Daniel (Seven Sons Book 4)

by Amelia Adams

  ***

  Daniel flopped down on the couch in Melissa’s house, where she and his brother Benjamin now lived as newlyweds. “That was honestly the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he said, passing a hand over his face. “How did you do it, bro? How . . .” He turned to Melissa, who sat in the rocker in the corner. “How did you come around? This is harder than relationships are supposed to be.”

  Benjamin laughed. “I didn’t know that relationships were supposed to be a certain amount of hard,” he replied.

  “You know what I mean. Boy meets girl is difficult enough. Boy meets girl and then has to tell her about his weird family . . . that’s something else.”

  “How did things end up tonight?” Melissa asked.

  Daniel grinned. “Well, not too badly. We kissed. And then we kissed a little more. And then the boys came home, so I walked her out and told her goodnight and got everyone sent off to bed. And then I came over here because my head won’t stop spinning.”

  “But she believes you now?” Melissa pressed.

  “Yeah, she believes me. She’s not sure what to do with that information, but at least we’ve passed that hurdle.”

  “Then you’re a step ahead of me. It took me days to believe that Benjamin wasn’t playing a trick on me.” Melissa looked over at her husband and smiled. “I was stubborn.”

  “I remember. But I get that,” Daniel replied. “It’s not the easiest thing in the world to accept. I just hope . . .”

  “What?” Benjamin asked when he didn’t continue.

  “I just hope that I kissed her well enough to make it official,” Daniel finished. “Ephraim reminded me that it’s been a long time since I’ve dated. I’m probably way out of practice.”

  “I hardly dated at all before I met Melissa, and I think I kissed her pretty well,” Benjamin said. “Right, dear?”

  “Um, I would have to say that the kissing has been rather nice.” Her face turned bright pink.

  Daniel felt bad for his new sister-in-law. “I don’t need any details,” he said, coming to his feet. “Thanks, guys. I just needed to let off some steam, I think.”

  “Sleep well,” Benjamin told him.

  As Daniel stepped outside and closed the door, he looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. He loved it out here—the bright, crisp stars, the lack of air pollution, the quiet. Now if he could convince Claire to stay and make it her home too—she hadn’t given him an answer earlier. The boys had interrupted, and she’d said her goodnights. What was she thinking, and did he factor into those thoughts at all?

  He climbed in his truck and drove the terribly long distance of half a mile back to the McClain Ranch. He walked into his own house and closed the door, preparing to go down the hall to bed, but he heard someone call his name from the living room. Hunter was curled up on the couch, his hands across his stomach.

  “Hey, bud. What’s going on?”

  “I couldn’t sleep so I made myself some milk, and I’ve been in the bathroom ever since,” the boy said.

  “Did you take the Imodium I left for you?” Daniel asked. Hunter looked completely wrung out.

  “I couldn’t find it.”

  Daniel nodded. “I’ll go look for it.” He walked into the kitchen and saw the box on the counter, right where he’d left it, and shook his head with a smile. That was pretty typical—teenage boys never could find things that had been left right in front of their faces. Although, to hear his mother tell it, grown men couldn’t find anything either.

  He gave Hunter the medicine and helped him get back to his room, then he pulled out his laptop. Stomach cramping and diarrhea after drinking milk . . . They’d had milk at the bunkhouse, too, and he’d spent a lot of time in the bathroom. He punched “lactose intolerance” into a search engine and refreshed his memory of the symptoms. A lot of what he was reading seemed to fit, but something felt off, incomplete. Crohn’s disease? Hmm. Not quite . . . After an hour, he closed his laptop and stared at the ceiling, letting the information work through his tired brain. Blue. Why was Hunter’s stomach blue? Milk . . . diarrhea. It had to be lactose intolerance . . . but that just felt wrong.

