by Holly Jacobs
"About what?"
"When I first came, she worried 'cause she was so young. And she worried about me, that all Mom's moving around had made me insecure, and that Mom's dying was going to hurt me for a long time, so she had me go talk to a psychiatrist. She went, too. Said it was family therapy, even though there were only two of us."
"Did it make you mad?"
"Nah. The doctor was nice, and she helped me and Aunt Shell figure out how to be a family. Poor Aunt Shell. She'd just got out of school and started her accounting job at A&D Financial, then Mom shows up with me, and she'd never even told Aunt Shell about me. I figure that had to be hard, watching her sister die, then having to deal with a kid she didn't even know about."
Daniel was touched by Brandon's empathy. "I'm sure it was hard on her, but it must have been hard on you, too."
"I loved Mom, really, but. . ." He paused.
"You can tell me," Daniel assured him. "No matter what that test shows, I hope we'll always be friends."
"Well, Mom moved around a lot. I never went to the same school for too long. I never got to make many friends. I don't have any of my old toys or anything, because when we moved, I normally just got my suitcase. When I came to live with Aunt Shell. . .well, everything is always the same. You always put your shoes on the mat in the hallway. There's a hook there I always hang my coat on. My bedroom's always my bedroom, and Aunt Shell and I always clean and she does the laundry on Saturday mornings. Things are just always the same."
"And that's good?" he asked.
"It's nice to know you'll be sleeping in your bed, in your room."
Daniel realized that Brandon was talking about stability. He had that with Michelle. She'd given him a sense of belonging somewhere.
He got that. As much as he'd missed his mother, he'd found that same sense of belonging with his grandparents.
"Sometimes Aunt Shell still worries too much. When she does a job, like this Christmas Fair. She'll worry until she has everything organized, and it will be good. But she worries so much about me, sometimes I feel like. . ." He shrugged. "I love her, and I owe her a lot. But there are things I want to do, and she's too worried to let me. I play soccer, and I want to play hockey, but—"
"She's worried?"
"Yeah. There are tryouts for a developmental league next week, and I really want to try, even though I'd be kinda old, but Aunt Shell will say no. Maybe you could talk to her?"
Oh, this was tricky ground here. Daniel had been careful, so very careful, not to step on Michelle's toes. He wanted her to trust him enough to let him into the life she'd built with Brandon. He sensed she wouldn't want her rules and concerns for Brandon questioned. "I don't know, Bran."
"But if you're my dad, you'd have a say."
"We won't know that for a while yet, and your aunt Shell has raised you all these years. She's got a lot more experience than I do." That was an understatement. Daniel had grown up an only child, and hadn't spent any time with kids since he was a child himself.
"But even if you knew you were my dad, you wouldn't want to make her let me play hockey." It was a statement more than a question.
He sounded so defeated. Daniel knew how he felt. He'd learned woodworking at his grandfather's knee and, rather than go to college, he'd wanted to go into contracting, something where he'd get to use his hands. His grandfather had insisted he attend college, had pushed him into business. At the time he'd resented it. He'd chaffed under his grandfather's heavy hand. But now?
That business degree had proved invaluable to him.
"I can't and won't tell your aunt what to do, but if the opportunity arises, and she doesn't mind my input, I'll try and speak to her."
"Great." Brandon grinned. "Thanks, Dan."
"Hey, how are things going over here?" Michelle was standing next to them, examining the beanbag toss.
Daniel looked down and saw that they'd finished. "The snowman's done, which leaves us Santa."
"The Christmas tree's done, as well."
"We're almost finished for the night." Daniel felt a spurt of regret. He didn't want them to go. "Listen, I don't know what you two planned, but I put a beef stew in the Crock-Pot, and thought you might like to stay for dinner. I mean, you worked all day, then came here and I thought you might like the break."
He thought Michelle was going to thank him but say no. He could see it in her expression. Then Brandon said, "Please, Aunt Shell?"
Michelle's expression softened. "Sure. If you're certain it won't be an imposition."
