Stephanie Dees - The Dad Next Door

“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

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.”