  Finally, he climbed into bed, knowing morning was coming and resenting that fact. He had another shift at the hospital, and then he’d be done there for the week. He’d ask some more questions. Somehow, they’d find an answer. Hunter was depending on him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Claire hardly slept at all that night. Her brain felt like it was exploding. First, all those revelations about the McClain family . . . holy cow. She didn’t even know how to process that. And then, kissing Daniel McClain . . . whoa. Overload . . . too much. One thing at a time.

  She got up early and made breakfast, six hungry men singing her praises when they came in and saw French toast, sausage, eggs, and grits. She packed up another serving to go, and as soon as the men had grabbed their lunch sacks, she headed over to Daniel’s cabin. She had to see for herself if all that was real or if she’d had the strangest dream of her entire life.

  As she was approaching the house, she saw the boys coming out of cabins all over the property, and she smiled. A yellow school bus had turned onto the main road, and she imagined the ranch boys filling up every seat.

  “Think fast, Claire!”

  She had just enough time to set down the container she carried and whirl around before a football smacked her in the chest. She curled one arm around it and did a victory dance.

  “Oh, man, you were supposed to drop it,” Z complained as he ran up to her to get his ball back.

  “I was? That’s not how I learned to play it,” she teased him.

  He grinned. “Whatever. Hey, do you wanna come see me play next season?”

  “That would be great. I’d love to come.” She knew he’d take her at her word and that it meant something to him, and she didn’t speak lightly. She was making a commitment to stay at least that long, possibly longer, depending on how things went with a certain doctor.

  The boys streamed onto the bus, and Claire picked up the container and continued her trek. She was a little startled to look up and see Daniel standing on his front porch, almost as though he’d been waiting for her.

  “Good morning,” she said as she climbed the steps. “I thought you could use some breakfast.”

  He didn’t reply. He simply took the container, set it on the railing, and pulled her into his arms before she could react. She hadn’t been dreaming—everything she’d felt the night before came rushing back. She curled her fingers in his hair, realizing that he’d probably just styled it to go with his professional clothes, but she didn’t care. She figured he didn’t either.

  When he released her, he said, “Thank you.”

  “Uh, what?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

  “For breakfast. You brought me breakfast, remember?”

  “Oh, that. Yeah. See, I got a little sidetracked when you grabbed me and kissed me.”

  “I shouldn’t do that. I apologize.”

  “Well, I might like getting distracted.”

  He grinned. “I’d love to distract you again, but I need to get on the road. I have just enough time to eat—thanks again for this.” He took off the lid. “Oh, wow. Ephraim’s gonna kill me that I got this and he didn’t.”

  “Ephraim’s not dating the cook.” She blushed as the words came out of her mouth. She hoped she wasn’t pushing herself out there—Daniel had proposed, after all, so she had to be able to assume some things about their relationship. She just wasn’t used to talking like that.

  Daniel’s grin seemed to be a permanent part of his face. “I’ll just grab a fork—”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic fork that had been wrapped in cellophane.

  “You’re the best.” Daniel took a seat on one of the porch chairs and motioned for her to join him. “I saw that catch, by the way. You’ve got some skills.”

  “There were some boys in one of the foster homes
where I lived. I was the only girl, and they didn’t like girls, so I decided to be one of them. We played football, went fishing—it was awesome.” She nodded toward the cabins. “I’m a lot more comfortable around boys than I am just about anyone else.”

  “Except me?”

  Heat rushed to her face. “I don’t think I’m comfortable around you at all. You do weird things to me. You make my heart beat fast, and then you tell me ridiculous stories.”

  “I do, don’t I?” He took another bite and swallowed it. “We’ll discuss your symptoms when I get home this afternoon, if that’s all right with you. Shall we make an appointment for say, two thirty?”

  She smiled. “I can do that.”

  “All right, then.” He stood up, looked down at her, and tilted her chin up with his finger. Then he stroked her jawline. “See you later.”

  He hadn’t kissed her again, but he might as well have. She was left sitting there, a warm, happy puddle of pudding, until she finally came to her senses and realized she had an entire kitchen to clean.