"Not at all."
The Santa didn't take long to paint with all three of them working on it. Daniel loved listening to Brandon and Michelle tease each other.
"Oh, no, Aunt Shell. Is that a spot of paint on your shirt?"
Michelle checked, which set Brandon laughing. "Come on, Aunt Shell. You never get spots of anything, but you always fall for it when I say you do."
A few minutes later, Michelle had given an Oscar-winning girly shriek, and pointed just behind Brandon, who'd jumped up and spun around. "Revenge is sweet," she'd said in a pretty good villain's voice, then cackled.
"You'd better watch out for her, Dan, she always gets her revenge."
"I can see that."
They'd finished and headed inside. The moment they'd entered the kitchen, before anyone had even taken off a coat, Chloe dropped her ball at Brandon's feet. "She's hoping you'll play with her."
"I'm not allowed to throw balls in the house."
"And that's a very good rule, but maybe you could take her out back and throw it for a bit while I make the biscuits?"
"Is that okay, Aunt Shell?" Brandon asked.
She smiled. "Go on."
MICHELLE FELT awkward being alone with Daniel. He didn't seem to mind in the least as he busied himself, turning on the oven then taking a tube out of the refrigerator.
"It was kind of you to invite us," she said when the silence had grown too weighty. "Uh, I don't want you to think you need to feed us every day."
"Michelle, it was kind of you to say yes. I can understand your hesitancy. Really, I can. But I want to spend time with Brandon. I want to get to know him."
"In case he's your son," she clarified.
Daniel nodded as he thwacked the tube of biscuits against the edge of the counter. It gave a loud pop as it split. "But there's more to it than that. He's an amazing kid. The fact that he found me, that he came out and met me—"
"On his own. A dangerous and stupid thing," she pointed out.
"But he stayed on the porch and wouldn't even take a ride from me. He's smart. He's responsible. He's Tara's son." He paused as he placed the round doughy discs on the cookie sheet. "I still can't believe she's gone."
Michelle felt for him. "Neither can I. She was the most. . ."
She searched for a word to describe her sister. "Alive. She was the most alive person I've ever met. She was terminally happy and optimistically sure that something wonderful was around the next corner. People were drawn to her, like moths to flame. The only problem was, like a flame, she didn't ever consider that the people who were close to her got burned. Even her son."
"He seems okay." Dan looked up from the biscuits, his concern evident in his expression.
"He does, and he is okay. There are moments, though, things he's said that worry me. I took him to a therapist when he first came to live with me."
"He told me. He said that you both went."
"I didn't know how to parent and wanted all the help I could get. I was young."
"You're not actually old now." He smiled.
"No, I'm not actually old now. But I'm getting there—every day a little closer. This parenting stuff can age you quick." She was kidding, but there was truth to her words. She felt so much older than twenty-nine.
Friends from college were still out partying on weekends. They were starting to find partners, marry, even have babies. She was parenting a teenager.
"I imagine that parenting can age you. I'm
already worried about him. Worried about how he's really handling everything, worrying there's more I could do to make it easier." Dan looked embarrassed by his admission, and quickly turned to put the tray into the oven. When he faced Michelle again, he simply said, "He's a great kid, though."
"He is," she agreed.
Daniel went and looked out the window, then motioned Michelle to join him. Brandon had discarded the ball and was throwing snowballs for Chloe, who couldn't figure out where the "balls" were disappearing to as they fell into and blended with the snow on the ground. It was obvious that Brandon found the game amusing, as he tossed snowball after snowball.
Chloe finally had enough and charged at Brandon, sending him flying backward into the snow, snowflakes flying. She promptly licked the remnants off his face.
"I see a lot of me in him," Daniel said softly.
"He's a great kid, so he's like you?" she teased.
He laughed. "Well, there's that. But seriously, what I mean is, I had parents who cared more for their own wants and desires than what was best for me. I was lucky that I landed here with Grams and Pops. And Brandon was equally lucky that he landed with you. Despite a rough start, we had people who loved us. That makes all the difference. We share that. You're good for him."
