Benjamin

by Amelia Adams

  Benjamin

  Seven Sons Book Two

  by Amelia C. Adams

  Did you miss Book One? Grab Adam here!

  With thanks to my betas—Amy, Deborah, Erin, Jen, Laurie, Mary, Meisje, Matt, Shelby, and Tammy.

  Copyright ©2017 Amelia C. Adams

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter One

  Benjamin McClain stepped out onto the front porch of the cabin he shared with his brother Caleb and the six foster boys they’d been assigned most recently. He pulled in a deep breath of the chilly autumn air and smiled as the earth around him began to speak to his soul. It was like a low hum that centered behind his ribs, something he couldn’t define or describe, but he knew what the ground was telling him—it was ready to sleep for the winter.

  He and Caleb had worked with the boys to fertilize the wheat fields so they’d be ready for planting the following year. He had sensed the gratitude of the soil as he sifted it through his fingers. It had done all that had been asked of it, and now it was time to rest to prepare for another growing season soon to come. He often talked to the boys about the spirit of the land, but they thought he was speaking metaphorically, and that was just as well. People already thought the McClains were strange—no point in giving them evidence of it.

  Caleb joined him on the porch a moment later and they just stood there, welcoming the early morning and clearing their senses for the day. These silent moments were invaluable. Once the boys were awake and the chores were underway, they’d have a great deal to do, and it was easy to become overwhelmed. Morning was a time to get centered, to find focus so they could deal with the challenges that were sure to get dumped in their laps. Running a boys’ ranch with over thirty teenagers wasn’t the easiest task in the world.

  “How’s Nick today?” Benjamin asked, breaking the silence with the topic that had been foremost on their minds as of late. Nick was the newest boy to join them on the ranch, and he’d struggled to settle in. Caleb’s sense of danger had warned him that Nick was on the verge of suicide, and together, they’d staged an intervention to keep him from carrying out his plan, but feelings like that don’t go away very easily, and they’d kept an extra-close eye on him ever since.

  “He’s fine. I haven’t picked up on anything from him in a couple of days now.”

  “Good. With Adam on his honeymoon, the last thing we need is trouble.”

  Their older brother had fallen head-over-heels for the girl hired to run their fundraising program, and they’d gotten married just a few days before. He was their resident counselor and had his finger in every pie, and Benjamin didn’t like the idea of facing any sort of crisis without him. Gideon was the seventh son and would someday inherit the whole ranch, but Adam was their anchor, their strength and stability.

  “What have you got on the docket for today?” Caleb asked.

  “I thought we’d put the boys to work mending the west side of the greenhouse when they get home from school,” Benjamin said. “I’ve got some seedlings to start next week, and I want them protected.”

  “Sounds good to me. I know Frank and Gideon are having their boys work on the chicken coop—we might want to check the supply shed and make sure we have everything for both projects.”

  “Good point.” Benjamin glanced at his watch. “Looks like quiet time is over.”

  Almost as though responding to his words, three alarm clocks went off inside the house in unison, and six sets of grumbles and groans as well. Caleb laughed. “You’d think they’d be used to it by now.”

  “You’d think, but they aren’t.” Benjamin held open the screen door, and Caleb followed him inside.

  It was Benjamin’s turn to oversee breakfast, with Hunter and Jose on cooking duty. They stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, their eyes barely open, but they were dressed and their faces were washed. Benjamin smiled. It was a decent start.

  “Good morning,” he greeted them. “The menu says we’re having pancakes and scrambled eggs today.”

  “Again?” Hunter asked, his tone of voice reminding Benjamin very much of a thirteen-year-old girl.

  “You and the other boys made this menu—if you’ve got an issue with it, you’ll have to discuss that with the group at our next house meeting,” Benjamin reminded him.

  “What’s your problem, dude? I love pancakes and eggs,” Jose added. “I’ll start the batter.”

  Within a few minutes, two giant skillets were heating up on the stove, one for the eggs and one for the pancakes. Hunter had stopped complaining, but from the way he was sloshing the egg-and-milk mixture around on the skillet, Benjamin could tell that he was doing the very minimum to get credit for his chores that morning.

  “You could always trade morning chores with Christopher, if the eggs are too hard for you,” Benjamin said mildly. “He’s scrubbing the toilets, I believe.”

  “Um, no, I’m fine.” Hunter straightened up a little and stirred the eggs more carefully, and the mixture stopped slopping over the sides of the pan.

  Jose turned the first batch of pancakes over and then grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard, setting them around the table and heading back for the forks. He’d come a long way since his arrival at the ranch. He’d been doing drugs since he was thirteen and had been thrown out of two treatment centers for violent behavior. Now he was sixteen, as clean as a whistle, and one of the leaders of this particular groups of boys—they looked up to him because they knew he’d been down a rough road and come out on top. That was the kind of success story they saw over and over again here at the ranch. It took a lot of hard work, but it was worth every bit of it.

