Amelia must have called to him, because he said something toward the cabin and started that direction, turning back to wave at her one more time.
He was really a good man. A good father, learning and growing every day. She glanced down at the picture she held of her own father and for the first time, maybe ever, she thought he might’ve been a good father, too. Maybe he made a mistake stepping out of their lives, but he didn’t do it because it made his life easier, at least she didn’t think so now. He did it because he thought it was what would be best for her and Jordan.
She imagined Joe and Amelia looking in all the nooks and crannies of their cabin, discovering the surprises that she and Bertie had hidden for them. She was discovering things, too, definitely about her biological family, but she was also learning things about herself and the future she wanted to create.
The lights flashed on in the kitchen across the pond. At least a small part of her wished that Joe could be a part of that future. She went back to the files, pausing a moment with the picture of a man with two baby girls. Sometimes things didn’t exactly turn out the way you planned or imagined.
And sometimes God had bigger things in store.
* * *
Joe backed into the gritty cinder brick wall, that feeling churning in his gut that something wasn’t right. Tendrils of fog swirled around his ankles, silence heavy, the night air damp this close to the ocean. He caught True’s eye and motioned for True to search to his left.
Leading with his weapon, True turned into the narrow passageway. They were searching for the perpetrator from a robbery earlier in the day. An anonymous tip led them to the docks, where a string of alleys connected warehouses and businesses that had long pulled out of this declining neighborhood. Joe took another careful step and stopped as the hair prickled on the back of his neck. He scanned the dark windows above their heads.
No sign of movement—but something gnawed at him. He fought the urge to hold his breath until the dim light illuminated True as he stepped back into the alley. Joe took one step toward him. Just one lousy step.
The bullets came from the rooftop, as they always did, slicing right into the space where his vest met his armpit. Poker-hot pain arced into his chest and his legs refused to work. He looked at True, whose face erupted in rage as he shouted into his mic, “Shots fired, shots fired! Officer down! I repeat, officer down.”
In slow motion, the sound faded into static and his eyes rolled toward the sky. His body fell, even though he wanted to stay on his feet. Every cell in his body strained toward consciousness. His vision grayed.
“Show me your hands. Down on the ground. SBPD. Get down on the ground.” The sound of his team taking the shooter into custody.
Cold flooded his body, but it didn’t hurt now. Rapid-fire thoughts converged into a single one: breathe.
He jolted awake as his body slammed into the hardwood floor. Sweaty and shaken, he stared at the ceiling as it slowly came into focus. Freshly painted beadboard. Ceiling fan. His new bedroom in the cabin. And with that recognition came the knowledge that the breathlessness was the dream, not reality.
“Dad!” Amelia dropped to her knees at his side, terror at being woken up out of a deep sleep in her eyes. “Dad, are you okay? I heard yelling.”
He pushed up on one elbow. His skin was clammy and he was still quaking inside. “I’m fine, kiddo. Just a bad dream. Come on, I’ll tuck you back into bed.”
She looked at him like maybe he’d grown a third head, but she stood up as he gingerly got to his feet, rolling his shoulder.
The front door burst open. “Joe? Amelia!”
Joe grabbed a T-shirt off the end of the bed and jerked it over his head and wished like all get-out that he could just disappear right now. “We’re in here.”
Claire’s head popped around the corner. “Are you okay? I heard shouting.”
“We’re fine. I had a bad dream, but we’re fine. I’m going to tuck Amelia back in bed and I’ll be right out.”
Joe followed Amelia into her room, a rosy glow filling the room from all the pink, down to the night-light. Even her nightgown was pink, picked out by her grandmother. He smiled to reassure his daughter and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Sorry I woke you, pumpkin. Try to get some rest, okay?”
“Okay, Joe. I love you.” Her eyes were already drifting shut. At her words it was like his whole world slowed to a stop, his heart stuttering before it picked up the beat again. She’d been in his life only a few weeks and she was his whole world.
He brushed her hair away from her face with a hand that was far too rough to be touching her. “I love you, too, Amelia.”
Claire had tea made when he walked into the front room. He didn’t know they had tea. Or mugs, for that matter. But he took one and sat on a stool and leaned on the counter, letting the heat seep into his hands and ground him.
“Are you really okay?” she asked as she slid into the seat next to him. She wore pajama pants, a sweatshirt and flip-flops, her hair in a high ponytail, no makeup. She looked young and beautiful. All the things the story he was about to tell her was not.
“I should’ve realized I would dream tonight. I have it when I sleep somewhere new. It’s more of a flashback, really, than a dream. Crystal clear. I’m walking down the alley and True—my partner—is in front of me and I know something is about to happen and I can’t figure out what. And then I’m shot and trying to breathe.”
She reached for his hand. “What kind of case were you working?”
“Fugitive apprehension. We got a tip he was down in the warehouse district. He was there. He shot me and True shot him. He was the unlucky one. True doesn’t miss.” His jaw slid forward, and as a distraction, he brought the cup to his lips and drank.
