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The Dad Next Door
Stephanie Dees
A Place to Call HomeLawman Joe Sheehan is desperate to bond with the daughter he’s just discovered he has. But as a virtual stranger to twelve-year-old Amelia, the task seems impossible. Until Claire Conley moves to town. A social worker renovating a mansion into a foster home, Claire is the first person to get through to Amelia. Falling for the single dad was not on Claire’s to do list. But with Joe and Amelia around, the house finally starts to feel like home. Claire’s ready to fight to convince Joe that together they’ve done more than fix a house…they’ve built a family.


A Place to Call Home
Lawman Joe Sheehan is desperate to bond with the daughter he’s just discovered he has. But as a virtual stranger to twelve-year-old Amelia, the task seems impossible. Until Claire Conley moves to town. A social worker renovating a mansion into a foster home, Claire is the first person to get through to Amelia. Falling for the single dad was not on Claire’s to-do list. But with Joe and Amelia around, the house finally starts to feel like home. Claire’s ready to fight to convince Joe that together they’ve done more than fix a house…they’ve built a family.
A splash and a scream echoed off the main house.
He ran toward the pond as Claire surfaced, spluttering and laughing.
“Come on in.”
He gave her his best “you’ve got to be kidding me” look.
Laughing, she splashed him. “It’s just a little cold water.”
Joe took a deep breath and dived in, surfacing beside her.
“Are you worried about the meeting?” he asked when his breath had regulated.
“Yes.”
“Don’t give up. I don’t know if you’re that good with all kids, but if it wasn’t for you, Amelia and I would still be deadlocked in the silent treatment.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I needed the reminder of why it’s so important.”
“I have the feeling that you’re too stubborn to give up, anyway.”
“Oh, you do know how to sweet-talk me, Joe Sheehan.” She clambered out of the pond.
As he watched her, he realized he really liked her and he hadn’t felt that way about someone in a long time. The doors to his heart had been firmly closed. Seemed now there was just a crack in the door, enough to think…maybe.
Dear Reader (#ud4035c3f-0453-5e81-9f47-566a17668af3),
Thanks so much for spending some time in Red Hill Springs, Alabama! The name of my fictional small town is inspired by real-life springs, where the waters have been flowing—and providing respite and relief for weary travelers—for hundreds of years.
Each of the Sheehan siblings is facing challenges, but through faith and with love, they will learn that sometimes broken dreams lead to family blessings. If you liked The Dad Next Door, please join me back in Red Hill Springs in October for the next book in the Family Blessings series.
I’d love to hear from you! I can be reached at my website, stephaniedees.com (http://www.stephaniedees.com), or via email at steph@stephaniedees.com.
Stephanie Dees
Award-winning author STEPHANIE DEES lives in small-town Alabama with her pastor husband and two youngest children. A Southern girl through and through, she loves sweet tea, SEC football, corn on the cob and air-conditioning. For further information, please visit her website at stephaniedees.com (http://www.stephaniedees.com).
The Dad Next Door
Stephanie Dees


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Yet still I dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness; His mercies begin afresh each morning.
—Lamentations 3:21–23
For Melissa Endlich and Melissa Jeglinski
Thanks for keeping the faith.
Contents
Cover (#u8af012d4-b5ab-581c-9bb2-c8f4639b7bea)
Back Cover Text (#u60c83cc9-474a-5092-9d21-0968ab4f661f)
Introduction (#ub6fa0695-ea60-5398-859d-92b950c34d4d)
Dear Reader (#ua11a55fe-8711-5151-999a-e4b4812d51a3)
About the Author (#u57a3f4a6-8a65-5aa9-94b6-1dde2277b1bc)
Title Page (#ue7d495c6-abd7-54c9-99a5-9e23b6b6578f)
Bible Verse (#u23c30307-837d-5b1a-943c-e8008c1d34f1)
Dedication (#u244bf356-6171-508e-b1bb-87714c16c518)
Chapter One (#u589f7764-22db-5f41-ac01-21de7bdb044d)
Chapter Two (#uee121d0a-bff2-560e-a6bc-ae1def06b8ec)
Chapter Three (#ue3009d1a-8158-5f7e-b6db-53d4d46ac1a4)
Chapter Four (#ud4b954db-2e10-5b78-ab7e-c60326a46bd0)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ud4035c3f-0453-5e81-9f47-566a17668af3)
Claire Conley stood on the overgrown lawn—the Alabama humidity wilting her hair, flies circling—as she confronted her legacy. The antebellum plantation house she’d inherited from her father looked nothing like the pictures the lawyer had sent her. Well, to be fair, there was a porch. And it did have huge columns. But that was where the similarity ended. What had looked like pristine white paint in the photo was gray and peeling. The yard was a tangle of weeds.
Tears stung in her eyes. She’d sold everything she owned and driven fourteen hours on coffee and adrenaline, dreams buzzing in her head. For this?
This worn-out, falling-down piece of...history?
She tried to push the long, shaking sob back to where it came from and failed. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping. Her biological father had never given her a thing. This was just more of the same.
She didn’t hear the truck coming up the drive until the door slammed behind her. She spun around.
He looked hard. Hard muscles, hard expression, head shaved military style, a shadow of stubble along his jaw. A hint of a dimple creased his face, but she couldn’t see his eyes.
Those were covered with silver aviator glasses.
She was suddenly, painfully, aware of the fact that she’d chosen to stay on the road instead of stopping to eat in Somewhere, Georgia, and had the evidence of it smeared on her comfiest—threadbare—jeans.
“I’m looking for Claire Conley.” He didn’t raise his voice, but still, it carried.
She nodded, not sure she could speak around the lump in her throat. “That would be me.”
“I’m Joe Sheehan.” The guy walked closer and dug into his jeans pocket, coming up with a key. “Your father’s attorney asked me to give this to you. He’s out of town for a few weeks.”
She narrowed her eyes, big-city self-preservation kicking in. “You local law enforcement?”
“I’m a cop, but not in Red Hill Springs. My mom owns the diner and the attorney asked me to meet you.”
“You sure he didn’t skip town because he was afraid to face me?”
“I’m sorry?” The hand holding the key dropped a bit and the look on his face changed from friendly to concerned. “Is everything okay?”
She took a deep breath through her nose and let it out. The internet told her cleansing breaths were supposed to be calming. Not so much. “Yes, it’s fine. I’m fine. I was just expecting the house to be in a little better condition. I’m opening... I have plans for this place.”
Joe looked skeptical. “Yeah? Bed-and-breakfast?”