The buzzer rang. "The biscuits are done. You want to go call him in?"
"Sure." She opened the door and Chloe spotted her and charged into the kitchen with the ball in her mouth, Brandon close at her heels.
"She's fast, Dan." He panted as hard as the dog.
"She is. She loves having someone to run with. Thanks. You saved me from throwing the ball after dinner."
"Anytime you want me to, I can help out with Chloe." Brandon leaned down and started to take off his boots. While he was precariously perched on one foot, Chloe bumped him, sent him sprawling, then started licking him again.
"Looks like Chloe would enjoy you helping with her." Dan opened up the cupboard and took out three deep bowls and three plates. "I'm not very formal. I thought we could eat in here, if that's okay."
"That's fine," Michelle assured him.
Daniel was efficient, she noticed. He dished up the bowls, poured Brandon a glass of milk and opened a bottle of wine. "It's from Noble Winery, just over the border in New York."
Michelle took a sip of the deep red liquid. "I confess I don't know much about wine, but this is good."
"I don't, either. Although, I think I'm developing a bit of a palate because I'm enjoying semidries more than sweet these days. My friend Jimmy is big-time into wine. He gave me a list of wineries in the area, and whenever I'm out that way, I try to stop. I've got quite a nice local collection. I'm always thrilled when someone's over to share a bottle, since I'm not enough of a wine drinker to finish one off on my own."
"One glass is my limit," Michelle said.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Daniel said, "So, Brandon, tell me about school. I'd love to hear more about your classmates, your teachers and your classes."
Brandon launched into a who's who of his class and teachers, then segued off into a who-did-what-where-and-when description of his day. He told Daniel about his test results, and a surprise quiz he aced.
Michelle listened to the two of them back-and-forthing. Daniel, so eager to know Brandon, and Brandon positively glowing under Daniel's attention.
She hadn't considered how much her nephew had needed a man's presence in his life. It had been easy to pretend the two of them were self-sufficient, that they didn't need anyone else. But becoming friends with Samantha and Carly these past few months had shown her that acquaintances and fellow employees weren't enough. Even Heidi, whom she'd considered a friend, was more a friendly acquaintance. She was someone Michelle might have coffee with, but if Michelle was stranded at three in the morning and needed a ride, she'd hesitate to call Heidi and wake her.
She wouldn't hesitate calling Samantha or Carly. And she knew that either of them would drop everything to come get her.
Yes, she needed friends. She needed Carly and Samantha. And it was obvious that Brandon needed more than she could give him. He needed a man in his life. Not just any man. He wanted Daniel McLean.
If Daniel wasn't Brandon's father, Bran was going to be crushed. And it was too late to pull him back. Too late to save him from that potential pain.
They finished the meal, and Michelle insisted she and Brandon help do the dishes. "We have a rule at our house, everyone helps."
"And by everyone, she means me," Brandon mock-groused.
Daniel just thwacked Brandon with a towel. "Come on, then."
When they'd finished, Michelle was ready to hustle Brandon out the door, but before she could get her coat, he said, "Before we go, Dan, could you show me those Santas your grandpa carved?" He turned to Michelle. "Dan learned about wood from his grandpa. His grandpa carved all kinds of Santas, and he made other stuff, too, right, Dan?"
"Yes." He glanced at Michelle. "It will only take a few minutes."
"Okay."
She followed Brandon and Daniel. They went to what had to be Daniel's study. There was a built-in cabinet along one wall. Daniel flipped a switch at one side, and illuminated the glass shelves that were lined with Santas. She'd never seen anything like it. There was a police officer Santa, a woodworking Santa. Tall ones, fat ones. . .a skiing one, a golfing one. "He loved doing this kind of thing. He was—"
"An artist," Michelle assured him.
Daniel looked pleased at her comment. "Yes, he was. He'd have never thought of himself as one, but he was." He walked to the center of the cabinet and took out two Santas. "These are my favorites. Grandpa also had a huge passion for the Civil War, so he combined those two things and got these."
