Daniel

by Amelia Adams

  “You thought . . . what?”

  “That we’d be having more of a sit-down lunch.”

  “Are we not sitting down? I thought we were—I mean, my knees are bent and I seem to have some sort of chair-like object beneath me . . .”

  He tilted his head to the side. “You know what I mean.”

  She matched his pose. “This is what I made for lunch today. I happen to make very good sandwiches. You’re not being put upon or insulted in any way.”

  “I didn’t mean I felt put upon. I just meant . . .” He sighed. “Claire, listen. Somehow or another, you and I got off to a bad start, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that. I’ve been kicking myself for my part in it ever since. I’d really like it if we could start over again. Are you willing?”

  She glanced down at the table and back up again. “I guess.”

  “Good.” He didn’t move to pick up his sandwich yet. “And what about your part in it?”

  She blinked. “My part?”

  “Yes. I’ve apologized, and now it’s your turn.”

  She snorted. “My turn?”

  “Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Her eyes sure sparkled when she was mad, but he might be a little too mad himself to appreciate them.

  “I’d like to know how this is my fault. You’ve been rude to me since I first got here.”

  “And you’ve been determined to take offense at everything I’ve said, and when I’ve apologized, you’ve only pretended to forgive me.”

  She met his gaze with hers, then nodded. “You’re right. I haven’t made this easy, have I?”

  “Neither of us has. So, are we going to call a truce and mean it this time?”

  She nodded again. “I can do that.”

  “So can I. Now, tell me about this garlic mayonnaise.”

  The sandwich really was delicious, and after they were done eating, Claire shoved her trash back in the sack and cleared her throat. “So, I have a lot in common with these boys,” she said, nodding toward the window where they could see the cabins. “I was in the system for a long time.”

  Daniel had figured something along those lines, but hearing the confirmation of it was good because now he could ask her about it. “How long?”

  Claire looked down at her fingernails, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to get an answer. “I had a little sister,” she said at last. “My mom’s boyfriend . . . well, okay. You might as well know. My mom was a druggie, and she’d bring home friends and boyfriends and people she didn’t even know, and she’d have these parties. Sometimes her friends would bring food over and we’d eat, and sometimes she’d remember to feed us before she got high, and sometimes she didn’t.”

  Daniel’s stomach turned. He wasn’t touching Claire, so he knew he wasn’t picking up on her physical discomfort, but he’d felt it over and over again in the boys he worked with. He was well familiar with it.

  “Well, my little sister . . . she was a year old, and I was seven, and we hadn’t had anything to eat for a while. The kitchen was totally empty—there wasn’t anything I could give her. And she was crying, and my mom’s boyfriend picked her up and shook her . . . and she died. They said it was brain damage from the shaking.”

  Claire’s voice had dropped so low, Daniel could barely hear her. “They took my mom and put her in jail, and him too, and I went into foster care. I had clothes and I had enough to eat, but I was still pretty messed up, you know? I mean, you can’t just be raised like that and be normal. So I got into some trouble at school and at home, trying to figure out what it all meant and how to be a person. I got interested in cooking from watching TV, and that became my outlet. I’d been kicked out of two foster homes before, but this latest one—well, they liked my cooking, so they kept me. I’d go to school, come home and cook, go to bed, and do it all over again. It’s what got me through.”

  Daniel couldn’t help himself. He reached out and touched her hand. This time, he was prepared for the aching rawness in her middle, and he accepted it and bore it with her. “You had to be tough in order to survive,” he said just as softly as she’d been speaking.

  “Yeah. I mean, you can’t just wear your heart on your sleeve, you know? Having feelings is bad. Independent thought is even worse. And you never tell someone on cocaine that they’re wrong. I learned that early on.” Through their shared connection, Daniel felt it as she relived the memory—a blow across the face, followed by the edge of a counter hitting the back of her head. It was all he could do not to flinch.

  “I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, pulling her hand back and burying it in her lap. “I didn’t mean to open up like that. I usually save these stories for . . . for never. I never share these stories.” She gave a little chuckle that ended in a hiccup. “But you’re a counselor, right? You know how to get people to talk?”

  “Naw, that’s Adam’s department,” Daniel said lightly, hoping to ease the moment. “I’m a medical doctor with the rest of my time. I take care of the people here on the ranch, and I also work some hours at the community hospital in Bagley.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. What do your other brothers do?”

  Daniel wished he could tell her everything, but he’d have to stick with the basics just yet. “Well, like I just said, Adam’s the psychiatrist in the family. He counsels the boys regularly and oversees their mental health. Benjamin is in charge of our crops. Caleb runs a lot of our outdoors programs. Ephraim is a vet, and he oversees the animals here. We’ve got quite a number of cattle, but we also have dogs and cats and some smaller farm animals like chickens and goats. Frank and Gideon help the rest of us out with all the different chores around here, and there’s administrative stuff too. We do farmers’ markets pretty regularly—that’s a great way for the boys to learn about marketing and selling, and then we do a big fundraiser every fall to keep us afloat.”

  Claire nodded. “That sounds like a crazy amount of work.”