“Kind of. You know, my pastor back in North Carolina tells me brokenness is a good thing.” She stared at the house, her voice trailing off. If that was true, she was golden. She’d been wrecked when her fiancé ditched her, but thought she could get past it. Her mother’s death from cancer had gutted her. And when her job with the county ended, she figured God was trying to tell her something.
Joe rubbed his shoulder. “I’m not sure about it being a good thing, but I think things that are broken can be fixed. At least I hope so.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe this old place could be renovated. She didn’t know if there was enough glue in the world to hold her life together, but she was going to give it a try. Her hard-won optimism resurfaced, at least briefly.
Claire mentally calculated what remained in her bank account, and...the moment of optimism was gone. “I don’t know if I can do this. I have six months of living expenses and what’s left of my mom’s life insurance to get this place running.”
Joe stepped closer. “Maybe you should go inside?”
She closed her eyes, realizing she’d been spilling her guts to a literal stranger. And why? Because she got the sense that he understood what rebuilding a home—a life—would cost her?
“I’ve heard it was a real showplace at one time.” Joe climbed the steps to the porch.
“That’s encouraging.” She followed him onto the wide porch and took a step forward. Her left foot went right through the wood plank.
Joe’s arm streaked out to wrap around her waist, keeping her from falling through. He was warm and solid and, just for a second, she wanted to lean into that warmth. Instead, a laugh bubbled to the surface. And then the rest of it billowed out.
He hauled her to her feet and she stared at her reflection in those silver sunglasses. Hair all wackadoo, no lipstick, a ketchup stain on her shirt. Another giggle rose to the surface and she shoved it back with a tiny little snort. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” Joe slid the key in the lock. Despite the general disrepair, the key turned easily. He pushed the door open and stepped aside so she could go first.
It was like stepping into another time. The front hall had high ceilings, to combat the summer heat, and though the wallpaper was peeling, she could see that it would’ve been beautiful in its day. French doors to her right opened into a huge room, floor-to-ceiling windows sending long squares of golden light onto the wood floor. “What would this room have been used for?”
“I think it was the ballroom. The mayor and his wife had dinner parties here.” At her side, Joe pulled off the sunglasses, sliding them into his shirt pocket. There was an ugly, twisted scar streaking from the corner of his eye into his hairline.
She swallowed a gasp as he turned toward her, catching her staring. “Your eyes are blue,” she blurted.
“So are yours.”
“Right. Of course they are.”
Amusement deepened the dimple in his cheek and she glanced wildly around for a change of topic. “I can just see it, the room filled with tables covered in crisp white linen, sparkling crystal, heavy silver. What kind of food did they serve, do you think?”
Joe stepped farther into the room, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I’m not quite old enough to have come to the parties, but my mom told me about them. I think the governor was here a time or two.”
She nodded, turning slowly in the room, hearing the music that had once played. What would her life have been like if she’d grown up here with her biological family? Would she have had pretend parties with her friends in this grand room? Even thinking it made her feel guilty, like she was cheating on her real family, the family that raised her. But one day children would run and play, spin and twirl, in this room.
She turned back to him. “How in the world did they live in this place with it in this kind of shape?”
Joe’s brows drew together. “They didn’t. From what I understand, they moved to a house in town about ten years ago.”
Well, that explained a lot. And yet, there was something here, some sense of the past that was captivating. There were several rooms opening off to the right of the large hall, a parlor-type room, bedroom, bathroom. “Do you know where the kitchen is?”
“It runs along the back of the house. It used to be outside, but Mrs. Carter had one built inside the year she moved in.”
“Wait. The kitchen was still behind the house when the former mayor got married?”
“Yes, too hot in the South back in the day to have the kitchen inside.” Joe led the way to the back of the house. “Why do you call him the mayor and not your father?”
The dim corridor was cool, almost chilly, despite the heat outside, the humid air soft on her skin. “He was only my biological father. I didn’t know him. My twin sister and I were adopted by another family.”
She walked into the kitchen and stared hopelessly at the peeling linoleum and kitchen cabinets, which were painted a color that might have been fashionable about thirty years ago. All hint of laughter vanished. There was so much work to do if she was going to make this sagging place into any kind of home. She tried the deep breath thing again, and again it clogged in her throat.
Behind her, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“About my father?” She shrugged. “It’s okay. I didn’t know him. And I had a great mom. One good parent is better than two bad ones.”
“You think so?” He locked eyes with her, the blue of his startlingly clear in the shadowy room.
“Of course.” She looked away. That she didn’t need a father was something she’d told herself all through her growing-up years. The real truth was somewhere in the middle. There was a hole where a father should’ve been, yeah, but nothing compared to the gaping cavern of not having parents at all.
The one visit she and her twin sister, Jordan, had with their birth father had left her with more questions than answers about who she was. Her birth mother had died shortly after giving birth. Their dad didn’t feel like he could raise infant twin girls on his own, so he’d put them both up for adoption.
She looked back at Joe. “Kids need a constant in their life. Just showing up is half the battle.”
“I hope you’re right.” Joe pulled his phone out of his back pocket and looked at the screen. “Listen, I have to go. My daughter, Amelia, is going to be waiting for me at the school. If I don’t get there on time...well, let’s just say I need to show up.”
She smiled. “Thank you for bringing the key by. I’m sorry if I seem a little distracted. Being a homeowner is new to me.”
“No problem,” he said again. “Do you need anything?”
“No, thanks.” Her eyes filled—the traitorous truth that she did need. So much. Too much. She needed connection and roots. To build something lasting, to somehow fill the void that her mom had left, and the one that had always been where her father should have been.
No one could help her with that, not even a handsome stranger with kind blue eyes. Okay, yeah, she’d noticed he was handsome, but she wasn’t interested. She’d done love and gotten her heart stomped on. And she definitely didn’t have time for casual. So, no, thanks.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” He slid the aviators back over his eyes, then pulled a somewhat tattered business card out of his wallet. “It’s old, but the cell number’s still good. Feel free to call me if you think of anything.”
Claire glanced at the soft-edged card. “Full-service operation you’re running here.”
“Always aim to please.” He smiled for the first time, and despite her earlier lecture to herself, her heart gave a silly little skip. “Welcome to Red Hill Springs, Claire.”
His footsteps echoed in the empty house as he left. She followed and watched from the front door as he drove his old F-150 down the drive. When he turned onto the highway, she looked up.
What she could see of the sky through the overgrown bushes was crystal clear and a shade of blue she’d never seen in the city. Are you there, God? Because I really need You to show up.