“I’m sorry. That must’ve been awful.” Her eyes were soft and she smelled like fresh apples, which shouldn’t be that appealing but was, and he didn’t think, just reached for her. His hand slid into her hair, freeing it, and he drew her close. He lingered and then gently touched his lips to hers.
He let himself sink. Into her sweetness, honesty and optimism. Only for a moment, but he needed this, needed her. Her breath rushed out in a little sigh and he let his forehead touch hers. “You’re just so...perfect.”
Like the springs the town was named for, she was a fresh infusion of pure joy. Red Hill Springs didn’t know it yet, but like the springs to the settlers all those years ago, she was just what they all needed.
She laughed, but her eyes were wide, her cheeks a little flushed. “Either you’re very okay or you’ve completely lost your mind.”
He slid his hand down her arm to cup her elbow and watched as her skin prickled. He wasn’t the only one feeling with a heightened sense of awareness. “Probably a little of both,” he admitted.
“How’d you get that scar by your eye?” She touched it gently.
“I got that one in Iraq. It bought me a trip home and a couple months in Walter Reed. The vision came back and it doesn’t hurt, but my eyes are really sensitive to light, which is why I wear those cool sunglasses.”
She pulled up her sweatshirt and showed him a scar on her lower abdomen. “Appendicitis. Senior year. I missed the prom.”
He showed her his elbow. “Bike wipeout on the asphalt. I was ten, cutting school.”
Claire pulled her hair away from her forehead to reveal a tiny scar. “Got kicked trying to milk a goat.”
He rubbed his thumb over the inside of her elbow. “What about these?”
She went still. Her face was down, a curtain of hair hiding her expression. Finally, she said, “I used to cut myself. As a teenager. I was kind of messed up for a while about being put up for adoption by my biological parents. I had this idea that if I wasn’t good enough for my own parents, how could anyone else want me?”
“Oh, Claire.�
� He didn’t know what to say. She was so far from not being good enough. “It was his loss. He had no idea what he missed.”
“I know. I think he was doing the best he could at the time. And I don’t have those feelings—much—anymore.” She pointed to her hip. “I have a huge one there from softball. Sliding into home.”
“Hangnail.” He held out his thumb and she kissed it. The smile faded from his face. “You really are special. I hope you know that.”
“I’m not, Joe. I’m just a regular girl.” Sliding off the chair, Claire shook her head. “It’s late and we both have a lot to do tomorrow. Look, it was an emotional night. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”
Her eyes were big and dark in the dim room, the only light from a small table lamp in the living area. He was so tired. He didn’t even pretend to not know what she was talking about.
“Did it mean something to you, Claire?”
She stopped halfway through the door, looked back at him. Slowly nodded. “It meant something.”
As he watched her walk back to her house in the moonlight, he knew it meant something to him, too. But he wasn’t sure what he could possibly do about it.
Chapter Eleven
Claire put a cup of milk on the island in front of Amelia. “Drink up. And make sure you tell your dad milk is healthy.”
“Do I tell him I drank it with cookies?”
“Those have oatmeal, pipsqueak. Oatmeal is a whole grain. Whole grain is healthy. Therefore, these cookies are healthy.”
Amelia laughed and nibbled at another cookie, trying to pretend she wasn’t really watching the road for her dad.
Claire climbed back onto the stool at the other end of the island. The bills she’d been poring over stared at her, their black-and-white print glaring.
When she felt the panic begin to rise, she reminded herself, Whoever has God lacks nothing. God alone is enough. It was truth, plain and simple, but she had to wonder if Saint Teresa of Avila had ever tried to renovate a two-hundred-year-old plantation home on a budget.
Claire looked out the window, away from the ledger that just seemed to laugh at her and her rapidly shrinking reno fund. There was a storm brewing, dark gray clouds stacking on the horizon. She tried to reassure Amelia. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
But inside, she was jumpy, too. Waiting for Joe.
At the sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive, Amelia shot like a rocket out the back door to meet her dad at his truck. Claire followed a little more slowly, wondering at the little thrill of excitement in her own stomach. He was her friend, her tenant. And the guy she’d kissed in the front room of that cabin, her jumpy stomach reminded her.
He grabbed Amelia up into a whirling hug before depositing her back on the ground with a kiss on the head.
“Come on, Joe. Claire made cookies. Like actually made them with flour and stuff.” She caught herself and cut her eyes up at her dad, before grinning at Claire. “They have healthy things in them.”
“Healthy cookies?”
He shot Claire a look over Amelia’s head and she shrugged. “Oatmeal. It’s healthy.”
As she walked back toward the house, Claire squinted at layer upon layer of brooding, jaggy-edged clouds. The air felt heavy and warm. Not Novemberish at all. Despite the mild temperature, she shivered.
“I could definitely use a cookie.” Joe’s smile was warm but tired. He followed Claire and Amelia into the kitchen and whistled. “The kitchen looks great. I can’t believe they finished it already.”
“There might have been bribing involved.”
He arched a brow over one icy-blue eye. “Local law enforcement does not take kindly to bribery. Or so I hear.”