  “It is, but we’re all invested one hundred percent. These boys are the future—well, all children are.”

  “If you start singing Whitney Houston at me . . .” she said, waggling a finger at him.

  “No Whitney Houston,” he promised. “Even if I agree with the song.”

  Just then, his cell chimed, and he grabbed it out of his pocket. It was a text from Brittany at the office.

  School called to check in. Hunter’s doing fine.

  “Is everything all right?” Claire asked.

  “Yes, thankfully. We had a sick boy last night, and I wasn’t sure I should send him to school today. I asked them to keep us updated, and he seems to be okay.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Claire finished the last of her water, then asked, “Do you know all the boys personally?”

  “I know their names, their stories, their allergies . . .”

  “For thirty boys?”

  “For thirty boys. And you’ll get to know them all too—maybe not their stories, because there are some things we keep confidential, but you’ll come to know their habits and their likes and dislikes just as though they were any other large group of friends.”

  “What kind of turnover do you have?”

  Daniel laughed. “That’s just the thing. Sometimes we can’t get rid of them. Every ranch hand we have right now was once a boy in this program. They want to stay and help others like they were helped. Of course, we can’t keep everyone—that would get a little out of control—so we help them find jobs elsewhere after a while, but I think it says a lot that they want to help us carry forward with what we’ve done here.”

  “I have to say, I’ve been really impressed with the whole setup. It must cost a fortune to run it.”

  Daniel smiled. Another awkward topic . . . He couldn’t just come out and tell her that they sometimes used their gifts to increase their income for the ranch’s benefit. “We hold that fundraiser every year, like I mentioned, and we are eligible for other donations,” he said carefully. “Government grants and w
hatnot too.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up money,” she said, lifting both hands. “Money and politics—two surefire ways to kill a party.”

  “I’m still having a good time,” he replied, making eye contact with her so she’d know he meant it.

  “All this depressing stuff we’ve been talking about, and you’re having a good time?” She lifted an eyebrow.

  He laughed. “That’s not what I mean. You’re a fascinating person, Claire, and I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “I’ve just told you pretty much all there is to know—in fact, a lot more than I’ve told most people.” She stood up. “I need to get a little more work done in the kitchen. This is your gracious out—you can excuse yourself if you want, or you can come chat with me some more while I knead bread dough.”

  Daniel glanced at his watch. “The boys will be home in an hour, so can I hang out until then?”

  She gave him a curious look. “You really want to come talk to me while I knead dough, which is one of the most boring kitchen tasks ever invented?”

  “I most definitely do.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. I’ll try to make it entertaining, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

  “You don’t have to put on a special show for me—you’re plenty entertaining just being yourself.” He’d meant that to sound charming, but it actually came out sounding pretty dorky. How long had it been since he’d talked to a girl? A long time—he’d been so busy with the ranch that he hadn’t given dating a second thought. He’d just trusted that it would happen when it was time, and now that it was time, he was completely unprepared.

  Were there remedial flirting classes available online somewhere?

  He followed her into the kitchen and took a seat on the stool in the corner while she sprinkled flour onto the cutting board and then overturned a bowl of bread dough right into the center of the flour. “Do you want to grease the loaf pans?” she asked. “It’s pretty easy—just squirt the bottoms and sides with that cooking spray.”

  “Sure.” He picked them up and sprayed them, then lined them up on the clean end of the counter.

  She peered into one. “Not bad.”

  He shrugged. “I’m only mostly useless.”

  She separated the dough into six equal chunks and then kneaded each into the shape of a loaf. “So, you’re a doctor.”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s pretty interesting.”

  Daniel smiled at the realization that she felt just as awkward as he did. If they both felt like dorks, that put them on equal footing, and that was a much more comfortable place to be.

  “It is. I get to meet a lot of people and hopefully do some good.”

  She glanced back and forth between him and the bread dough. “Have you ever kneaded before?”

  “Yeah, actually. My mom had us help her in the kitchen when we were growing up.”

  “Huh. Why don’t you wash up and show me? I’m very curious about your loaf-shaping skills.”

  He grinned and walked over to the sink. “Is this how you flirt with every guy you meet?”

  “No, because I don’t flirt with every guy I meet, and who says this is flirting?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I say it’s flirting. It certainly feels like flirting. Am I wrong?” She seemed like the sort of girl who would like a direct challenge. He met her gaze while he rinsed his hands, and she didn’t look away.

  “Fine. It’s flirting. You don’t think I’d just hand dough over to anyone and invite them to mangle it, do you?”

  He grinned again. “No. I think you’d guard it very carefully.”

  “Bet your boots on that.” She waited until he’d dried his hands, then nodded toward the counter. “Flour up. Impress me.”

  They worked side by side for the next few minutes. Daniel had always thought playing with dough was fun, but working with Claire added a whole new dimension. His arm brushed against hers at one point, and while the pain was still there, centered in her chest, the sharpness of it had decreased. He didn’t know if she was in less pain or if he was becoming used to it.