She hesitated, then looked back at the sky. Like, now.
Maybe God didn’t like being given a timeline, she didn’t know, but maybe He would understand that she had one. This place had to be up and running and making ends meet within six months, or she was toast. And not the good kind of toast, either. The burned kind that made your house smell bad and no one would eat, even if you scraped off the top layer.
Turning back to the house, she sighed and reached for the light switch. Nothing happened.
“Oh, perfect.” She closed her eyes. “Just...perfect.”
* * *
“The café was buzzing today about the mayor’s daughter turning the plantation house into a bed-and-breakfast. She filed a permit for renovation last week before she ever set eyes on the place.” Joe’s mom tasted the lima beans and turned the heat off on the stove.
“Is that so?” Joe washed his hands at the sink in his mother’s kitchen.
Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. “Yes. I think it’s about as bad as the time Hester Jenkins set John’s Dale Earnhardt collection on fire on their front lawn.”
He shot his mom a glance. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Oh, that’s right. You were somewhere in the sand when that happened.”
Somewhere in the sand. His mother’s way of making her son’s military deployment bearable. Somewhere in the sand sounded like he could be on a tropical beach smoothing on sunscreen. Not in the middle of a war zone being shot at.
“John dropped the charges the next week, right after he broke her grandmother’s Lladro figurine, by accident, of course. It’s not a police matter anymore.”
“Glad to hear it.” His voice was wry and his mother made a face at him.
“Spoilsport. What’s the mayor’s daughter like? I’d like to get a look at her.”
“I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough. Everyone comes into the Hilltop eventually.” He sifted through his thoughts about the newest resident of Red Hill Springs. “She’s pretty. Dark brown hair, blue eyes. Five-three or four.”
“Once a cop always a cop. Sounds like you could pick her out in a lineup.”
He caught the sassy sarcasm and ignored it, instead choosing to appease his mother’s innate curiosity. “She seemed...I don’t know, lost? But also determined to make a go of that old place.” He tossed his keys into a tray on the counter, where his father had tossed his, along with his badge, for as long as Joe could remember. And then there was a pang, because Frank was gone. A heart attack had taken him from them with no warning a year ago next month.
Joe had been seven the first time he’d sworn he was leaving this town and never coming back. Eight when he’d stopped hoping his parents could be trusted. Twelve when he’d gotten caught trying to break into the police chief’s garage.
So yeah, he knew a little bit about being lost. He’d been an angry, defensive kid, striking out at everyone and trusting no one, but instead of arresting him, Frank had taken him inside to Bertie and Bertie had taken him under her wing. Slowly, he’d realized there were no more bruises, no more wondering when he would get to eat again, no more being scared every single minute of every day.
They’d rescued him from that life, even though they wouldn’t say so, and then they’d adopted him, giving him a real mom and dad, a brother, two sisters and a life he’d never expected. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the feeling of stepping into someone else’s life, wondering when they would realize he didn’t belong.
Bertie tossed some cherry tomatoes into the salad bowl. “Maybe she’s a little like Amelia, in a way, not having a daddy growing up? I think Amelia feels a little lost, too.”
And there it was, what his mother really wanted to get at. The very new relationship between him and his daughter. “Amelia has a daddy. Unfortunately, her mother—and believe me, I use that term loosely—was the only one who knew it.”
He heard a noise behind him, a small rush of air, and turned to see his daughter, Amelia. Just her back and a whirl of dark brown hair as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Joe stared at the closed door, the perfect metaphor for their relationship. “She wasn’t at school today when I got there. She walked home alone again.”
He felt his mother’s hand on his back. “She’ll come around, bud. She’s had a lot of change to deal with. All that anger hides how she really feels.”
“She hasn’t spoken a word to me in the two weeks that she’s been here.” He had a lot of ground to make up with Amelia, he knew that. He may not be ready to be a dad, but he was one, and he didn’t want to screw it up. But where in the world did you start when you’d missed twelve years?
“Joe, she was dropped off at the door with a note and a backpack full of clothes that didn’t fit her. Give her some time. You weren’t exactly a bundle of joy when you first came here.”
That was an accurate statement. He paused for a second. “Did you ever regret it, taking me on?”
She shut the refrigerator door and grabbed his face between her hands, like she used to do when he was younger. “Darling boy, I would never regret you. You are my son in every way that counts. It’s tricky now, but soon you’ll be finding your way. I promise.”
Fighting the knot in his throat, he said, “I would do anything to be able to go back and make it right for her.”
After high school, he’d gone straight into basic training. He’d been in Afghanistan when Lori Ann was having his baby. She could’ve gotten word to him, but she didn’t try. He had no idea Amelia even existed until she showed up on his mom’s doorstep and he’d seen his own blue eyes staring up at him.
“I know you would do anything for her, and one day Amelia will understand that, too.” Constantly moving, she stirred the okra and tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pan. “It’s normal, Joe, to have feelings and questions about your childhood. You’ve had a rough few months. It’s no wonder you have questions.”
Maybe that was what brought Claire to Red Hill Springs, the questions that she’d never had the answers to.
“How long did you stay out there at the plantation? Was she nice?”
Long used to his mother’s seeming ability to mind-read, Joe shrugged, but he remembered the look on Claire’s face as she’d stared at her inheritance. “Her name is Claire. She seemed nice enough. A little thrown by the condition of the place. It’s falling down.”
“Is she staying at a hotel in Spanish Fort?”
“No, I think she’s staying there at the plantation.”
“That place is a dump.” Bertie pointed the spoon his way. He watched it warily as he sneaked a taste of the limas from the edge of the pan closest to him. “Go pick her up for dinner and tell her to bring her stuff. She can sleep in Wynn’s room.”
“Mom, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He rubbed his shoulder, sending a sidelong glance at the firmly closed door to the living room. “We have a lot going on right now.”
“We do.” His mother nodded in agreement. “But no one should show up in town and be left without a hot meal or a clean place to lay her head.”
He didn’t want to get involved. He wasn’t like his mother. Trusting, having faith, it didn’t come easily to him. A wary sense of self-preservation had been ingrained in him as a kid. Then he fought a war on foreign soil. And then he became a cop.
But he picked up his keys and said, “You’re sure about this?”
“Do I look undecided?” His mom had blond hair cut into a straight bob at her chin. She always looked perfectly groomed, even standing over a hot stove, or after a long day on her feet in the café. What she didn’t look was indecisive.
Arguing with his mother was pointless. Once Bertie took on a project, the best thing to do was get out of the way. Even his father could never say no to her, which was how they ended up with two cats, four dogs and an extra kid.
