The Dad Next Door

by Stephanie Dees

  She pushed her way into the dark, cool barn, whistling for him as she went into the corral. She didn’t need a saddle or reins. Freckles knew her well enough to be guided by the pressure of her hands.

  It took just enough concentration to stay seated on Freckles that all the negative thoughts could be pushed to the back of her mind. Her hair whipped behind her, and when she turned the corner and started back to the house, her hat flew off. She laughed out loud, letting the wind carry her laughter along with her hat.

  What had she been thinking? She had no ties here. Only a dead father she never knew. A falling-down house. And a dream.

  She laughed louder.

  She had a dream. She leaned over Freckles’s neck and whispered in his ear and he went faster.

  The wind in her face, the sound of the hooves, her body moving in unison with her horse. Freedom whispered, Leave it all behind.

  Freedom was going to have to stuff it. She wasn’t leaving. She had a dream and a plan and she was going to make it happen. She let her feelings of inadequacy and not being enough fly away with the wind.

  Freckles’s pace dropped to a slow trot as they got closer to the house. She eased him into a turn, and as they neared the gate, she slid off his back to the ground. Nudging him toward the water trough, she patted him on the rump as she walked behind him into the corral.

  Joe was leaning forward, his muscular arms crossed on the fence, long denim-clad legs and the boots... It was the boots that got her. She stopped and shook her head, her heart jumping in her chest, despite herself. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

  “I know, but the women in my family are worried about you. They want me to bring you back to the house for some lunch.”

  “I’m fine. My feelings were a little hurt, but I’ll get over it. Sometimes you can’t fix a problem, you just have to learn to live with it. My mom used to say that all the time.” She grinned at him. “Not exactly Pollyanna, my mom.”

  “She was right, I think. Some problems you just have to survive, but we can help by letting everyone get to know you. Right now people are focused on the picture that Roy painted for them. We just need to give them a different, more realistic picture.” He smiled, his mouth tipping up at the corner, and she couldn’t help it.

  She grabbed the sides of his face and laid one on him. His lips parted, probably in shock, under hers. She stepped back. “Wow. Sorry. I...”

  He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone feel the need to apologize for kissing me. I’m going over to the cabin to try to finish things up so Amelia and I can move in a couple days.” He walked along the fence toward the barn as she walked along on the other side.

  “Want some help? It could be fun to actually finish something.”

  “Yeah, you can help me haul the furniture I stored in the barn around the pond to the house.” He looked hopeful.

  She laughed. “Never mind, that doesn’t sound like fun at all.”

  He slid the barn door all the way open and his voice came from inside. “Too bad. You already volunteered. Let’s start with the mattresses.”

  Two hours later, all the furniture was loaded in and Claire had collapsed on the front porch of Joe’s cabin with a Diet Coke. The sun was setting over the pond and her muscles were once again aching from exertion. Between the bareback ride and moving Joe and Amelia’s furniture into the cabin, she wouldn’t be able to move tomorrow.

  Joe dropped to the porch beside her. “Well, the furniture is in. The mice will enjoy it tonight.”

  She laughed and flopped back, too tired to even sit upright. “You know, Joe, the ceiling of the porch would be so cute if you painted it sky blue or sea-foam green.”

  “No.” He didn’t even let her finish. “I’m retired from painting. I have neon-green splotches on parts of me that should never be neon green. I get a headache every time I walk in my own bathroom. Never again.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She tucked that little idea for the ceiling away for some time in the future when her own projects were all done. “Amelia is going to freak when she sees all the furniture in there.”

  He yawned and hauled her to her feet before starting back to the main house. “I hope she likes it as much as she thought she would.”

  “With all the little touches you’ve put in there, I don’t know how she couldn’t. I know you didn’t want flower-shaped lights in the bathroom, but she’s going to love it. She deserves a little bit of childhood.” She wobbled on a loose rock and he wrapped one long arm around her, rescuing her from a certain freezing cold bath in the pond. And after she was steady on her feet again, he didn’t move it. Skin warmed, heart picked up, cheeks flushed, and she had to wonder if kissing him at the corral had been wise. She forced her train of thought back to whatever he was saying.

  What was he saying?

  “I’ll bring her out tomorrow afternoon and we can make a list of stuff to buy. Maybe we can move in next week.”

  Though the secret wanted to burst out of her, she didn’t tell him that she and his mother had made a list and all the “stuff,” as he called it, was in the ballroom at her house waiting for the right moment to load it into the cabin. He and Amelia would be so surprised tomorrow afternoon after she and Bertie got through with the place.

  He turned toward her when they reached his truck, his light blue eyes intent on hers. She had an almost irresistible urge to tidy her hair, which she knew had to be a flyaway mess after the ride through the pasture earlier.

  “You’re really something special, Claire.” Joe skimmed his fingertips down the side of her face. “My timing has always been terrible. I wish things were different.”

  Claire wanted to pretend like she misunderstood him, but she didn’t. Joe had a dream, too—returning to his team. And with the townspeople in an uproar and Amelia just coming into his life, it wasn’t the right time for romance. She understood that.

