The Dad Next Door

by Stephanie Dees

  The Twilight Zone thing was still kind of buzzing in Joe’s head, but he had the good sense to nod. “Yeah, fine with me.”

  Amelia bounced on the bed in the room she’d picked, a cloud of dust pluming around her. Claire shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting the better end of that deal.”

  Joe coughed, made a face, then coughed again. “You’re right about that. We’ll come back tomorrow after school and get started cleaning this place out. Amelia, it’s time to go.”

  They stepped out into the light and Joe slid his sunglasses on. “Why don’t you come back to Bertie’s with us tonight? She’ll have some kind of huge dinner and expect me to eat it all. Plus, if you’re not there, she’s just going to be grilling me about you. If you come, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Amelia butted in. “Come to dinner, Claire. Stay in the guest room. I heard Gram say she wanted you to.”

  Claire hesitated but finally nodded her head. “If I can keep Amelia to help me get the animals fed and settled, I can meet you there for dinner.”

  “Done. I’ll see y’all there shortly.” Joe strode toward the barn and his truck, turning back for a second to look at the ramshackle place he’d just agreed to live in. It was either the best decision he’d ever made or the worst, but either way, they would be moving back to Florida when his arm and hand were fully rehabbed. He’d prayed for something to break the ice with Amelia, and at least they’d be working on it together.

  First thing on his list was a mousetrap. Or a cat. He called back to Claire. “Hey, how long is it gonna take that cat to grow up and catch mice?”

  She laughed. “Sorry, my friend. Longer than you’ve got. Maybe Mama Kitty will help you out.”

  Joe shook his head, stomping the mud off his feet. He slid into the driver’s seat of his truck. “Bye, Amelia. See you at dinner.”

  His daughter lifted her head from nuzzling the kitten and waved. Would wonders never cease?

  He wasn’t naive enough to believe this was the end of the reign of silence with his daughter, but he was so thankful for the reprieve.

  * * *

  After dinner with Joe’s family, Claire sat on the front porch, rocking the swing gently with her foot. She was sure there was something she should be doing, but right now it felt so good just to stop. Stop moving, stop thinking, stop planning. Just breathe.

  There were a few random sounds, a trash can lid clanking, a bell on a kid’s bicycle, but mostly it was just peaceful. The back door creaked open. Joe stepped onto the porch and held out his hand. Four chocolates sparkled in their multicolored wrappers. “Ah, you do know the secrets of womankind, Joe Sheehan.”

  “Two sisters.” He sat down in the swing beside her, his body weight setting it off kilter. “No secrets, just being observant like a good cop would.”

  Claire looked into those mesmerizing blue eyes. “You know you’re taking on quite a challenge with that cottage. All joking aside, I’m not sure the thing would hold up against a strong wind.”

  He took a swig of his coffee and leaned back, stretching his arm the length of the seat back. “I know. But then there’s Amelia.”

  Claire laughed softly. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. My sister is moving here next month with four of her own horses so that we can do therapy with the kids. I can’t afford five horses. But my sister needs me. Then there’s someone else’s kid who just might be unlocked by time on horseback. And you see how this goes.”

  “I do, actually. A month ago, maybe not, but now...I’m starting to.”

  “The idea is to give them structure through a schedule, belonging through their contribution, unconditional love from the animals and the people. It doesn’t always work. But sometimes it does.”

  “Having unconditional love worked for me.” His voice deepened, roughened with emotion. “If Frank and Bertie hadn’t taken me in, no telling where I would’ve ended up. My mother...well, my mother was like Amelia’s, maybe worse.”

  She glanced at him with sympathy. “Which makes it even harder for you to forgive yourself because you know what Amelia’s had to deal with. Do you know where your mother is now?”

  “No.”

  The answer was short. She got the point. He didn’t want to talk about his mother. “Do your sisters and brother live in Red Hill Springs?”

  “Ash does. He’s the local pediatrician. You might’ve seen his office on Main Street. My sister Jules owns the bakery next door to the Hilltop. She lives just outside of town.”

  “Wait. So, your brother’s name is Ashley and your sister’s name is Jules?”

  “Yep, Juliet. And my other sister’s name is Edwynna. She goes by Wynn. Mom was all about leveling the playing field, giving all the kids gender-neutral names so that, for example, if they were putting a résumé in somewhere, no one would know if it were a man or a woman. Her name is Alberta, but she’s always gone by Bertie.”

  “So you were the only one with an identifiably masculine name.”

  “That’s true, but since my brother, Ashley, insisted on calling me Josephine, it didn’t help that much.”

  A laugh burst out as his words sank in. “And where’s Wynn now?”

  “Wynn graduated from law school, passed the Bar and has been working for Congressman Schofield in Washington, DC, for the last two years.”

  “She sounds like a classic underachiever.”

  Joe laughed again. “You got that right. I don’t think she’s been home in three years.”

  The lump that formed in her throat surprised her. “If I had a home to go to, especially this one, I’m not sure I’d be able to stay away.” He glanced at her sharply, and quickly she covered. “I mean, the food alone would bring me back. Your mom’s a genius.”

