“In my experience, everyone always needs a cookie.” He leaned against the wall and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “I heard you talking to Natalie about your brother and sister yesterday. You seemed kind of stressed.”
“Yeah, I am. I know they’re just being typical kids, but they’re so irresponsible. They don’t do their chores and they seem to think I’m picking on them when I insist. This whole being a parent thing is hard. Especially when I’m not really their parent.”
“But you’re the very next-best thing, and you’re giving them a life they wouldn’t have without you.” Frank sent her another wave and watched as her shoulders relaxed. He’d love to pull out all the stress at once, like he had for Tiffani the night before, but there was a big difference—Tiffani knew he had that gift, and Brittany didn’t. He had to go slow with Brittany or he’d send her into shock or something.
She took a deep breath and sighed. “You’re right. Thanks—I don’t know what it is, but I always feel better after talking to you.”
He grinned. “Now that’s quite a compliment. Thank you.” He took a step toward the door, then paused. “You know, you can always come talk to me if you need to.”
“I would, but you seem to find me first. It’s kinda creepy. But in a cool way. Creepy cool. That’s a thing, right?”
He laughed. “I’m pretty sure it is.”
He was still chuckling a minute later as he crossed over to the barn to grab a horse. Creepy cool. He kind of liked that. He’d have to ask Ephraim if that could be his nickname.
***
The difficulty with Frank’s gift was that he didn’t have a specific job on the ranch. Adam was the psychiatrist—that one was a no-brainer. Every brother had their place, and then for some reason, Frank’s was to be in limbo. Gideon was being trained to do everything because he had each gift, but that was different—learning everything for a specific reason. Frank just did what he was told and went where he was needed. Good thing he’d been taught each ranch skill so he’d have that flexibility.
After the boys got home from school that afternoon, Frank and Gideon swung them by the main house so their mother, Lillian, could give them each a cookie and Hunter a pear, and then they headed over to the barn. The day before, they’d been helping Benjamin with the spring crop chores, so they were looking forward to a break from all that hard manual labor.
Ephraim met them with a grin. “Hey, boys. Ready to shovel some manure?”
Tyler’s eyes grew wide. “I thought the ranch hands shoveled the manure.”
“They do, and they will after this, but it’s something you should at least be familiar with. You’re not too good to get a little dirty, are you?”
Six faces looked up at him. “Uh, I don’t have a problem with dirt, but the smell . . . that’s something else,” Jose said, and everyone else nodded.
“Ever wonder why cowboys wear bandanas?” Ephraim asked.
“Because without them, they wouldn’t be cowboys?” Nick replied.
“Well, there’s that, but they’re also really useful. When a cowboy ties one around his neck, it keeps the sun off so he doesn’t get a bad sunburn there. Then he can pull it up to cover his nose and mouth when his horse is kicking up a lot of dust, and he can use it to block out bad smells. So here.” Ephraim went down the line, handing each boy a new bandana. “This was Maria’s idea, by the way. She thought you could all use a little more cowboy culture.”
“That’s because she has a thing for cowboys,” Michael muttered as he tied his on.
“Oh, yeah? Well, she’s helping raise the next generation of cowboys for girls who have a thing for them, then,” Ephraim said, chuckling.
“Don’t I get one?” Frank asked, holding out his hand.
“You’re going to shovel?” Ephraim lifted an eyebrow.
“Of course. Anything the boys can do, I can do,” Frank said, knowing all six boys were watching.
“Well, here you go, then,” Ephraim said, putting a bandana in his brother’s hand. “Although, I didn’t think you’d need one, considering that you already smell so sweet.”
“Ephraim,” Frank said in a warning tone.
Gideon chuckled. “What? Is that going to be a problem, Frank?”
“Just let it go, please.” Frank tied on his bandana. “Let’s do this thing.”
“Wait,” Jose said. “What does Ephraim mean, you smell sweet?”
Gideon jumped right into the conversation. “You know that old movie Lillian’s always watching? The one we get our names from? Well, in that movie, Frank was actually named after frankincense, which is a perfume.”
“And my brothers seem to think that’s so hilarious.” Frank clapped Gideon on the shoulder. “Thankfully, Lillian wasn’t that cruel and just named me Frank.”
The boys were laughing at the interplay between the brothers, egged on by Gideon, who was pointing at Frank and making cry-baby motions with his hands.
“Manure, anyone?” Frank asked, picking up a shovel and walking toward the first stall. Dealing with animal doo-doo was going to be a lot more pleasant than what he was currently experiencing in front of the barn.
Chapter Three
Lani threw her suitcase into the trunk of her car, closed the lid, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Packing for this little adventure had been harder than she’d expected it to be. What does a person wear on a ranch, anyway? She wanted to look professional, but could she really wear heels, even low ones, in grass? At least, she assumed there would be grass. That’s what it looked like on the ranch’s website. And there would be lots of animals, and that meant lots of all the stuff animals leave behind.
She finally grabbed a few pairs of jeans from her closet, a few blouses, one dress—just in case something came up—and sneakers. Oh, and a pair of sandals to go with that one dress. Now, sitting in the driver’s seat, she ran over everything in her mind to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything crucial behind. Laptop and charging cord—check. Those were the most crucial things. Anything else, she could replace if she forgot it.
Clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, box of Band-Aids—that was pretty crucial too because she never knew when she was going to need one. She’d given herself a cardboard paper cut on her box of cereal that morning. Makeup—she didn’t usually wear a ton, but if she’d need a dress for some reason, she’d probably want to wear makeup with it. Sheesh. Now she sounded like that mouse and cookie book. Why not just pack everything she owned just in case?
Finally reassured that she had what she needed, she pulled out and headed down the road. Her GPS had been programmed with the coordinates and it looked like it would be a fairly easy drive, but she had two maps with her just in case, and the GPS on her phone. Her family always teased her about her tendency to get lost, so she was always extra prepared. Yeah. Maps and Band-Aids. Could she get any more hopeless?
Her klutziness and her tendency to get lost didn’t matter when it came to journalism, however, and she knew she had what it took to do well at her chosen profession. If she could just get enough credentials under her belt, she could get a job at any of the magazines in the area.
That thought brought her up short. Didn’t she want to stay with Texas Times? Wasn’t that why she was doing this article—to impress Mr. Denning? As she headed down the freeway, she realized that no, she was doing this so she could move on. Texas Times was a means to an end, not the ultimate goal. Ultimately, she wanted to freelance, which would give her so much more flexibility. She could see herself traveling the world and writing about the indigenous peoples and their cultures, then selling those articles to National Geographic or some other super-cool thing like that.
She pulled out a piece of jerky and munched on it as she drove, then a candy bar, then a bottle of water, then another piece of jerky. She planned her snacks out poorly, though, because when she turned onto the McClain property, she had jerky breath, and she wasn’t sure she had gum. She fished in her purse for a breath mint, thinking she
had a box of Tic Tacs in there somewhere, but she was driving with one hand and fishing with the other, and the next thing she knew, she’d rolled forward and thunked the bumper of her car into a concrete planter that marked the path up to the main house.
Oh, no.
She got out and tiptoed around to the front of the car, thinking that if she sneaked up on it, maybe the damage wouldn’t be so bad. That didn’t work, though—there was definite crumbling going on, with pieces of concrete falling onto the ground.
She heard footsteps behind her and whirled around. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted. “I really am so sorry. I should have been watching where I was going, and I will definitely pay for this planter.” She’d do that out of her own pocket rather than asking the magazine to cover it. She didn’t want this getting out. It was even worse than the chair incident.
Then she stopped babbling and paused to look at the man standing in front of her, an amused smile on his face.
Holy Hannah.
Well, okay. She didn’t know just how holy Hannah really was, but if this guy was any indication, she was very, very holy. Ready for sainthood holy. He was . . . well, he was a cowboy, for one. And he was everything a cowboy should be. And she wanted to know why the ranch website hadn’t warned her about this.
“It’s all right,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I don’t think any of us really liked that planter anyway.”
“The petunias,” she began, but she couldn’t really finish because she was conscious of his hand around hers, and it was nice and warm, and she felt nice and warm too. “I’ll replace the petunias,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Only if you really want to.” He grinned. Oh, he shouldn’t have done that. She took a stumbling step forward and almost lost her balance, but he was still holding her hand, and he kept her from biffing it entirely. Then she wondered why he was still holding her hand, and she realized that she had never let it go.
“I’m sorry,” she said, slowly releasing her grip. “I’m not making a very good impression, am I? My name is Lani Markland, and I’m a reporter with Texas Times Magazine. I’m here to meet with Tiffani McClain about the work she’s doing on the annual fundraiser here at the ranch.” Well, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
She met the man’s eyes and felt another wave of warmth crash over her. It was like standing in front of an oven and opening the door, only it didn’t make her glasses fog up. Wait—it was dishwashers that did that, and she wasn’t wearing glasses. At any rate, it was nice, and it sort of made her want a nap.
He blinked a couple of times, and the warmth pulled back a little bit. “I’m Frank McClain,” he replied. “Welcome to the ranch. I’ll text Tiffani and let her know you’re here.”
“I’m a few minutes early, so I’m sure she’s not expecting me yet,” Lani said, turning back to look at the planter. It was just as bad as she thought. And wouldn’t it just be par for the course—her car wasn’t damaged at all. She caused destruction everywhere she went, yet came out unscathed herself.
Frank punched a few buttons on his phone, then returned it to his pocket. “So, Texas Times. That’s out of . . . where? San Antonio?”
“Houston,” she replied, turning her back on the planter and resolving not to look at it again. “It’s not the largest magazine ever, but it’s not small, either—we have a readership of around half a million.”
Frank blinked a few times. “That’s impressive.”
It wasn’t anything compared to the National Geographic at six and a half million, but he didn’t need to know that. And there was no point in depressing herself with that fact, either. She’d reach her goals someday—just not today. Today, she had an article to write about a ranch.
“So, you’re a member of the McClain family,” she said, going into reporter mode. Might as well get started while she waited for Tiffani to arrive. “Frank, you said? That makes you the sixth son.”