  But he was warm and solid and real and had such a heart to do the right thing. She was practical, but it was there—buried, but still—the wish that somehow the timing was different.

  She sighed and smiled. “In some ways, the timing is perfect. We both just moved here. I like kids, you have one. We can be really great friends.”

  Joe nodded his head slowly, the regret evident in his eyes as he stepped back. “We are friends. Thanks for the help today, Claire. Don’t let the turkeys get you down.”

  Tears pricked in her eyes. “I won’t. Want me to pick Amelia up at school tomorrow?”

  “I’m going to bring her out so I can see her reaction when she sees the furniture in there. We’re getting close.”

  “You are. It’s a new start for the two of you.”

  He swung into his truck and rolled the window down. “See you tomorrow.”

  She stood there long after his taillights disappeared. She didn’t need a man in her life, not now. She was rebuilding this place to provide a home and a family for kids. Everyone deserved a place where they belonged.

  Maybe she was falling for Joe, but wishing she belonged with him would only make her own loneliness more pronounced.

  She started for the barn to feed the animals but dug her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Bertie as she walked. “Hey! He just left. Want to come over?”

  * * *

  A few hours later, Joe cautiously approached the front porch of his cabin to retrieve the wallet he’d left there earlier. He’d noticed his mother’s car parked at Claire’s and was slightly afraid of what he might find inside. Pushing the door open slightly, he stopped and gaped. The room he and Claire had left with a few pieces of random furniture had been transformed into a cozy, family-friendly retreat. “What...?”

  “Joe!” Claire jumped to her feet from the couch where she was sharing a Coke with his mom. “Um...surprise?”

 
Mom didn’t move, just sat there with a satisfied smile on her face.

  He didn’t know what to say, so instead he looked around at the unbelievable change that had taken place here. Lamps on the end tables threw warm light across the blue velvet hand-me-down couch. Small candles were placed on the mantel and the coffee table. A fuzzy lime-green blanket was tossed across the back of the couch but still somehow looked artful.

  Incredulous, he turned toward the kitchen. Neat stacks of white plates, cups and bowls lined the open shelves he’d exchanged for the falling-down upper cabinets. A wooden bowl on the island held a selection of limes, repeating the color from the throw on the couch.

  “Joe?” Claire was starting to sound a little worried.

  He smiled and then caught sight of the back wall of the living room, and his breath left his chest. Pictures of him and pictures of Amelia had been framed and hung. The center of the grouping was a large photo of the two of them, heads together over the little kitten that Amelia had adopted. He hadn’t even known Claire was taking it.

  Turning to these two women who had managed to pull one over on him, he shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with you two. You’ve made a home for me to bring my daughter to. There’s not a thank-you big enough for this.”

  From the couch, his mother said, “My legs are too tired to stand up or I would show you, but you should look at the bedrooms, too.”

  He wasn’t sure how it could top the transformation in the living space, but somehow it did. Where before there had been bare mattresses and floors, now there were bedspreads and pillows and comfortable-looking things. His room was a haven of masculinity. Dark colors, simple lighting. A leather pillow on the bed made him laugh. Amelia’s bedroom was an explosion of pink. Her throw pillow was made of lavender feathers. Perfect.

  “We let Amelia pick out her bedding. We figured it would be important to her,” Claire said from behind him. “I hope we didn’t overstep.”

  He laughed. “If you only knew how much I’ve been dreading shopping for all this stuff.”

  “We kind of figured. There’s drinks in the fridge and some basic groceries in the pantry.”

  “I really don’t know how to thank you.” He followed Claire the few steps back into the living room.

  “You don’t have to. It was our pleasure. Plus, when you move, I’m making the pink room my office.” She winked at Mom and walked toward the door. “I’ve gotta run, though. We weren’t planning the reveal until tomorrow, so I’m glad we were finished when you came back!”

  “I just can’t believe this place. Thank you, Claire.”

  She nodded. “It was fun. Bye, Bertie.”

  Joe turned back to his mother. “You two are crazy.”

  “I’m crazy. That pretty young woman is crazy about you.” She raised one eyebrow, but her customary sass was nowhere to be seen. She was serious.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know about that, Mom. I think maybe she’s like that with everyone. But you, you’re amazing. How did you keep this a secret?”

  “A mother never tells her tricks of the trade, darling.”

  He walked his mom to her car and held the door for her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Glancing at the brightly lit windows of Claire’s house, he remembered what his mother said. He wanted to dismiss the thought, but truthfully, he worried about it. He liked Claire—liked her enough to be interested in pursuing this thing and that hadn’t happened in a while.

  They had created a home for him and Amelia. Claire was building a life here. His life was in Florida with his team. It just wasn’t fair to pretend that they could have a future.

  Chapter Ten

  Claire tossed another sheaf of papers into the fireplace, the crackling fire making her remodeled kitchen into a cozy haven against the chilly November night. After the workers left for the day, she’d made herself a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of hot chocolate and changed into her yoga pants so she could get to work on a project she’d been purposely avoiding.