  She and Jordan had each other, but since Mom died, they didn’t have a family. No place they belonged simply because they existed. That was part of what she hoped to create here. Roots. She wanted to sink them deep into the rich soil of Red Hill Farm—for the kids who came through here, yes, but also for herself. She needed them.

  Joe eased back in the swing, his hard jawline softening as he spoke. “I’ve gained weight just in the few weeks I’ve been back here. Food is Bertie’s way of saying she cares about you. When I first came to live here as a kid, she left a plate of cookies by my bed every night. Maybe I should try that with Amelia.”

  Claire filed that away in her mind: nothing said love like a plate of warm cookies. A big black Lab ran under the streetlight and into an adjoining yard as its owner slammed open a door and yelled its name. It seemed such a friendly thing to do.

  So many fears threatened to swamp her—the move, the finances, the decisions. There were moments, though, small little snapshots when she knew she’d done the right thing. She needed to hang on to these glimpses for later when her sanity would be questioned and her resolve tested. Because she had no doubt that it would be.

  She turned her head quickly back to Joe. His finger jammed in her eye. She gasped.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry. It was just a... I mean it was...” He stumbled over his words and she started to laugh, her hand glued over her throbbing eye.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was miserable.

  “No worries. I’m sure I can rock the pirate look.” She peered up at him with the one good eye, sympathetic tears for the other eye flowing out of it. The look on his face was priceless. “Aargh, matey.”

  He grinned. “You had a...just a...” His hand hovered awkwardly around her face, and then he gently tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind her ear.

  No more joking. She went still, her eyes flying open, both of them, to look into Joe’s icy-blue eyes, which seemed kind of warm right now, to be honest.

  He cleared his throat. “You know, now that you’ve been to the diner and the word is out, you’ll probably h
ave visitors all day tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, they want to size you up. See if you look like the old mayor, report back to their friends. And they’ll bring you stuff.”

  In her mind, she imagined a rocking chair, a puppy, a sack of unshucked corn and other absurd things arriving on her porch. “Like what?”

  “Some will bring baked goods—cookies and pies. Some maybe something they canned last summer. Their favorite family recipe they take when people are sick. Those are always good. My favorite is the funeral potatoes. Mmm-mm.”

  “You’re terrible.” She laughed. “They’re good, though?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Well, I better get an early start if I’m going to have to be stopping to visit and eat every few minutes.” She stood and stretched. “What a nice evening. Thank you for making me feel welcome.”

  He stood and opened the door for her. “You are welcome.”

  “Thanks, Joe.” He’d stepped up behind her, and when she turned back to thank him, she was staring at his chest. Dragging her eyes past his muscular shoulders, she met his eyes and forced herself to hold them. Not interested, she reminded herself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Probably pretty early. I have PT in the morning, and then I thought I’d get to work on the cabin. Maybe snag some of the funeral potatoes when Mrs. Jewel brings them over.”

  She laughed and started through the door. “Feel free.”

  “It’s good that you’re here, Claire. This town needs someone like you.”

  “If by that you mean headstrong and a little nutty, then I’ve definitely come to the right place. I’ll see you in the morning.” He was just being nice, she thought as she walked through the living room and down the hall to Wynn’s room. Just being kind to someone new in town.

  Not even having the energy to undress, she grabbed the throw from the end of the bed and pulled it up over her as she sank into the down comforter.

  Obviously, she was exhausted. Otherwise, she would never be entertaining thoughts of how attractive Joe Sheehan was. A good night’s sleep was all she needed to get these crazy thoughts out of her head. That and a little hard labor on the farm tomorrow should take care of it. Because even momentary feelings for the handsome cop could completely derail her plans and their friendship.

  Chapter Four

  Joe pulled his old Ford truck to a stop by Claire’s back door. He checked the readout on his phone. No messages. He should be grateful just to be alive, and he was, but the lack of action unsettled him. In Florida, he’d been on a busy, well-funded, multicounty crisis response team.

  In Red Hill Springs, he wasn’t a peacekeeper. He wasn’t a great dad. He tried to work out, but if he was honest with himself, while he was making progress, he wasn’t strong enough on his right side yet to push it.

  When he thought about it too much, the fear crept in. Fear that his injury wouldn’t heal enough for him to reach the standards of the crisis response team. But deeper, the fear that without the CRT, there wasn’t anything to him. He wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t anyone’s hero.

  And yeah, he realized a shrink would have a field day digging into why he felt like he needed to be a hero to be okay.

  He stepped out of the truck just in time to see Claire toss another avocado-green cabinet door on the pile by the back steps. She smiled at him as she brushed her hands together. Dust flew up from her work gloves and she laughed.

  Tucking the bags under his elbow, he walked toward her, feeling conspicuously clean, although he had a premonition that wouldn’t last long. “Hey, looks like you’ve gotten a lot accomplished. How long have you been at it?”

  She rubbed sweaty curls away from her face with her forearm and then made a face as she realized it was as dirty as her gloves. “Fed the animals at dawn and then started in the kitchen in between making calls to various contractors.”

  A saw buzzed, voices raised over them. “Power company?”

