.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I actually do know.”

  She laughed. “Uh, sorry. Right. Thanks so much, Frank.”

  “When is she coming? And why now? It’s months until the fundraiser.”

  “She said it’ll be a feature in her magazine, and those take a long time to prepare. She’ll be here day after tomorrow. Truth be told, I sort of feel like we were a second choice—I mean, why else wouldn’t they give us more notice? But it’s a feature. So that’s good.”

  “A feature, huh? That’s kind of a big deal.” He could see why Tiffani would be nervous. “Text me when she gets here, and I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you!” She gave him a quick hug, then walked back the way she’d come. Frank carried the sack into the house and unpacked it, handing the cans to Jose to put on the shelf while he put away the boxes. As he worked, he thought about what it would mean, having a journalist around. His father must have approved it, so it couldn’t be a bad thing, but still, it felt a little invasive, and for a family who guarded their secrets as carefully as they did, he wasn’t sure he felt comfortable with this. Maybe he should calm himself down while he was at it.

  ***

  Lani Markland leaned back in her desk chair, but not as far as she had the week before when she’d lost her balance and tipped against the wall. That had been really embarrassing, especially when she hadn’t been able to get herself upright and one of her coworkers had to pull her out. He’d teased her constantly ever since. Her mother used to say that
was a sign that a boy liked you. Um, no, it was a sign that he thought you were a klutz, and he’d be right.

  She’d spent the last week researching the McClain Boys’ Ranch online. Mr. Denning, her editor-in-chief, wanted a feel-good article to run in the early fall edition, and their first choice had fallen through, so he’d assigned her this piece. If she did a good job, she’d pretty much be assured of her career at Texas Times Magazine. If she didn’t, well, she’d pretty much be assured that she’d never rise above the ranks of junior reporter. And that would stink because she was good at what she did—dang good.

  The McClains seemed like an interesting family. They were a tight-knit group who all lived on ranch property to take care of the thirty boys assigned to them by the state. The ranch was like a home for juvenile delinquents, but it seemed to be something more than that, something more personal. That was one of the first things Lani wanted to ask about. What kept the ranch from being like all the other homes for lost boys? She was also a little concerned about the compound-like appearance of the ranch. This wasn’t some kind of cult, was it? Why hadn’t any of the brothers moved away?

  A knock on her door made her look up. “Just checking to see if you’re okay,” Tom said, giving her a wink.

  She took a piece of paper, wadded it up, and threw it at him just as he disappeared around the corner of the wall, laughing. Sheesh. You rescue a girl from her chair once and you think you can persecute her forever.

  Lani pulled up her to-do list and made sure she’d done everything she possibly could for that day, then closed out of her computer and grabbed her purse. She needed to hit the grocery store on the way home or she’d have nothing to eat. Her one remaining yogurt had been her breakfast that morning, and she didn’t think she even had a box of baking soda left in her fridge. She’d been too busy to run her usual errands for the last few weeks.

  When she stepped on the elevator, she found herself standing next to Jill, one of the proofreaders for the magazine. They greeted each other and waited for the elevator to take them down to the parking garage. There was a deep heaviness coming from Jill, something sad and melancholy. Lani tried to ignore it, telling herself that she really didn’t have time to get involved in someone else’s life just then, but she also couldn’t let Jill walk away without saying something to her.

  As the elevator doors opened, Lani tossed her evening plans to the side and said, “I’ve been dying for some hot chocolate all day. Do you want to grab some with me?”

  Jill looked surprised, but shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I’ve got a lot to do.”

  Sometimes people just needed a little more prodding. “Are you sure? Because I could use some company tonight.” Lani had meant to show Jill that they had something in common, but as soon as she spoke, she realized that she wasn’t just mirroring Jill’s feelings back to her—she really could use the company.

  A smile lit up Jill’s face. “I don’t know how entertaining I’ll be, but sure. I’ll come.”

  “I’m not asking for entertainment—just someone to drink hot chocolate with me.”

  They left the parking garage and walked to the diner next door. It wasn’t the most up-to-date place and the vinyl on some of the seats was cracking, but it had the best food for blocks around.

  “Two hot chocolates on me,” Lani told the waitress, ignoring Jill’s protests. She didn’t make a lot, but she knew it was more than Jill made because she’d started out at the magazine as a proofreader herself. They brought in almost nothing.

  “Sure thing.” The waitress moved off, and Lani set her purse beside her on the bench. She knew plenty of grocery stores that were open late—this little detour didn’t have to be the end of the world.

  She kept the conversation light, hoping Jill would drop some hints about what was troubling her. The dark cloud she was hosting wasn’t going to dissipate until she’d had a chance to talk about it, but she sure seemed reluctant to open up. It wasn’t until Lani dropped a casual comment about her own ex-boyfriend that Jill’s shoulders drooped and she let down her walls.

