The Dad Next Door. Stephanie Dees
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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.
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