The Dad Next Door

by Stephanie Dees

  Opening the first door he came to, he found a bedroom. Furniture that would have been nice thirty years ago and a bed with a handmade quilt. That looked like Mr. Haney. His barn was state-of-the-art, but his bedroom wasn’t important as long as he had somewhere to sleep.

  Joe walked through to the bathroom and found a first-aid kit under the sink. Grabbing the quilt from the foot of the bed, he hurried back to Claire’s side.

  Mr. Haney was fighting for consciousness. Joe placed a hand on each of Harvey’s shoulders, gently keeping him in place, but the old farmer struggled against his hands.

  Stroke-weakened muscles made it harder for him to talk, but he was whispering something. Joe leaned closer so he could hear. “Have to get up. Check on the stock.”

  “This is Joe, Mr. Haney. It’s okay. The cows are taken care of.”

  His onetime mentor’s shoulder eased under his hand. “You’ve always been a good boy, Joe. I told Chief Sheehan not to worry about what anyone in town thinks. You deserve a family.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Haney.” His throat clamped down around the words. He tucked the warm quilt around Harvey’s frail shoulders. “I think you’re pretty special, too.”

  The elderly man squinted rheumy eyes at Claire. “Hazel, is that you, sweetheart? The storm was so bad. I was worried.”

  Claire’s breath caught. She leaned over where he could see her and, with her free hand, gently brushed the hair away from Mr. Haney’s battered face. “I’m here, Harvey. It was a bad storm, but I’m fine.”

  As the old farmer’s body sagged in relief, a tear dripped down Claire’s face before she quickly scrubbed it off and sniffed. “You’re going to be okay, too, Harvey. Just close your eyes and rest for a minute.”

  The lines in Mr. Haney’s craggy face eased. Joe placed his fingers on the side of his neck. “Pulse is a little weak, but there. He’s a tough old guy.” He unzipped the first-aid kit. “I don’t know what all is in here, but... Oh, good. Here’s some gauze.”

  “He really loved his wife.”

  “They were inseparable. She led the choir at church and he was an usher. Always had a pocket full of peppermints. And apparently, he had a hand in defending my parents’ decision to adopt a troublemaker teenager.” He handed several gauze pads to Claire, who used them to apply pressure.

  “I don’t think he saw you as a troublemaker. I know your mom and dad didn’t see you that way. And they were right.” Her eyes were bright still, tears clinging to her lower lashes. “Is that why you left Red Hill Springs? You felt like a delinquent still?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer, really. Hadn’t examined his motives in years. Or ever. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess I knew if I stayed here I’d always be fighting a losing battle to overcome where I came from—what I came from.”

  She took the roll of gauze he handed her and wound it tight over Mr. Haney’s thigh. “I understand. It’s hard to get past feelings that are so entrenched as children. I don’t like that everyone knows my biological father gave me up for adoption. I fight feeling like I wasn’t good enough for him then and not good enough for this town now. I think they’re all talking about me and the conversation dies down when I walk into the room.”

  “They don’t do that.” When she snorted, he smiled and added, “Anymore. Hopefully, now that they’re getting to know you, they’re starting to see what an amazing person you are and what a great asset you will be for Red Hill Springs.”

  Her hands were gentle as she comforted Mr. Haney. “It was crazy, moving here without ever laying eyes on the place. I realize that. I just knew, I guess, if I never took a chance, that I would never know if I could do it. I wanted to quiet the voices in my head that said I wasn’t good enough.”

  “I hope you know that you are.” He lifted his head as sirens sounded in the distance. “Help is here, Mr. Haney, you did good. We’re going to get you to the hospital so you can get back to taking care of your cows.”

  “Hazel?” Confused blue eyes met Claire’s. “Are you coming with me?”

  “I can’t go in the ambulance, but I’ll stay with you as long as I can.”

  Joe rolled to his feet and said quietly, “I’m going to meet them out front, but I’ll be right back.”

  The firefighters were gearing up in the front lawn when Joe jogged around to the front of the house. He sent the EMTs around back and filled the firefighters in on how the tree had Mr. Haney trapped.

  With the roar of chain saws and the choreography of a well-rehearsed group, the firefighters had the tree in pieces in minutes. A few minutes later, Mr. Haney was brought around the house on a gurney, an IV bag already dripping lifesaving fluids into his arm.

  Claire’s face was drawn and tired, but she kept her grip on Mr. Haney’s hand. It had been a long afternoon. Joe met her at the ambulance door and leaned over to whisper in Mr. Haney’s ear.

  As the ambulance rolled away, he put his arm around Claire.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Just that I would take care of things here. And I guess I need to go see about those cows.”

  Joe was halfway over the fence to the cow pasture when a car pulled into the driveway and four men got out, one settling a cowboy hat on his head. Mr. Campbell, the mayor. He stopped to talk to Claire, giving her a hug, before coming toward Joe, who had the presence of mind to slide off the fence as the mayor held out a hand.

  Mayor Campbell’s face held the worry and fatigue of a long, unpredictable day. “Thanks for coming out here to check on Harvey. We’ve been friends a long time, Harvey and me, and from what I heard from the firefighters, he might not have made it if y’all hadn’t come out to check on him.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir. But I’m glad we came out, too.”

