Daly Thompson - One Of A Kind Dad

He was kind. Patient. Funny. Appealing. Watching him play with the boys, she noticed the graceful way he moved, as if he were comfortable in his own skin.

Her gaze lingered, and a tingle ran through her. Well, of course, it was hard to be a female and not tingle at the sight of him. He was great to look at, but he wasn’t just a pretty face. He radiated energy and life, and when he smiled, he could take her breath away.

There was danger here.

He must have sensed her looking at him, because suddenly he stopped, and then, slowly, sent her that smile of his. Lilah felt attraction dance down her spine like a caress, and without thinking, she found herself smiling back.

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Dear Reader,

For most of us, family means everything. It’s especially important to Daniel, Mike and Ian—the heroes of this three-book series—who grew up on their own, struggling to survive, until they met each other.

Becoming brothers by choice, they created the family they’d never had. By supporting and encouraging each other, the Foster brothers overcame their pasts and built new lives in Serenity Valley, an isolated community that has gradually accepted these newcomers.

This is Daniel’s story. We hope you enjoy it and the two stories to follow, set in the beautiful Vermont countryside among people who cherish family above all. We love to hear from our readers. Feel free to drop us an e-mail at DalyThompson@aol.com.

Happy reading!

Barbara and Liz

Daly Thompson is a collaboration between Barbara Daly and Liz Jarrett, both multipublished authors. Barbara brings to this joint effort her passion for reading, the characters she’s collected from the diverse places she’s lived and jobs she’s held, and a firm belief in happy endings. She began writing when she discovered she’d need a mobile career in order to follow her academic husband from coast (the Atlantic) to river (just across the Mississippi), and at last found her own happy ending in writing romance.

Liz has been writing stories since she was a child. After graduating from college, she was a technical writer for twelve years before she decided to stay home with her children. During their naps, she started writing her favorite type of stories—romances. This enjoyable pastime is now her full-time career.

Thanks to Johanna Raisanen for her expert

guidance…and to my Vermont friends and

neighbors. I wish I could have named

a town after each of you.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Nick’s screams jolted Daniel into action before he was entirely awake. Barefooted, with his pajama bottoms flapping around his ankles, he raced down the hall, pausing outside Nick’s room to take a deep breath and will his heartbeat to settle down. Not until he’d accomplished that did he step into the room.

“Nick,” Daniel said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here.” He switched on the bedside lamp, a figure of a baseball player in a Red Sox uniform. In the subdued glow of the light, he saw the boy sitting up in bed, eyes wild and face drained of color, his screams still bouncing off the walls.

Daniel sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Nick’s tousled red hair. It was wet with perspiration. “It’s okay,” he said again. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Gradually, the screams faded into sobs, then to gasps for air. Nick didn’t reach out his arms to be hugged until his terror passed. He’d been one of Daniel’s foster boys for almost two months now, and still didn’t trust him enough to seek him out for comfort. What could have happened to a boy so young to make him close his heart so completely?

No one knew. A woman in a larger town nearby had found Nick, all alone and unable to give his name or his parents’ to Child Services. How old was he? The pediatrician who examined him had put his age at seven. Daniel’s hands clenched. He’d solve the mystery of Nick one day, and when he did, the responsible parties would deeply regret what they’d done to this child.

“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked, gently rubbing Nick’s bony shoulder. “Tell me about it.”

With one final gasp that ended on a sigh, Nick mumbled, “It was just a bad dream.”

“What about?”

“Nothing.”

“You’d feel better if you told me. We could talk about it.”

“I don’t remember. Sorry I woke you up.”

Nick always said, “I don’t remember.” He was calm now, safe behind the invisible wall that protected him from the demons he couldn’t confront.

“How about a little bedtime reading, then?” Daniel suggested. “What would you like to hear?”

“The Swiss Family Robinson?” It was not a statement so much as a question. Is that okay with you—or am I asking too much?

“Terrific,” Daniel said. “My favorite.”

In less than a minute he was back in Nick’s room with the book, an old copy with yellowing pages. The Swiss Family Robinson, in which the father was able to solve any problem that threatened his family’s survival.

If only. The book offered a dream world in place of a nightmare world, and Nick clearly needed a glimpse of a dream world.

That’s what Daniel had needed at Nick’s age, as well. Routinely beaten by his father as his mother cried and wrung her hands, often before being knocked unconscious in her attempts to protect her son, Daniel had finally appeared in the local emergency room one time too many. Based on the testimony of medical staff and neighbors, he’d been taken from his parents and placed in a foster home.

But not a good foster home like the one he was giving Nick. In a series of miserable places, he’d slept on sofas, cut school to take care of younger children in his foster families, gone hungry, worn dirty clothes and been whipped for any infringement of a rule or shirking of a duty.

Daniel ran away from each of these homes, getting picked up, every time, only to be turned over to another family.

He lost his trust in human beings, thinking that no one would ever love him or even be kind to him. Still in his teens, he ran away again, and this time he was determined to run so far that no one could find him. He stole a bicycle and what little money his foster parents had around the house, grabbed a jar full of coins donated to charity from the general store counter and rode north as fast as he could. When he made the mistake of trying to cross over the border into Canada with a fanciful story but no ID, the border guards detained him for questioning. He could still feel the rage and frustration that made him fight back, injuring one of the guards before they could get him under control. Cuffed and helpless, he was sent back to Vermont and placed in juvenile detention. It was the best thing that could have happened to him, because there, at last, he’d found a family.