Now she was wanting to take in the mayor’s daughter, and that was the last thing he needed.
Chapter Two (#ud4035c3f-0453-5e81-9f47-566a17668af3)
Claire leaned over the kitchen table, her pen moving almost as fast as her mind as she made an action list for the next day. A small mountain of chocolate wrappers smushed into little silver balls lined the table. The shock had faded and been replaced by a certainty that no matter how hard this was, she wasn’t going to back down. Of course, electricity would help.
The house was completely dark now except for the kitchen, which was lit by the several dozen candles she’d found in the closets around the house. A large room that ran the width of the house with a fireplace at one end, the kitchen had real potential as a gathering place.
At current count, there were one hundred and forty-two things on the to-do list and that was just for the house. It didn’t begin to cover the mountain of paperwork and red tape she had to tackle.
A knock at the open door was loud in the too-quiet house. She jumped to her feet, her hand at her chest. Through the screen, she saw the guy from earlier.
Joe, he’d said his name was. He was still dressed the same, except for the boots, which she hadn’t noticed before. They were scuffed and dusty and well-worn, which made her think there might be some hope for him. He didn’t have the sunglasses on, but they were in his T-shirt pocket.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You were pretty deep in thought.” He gave her a little apologetic shrug.
She walked to the door. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is there a problem?”
He shook his head. “No, not at all. You look busy.”
She’d changed into different jeans—ones without a stain—and a soft, loose T-shirt. Not so fancy, but at least it was clean. “I’m making a list. A very long list.”
“May I come in?”
She hesitated before she unlatched the screen, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been alone with her in the house this afternoon and this wasn’t the big city. People were probably neighborly here. She pushed the door open and he stepped inside the room. “I have a few Diet Cokes left in my cooler if you’d like one.”
“No, thanks, I’m good.” He tested a chair before he sat down in it. “What’s first on the list?”
“Getting more candles. Or even better, electricity.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up again. “That does seem like a priority.”
“Right?” She stacked the papers on the table and watched as the shadows from the candles danced across his face. “Before it got dark, I was able to look around a little bit. Most of the house is structurally sound, but all of it needs work if it’s going to be livable.”
“It sounds like a huge undertaking.”
She appreciated that he didn’t try to sugarcoat the truth. It was a huge undertaking. Gigantic. She blinked. “Yeah. My mom wasn’t afraid of picking up a hammer and taught me to be the same way, so I can do some of the work myself, but even so, the timetable is going to be tight.”
“It’s a beautiful old place. It will be great when it’s all fixed up.” His eyes were gentle and hers stung, again.
She told herself to get a grip. “Thanks. I think it can be, too. So what brings you out this way again?”
Joe cleared his throat. “My mom always cooks enough food for the entire block and she wanted me to invite you to dinner. It’s also possible that she wants to get a good look at you before the rest of the town does.”
“That’s nice... I think.” The candles flickered in the breeze from the open window and she glanced around the dim room. “You live with your mom?”
A bark of laughter escaped. “Yes, thanks for mentioning that. I wasn’t planning on staying in Red Hill Springs long enough to need my own place. My daughter is living with me now, though, so I’m looking. It’s hard to find a short-term rental in a town this size.”
“What brought you back to Red Hill Springs?”
“My dad died. I got shot.” He shrugged, like that kind of thing happened every day.
“Were you hurt badly? How long are you in town for? How old is your daughter?” So many questions. He was so much less predictable than she’d thought when she first met him. Those boots didn’t lie.
“I was shot in the line of duty. I’m a cop, like my dad was. I’ve been here for four months rehabbing my shoulder and will be here at least two more. And Amelia’s twelve.”
She was quiet for a moment, absorbing all the information. “Does your daughter like it here?”
Joe grimaced. “I wouldn’t normally lead with this information, but if you’re around town at all, you’ll hear it. Her mother—” He stumbled a little on that word but quickly recovered. “Her mother decided to go into rehab and dropped her off at my mom’s with a note and a backpack. I didn’t know she existed.”
Dark lashes had dropped over his eyes and she couldn’t see his expression. But the tone of his voice sounded like shame and that wasn’t okay. “Rehab is good, I guess, right?”
“If that’s where she actually went. I’ve checked all the ones within a few hours’ drive and she isn’t registered at any of them. She made a bad mistake, but I’m not sorry my daughter is with me.” He made a face. “Amelia’s not too happy about it, but that’s another story.”
Claire didn’t know why she felt such a kinship with this man she didn’t know, but there was something. Maybe it was that he was starting his life over with a daughter and she was starting over, period.
Maybe.
She looked at him, considered. And then thought, why not? “There’s a little cabin on the property, on the other side of the pond from here. It’s in pretty bad shape from what I can tell, but if you want to look at it tomorrow, you’re welcome to it.”
His head snapped up. “How much do you want for rent?”
“We can talk about the rent after you see it. It’s not much, but it has a pretty view.”
“I really don’t know how long I’ll be here, but thank you, it’s a kind offer.” He stood. “We should be getting back for dinner. And I forgot to mention my mom also said to tell you to bring your bag and you can sleep in my sister’s room.”
The thought of not spending the night on the floor in this creepy, silent house was appealing, but she didn’t move. “That’s really not necessary. I don’t want to put your mother out.”
“You won’t be putting her out, believe me. Plus, she insisted and I’ll get in trouble if you don’t.”
The thought of this big, muscular man getting in trouble with his mom amused her. “I do appreciate it, but this is going to be my home. I think I better get used to it.”
In the distance, an animal howled. The haunting sound hung in the air. Claire’s heart began to pound. “What was that?”
“Sounded like a coyote. They’re opportunistic hunters, but you’re probably fine in here.”
She couldn’t really see his expression across the room in the candlelight, but he seemed dead serious. Maybe she should go to stay at his mother’s house.
No. Maybe it was pure stubbornness, but she was staying. “I’ll be fine. Please tell your mom I appreciate the offer and I’ll look forward to meeting her.”
He looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “If you’re sure.”
She wasn’t sure at all. “I am.”
“Okay, then, I’ll see you around.” He swung the screen door open and a few minutes later, all she could see was the taillights of his truck headed away from her house.
The coyote howled again, and this time he was joined by his friends. She closed the door and locked it. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Joe lifted the cup of coffee and savored a moment of peace before the battle began again. The battle for ground with Amelia, the battle to rehab his shoulder and regain his range of motion. He clenched his fist and uncurled his fingers one at a time.