  “Don’t worry about the cows. Me and the boys here will take care of getting them back in the field and shoring up the fence.”

  Joe glanced back at the field and then nodded. “If you’re sure, I’ll take Claire home, then. She had some storm damage out at her place.”

  The mayor’s gaze narrowed. “Bad?”

  “Not like this, but bad enough to slow her progress down for a while. To be honest, we haven’t had time to check it out.”

  “You go do that, then, and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” The mayor clapped a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “I mean it now.”

  Joe watched the mayor’s sons vault the fence into the cow pasture as the mayor himself walked back to his car. Maybe Joe had been right when he told Claire that public opinion was shifting. Maybe when the time came for the vote, it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought.

  And maybe those cows would fly back to the pasture on their own. Anything was possible. He slid into the driver’s side of his truck and got a whiff of cat. “What the...”

  Claire laughed. “We forgot about the kittens.”

  One tiny sharp-clawed feline, gray with white paws and chest, started its way up Joe’s arm and Claire gently disentangled it. “This one likes you.”

  Joe scowled but took the fuzzy little cat and scratched its head. Doggone if the critter didn’t start purring. He tucked it into the crook of his elbow and started the truck with a roar, giving Claire a sideways glance. “As long as it likes mice, we’ll get along fine.”

  She laughed, relief palpable in the air. Mr. Haney was on the way to the hospital and thank You, Jesus, they had all survived.

  It could’ve been worse. A lot worse.

  * * *

  Outside, the morning sun was glaring. Claire plugged the drill in to charge before she remembered that the power still hadn’t been restored to the house. The kitchen, the room that yesterday morning had been such a bright spot—such a cheerful, grounding space—was dark. None of that beautiful early-morning light seeped in around the
edge of the window she’d covered with plywood. Dirty water sloshed on the floor, the soggy, dirty mess reminding her what a failure this endeavor was turning out to be.

  She’d risked everything to come here. Her biological father had left her this house and it had felt like a sign. The sign. The one that told her now was the time.

  God had made a way for her to find out about her biological family, but more important, to make a home for difficult-to-place foster kids. Everyone was depending on her and what had she done? She’d totally screwed it up.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face. Maybe the people in Red Hill Springs were right to be worried. Maybe she wasn’t the person to make this dream happen.

  A little dish beside the sink gleamed with a half dozen razor blades that she’d used to scrape the excess paint off the glass windowpanes. She’d hidden razor blades just like those in all kinds of weird places when she was cutting as a teenager. Back then, the pain she created on the outside made the massive hurt inside seem validated.

  She ran her fingers over the thin silver-white scars on the inside of her elbow. The pain she’d felt as a teenager didn’t make logical sense. She’d known that, even then. She’d had a loving mom, who adopted her and never made her feel like she was anything less than perfect. She and Jordan had been lucky.

  But she couldn’t explain the sense of loss she felt that her mom hadn’t shared the same genes with her. Someone she could look at and say that’s where my dimples, or my penchant for chocolate, or even my little toes that stuck out at a weird angle, came from.

  That need to just be known created an ache inside that couldn’t be soothed with a simple hug or a girls’ night out with her mom. She had Jordan, thank God, but Jordan didn’t know where those things came from, either.

  It wasn’t until a youth worker recognized Claire’s silent scream for help and confronted her that she realized how dangerous a road she’d been traveling.

  A tear slid down her cheek. She flipped the little blade in her fingers. At one time it had seemed like a friend. Now she knew it wasn’t, but when the world felt out of control and she felt like that scared, confused teen...she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about it.

  A knock jolted her. She stood completely still, letting the sounds of the farm bring her back to the present, to real life. Adult life. Her kitchen, someone at the door. She folded the razor blade, hiding it in her hand, and pulled the door open.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Joe stood on Claire’s back porch in a battered leather coat he’d dug out of his dad’s closet, collar turned up against the cold. He blew warm air into his cold fist and shuffled from foot to foot. That cold front driving the severe weather was no joke.

  Claire pulled the door open. A huge sweatshirt hung almost to the top of her bright red Hunter boots. She was such a dynamo, kick-dirt-take-names kind of person, but yesterday afternoon when they were pulling the tree out of her kitchen and covering the gaping hole with plywood, she’d seemed almost...fragile.

  He was worried about her and wanted to check on her. She wouldn’t go for that, so he made up an excuse, which also happened to be true. “I’m hoping you have some coffee on.”

  She pushed the door open wider. “I just made some in the French press. Help yourself.”

  “It’s freezing in here. You don’t want a fire?” He studied her face. She still wasn’t right, her eyes huge and dark in her usually animated face.

  “You can build one, if you want.”

  Joe crossed the soppy floor and took a piece of kindling out of the basket by the fireplace. “I called the hospital. Harvey’s doing better. Mom said she talked to Harvey’s daughter, Mary Pat, who just got a divorce. M.P. is thinking about bringing her kids and moving in with Harvey for a while. Could be good for both of them.”

  “That’s great. I bet it will make him happy to have kids around.”