  She finished up and threw some chicken in the Crock-Pot for the enchiladas she was making for dinner, then decided to walk over to the office and visit Brittany. She must have a knack she didn’t know about for interrupting people on the phone—Brittany held up a finger when she walked in, just like she had that first day. Which was just the other day. Hard to believe.

  “Mrs. Johnson, I assure you that if Hunter says he’s sick, he’s actually sick,” Brittany said, rolling her eyes for Claire’s benefit. “In fact, Dr. McClain has been looking into his symptoms for several days now and hopes to have a diagnosis soon.” She paused. “No, I’ll come in and get him myself. He won’t be in any more classes today. Of course I have authorization to do that. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Goodbye.”

  She hung up and exhaled. “Sorry,” she said. “One more call.” She grabbed her cell and punched a button. “Hey, Adam? Hunter needs to be picked up, and I know you’re busy. Can I get a letter? Okay—I’ll be there in a sec. Thanks.”

  She hung up again and swiveled in her chair to face Claire. “Hi,” she said. “Sorry—we sometimes get a little drama going over here. School says Hunter’s been in the bathroom all during his first class, and they think he’s trying to get out of a pop quiz.”

  “And they aren’t listening to you?”

  Brittany sighed. “It really all depends who’s dealing with it. We’ve got some great allies at the school who understand what we’re doing and get on board with us. And then there are some who can’t see past the juvenile delinquent they’ve been told they’re getting. We do everything we can to give these boys a fresh start, but their records follow them wherever they go.” She stood up. “Want to drive down to the school with me? Get a lay of the land?”

  “Sure.” Claire hopped up. “I saw Hunter run for the bathroom the other day after eating a cookie at the bunkhouse—he wouldn’t have a reason to fake being sick then.” A horrible thought crossed her mind. “You don’t think my cookies made him sick, do you?”

  Brittany shook her head. “This has been going on for a while and is just getting worse. You didn’t cause it.”

  They stopped by Adam’s office and grabbed the note he’d written excusing Hunter from school and giving Brittany permission to pick him up. Then they drove out to the school. Claire looked around her with interest. She’d come into town from the other direction, so this was all new territory for her.

  Hunter was waiting in the office when they got there, and Brittany handed over the note without saying a word. Then she helped him gather up his things.

  “I must say, I can’t approve of the way you’re allowing this boy to walk out on his exams,” the secretary said as she placed the note in Hunter’s file.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your approval.” Brittany walked out of the office, Claire and Hunter in her wake, and they climbed back into Brittany’s car.

  She turned around and looked at Hunter. “Daniel wanted to take you in for some blood tests this week. What if we went over there right now? They’ve probably got something at the hospital that will help your stomach, stronger than what we’ve got at home.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

  Brittany punched some buttons on her cell. “I’ve let Daniel know we’re coming. It’s not far from here.”

  Claire’s heart gave a little leap at the thought of seeing Daniel in his work environment, but then it sank again when she glanced behind her and saw Hunter’s face. Poor kid—he looked terrible.

  “I asked Mr. Scofield if I could take a makeup quiz, and he just sort of grunted,” Hunter said as he stared out the window. “Are people at school going to hate me now?”

  “No, they’re not,” Brittany said. She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “They’re going to understand that this is completely out of your control.”

  Daniel was waiting for them just inside the doors of the emergency department when they arrived. He gave Claire a wink, then turned his entire focus to Hunter. “Hey, bud. School didn’t go so well, huh?”

  “Nope. They think I’m trying to get out of working.”

  “That stinks. Let’s get you checked out, okay?” He led Hunter into an exam room and rattled off a list of tests he wanted to perform. The nurse nodded, and then got to work.

  Daniel motioned for Brittany and Claire to stand just outside the exam room. “When I got here this morning, I consulted with every doctor on shift, and they all seem to think it’s lactose intolerance. I just can’t feel good about that, though. There’s something missing, something I don’t understand. I’m going to run every single blood test I can think of, and we’ll go from there. Thanks for bringing him straight here—why don’t you wait over in the lobby?” He motioned down the hall, and Brittany and Claire nodded.