“No laws broken. I bribe with cookies and the occasional hamburger from the Hilltop. Mostly everyone is just working really hard. I think they all understand that I have a limited time to get all the reno done.”
He munched on a cookie. “Wow, these are good for health food. Is the rest of the house this close to being finished?”
“The whole bottom floor looks really good. I have an actual bedroom now. And the dining room is ready to be a dining room or study room or playroom or whatever we decide it will be.”
“And you have a bathroom?”
“Four. And they all have plumbing that works now.” She grinned and looked out the window at the trees swaying in the gusting wind and wondered if she should check the weather.
“Good to know. Plumbing is important. What about the ballroom?”
“Nothing much has changed in there. When we finish the necessary updates, maybe we can give the wood some shine. I figure the kids who live here will be in roller-skating paradise in there until I decide what to do with it.”
Amelia breathed out a gasp. “For real? How about the neighbor kid?”
Claire laughed, gave Amelia a light shove and was rewarded with a sassy grin. “Of course, the neighbor kid. I thought that went without saying. There’s so much left to do. Jordan will be here next week with the horses, so now I’ve got to get busy in the barn. The painters aren’t finished upstairs, the roof still has to be fixed and no one has touched the third floor at all, except for prep. And also next week, the foster care licensing worker is coming out for our initial interview and home check.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Not really.” She brushed an invisible piece of dust off the gleaming marble surface of the island. “Okay, yes. A lot. I know we won’t be finished with the renovations, but I want her to be able to see how great it will be in the end.”
Amelia backed toward the door, a cookie in each hand. “I’m going out to say good-night to Freckles. I’ll meet you at the cabin, Joe.”
“It looks like a storm is blowing up, so keep an eye out.” The door slammed on his words. He laughed, and as Amelia ran for the barn, ponytail swinging, he turned to Claire. “You’ll be fine. The licensing person’s going to love you and this place is amazing. What kid wouldn’t want to live here?”
“I hope so.”
“The specialist I saw today said he thought it was possible that I could get full function back in my hand.”
“Oh, Joe, that’s great.” And it was, but the idea of him leaving left her reeling.
“Well, I’d better go make sure Amelia’s getting started on her homework.” He stood but didn’t move toward the door. Instead, he slid his hand into Claire’s hair and pulled her in for a kiss that left her knees buckling and her brain scrambled.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I walked in the door.” His eyes searched hers, the corner of his mouth just tipping up, the half smile making her heart race. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but when I’m around you, it doesn’t seem to matter.”
Claire opened her mouth to answer. Instead, the window over the sink shattered and she screamed. Joe dragged her to the floor, his hard, heavy body protecting her from danger. Wind and rain rushed in, wet leaves swirling to the floor around them.
He lifted his head, his icy-blue eyes laser-focused on hers. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” Her forehead was stinging. She reached up and brought her hand away covered in blood.
Sitting up, his back against the island, Joe dug his cell phone out of his back pocket, glancing at the screen and back at her. “Tornado warning. I need to get Amelia. Go to the storage space under the stairs and stay there until this is over.”
“No, don’t worry about me. I’ll check the cabin and you check the barn. Faster that way.”
He paused, clearly arguing with himself about sending her into danger. Finally, he nodded. “If she’s not there, come straight back to the house and get under the stairs.”
“Okay.” She took a deep shaky breath. There were so many things that she wanted to say be
fore they went out into the storm, but she wouldn’t. They didn’t need any distractions.
He gripped the door handle. “See you back here in a minute.”
She nodded. He wrenched the door open and bolted into the storm. She didn’t hesitate but lowered her head and ran for the cabin, heart in her throat.
“Amelia? Amelia!” Behind her, she could hear Joe echoing her words.
Above her, the clouds were boiling, the sky a sickly green color. Raindrops pelted her skin, soaking her clothes in less than a minute. Fear driving her, she ran faster, onto the porch, and threw open the door of the small cabin. “Amelia?”
The cabin was dark and still. No damage here. And no Amelia.
She quickly checked the bedrooms and bath, even looking under the bed. No sign Amelia had been here in the last few minutes. She must still be in the barn. After one last look around, Claire ran for the front door.
She slammed the door closed, casting a look at the ominous sky. She prayed for Joe to hurry. They should’ve been in a safe place a long time ago.
* * *
The barn door wouldn’t budge. Joe struggled to open it even inches, until the wind snatched it from his hand and threw it back against the outside wall. He fell forward into the dim barn.
“Dad!” Amelia ran out of the shadows to him, words tumbling one over the other on a sob. “I was so scared. I got Freckles in his stall and was about to come back to the house, but I heard the glass breaking and I knew I couldn’t.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for a few seconds. “Okay, let’s go. The house is still the safest place for us right now.”
“I’m not—I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“Freckles is big, but he’s scared. And the twins are in here, too. They’re just babies.” She had to shout over the noise of the rain lashing against the building.
“Amelia—” He was tempted to pick her up and put her over his shoulder. She was slight enough that, despite his injury, he wouldn’t even break a sweat. But what would that prove? That the things that were important to her weren’t important to her dad?
The Dad Next Door Page 11