  He lit the kindling, tucked it under the logs and sat back on his heels. “So I got Amelia on the bus and I was walking back down the drive and couldn’t figure out what was so weird. And then I realized, no trucks in the drive, no hammers, no people yelling over the sound of power tools.”

  She didn’t say anything, just looked down at her clenched fist, her face still too pale.

  Leaning closer to the struggling flame, Joe blew gently until the logs started smoking and caught. “Where are the workers?”

  Claire turned her back to him, walking through the smoke-hazy room to pour him a mug of coffee. “Don’t make a big deal out of this,” she warned.

  She turned, her gaze anywhere but meeting his. “I sent them to Mr. Haney’s this morning. When he gets out of the hospital, he needs a home to go back to.”

  He drank deeply from the mug she handed him, steam rising into the still chilly air. “You need them, Claire. Your licensing worker is coming next week.”

  “I know. Believe me. But Harvey needs them more.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter, but her voice wavered, her knuckles clenched white. He couldn’t stand to see her like this. His jaw tightened.

  When his hand touched her arm, she jumped. He cupped her fingers in his large calloused palm, gently uncurling them. “What is this?”

  She closed her eyes. “I wasn’t going to use it. I was just...holding it as a reminder not to give up. It reminds me where I came from and how hard I had to work to get here.”

  “And the storm made you question that?”

  “No.” She paused and he could see the emotion working on her face as she battled with what to tell him, if anything. “The failure did. We were on a tight deadline already and a strict budget and—” She gestured around the room and let her hand drop. “With all this, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stick to my timeline.”

  He shook his head, trying to will her to see what was in his heart. “You’re not a failure, Claire. Look at everything you’ve been able to accomplish in just a few short months. What a difference you’ve made for so many people.”

  He grazed his hand down her arm, stopping to cup her elbow in his work-roughened hand. “You’re amazing, but even if—even if—you were an utter failure, you would be good enough. Mom used to tell me that so much when I was a kid that I muttered it in my sleep. She would say, even if you were the person you sometimes think you are, you are still enough.” His eyes softened on hers. “God made you—knit you together cell by cell—and He doesn’t make mistakes. You’re here for a purpose and you’re perfect for that purpose. I’ve seen it with my own two admittedly ugly eyes.”

  Claire’s gaze locked on Joe’s. “You make sense. And I know, in my head, that sending the workers over there was the right thing to do. I just don’t know why it hurt so much to do it. Like I was giving up on my dream.”

  “You’re so good at everything you do. No, you are,” he said when she scoffed. “The animals, managing all the renovations, your rapport with kids, your junk food addiction.”

  When she laughed, he went for the win. “I’m not kidding when I say you’re amazing. But being that good at everything sometimes makes hard things even harder because you’re used to depending on yourself.”

  “Maybe you’re right and all this is just about that scary place where pride and self-confidence meet. And maybe I need to trust that if this is God’s plan, then He has it.”

  Her eyes held a little spark of life and he drew the first deep breath since he invited himself in.

  She opened the door to the closet and pulled out a broom and a mop. “So, which one do you want?”

  * * *

  Claire snugged her gloves onto her hands and hefted the hay bale into place. It was so cold outside that Tink the goat had put one hoof outside the barn door and turned and gone back to her stall. The twins had no such compunction about the cold and were running in and out of the door, stopping randomly to butt
heads and Claire’s legs and pretty much anything else they saw. She smiled and shooed them out of the way.

  The cold front that created a tornado when it went crashing into the warm moisture from the Gulf of Mexico apparently decided to stick around awhile. She’d slept in the keeping room next to the fireplace, dozing and tending the fire that Joe had built, until the power had sputtered back to life around three in the morning.

  Joe slid the barn door open and stepped inside wearing boots and jeans and that beat-up leather coat. Somewhere he’d found a leather cowboy hat, and instead of looking silly on him, it just made him look dangerous. He grinned as one of the goat twins ran headlong into his leg. “Everyone stay warm and toasty last night?”

  “Looks like it. This cold weather has Pete and Wendy feeling frisky. I, for one, was really glad to have the fire going last night. Reminded me of how things would’ve been in the old days.” She tossed some hay into the trough outside. Freckles and Tink might be outside before she fed again this afternoon.

  “No sign of Mama Kitty?”

  “Nope.” She dusted her hands and settled her hat. “I keep hoping she’ll show up. Fortunately, the kittens are able to be weaned and are doing okay with the kitten food we picked up.”

  It had been a long, cold night and the kittens had slept curled up on the couch with her. The little gray-and-white one that Joe had claimed kept touching her face with his little cold nose, like he wanted her to wake up and do something.

  She wished she knew what to do. Instead, she got up before the sun like she usually did and took care of feeding and watering the animals. Repetitive, yes, but the ritual was oddly comforting.

  Car tires crunching on the driveway alerted her that someone was coming in. She narrowed her eyes against the bright early-morning sun. “Who’s that?”

  Before that car even got parked, a truck turned into her drive, followed by another car and an SUV. People poured out of the vehicles and into the yard. For a brief second, she wondered if they’d decided to go ahead and have the town meeting and kick her out now, while she was down.