In the kitchen, pans clanged, bacon sizzled and Martin, the cook, yelled, “Order up.” His mother bustled behind the counter, a ready smile and a fresh cup of coffee for everyone.
Behind the silver aviators, he watched his twelve-year-old daughter across the Formica table from him. Her eyes were on her cell phone, thumbs flying. She might as well have been in another state for all the attention she was paying him. “What do you want for breakfast, Amelia?”
She didn’t look up.
Lanna, best waitress at the Hilltop, stopped at their table. “Hey, Joe, what’ll it be?”
They’d been friends since middle school when they used to sneak behind the gym for a smoke. She’d written him letters every single month while he’d been overseas. “I’ll have my usual and Amelia will have blueberry pancakes.”
Lanna topped off his coffee from the pot on her tray and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Pancakes today. All right, then. Be back in a jiff.”
Every day Joe insisted that Amelia join him for breakfast before school at his mother’s diner. Every day she refused to eat. Every day he ordered her something different off the menu, figuring eventually he’d order something she wouldn’t be able to refuse.
“How’s school going? Have you gotten to know any of your teachers?”
No answer.
“My favorite teacher was Mr. McAdams. We called him the Mac Attack. He brought doughnuts to our homeroom every Friday.” He looked up as Lanna brought their food and slid it onto the table, along with a warm pitcher of maple syrup.
“There you go. Y’all holler if you need anything, okay? Bertie said to tell you she put extra blueberries in the pancakes, just for you, Amelia.”
Amelia still didn’t look up, but he saw her swallow hard. The edges of the pancakes were crisp and buttery, the scent of blueberries and warm maple syrup mingling in the air. It had to be getting to her.
The chimes at the entrance jingled and Claire Conley came through the door, light brown ponytail swinging. She had jeans and a sweatshirt on, but as she got closer, he saw the edge of a flannel pajama top sticking out from under the sweatshirt. There was a crease in her cheek from a pillow. She obviously needed coffee more than he did. As she caught sight of him, he held a mug up to her, an offering.
Claire cupped it in both hands and took a long, greedy sip, sighing in appreciation. “Thanks. Obviously, I didn’t think this through. No electricity means no coffee. And I didn’t get to sleep until about four. Crazy coyotes.”
“Claire Conley, this is my daughter, Amelia.”
Amelia still didn’t speak, but she did look up to check Claire out.
Claire smiled at her, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two of them. “I just came in to pick up some breakfast. I have to get back to the farm. My horse is being trailered in today. Amelia, you’ll have to come and see him.”
Amelia’s blue eyes widened. “Is she pretty?”
“Yes, very handsome. His name is Freckles.” Claire dug her cell phone out of her back pocket and showed Amelia a picture.
“He’s awesome. I want to be a vet one day.”
Joe looked from Amelia to Claire. Amelia had just said more words in the last sixty seconds than Joe had heard in two weeks. He jumped into the conversation. “I’ll pick you up after school and we’ll go see Claire’s horse, if you want.”
She shot him a quelling look, grabbed her phone and shrugged into her backpack at the faint sound of a bell ringing in the distance. “It’s time for school. See you later, Claire.”
Watching as she crossed the street to the school, Joe couldn’t help but think she looked so small with that enormous backpack. He turned back to Claire. “I can’t believe you got her to talk. She’s been on a conversation strike.”
She shrugged and he waved at the bench across from him. “Feel free to eat the pancakes. She didn’t touch them. She’s on an eating strike, too.”
Sliding onto the red vinyl bench across from him, Claire looked up, startled. “She’s not eating? For how long?”
“Don’t worry, she eats. Just not with me. She doesn’t trust me and, really, I don’t blame her. She thought I didn’t want anything to do with her for twelve years.”
Lanna slid a to-go box onto the table in front of Joe. “For the pancakes. Coffee for you, miss?”
“Claire Conley. It’s nice to meet you. I’d love some coffee, thanks.”
“Claire...got it. I’m Lanna.” The light dawned in Lanna’s eyes as she poured a mug for Claire and placed some cream on the table. “You’re the mayor’s daughter. No one even knew the mayor had a daughter. Everyone’s talking about it. Need anything else, just yell.”
“It was a closed adoption, so I didn’t know the mayor was my father, either, until recently. I guess my arrival will be fueling the town gossip for a while.” Claire’s eyes sparkled with amusement as Lanna hustled back to the kitchen.
“No worries. Pretty sure Amelia and I still occupy the top spot.” Joe cleared his throat. “So, the coyotes kept you awake?”
“I didn’t even know coyotes were a thing, but I looked it up on the internet on my phone. There are hordes of them.” She shuddered. “But they’re afraid of donkeys, so guess who will be getting a couple as soon as the funds allow?” Claire grinned and shoved a huge bite of blueberry pancakes into her mouth.
“I’m guessing that would be you.”
“These are so good.” She took another big bite out of the pancakes and picked up her mug. “Okay, so when you come out to the farm to look at the cabin later on, bring Amelia to see Freckles. He really is good with kids.”
“Believe it or not, that exit this morning was progress. The first week, she wasn’t nearly as friendly and affectionate.”
She laughed and almost choked on her coffee. “I know you probably keep hearing this, but give it some time, you’re doing fine.”
Joe narrowed his eyes at her. “And you know this because you have a bunch of teenage daughters who hate you, so you’ve been through the process?”
Claire laughed again, her lake-blue eyes wide-open now. “Something like that. I’m a social worker. I had a bunch of teenagers in my caseload who hated my guts and a few younger kids who could give them a run for their money. I loved the feeling when they eventually learned they could trust me. And you will, too, once you get past this stage.”
“How exactly do I do that?”
“By doing what you’re doing. Don’t let her get away with not sitting at the table or joining in family outings. The daily breakfasts are good. Eventually, she’ll get the idea that you’re sticking.”
He studied her face as she talked—animated, alive—and comprehension dawned. He had enough instincts and experience to see trouble brewing. “So when you say you’re ‘kind of’ opening a bed-and-breakfast, what you really mean is you’re turning your inheritance into a foster home, where kids will have a bed and eat breakfast.”
She had the grace to blush. “Yes, something like that.”
“Were you trying to hide the truth?” He wasn’t opposed to giving her the benefit of the doubt, but this new friendship might be short-lived if she had a habit of lying.
“No! Really, I wasn’t. You assumed bed-and-breakfast and I didn’t correct you. I never intended to keep it a secret.”
“A foster home is going to raise some eyebrows in this town.” Not that he cared. He wasn’t planning to be here long enough to witness the fallout.