  Claire hoped Hunter wasn’t scared of needles—that sounded like a whole bunch of blood tests.

  ***

  After Daniel sent Hunter home with Claire and Brittany, he stood in the center of the hallway, hands on his hips, more frustrated than he’d ever been about a case in his entire career. His gift usually made it easy to see what was wrong, but this time . . . He sighed. He wouldn’t have any test results back for a while, so he’d need to come up with another way to approach this.

  Finally, he turned to the nurses’ station. “Do we have anyone currently checked in who has lactose intolerance?” he asked.

  “Let me see.” The nurse on duty flipped through some charts. “Yes, Mr. Patterson.” She rattled off a room number, and Daniel thanked her.

  Hunter might have lactose intolerance, and he might not. Daniel didn’t want to wait around for answers—he was going to hunt them down himself. “Mr. Patterson?” he said as he slowly pushed open the door to that room.

  “Yes?” A man in his mid-sixties was sitting up in bed, flipping through channels on the TV. “Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Patterson, my name is Dr. McClain, and I have a patient downstairs, a young teenage boy, who is presenting with some of the same physical symptoms you have. I wonder if I might be allowed to take your pulse.”

  “Sure, I guess.” He obediently held out his wrist. Daniel touched it and pretended to keep time on his watch while he focused in on this man and his health problems.

  He picked up on the intestinal discomfort right away, but the color he saw was orange, not blue. Hunter couldn’t have lactose intolerance—it was the wrong color.

  “Thank you, Mr. Patterson,” he said with a smile. “Everything seems to be fine. Have a good afternoon.”

  He left the room and headed back to the emergency department, his brain churning. He had just discovered that the color for lactose intolerance was not blue. What if . . . what if he somehow managed to look at every patient until he found one that manifested in blue? And what if that person had already been tested and diagnosed, and what if that sped up Hunter’s diagnosis? He’d given the boy a strong anti-n
ausea formula, but how long would he be content to stay doped up and not really healed? Not long, Daniel imagined. Not long at all.

  He started at one end of the emergency department and introduced himself to every patient there, shaking their hands and focusing. Red. Orange. Green. Brown. Every shade of pink. There didn’t seem to be blue anywhere. By the time his shift ended, he was completely worn out, and he was no closer to finding the real diagnosis. He only knew that it wasn’t lactose intolerance. A small victory that felt like nothing at all.

  ***

  When he reached home that night, he found a note taped to his front door.

  Lillian has the boys tonight. Come have dinner with me at the bunkhouse. Claire

  He didn’t even bother to go inside and change. He just turned around and walked over to the bunkhouse, where he found one table set up in the middle of the dining room with a single candle. Claire was waiting there, wearing a black dress and looking like twelve million dollars.

  “Hi there,” he said, looking around. “Shouldn’t there be six sweaty ranch hands in here right now?”

  “I made them dinner to go and bribed them to be scarce,” she replied. “I had different plans for the evening.”

  “What sorts of plans are those?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  “I wanted to cook dinner for someone. And I thought that someone might want a quiet meal instead of being surrounded by six sweaty ranch hands.” She took a step toward him.

  He could smell her perfume, a mixture of cinnamon and sandalwood. She also smelled like cookies. He grinned. “Yes, please. Quiet. And you. I need lots and lots of you.”

  “Okay. I can manage that.” She slid her arms around his waist and held him close, and he wrapped his arms around her in return. How had she known that what he most wanted at that moment was a hug? There were some things the heart knew even without the aid of gifts or powers. The heart was a power unto itself.

  “What are you feeding me?” he asked after a long moment.

  “Chicken marsala. But I cooked all the alcohol off in case you need to do anything medical or gifty for Hunter tonight—I didn’t want you impaired.”