  “Tell me about your sister,” he said, feeling braver than he probably should. If he was to get to know her, he had to see what was behind those walls she’d created for herself.

  Claire’s hands went still, and then she began kneading again. “Her name was Rain, and she was wonderful. Mom managed to stay clean while she was pregnant, which was a miracle, but as soon as she delivered, she went right back to it. Rain had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she just had this way of looking around like she knew stuff. Your dad kind of has the same look about him, actually.”

  Daniel nodded. His father did know stuff. Claire went on without seeming to notice Daniel’s reaction. “I played with her all the time, like she was my baby doll or something. She was born in the summer while I was out of school, thank goodness, and when I had to go back, I’d spend all day freaking out, wondering how she was until I got home.” Her hands grew still again. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if we talk about something else? I didn’t realize that hanging out with you was going to mean sharing my entire life story.” She tacked a little chuckle onto the end, but Daniel knew how very seriously she meant those words.

  “Of course. And I’m the one who should be apologizing—you shouldn’t have to share anything with me if you’re not ready.” He paused. “Or ever. You don’t ever have to share. Because that’s your personal stuff. Not mine.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “You just can’t stop being a counselor for one second, can you? I know you said Adam’s the one in charge of all that, but I can just see the wheels turning in your head—you really want to figure me out. I’m telling you—what you see is what you get. I’m a former foster care child with all the baggage that brings, doing her best in a confusing world. That’s it.”

  Daniel put his loaf into a pan and covered it with a clean dishtowel. “I think you’re doing a great job of it. And now I’m going to get ready to meet the bus—Ephraim has us helping him in the barn today.”

  “Thanks for your help with the bread,” she replied. “That’s one whole loaf I won’t have to knead.”

  “Anything I can do to lift the heavy burden.” He liked her smile. It was a great smile.

  “Why don’t you bring the boys around when they get home? I’ll have some cookies out of the oven by then.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be all over that. Me too, to tell you the truth. Thanks.”

  As Daniel walked away from the bunkhouse, he couldn’t help but chuckle again. That girl . . . She wasn’t like anyone else on earth. But that was okay. He didn’t want someone who was like anyone else on earth. He wanted someone unique.

  He wanted Claire.

  Now he just hoped that she could find a place in her heart for him in between all those emotional boxes she’d so carefully stacked up and tucked away.

  Chapter Seven

  Claire leaned up against the counter, completely ignoring the flour all over it. What in the world was happening to her? She’d gone from almost loathing Daniel McClain to being fascinated by him in the space of a few hours. He really seemed to listen when she talked, and the way he’d get all nervous and start rambling . . . it was kind of charming.

  She already knew she belonged on this ranch. That morning when she’d woken up and looked out the window, there was something about the place that seemed to greet her. The men had welcomed her like a sister, literally cheering when they came into the dining room and saw food laid out for them. In just one day’s time, she’d lost a piece of herself here, and if she were to leave, she knew she’d never get that piece back. And that was all before she even thought about Daniel.

  When she did think about Daniel . . . Well, that was another problem altogether. She shouldn’t have asked him to help with the bread. He’d stood way too close. Okay, he had to because that’s how long the counter was, but still. There was something about him, an aura or some ot
her weird thing, that pulled her in, and she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. She hadn’t belonged to anyone since she lost Rain, and the thought of getting emotionally entangled again . . .

  It wasn’t a good idea. It really wasn’t.

  Even as she had the thought, though, she found herself working on the cookies she’d serve the boys. And she had some whole milk, too—perfect for dunking.

  She had just put the next batch in the oven when Brittany popped in. “Hey there!” she said, then took a deep sniff. “Oh, wow. It smells so good in here.”

  “Thanks.” Claire wiped off her hands. “Want a cookie?”

  “Are you kidding me? Hello? Yes!”

  Claire grabbed the jug of milk and poured some, then handed Brittany a cookie right off the cooling rack.

  “You’re the best,” Brittany said after she’d polished both off. “Like, literally the best. Thank you.” She wiped her mouth on her napkin, then startled. “Oh! I almost forgot why I came over. This is yours.” She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. “Everyone on staff has a cell with everyone else’s numbers programmed into it. That way, you can always find who you’re looking for. It’s super handy. For instance, if you’re in here and you look out the window and you see a kid punch another kid, you can call Adam and he can come do his Adam thing. Or Frank—Frank’s really good at calming down the kids. I’ve already sent out a text to all the other phones letting them know your number.”

  Claire took the phone and nodded. “That’s really cool. Thanks.” She paused. “I told Daniel to bring his boys here for cookies after school. Can I invite all the boys?”

  “All thirty? Wow—you’re brave.” Brittany chuckled. “Sure you can. You’ll just send a group text.” She showed Claire a pre-programmed setting. “This will get all the brothers at once.”

  “That really is cool. Thanks.” She practiced by inviting everyone to stop by before their chores. “And of course, you should come back over too.”

  “Oh, I’m so there.” Brittany grinned. “See you later.”

  Claire smiled in return, then pulled out some more butter. She’d need to make more cookies if she was going to feed thirty boys—and seven brothers.