Claire frowned. “Why? My sister, Jordan, and I were in foster care for a while after the first couple who intended to adopt us changed their mind. Foster kids aren’t delinquents, they just aren’t able to live at home for some reason.”
“That may be true, but it’s not people’s perception. Red Hill Springs is a friendly little town, but people are set in their ways.”
She stared at him, unflinching. Then grinned again. “Then I’ll just have to change their mind.” She leaned over the plate and took another big bite of pancakes as she slid out of the booth. “Gotta run. I have to make sure the fence line will keep my horse in.”
Claire walked up to the register, where she chatted with his mom for a few minutes. She stopped back by the table to say, “Don’t forget to bring Amelia out this afternoon. We can talk about rent then, if you like the cabin.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I still don’t get it. You don’t even know me. And I definitely don’t know you.”
“Maybe I have a soft spot for a daughter who never knew her dad.” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she swung the front door open. “Plus, you’re armed and I don’t have a donkey yet.”
Bertie slid a to-go cup of coffee in front of him as the door swung shut behind Claire. “She’s cute and she seems nice.”
His eyes were on Claire as she walked toward her car. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Hopefully, Amelia will eat with you tomorrow.” His mom smiled as she reached for the dirty dishes on the table.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Who knows?”
“Well, don’t give up, bud. She reminds me of someone else I knew once who was pretty bullheaded. Besides, you need her.”
It wasn’t until he was on the street walking back to his mom’s house that he realized his mom had said you need her. That was ridiculous. Daughters needed a father, not the other way around.
But there was something there, some restlessness inside that he couldn’t identify. His mom had said God was preparing him for something big. Something risky.
Like moving-across-the-country-to-start-a-foster-home risky?
He curled his fingers into a fist and stretched them out one by one, refusing to wince at the pain that shot up his arm. Sometimes just getting through every day seemed like a risk.
Chapter Three (#ud4035c3f-0453-5e81-9f47-566a17668af3)
Claire shoved the pole into the slot on the fence, tested the fit and fell against it, trying to catch her breath. She dusted the gloves on her pants and pulled them off, stretching her fingers. Her whole body ached. She hadn’t expected to have to rebuild the whole corral when she arranged for Freckles to be trailered in today.
A honking horn caught her attention. She smiled, something easing in her chest as her twin sister, Jordan, pulled into the lane in her truck.
Jordan shoved the gear into Park and jumped down, enveloping her in a huge bear hug. “Wow! It’s been too long.”
“Hasn’t even been a week yet.”
Jordan’s reddish-blond hair was twisted into two short braids and she was dressed, as usual, in boots, jeans and a flannel shirt. They were fraternal twins, but people had a hard time even believing they were sisters. She shrugged. “I’m not the only one who thinks so. Freckles went into a depression after you left.”
Claire lifted the latch on the trailer gate, lowering it gently to the ground so as not to spook her horse inside. Freckles turned his head and sniffed, one big brown eye catching sight of her. He snorted.
She laughed as she climbed in and patted his rump. “I get it. You’re mad at me now, buddy, but come January, when you’re not trying to find the one remaining blade of grass under a half foot of ice and snow, you’ll be thanking me.”
He nudged her with his nose and she pulled out half an apple she’d scrounged from her car. After a good scratch and a minute to warm up to her again, she backed him out of the trailer. The second his hooves hit the ground, he lifted his head and sniffed the air.
“It smells different, doesn’t it, boy?” She scratched along his mane and patted him before she turned to Jordan. “I don’t know how to thank you for bringing him.”
“No problem. How is it?”
“Rough. The whole place needs to be renovated.”
Jordan walked a few steps away, taking in the property. “What do you think he was doing, Claire, leaving us this property? He didn’t know us, barely spent two hours with us once he found us. Was it guilt?”
A familiar hollowness settled in Claire’s chest. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not like it’s a giant prize. It’s a mess.”
Jordan walked a few steps, her hands on her hips, then turned back with her arms outstretched. “Yeah, but it’s awesome. Just imagine the organic vegetable garden over there to the left, the pond stocked with fish. A load of teenagers doing all the chores and cheerfully learning to be responsible.”
Claire snorted a laugh as she walked her horse in a large circle. “You do have rose-colored glasses. When did you ever know teenagers to be cheerful about chores?”
“Hey, there’s always a chance.” Jordan’s blue-green eyes were shining.
“I’ll call you and let you know how that goes.”
Jordan leaned on the fence to the corral, facing Claire. “Yeah, about that.”
Claire stopped midstride. Behind her, Freckles went still, glanced at her and went to nibbling the green grass around the fence posts. “What?”
“I want to move here and work with you.”
“In a second! But you know I can’t afford to pay you.” She led Freckles through the gate to the corral, where, for the time being, there was still some grass. She unhooked his lead rope and looked, really looked, at her sister. There were lines in Jordan’s face that hadn’t been there last week and she looked tired. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I lost the lease for the barn and the land. I have sixty days to get the horses moved somewhere else. I was thinking maybe you would be interested in having hippotherapy here. It would be great for your foster kids.”
Claire’s heart sank. There was nothing that would make her happier than having Jordan as a partner and being able to provide that kind of service for the kids, but she couldn’t afford it. “Jordan, I’m not sure I have enough money to get this place up and running, much less for the upkeep of twenty horses.”
Jordan leaned over the fence to scratch Freckles between the ears. “I thought about it all the way here. I have some money left from the life insurance, which I’ll throw in, but it still won’t be enough. I’ll sell all but four horses and start over. There’s nothing keeping me in North Carolina now that Mom is gone. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
Claire studied Jordan’s face. Her sister loved a joke, but it was clear she wasn’t kidding. “We’ll have to work on the barn.”
Jordan grabbed her and pulled her in for a tight hug. “We will. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Do you want to stay the night? This place isn’t ready for overnights, but we can find a hotel somewhere close.”
“I really can’t. This timeline is a killer. I need to get back on the road while there’s still daylight.” Jordan’s face lit up. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a present.”
She walked to the trailer and opened the door of the first compartment and reached in for a lead line. A very pregnant goat came barreling out.
Claire laughed. “Mama Goat?”
Jordan looked to the sky and shrugged. “What can I say? She missed you, too.” She pressed the rope into Claire’s hand and squeezed it. “Man, I wish I could just stay right now. I would love to help with the reno.”
“I know. I promise there will be plenty of work left when you get here.” Claire rubbed between Mama’s horns, the familiar scratchy head so welcome after the day she’d had yesterday. She looked up at Jordan and clamped her lips together so she wouldn’t beg her sister not to leave. She took a deep breath. “Sixty days?”