"A North and South Santa." He handed one to Brandon.
"Yes. A Union soldier Santa, and a Confederate soldier Santa."
"They're so cool, Dan," Brandon said, turning the carving over in his hand, admiring it.
"They are. I sometimes forget how cool they are. I guess I get complacent. Thanks for reminding me, Brandon."
"You said you had other things your grandpa made?"
Michelle could tell how much Brandon didn't want the night to end. He'd keep asking questions and stalling for as long as she allowed. "Brandon, I really think we've taken up enough of Daniel's time today. And I know you've got homework."
"Yeah."
"Maybe I could show them to you next time you're here? It will give you something to look forward to," promised Daniel, coming to her aid.
"That would be good. The next time," Brandon repeated, looking at Michelle.
She could see that he wanted her to reassure him there would be a next time, so she said, "Daniel's right, it will be something to look forward to the next time."
Brandon was suddenly all smiles as they went back to the kitchen and gathered their boots and coats.
"Aunt Shell, could we go skating this weekend with Dan? I want to show him my moves."
Everything in Michelle wanted to say no. No, you're getting too close, too fast to this practical stranger. But she could see the longing in Brandon's eyes and there was nothing in her that was able to say no to that. "Daniel, we'd understand if you were busy," she tried, praying he'd say they'd taken up too much of his time already, that he was going to spend his weekend catching up on work.
Instead, he smiled. "No, I'm not busy at all. If you're sure you don't mind, I can make time."
"Then Saturday morning?"
"That sounds great. And in the meantime, I'll be at Erie Elementary right around three tomorrow."
It was a promise. And Michelle realized she wasn't dreading Daniel coming tomorrow. Maybe she should be. Maybe she should still be worried, knowing that Brandon was growing too attached. Yet she couldn't seem to find any worries or concern as she smiled and said, "We'll see you then."
Chapter Seven
Michelle spotted Samantha and Carly as she set up a table on the stage. "What are you two doi
ng here?"
Her words came out sharper than she'd intended. She'd been curt all day, and she blamed it on her sleepless night. Daniel McLean haunted her dreams, so she'd tried to avoid falling asleep.
After last night's painting and dinner, she should have been having nightmares, worrying about Daniel's growing relationship with her nephew.
Instead, she'd had a lurid dream that featured her and Daniel. . .and had nothing at all to do with her nephew.
"Sorry guys. Not enough sleep last night." Her apology didn't seem enough. "It's a nice surprise seeing you here. But really, I know you both have other things to do."
"Harry said you were working on the crafts today, and I like crafts." Samantha flushed slightly as she mentioned Harry's name. That's all it took—just saying his name—for her to get all romantic.
Most of the time, Michelle felt happy whenever she thought about Samantha falling so suddenly for Harry, but today, she didn't want to think about falling, or going all romantic over a guy. She was in too crabby a mood for even someone else's love to brighten it.
Carly didn't bother to offer up an excuse as to why she was here. She simply said, "You look like hell."
"Carly," Samantha admonished their dark-haired spitfire of a friend, then turned to Michelle and admitted, "Uh, you do look a little tired."
"I am. Like I said, rough night." They didn't seem convinced, so she added, "That's all."
"Did this guy do something?" Carly had a look that said if "this guy" had, he'd regret it.
Given Carly's recent brush with the law, Michelle would have lied if necessary, but it wasn't. Her weird dreams weren't Daniel's fault. Daniel had been nothing but consistently kind and helpful.
"No. He's actually been great," Michelle admitted.
"I guess we'll see how great he is," Carly assured her. "We're here to help, but it will also give me a chance to check him out."
"Carly, honestly," Samantha said in a very impressive motherly voice.
"Like she wouldn't have figured out why we're here," Carly grumbled. "It's not like Michelle couldn't handle the crafts on her own. I've never seen anyone so. . .well, capable. But capable doesn't mean you don't need friends scoping out the new guy."