  Forty-five minutes later, all six boys had eaten, Tyler and Michael had loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the table and counters, and everyone was out the door to catch the bus for school. There were so many boys on the ranch that the school sent out a special bus just for them.

  Once everyone was loaded up and on their way, Benjamin exhaled and leaned on the fence post that separated the house’s garden from the road that ran past it. “We got off with a minimum of bellyaching this morning,” he said. “Almost feel like it’s the calm before the storm.”

  Caleb rested his arms on the top rail of the fence and considered that statement. “We’re good for now,” he said, “but there is a little something . . .” He pulled out his cell. “Hey, Daniel? Yeah, listen. Keep your eyes sharp this afternoon, okay? I don’t have anything specific, but something’s up with one of your boys . . . watch out for pitchforks.”

  Benjamin smiled and shook his head. Caleb’s sense of danger was usually immediate, clear, and strong, especially when the crisis was just about to happen. When things were murky, it usually meant there were too many variables to consider, and he couldn’t narrow it in any closer than that. That led to cryptic messages and sometimes near misses, but it all worked out in the end.

  “Let’s go talk to Frank and Gideon about the supplies we’ll need,” Benjamin said, clapping his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “I’d just as soon get that run to the hardware store over and done with as soon as possible.”

  Chapter Two

  Melissa Daniels stood in the middle of her pumpkin field, hands balled on her hips, trying not to cry. She’d done everything she could to bring up this crop the way she’d seen her grandparents do it year after year, and now, her first season in charge, and she’d blown
it. All around her were shriveled-up little balls of green, not a single decent pumpkin in the entire place, and it was ten days until Halloween.

  “I don’t know how they did it,” she said, turning to Mike, the day laborer she’d brought on to help her through this harvest. “They were incredible—everything they planted grew like magic. Then they leave the place to me, and look at it. Ruined. Absolutely ruined.” She kicked at a nearby plant with the toe of her boot, sending a shower of dirt into the air.

  Mike pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t know much about pumpkins. I’ve mostly done grapes before.”

  “Oh, I’m not expecting you to fix anything—I know this is totally on me. I missed something somewhere.” She turned in a circle, looking out over the land that had been willed to her just six months previously on the death of her grandmother. It was so sad, and yet so romantic, that her grandparents had passed within a few weeks of each other. They’d always said they couldn’t bear to be apart for too long, so the close proximity of their deaths really hadn’t been a surprise. Melissa missed them fiercely, though, especially at moments like this when she had no idea how to keep their legacy alive.

  “We’ll need to dig this under and try again next year,” she said at last. “I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’ll see if I can figure it out before time to plant again.”

  “Want me to get out the tractor and start right now?” Mike asked.

  Melissa opened her mouth to say yes, but something made her hesitate. “Not yet. I need to do a little research and see if it’s best to turn the plants under the soil to compost, or if we should pull them out entirely.”

  Mike nodded. “Sounds good. Anything else for me today?”

  “No, you can go, but please come back tomorrow around nine, all right? I’ll have a plan by then.”

  Mike nodded, put his hat back on, and ambled down the row toward the dirt road. She had no idea what he did when he wasn’t working on the farm. She’d asked him once if he had a family, but he clammed up and wouldn’t say a thing, so she’d stopped prying. Some people were just more private than others.

  She shielded her eyes with her hand while she looked around one last time. The sun was bright, even though the air was a bit cool—the perfect combination that meant fall. The sky was that particular shade of blue that only happens in the autumn too. How many Octobers had she spent out here with her grandparents as a child? Too many to count. She could almost smell her grandmother’s homemade donuts and hot chocolate, and hear the snap and crackle as flames leaped out of the fire pits on either end of the yard. She’d held up frozen fingers to be warmed, her cheeks thawing in the orange glow of those fires, her parents laughing as they cradled mugs between their hands.

  Good grief. She was crying again, and she’d thought she’d hit her quota for the month already.

  She gave a good sniff, trying to clear the tears from her voice, and pulled out her phone. “Hey, Dad?”

  “What’s the matter?” No fooling him—he was always on the alert. It was his dad radar.

  “Um, I think I ruined the entire harvest. No, that’s not true—I really did ruin the entire harvest.”

  “I don’t understand. How can you ruin an entire harvest? You’re just one person. I’d think that sort of destruction would take four people at least.”

  She smiled. Bless him for trying to take the edge off with some humor. “I don’t know what I did, but everything’s all shriveled. Nothing grew. I’ve been out here with fertilizer and water, and then I thought I might be overwatering and I cut back. No pumpkin patch in the history of anywhere has been babied as much as this one, and I must have smothered it.”

  “I don’t think they’re that sensitive, sweetheart. Aren’t they related to zucchini somehow and just grow whether you want them to or not?”

  “I don’t think they’re related at all, Dad. I mean, they’re squashes, right? Are zucchini squashes?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” She waited while he tapped on his keyboard. She could hear the little faint clickety-click sounds through the earpiece, and she had to smile again. Her dad loved looking things up on the Internet, and his laptop was almost always within easy grabbing distance.