“Sixty days.” Her twin and forever best friend hugged her tight enough to cut off her breath, ran to the cab of her truck and swung into it. As she drove away, she yelled, “Send me pictures!”
Claire laughed. Thoughts whirled in her mind, so fast she couldn’t even grasp them. It was a dream come true to have Jordan with her, but Jordan’s decision slapped another layer of responsibility onto an already teetering pile. She had to get this place up and running, and now, with four more horses coming, getting the barn ready would have to be a priority.
Plus, she was going to have to get Mama Goat a friend or she would eat everything in sight.
Her never-ending list just got a little bit longer, but there was only one way to handle it: one thing at a time. And lots of chocolate.
* * *
Joe turned into the drive at Red Hill Farm. Before he’d even come to a stop, Amelia was out of the truck and running toward Claire, long dark hair flying. “Hey, Claire, is that your horse? Is that a goat? What’s her name?”
“Yep, that’s Freckles, my horse. And this is a very pregnant goat who doesn’t really have a name other than Mama Goat.” Claire met his eyes, a smile lighting her face from within. Her jeans and boots weren’t fancy, nor was the ponytail, and she was covered in dirt. But despite her near breakdown the first day, it was obvious she was comfortable in her skin, comfortable in her abilities. Determined to make things work.
She handed the lead rein to his daughter. “Why don’t you think of one for her?”
Amelia’s eyes widened, then she looked away, playing it off. Joe hid a smile. “Yeah, okay, cool.”
“She might need a walk. She had a long ride to get here.”
Joe leaned over to scratch Mama Goat behind the ears. She butted him with her head and Amelia laughed, a delighted little-girl laugh, and Joe had to blink back tears. He hadn’t heard so much as a giggle since she’d moved in with him two weeks ago.
Claire leaned back on the fence and her horse nibbled at her hair. She either ignored him or didn’t notice, her eyes on Amelia. “When I went in the barn this morning to shovel out a stall for Freckles, I found a mama kitty with four little babies.”
His daughter bounced on her feet. “Can I see them?”
“Of course. The mama’s a little wild, but the kittens are small enough that they could probably be tamed.” Claire appeared to think about it. “They’ll need a lot of attention and petting. I’m not sure I’m going to have time with all the renovations.”
Amelia’s eyes widened, but she shrugged. “I could help.” She shot a sideways glance at Joe. “Maybe.”
Joe’s heart clenched as he watched his daughter battle with hope. There’d been so little of it in her life.
“Are you sure? I could use a hand with the animals, but you’re busy with school and stuff.”
“I don’t mind! I really don’t.” Mama Goat found something edible in the grass and put on the brakes. Amelia tugged on the lead, her forehead furrowing.
“If your dad says it’s okay, it would be awesome if you could help me for an hour or two in the afternoons when you’re free. But only if your dad says it’s okay.”
Amelia lifted her head, her big blue eyes meeting his. Those eyes that so mirrored his were full of uncertainty. She’d spent the last two weeks of her life trying to make his miserable and now her dearest wish was in his hands. “Please, Joe?”
He’d tried everything to figure out a way to connect with his daughter and Claire had just served it up to him on a silver platter. “Yeah, I think it’s a great idea.”
“Thanks, Joe! Claire, is it okay if I see if I can find them? I can put Tinkerbell here into the barn.” It wasn’t any of the grateful scenarios he’d imagined—Amelia didn’t smile or hug him—but she had spoken to him of her own free will.
One step at a time.
“Tinkerbell is the perfect name. I love it! While you look for the kittens, your dad and I are going to check out the cabin on the other side of the pond.” Claire started around the water’s edge. The sun was easing toward the horizon, the sky streaky with pink and orange fingers of light.
Joe followed Claire, for once glad that the sunglasses he wore hid his eyes. Amelia had such a hard time trusting, but Claire had seen that the animals were a key to reaching her and hadn’t hesitated. Maybe it was just his daughter, but Claire definitely had a way with kids.
The small cabin was tucked into the woods behind the main house. The place had obviously seen better days, but even in the current condition, the view of a crystal-clear spring-fed pond went into the pro column. A rocking chair or a swing on this porch would be really nice.
She pushed open the door and let him walk in first. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his front shirt pocket. Dust swirled in the dim room. It had a kind of charm, if you went for dark and brooding.
“It was apparently a foreman’s cottage in the years Red Hill Farm was a working plantation. I thought it might make a good office for me, but it’s going to be a while before I get to it.”
He didn’t say anything. She was obviously optimistic. It might make a good office, if she plowed it over and started again. Did he really want his daughter here? He opened a cabinet door and it fell off its hinges.
Claire jumped as it hit the floor. “Wow. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. It’s going to take a lot of work to make this place livable.”
He heard a suspicious rustling sound in the bottom cabinet and elected to ignore it. “Let’s just check it out.”
“What’s going on?” Amelia bounced into the space, her eyes sparkling even in the dim light, a tiny black-and-white kitten cupped in her hands.
“We’re looking to see if the cabin might work out for us.”
Hope burst onto Amelia’s face and she danced into the front room. “We’re going to live here?”
Joe sent Claire a look over his daughter’s head. “Not necessarily. And only for a while, until my shoulder is better.”
“Please, Joe. I’ll help with the chores. I’ll do whatever you ask.” Her eyes brightened as inspiration struck. “I’ll eat breakfast every day.”
A small smile escaped Claire’s control, but she didn’t say anything.
Joe tried to summon his mean cop face, but the hope that this might be some kind of breakthrough with his daughter kept it from being very effective. “You’ll eat breakfast with me? Without an attitude?”
Claire shoved one of the front windows up to let some air into the musty space. “Don’t answer that, Amelia. You should probably check out the bedrooms before you decide.”
Amelia looked around. “It’s not that bad. We could paint it.”
“There are two bedrooms with a bathroom in between.” Claire sneezed.
“There’s a bathroom?” Joe raised an eyebrow.
“No need to go outside. Amenities are assured here at Red Hill Farm. The place is really small, though, smaller than I thought at first glance last night.”
“It’s not small. It’s cozy.” Amelia ran from one room to the next, then popped back out into the main room. “Here, hold the cat. Can I have the bedroom on the right?”
“Uhm, sure.” It was pure reflex that had Joe cupping his hands around the little kitten. It looked as stunned as he felt, little black eyes blinking at him. Amelia had gone from not speaking a word to chattering away, and it was weird. Twilight Zone weird.