  “Yes, and an electrician on the inside of the house to hopefully fix anything that might come up with the wiring. The crew leader didn’t seem very hopeful that it would be back on today, but still. Where there was only a tiny ember of hope, there’s a small flame now. So we’re on the right track. Maybe.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, where she’d already removed most of the cabinet doors. The table was covered with a tarp and crammed full of jellies, jams and baked goods from what had to have been a near constant stream of visitors.

  Joe grinned. He’d definitely called that one. “I came to do a little work, but in the spirit of neighborliness, I brought you something, too.”

  He dangled a pale pink paper bag from his fingertips.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t bake something?”

  “Nah. I figured you’d need real food by now.”

  Joe watched as she pulled out an overstuffed chicken salad sandwich on his sister’s homemade bread. She shot him a look and took a huge bite, mumbling as her eyes closed in bliss.

  “Mmm, that is so good. If I had coffee, I would be...” Her voice trailed off as he reached into the other bag and pulled out a paper to-go cup. “Wow. You might be my favorite person. Did you get this here?”

  “Yep. At the bakery in town. My sister Jules’s place.” He dropped a larger brown paper bag onto a stray chair. “Not as good as Jules’s chicken salad, but what’s in this bag is also for you. New locks.”

  “That’s so nice.” She finished the sandwich and rubbed the crumbs off her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of dust behind. He laughed but didn’t bother telling her. He had a feeling she wouldn’t care. It seemed to him that whatever this woman did, she took in huge gulps, inhaling every bit and breathing out joy, even though he knew she had to be worried about the future here.

  He wanted to step closer, let some of that joy seep into him. God knew he needed it. Instead, he turned toward the door. “The locks were my mom’s idea. She’s very worried about you. You have a Phillips-head screwdriver?”

  She reached behind her back, pulled the one she’d been using out of her back pocket and handed it to him. “I have a drill, but it’s not charged yet. Tough without electricity.”

  “That’s true. This’ll do fine.” He popped the deadbolt out of the back door and rekeyed it, the whole thing accomplished in about four minutes.

  “Nice. Are you looking for work as a handyman?”

  He looked up, the smile fading a bit. “No, I’m afraid my skills with a lock come from my checkered past. After Dad caught me stealing tools from his garage, he made me change the locks on every person’s house that I ever burgled. Even though, for the most part, I only went in unlocked doors.”

  “I didn’t know you had a felonious past.” Claire picked up the tools and followed him to the side door.

  “Mercifully, it was short-lived and mainly driven by hunger. Frank and Bertie took me in. They started feeding me and, somehow along the way, managed to give me a sense of right and wrong.”

  “Frank is your dad? Bertie’s husband?”

  “Yes, he passed away not that long ago. It was sudden.” He gathered up the stuff and walked through the house to the front door and began the same process.

  “And after he died, you came home?” She took the bolt and held it as he rekeyed the back door lock.

  He screwed the brass plate into place on the edge of the door. “No, it wasn’t quite that simple. Let’s go do the ones in the ballroom, and then you should be good to go.”

  “So you got shot...” She was being curious, nosy really, but for whatever reason, he didn’t mind.

  “I got shot. I knew I would be off the team for a good six months at least and figured Mom could use the company.” He worked the screws into place.

  “Did you ev
er think about applying for the job of chief after your dad died and staying on permanently?”

  He looked up at her, surprised. “No, that’s funny. Pretty sure most of the town is still convinced that I’m a bad influence because I was a delinquent as a child.”

  “You were a child.” Her voice rose, full of indignation on his behalf.

  “Yes. Well.” He sat back on his heels. “This thing with Amelia showing up out of the blue... I would never regret knowing her, but it definitely has reinforced people’s ideas about my character.”

  “From what I hear, everyone thinks you’re doing a great job with her. My source is Lanna at the Hilltop, but I’m pretty sure she knows everything about everyone in town.”

  He chuckled, picked up his tools and tested the lock. “She does. Okay, all done. Later we’ll come back to these French doors and add a more defensive lock, but these’ll do for now.”

  She started toward the door at the same time he stood and slammed right into him. His arms closed around her. His heart ka-blamming in his chest, he looked into her eyes. Mistake.

  His breath caught. Her eyes were wide and innocent and pure blue like the sky. And he wanted more. More closeness. More connection. More Claire.

  She stepped carefully back, forcing a laugh. “Wow. I’m off my game today.”

  Joe took the thoughts of her that had invaded his mind and mentally shoved them away. Snagging the sunglasses he always wore out of his shirt pocket, he slid them on as they walked into the kitchen. He laughed and, even to him, it sounded forced. “You have game?”

  She responded with a delighted laugh and he nudged her shoulder and carefully changed the subject. “Just kidding. So now that you have the cabinet doors off, what’s next?”

  “I’m going with mostly open cabinets on the top, closed on the bottom. I’d love marble countertops in this kitchen, but that’s not in the budget, so I’m going to put stainless steel on the island that’s not built yet and concrete on the rest.” She looked around, already seeing the finished product in her mind. “I want a huge island with a half dozen chairs—those metal ones painted all different colors—so the kids can sit there and do their homework or help with cooking. And a comfy couch and some chairs down there at the end by the fire.”