  Tomorrow a nice soft sage green was going on the walls of the second-floor office. She’d been dreading going through her father’s papers, but the painters had to be able to actually get in the room in order to paint it. She couldn’t put it off anymore. So she’d put on some music on her iPod and resolved to just get through it.

  She’d gone through two stacks of boxes already, hauling them into the kitchen and sorting through them. A couple of gems had been tucked away in those filing boxes, like some old maps of the area. Black-and-white photographs of the town were hiding in there, too, and would look great in the long upstairs hall. She flipped through the files, which appeared to be more papers from her father’s time as mayor and an ill-fated run for governor. She pulled those out, throwing them with the others on the fire. When she went back for the next handful, her eye caught on a file that was titled, simply, GIRLS.

  Heart pounding in her chest, she pulled out the file and sat down in the huge chair in front of the fireplace, legs crisscrossed underneath her. A manila envelope fell out into her lap. With trembling fingers, she unfastened the closure and opened it, first pulling out a hospital bracelet the width of no more than two of her fingers. It was joined by a tiny cap and a card with Baby Girl 1 written on it, and beside it, in pencil, Claire. She’d weighed seven pounds four ounces and had been twenty inches long.

  When she flipped it over, she saw two itty-bitty footprints—her footprints. A tear dropped, quickly seeping into the old card. She’d never seen anything from her birth, never even heard the story until her father’s attorney told them the story about their biological mother’s death from an aneurism when they were newborns. Her father hadn’t felt like he could raise twin girls on his own, but he had wanted to find them as adults.

  The attorney said it took two years for a private investigator to track her and Jordan. He’d traced them through the foster-adoption agency, pulling threads until he’d found their mom and ultimately the two of them. They met their father for a few brief hours one weekend, with plans for another visit, but by then their father had passed and their opportunity to hear their story firsthand was lost.

  She placed the items gently on the table beside her, adding Jordan’s to the small pile. Next out of the file was a letter-sized envelope that held old photos. In the first one, a woman in a hospital bed held a baby. On the back it said, Anna with Claire. The pang of grief surprised her. It was strange, she thought, to feel the loss of a person she had never known, to see a glimpse of what her life might have been like if she hadn’t been adopted.

  She set the photo aside and pulled out one of her and Jordan together—tiny babies dressed in pink. Her biological father was holding one on each arm with a big grin on his face.

  Her breath stopped. In this picture, he looked like a proud papa. He looked like any other young father, equal parts joy and fear. She ran a finger down the faded face in the picture. I wish I’d known you.

  She took a photo with her phone and texted it to Jordan. About four seconds later, the phone rang. She smiled. “Hey.”

  “What is that?” Jordan’s voice demanded info, now. She never had been one to be particularly patient. Maybe that came with the red hair.

  “It’s you and me with our father.”

  Silence. Then, “He doesn’t look like a father about to give up his babies.”

  Claire sifted through the photos again, pulling out one of their mother when she was obviously pregnant, their father standing at her side. “I guess maybe she hadn’t died yet. There are some pictures with her in them, too.”

  “Our mother? What does she look like? Wait, no. Is that, like, dishonoring Mom to want to know?”

  “No. I don’t think Mom would care. She always said that she would support us trying to find our biological family if we ever wanted to.”

 
; “Okay, so what does she look like?”

  “She has your red hair and my eyes.” It was eerie, actually, to see their features in someone else’s face. They’d never had that experience growing up. “She’s really beautiful, like you. I’ll send you one.”

  Jordan was quiet for a moment. “Maybe he loved us, Claire. Maybe the house was a real gesture of love rather than just a guilt thing.”

  Claire walked to the window, looked out over the field and imagined her father had stood in this exact spot. Instead of the normal tension of a memory of the man she’d never met, she felt a connection, something shared with the father who gave her life—twice, once through birth and once through adoption. “Maybe he did the only thing he thought he could do. I wouldn’t trade our life with Mom for anything. We wouldn’t be the same people if we hadn’t been adopted.”

  “No, I wouldn’t change anything, either.” Jordan paused. “It’s weird, Claire. Knowing this about him doesn’t really change anything for us, but somehow I feel like everything is different.”

  As usual, her twin’s words echoed her thoughts. “Me, too, J.”

  She heard muffled voices, then Jordan’s voice came on the line again. “I’ve got to run. Someone’s here to look at Sugar. If they buy him, Hot Rod will be the only horse left to sell.”

  “Hey, Jordan? I love you.”

  “Love you, too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Claire hung up the phone as Joe’s truck pulled into its usual parking spot by the path to the cabin. Amelia tumbled out, hefting her backpack to her shoulder. Claire could see her lips moving a mile a minute. She laughed, imagining how excited Amelia was about seeing the finished cabin for herself.

  Joe closed the door to the truck and glanced up at the window. She knew when he caught sight of her because a slow grin spread across his face. She took a deep breath as her heart rate picked up. Waggling her fingers at him, she returned the smile.