Claire lifted the baby from his hands and snuggled it under her chin. “Tell you what, why don’t we forego the rent for now? You fix the place up in your spare time. Clean it up, coat of paint, buff the floors. And when Amelia’s not working in here, she can help me with the animals.”
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 have 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 (#ud4035c3f-0453-5e81-9f47-566a17668af3)
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 ever 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.”
“That sounds great.” And it did. He could picture it in his mind. She was creating a home.
“I got a recommendation for a painter from the hardware store. He and his wife are coming to get started on the kitchen tomorrow, so I need to finish the demo today. You?”
A car pulled into the driveway. Through the hazy window, Joe saw Amelia bound out before his mom even got the car stopped good. “Joe?”
He grinned. “Headed to the cabin. I got some mousetraps at the store when I got your new locks. Maybe shouldn’t mention that to Amelia, though. I’m afraid we’d end up with them as pets.” He swung open the back door and stepped into the sunshine. “Over here, Amelia. See ya later, Claire.”
Claire watched as he walked around the pond to the cabin she’d “rented” to him, his daughter bouncing happily beside him, and reminded herself. He was her tenant. A cop who had his own set of problems to deal with and she definitely didn’t need more problems.
He wasn’t even that attractive.
Yeah, whatever. Keep telling yourself that, honey. She eyed the plate of brownies that Mrs. Evelyn had brought. She wanted one, but she’d already had one and brownies were a treat, not a staple.
And that was how she needed to think of Joe. A sweet treat. Chocolate-covered? Definitely. But not the kind of thing she needed to make a part of her everyday diet.
A buzzing sound split the quiet and the lights flickered on. Her own whoop was nearly drowned out by the cheer from the guys working on her lines.
Things were looking up. She laughed and gave a thumbs-up to the guys working outside. She opened the door and hollered to them, “Make sure to stop by the kitchen and get some brownies and cookies before you go.”
Another car turned into her lane and pulled to a stop behind Joe’s truck. She sighed. At this rate she was never going to get the kitchen demo’d for the painters tomorrow and she couldn’t afford to pay them to do the prep for her.
She walked out to meet her visitor, surprised to see a squad car in her driveway.
The driver, a man around sixty, stepped onto her driveway and hitched up his pants.
“Hi, there. I’m Claire Conley.”
“I’m Acting Police Chief Roy Willis. I wanted to personally welcome you to Red Hill Springs.” He looked around as he talked, his eyes lighting on the pile of discarded cabinet doors by the back steps. “You’re going to need a construction Dumpster for that debris.”
She was slightly taken aback but gave him an easy grin. Rules were rules. She wasn’t necessarily a stickler for them, but she got it. “I’ve got one coming, but I didn’t have time to wait for it. I have painters starting work in the morning.”
“Licensed and insured?”
“I’m not sure about that.” Heat was starting to creep up her neck. She didn’t know what the point of his questions was, but it wasn’t against the law to hire unlicensed painters. “I hired them on the recommendation of the local hardware store, but I’ll be sure to ask them when they arrive. It’s a big project. They will have incentive to do a decent job because if they do, they’ll have all the work they want for a while.”
He glanced at the power company workers who were packing up, then back at her, a speculative look on his face. Surely he wouldn’t have something to say about her having the power turned on.
“I have the proper permits to do the renovation on this property, Chief Willis. I had the attorney who handled the inheritance for my sister and me make sure of that.”
He smiled, and instead of being reassuring, it increased her prickly feeling of unease. Whatever his motivations were in dropping by, she wouldn’t be able to do anything if she didn’t know. “Is there something in particular I can help you with?”
“Some people in town got the impression by the way you were asking around that you might be hiring day laborers. They were rightly concerned that you might be encouraging a...certain element...to hang around our town.”
Claire wasn’t even sure what to say about that. Some people in town were worried about it? People like him, for example? Her fingers clenched into a fist and she really just wanted to punch him in the face.
She wouldn’t, of course. She had enough sense to know he was baiting her. He might be using his power to harass her—and that was exactly what she would call it—but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of hauling her in for assaulting the police chief, acting or not.
He leaned back on his car and crossed his legs, glancing at the cabin, where Joe and Amelia were going to be living. “We’re a real friendly town, Ms. Conley, but it’s my job to make sure that our town stays safe from riffraff.”
She really hoped that the electrician working in her house was not overhearing this conversation. For his sake and the sake of the other workers, she tried to keep her voice down. “I don’t think that giving hard-working people a job is contributing to the ‘riffraff’ in this town.”
“You would think, wouldn’t you?” He smiled again, a smug, indulgent smile that said bless your heart. “Well, Ms. Conley, we have standards around here and we take those standards pretty seriously.”
He looked again toward the cabin, where Amelia and Joe had disappeared through the front door. And suddenly she was smacked with the truth. This judgmental jerk wasn’t talking about riffraff in general, he was talking about Joe!
Claire took a deep breath. Joe, Amelia and Bertie had welcomed her to town before she’d barely crossed into the city limits. There was no way she was letting this guy get away with spreading malicious lies. If he thought she would, he better think again. She didn’t care if he was the police chief, he was going to have to get off her property.
* * *
“No, no, get under it, Amelia, it’s gonna fall!”
Amelia squealed as her feet slipped out from under her on the dusty floor and the aging mattress landed on top of her.
Joe ran around the bed, jerked it off and dropped to his knees beside her. Her skinny arms were over her face and he could see her shaking. He reached out to touch her and pulled his hand back. A few days ago she wasn’t even talking to him. He wasn’t sure she would welcome his touch.
The fickle fall Alabama weather had turned cool again and she was wearing denim shorts and a sweatshirt with some furry boots that all the kids were wearing this year. She was covered in dirt. And he had no idea what to do with her. Call 911? “Amelia? You okay? Is there anything I can do?”
She threw her arms away from her face and he saw her big smile, small white teeth in an even row. The laugh spilled out as she grabbed the hand he held out to her as he tried to hide his sigh of relief that she was okay.
“Trying to get rid of me already?” She brushed the dust off her shirt, long dark hair sliding forward to cover her face.
It was a joke, but one that sent pain spearing through him. She’d been allowed to think he didn’t care for far too long. He said quietly, “I don’t want to get rid of you.”
She glanced up at him, stared into his ugly, scarred face and patted his cheek. “Thanks. I don’t want to get rid of you, either.”
He wasn’t sure if she believed him, but he was going to keep saying it until she did. “Wanna go again?”
“Yeah, but I want to keep the bed part and paint it, okay? So don’t break it.”

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