“That’s right.”
“I did quite a bit of reading up on your family and the ranch to get ready for this visit. I get the Hollywood reference in your names and wondered how you feel about it. I mean, it can’t have been easy, growing up with alphabetical names from a movie.”
He grinned. “Well, we actually know a few other families with alphabetical names, but none quite like ours. I think we all went through a phase of hating it, but as we’ve gotten older, we’ve come to appreciate it for what it is. Our mother is a unique woman, and it made her happy, and we’d all do just about anything if it makes her happy.”
“You realize that’s an odd position for seven grown men to take,” Lani pointed out. “Most adult sons are out on their own, building up their careers and having their own families. They aren’t as involved in their families of origin as you seem to be.”
He nodded. “That’s true. However, our family is different from most, and I think you’ll have a chance to see that during your time here. How long are you planning to stay?”
They both turned at the sound of footsteps on gravel. A young woman dressed in dark jeans and a blue blouse walked toward them, obviously nervous. “Hi there,” she said as she neared them. “I’m Tiffani McClain. You must be Lani Markland.”
“I am.” Lani held out her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I apologize for being early.”
“That’s all right. I see that you’ve met Frank.”
“Yes, I did.” Lani glanced over at him, even though she shouldn’t have because that made her heart beat faster. “I was just asking him some preliminary questions about the family.”
“Why don’t you come up into the house, and we can sit down and have some lemonade?” Tiffani invited.
“Sure.” Lemonade. On a ranch. How . . . downhome stereotypical. Lani followed Tiffani up to the house, Frank trailing behind. Was he like a bodyguard or a puppy dog or something? Maybe he was damage control, there to shoot down any questions about compounds or cults or anything like that. Maybe Tiffani wasn’t allowed to speak without the permission of the men in the family. Lani’s imagination conjured up all kinds of things until she had at least three working theories by the time they were seated around the kitchen table.
“I thought we’d talk for a little while, and then you could show me around the ranch,” Lani said, pulling out her notebook and tape recorder.
“That’s not a problem at all.” Tiffani poured them each a glass of lemonade, the cubes of ice clinking merrily. Lani hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she heard the rattle of the ice. It must have been the salt in the jerky. Oh, no—she never had found that breath mint. She’d been talking to Frank with jerky breath. But that was neither here nor there. It was time to ask questions, not flirt.
“So,” she began. “You came on board at the ranch last fall when they advertised for a fundraising coordinator.”
“That’s right. I’ve done this sort of thing most of my adult life and I love it, so the job posting seemed like the perfect fit. Then when I got here, I fell in love with Adam, the oldest son, and we got married.”
“Rather shortly after you arrived, if I read my research correctly,” Lani said. “You don’t mind, do you, that I’ve Googled you all extensively?”
“Of course not,” Tiffani said. “That’s what a good reporter would do. Yes, we got married rather quickly. When you’re in love, why waste time?”
Lani nodded like she understood, although she didn’t. She’d never been in love like that. She’d thought she was a time or two, but nope. Nada. Zilch. “And this fundraiser has been going on for quite some time, from what I understand.”
“Yes. It’s a tradition here. It gives the community the opportunity to learn more about what we do here. And of course, it raises money for our programs.” Tiffani glanced over at Frank, and he smiled at her. What? Had he just approved of what she’d said? What was up with that little exchange? Whatever it was, Tiffani pulled in a deep breath and seemed calmer, and Lani had to wonder about that. Frank was Tiffani’
s brother-in-law—why did a smile from him in particular make such a difference?
Of course, she knew what a smile from Frank had done to her, but that was totally different.
“I understand that you have thirty boys here at the moment. Are they all juvenile delinquents? What are their backgrounds?”
Frank cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to address that question. We don’t refer to the boys as juvenile delinquents. Many of them come from troubled pasts and they have had brushes with the law, but we don’t give them such judgmental labels. This ranch is about healing—every boy here came because someone let them down. Their parents, usually, and society most definitely. This is their chance to hit the restart button and create a new life for themselves. We don’t hold their pasts over their heads.”
Lani nodded. He’d spoken softly, but she could feel the power and passion behind his words. She’d include that in the article. “You said some had troubled pasts. What about the others?”
Tiffani took this one. “A few of the boys are here because they lost their parents in some way and had no one else to take them in. We’re awarded custody of each boy on the ranch until their eighteenth birthday, and then they can decide whether to stay or leave.”
“And do your programs vary depending on the boys’ backgrounds? Is there a tougher program for the troubled ones, for instance?”
“No,” Tiffani replied. “Every boy here is treated exactly the same way. They have regular meetings with my husband, who is the ranch psychiatrist, for counseling, whether it’s about grief or addiction or acting out. They all have chores to do each day, for which they are paid, and they all contribute to running their home. They cook meals, wash laundry, clean toilets—everything they’ll need to know as functioning, independent adults. They also get to go horseback riding and they go to the movies and they do things that other teenagers do all the time.”
Lani nodded again. This sounded too good to be true, really. “And do they like it here?”
Frank (Seven Sons Book 6) Page 2