  “Yeah, I lost my boyfriend this last weekend,” she said, gazing down into her mug as though staring at hot chocolate foam was like reading tea leaves.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Lani said. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “He decided he wasn’t into the whole ‘being faithful’ thing,” Jill said with a bitter chuckle. “I should have seen it coming—it’s not like he hadn’t given me a million hints. The worst part is that I’d build it all up in my head so much—we’d get married, have some kids, I’d bake bread . . . but that’s dumb, right?”

  “Oh, baking bread is definitely dumb,” Lani said with a straight face. “Who needs bread, anyway?” I do, she thought. And eggs and milk and butter and cereal . . .

  Jill laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. And can I tell you something?” Lani leaned forward a little. “It’s better to be alone and free than chained to someone who doesn’t respect you. I was pretty crushed when my relationship ended, but then I started to see all the little ways in which he’d been tearing me down, and I realized that he’d taken away a lot of the things I value about myself. A real relationship is one where you build each other up, not tear each other down.”

  Jill nodded. “You’re right. I don’t need someone like that in my life. I should find someone who already wants all the same things I do instead of trying to make him into that person.”

  “You’re very wise, you know that?”

  Jill laughed again. “Thanks for this, Lani. I think I needed to talk even more than you did—I’m so glad you invited me out.”

  “My pleasure,” Lani replied. And it was. The groceries were an inconvenience, but the feelings of others were a priority, and she knew she had to listen when that inner voice told her to.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning after the boys went to school, Frank plopped into the chair in his father’s study, waiting for Peter McClain to look up from his spreadsheet. Their father was still involved in the running of the ranch even though Adam sat in the official chair in the main office.

  Peter made a final notation, then set his pencil down and looked at his son. “And what can I do for you today?”

  “Tiffani says a reporter’s coming out here to do a story on the ranch tomorrow. You approved that, right?”

  “Of course. Tiffani cleared it with me as soon as she got the call.”

  “I figured she did. I just . . . I don’t know. It’s such an odd thing for us to do, letting the press wander around.”

  “I don’t think of one reporter as being ‘the press,’ do you?” Peter smiled. “I believe this article will do a lot of good for the ranch. It will showcase what we do here and tell people that there’s always hope in the world, even when we think there’s not.”

  “But how do we know that’s how the article will be written?” Frank leaned forward on his elbows. “I hear bad stuff all the time about the negative spin journalists like to put on things. They’re interested in selling papers, not in telling the truth. If they make us out to be a bunch of crazies, how does that help the ranch?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Is your precog telling you anything?”

  Peter sat back and regarded his son. “No, but my regular human being intuition is telling me that it’s going to be all right. Not everything has to come through a gift, son. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Frank replied, but Peter continued as though Frank hadn’t spoken.

  “Take your mother, for instance. She doesn’t have any gifts—at least, not the kind we have. And yet I’d put her intuition and her ability to love unconditionally right up there with Benjamin’s ability to grow things or Ephraim’s way with animals. That comes from the soul of a person, and everyone has a soul. You don’t need a gift for that.”

  Frank nodded. He’d heard his father say as much before, but he still found it comforting when the
y could turn to their gifts for strength or verification. “I told Tiffani I’d stick around while the reporter is here so I could help her stay calm. She’s pretty freaked out, being shoved in the spotlight like this.”

  Peter chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the thing about event coordinators. They do their best work behind the scenes so everything in front of the scenes looks good. This will turn out, though, and it will give her some of the credit she deserves. We’re still months out and yet she’s got this fundraiser more organized than any we’ve ever done.”

  “And she makes me pretty happy, too.” A new voice spoke from the doorway, and Adam came in the room. “I heard you singing the praises of my new wife and I had to come chime in.”

  “You heard us from your office?” Frank asked.

  “No, I was grabbing cookies from the kitchen. My hearing’s not that good.” Adam took the other spare chair and crossed one ankle over his opposite knee. “So, where are we going to bury all the bodies while the reporter’s here?”

  Peter shook his head with a smile. “We really don’t have anything to hide. We just won’t read anyone’s thoughts or have any visions or heal any broken bones while she’s here, that’s all.”

  “Sounds pretty boring to me,” Frank said with a grin. “How long will she be here, anyway?”

  Adam shrugged. “I don’t remember if Tiffani said.”

  “I hope it’s not long. Otherwise, things are gonna be dull around here.” Frank stood up. “Catch you all later. I’ve got some fences to mend.” He left the house, detouring through the kitchen to grab some of those cookies Adam had been talking about, and deciding to pay one more call before heading out to the fence line.

  “Knock knock,” he said, sticking his head into the office. Brittany looked up, her face relaxing when she saw him.

  “Hey,” she said. “How’d you know I needed a cookie?” She took the one he was holding out to her. As soon as she bit into it, he sent her a wave of calm. He’d let her think the chocolate was making her feel better.