  “Let’s see. It says here that zucchini and squash are of the same genus, although you harvest zucchini in the late summer and you harvest squash in the late fall. Interesting—did you know that squash is considered a fruit?”

  She shook her head. Bless his heart. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Zucca is actually the Italian word for pumpkin,” he went on. “Oh, great recipes for zucchini pumpkin bread . . . Um, what was the question?”

  “I don’t even remember. It’s just good to hear your voice.” She didn’t mean to sound whiny, but she couldn’t help the melancholy note that crept in.

  “Are you all right? Do you need us to come out there for a bit?”

  Her first instinct was to say no. She was an adult—she could handle this on her own without Mommy and Daddy running to the rescue. At the same time, though, the relief that filled her when she thought about it couldn’t be denied. “You know what, I think I’d really like that. Are you able to come, though? Don’t you have stuff going on?”

  “Sweetheart, one of the advantages of being retired is that I can do whatever I want now. Well, within reason—your mother still won’t let me build a tiny house, but I’m working on that. Let me check with her and I’ll call you back with our travel plans.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Melissa was smiling when she hung up.

  Her parents still lived in the home where Melissa had grown up in Lubbock. It was close enough to come see her grandparents whenever she liked, but far enough away that the six-hour drive always seemed to take a million years.

  She left the field and walked the distance to the farmhouse, making herself a cup of hot chocolate when she reached the kitchen. Then she settled down at the table and looked out at the land while she sipped, loving it fiercely and yet feeling as though it had betrayed her. If she could somehow pour the love she had in her heart into the soil and make it produce, she’d have the most amazing pumpkins in the county, and yet, nothing. It was as though the land had died right along with her grandparents, and that was something she simply couldn’t accept. It was meant to live on forever in their memory.

  Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up. “Hey, Dad. Back so soon?”

  “Your mother can’t wait. She says we’ll be there tomorrow night—we’ve just got to run some errands first and stuff. You know what this means, right? Your poor father will be dragged from store to store for hours. I hope you appreciate this sacrifice.”

  “I do, Dad. I really do.”

  “Oh, and one more thing—your mother says you should talk to the McClains.”

  “What? Why?” The McClains owned the property that bordered Melissa’s on the east, and they were the strangest bunch of people she’d ever met. Well, that wasn’t fair—she’d never actually met them, even though they were such near neighbors. They ran a boys’ ranch and took in around thirty boys at a time, training them up with job skills and really doing a good service, but the rumors . . . She couldn’t put her finger on any one complaint, but she’d heard there was just something weird about them. That alone was enough to make her cautious, especially living out here by herself like she was. And they were all named alphabetically—who did that?

  “They’re some of the best ranchers in the area. Have you seen the produce they bring out to the farmers’ market? It’s first rate. The one you really want to talk to is Benjamin. I’m told that he oversees the crops for the family.”

  “Benjamin. Okay, Dad. I’ll see what I can do.” She told her father goodbye and hung up, then finished her cocoa in a series of swallows. Sure . . . sure she’d go talk to the weird farmer guy about her crops. Benjamin . . . that would make him the second oldest in the family. She shook her head. She’d rather head into town and talk to the fellow at the plant nurser
y. He’d have some good ideas for her that wouldn’t involve weird alphabetical brothers.

  ***

  “Well now, I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Mr. Rafferty shook his graying head. “The Daniels’ Pumpkin Patch is famous around here for big, healthy pumpkins.”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” Melissa said. “This is the first year I’ve run it, and the entire crop is ruined. I need to figure out what I did wrong.”

  Mr. Rafferty looked around his store, as though one of the fertilizers or bags of birdseed would give him the answers. Then he glanced out the front window and did a double take.

  “Well, there’s your answer,” he said, jerking his thumb. “That’s Benjamin McClain outside, and he’s the one you want to talk to. He’s got a way with plants like nothing I’ve ever seen. He can set you right if anyone can.”

  “Benjamin McClain?” She wasn’t going to get out of this no matter what she did, was she? “He’s the best person to ask?”

  “No doubt about it.”

  She nodded slowly. “All right. Thanks, Mr. Rafferty.” She headed for the door and opened it, but saw no one outside but a group of four good-looking men leaning up against a pickup truck. She didn’t see an eccentric plant whisperer. She stuck her head back inside the shop. “Um, where is he?”

  Mr. Rafferty looked through the window again. “There he is, by the truck. Wearing the red plaid shirt.”

  Oh, boy. The eccentric plant whisperer was one of the four good-looking men. She hadn’t expected that at all. “Thanks. I’ll go talk to him now.”

  “You have a nice day,” Mr. Rafferty called out as the door closed.

  Melissa took a deep breath as she crossed the street toward the truck. She could do this. She talked to handsome men all the time. Well, no, actually—she didn’t. She hardly ever did. And not ones this good-looking. Maybe she didn’t need those pumpkins after all. Maybe she should just keep walking and forget the whole thing.