Page 12 of Take Me Home

When I finally make it across the property and I’m standing in front of the front door of the cabin, the fear returns. My throat is dry, and my knees are shaking…but I force my hand forward to ring the bell.

A chime echoes through the interior of the home, and I wait a full minute before the door opens. A minute that feels like an hour. Will Hank answer the door? Is he already out working? Is he even here?

Finally, a man appears. Butterflies swirl in my stomach for a moment before I realize this can’t be Hank. This man must be in his seventies. According to my mother, Hank is a good twenty years younger than that.

The older man offers me a genuine, warm smile. The skin around his eyes crinkles like he smiles often. “Well, good morning. Are you our guest this weekend?”

I smile back. “Yes, I am.”

“Is everything okay with your cabin?”

“Um, yes,” I lie. I can bring up the heating issues later.

Shuffling on my feet, I straighten my shoulders. “I was just wondering if Hank Daniels is around.”

His gaze turns wary, and I get the distinct feeling this man is protective of Hank. And maybe Hank has had unwanted visitors before. “Maybe I can help you. Hank is busy.”

I swallow again, but my throat feels like sandpaper. “I think Hank is the only one who can help me.”

He studies me, and under his intense scrutiny, my eyes start to water. The man’s expression softens, and he opens the door wider. “Why don’t you come in, and we can chat?”

I nod, relieved to have a barrier from the cold. He ushers me inside, closing the door.

“Let me take your coat.” His soft smile is back. He reminds me of sweet grandpas you see in movies with his kind eyes and gray hair.

I remove my coat and my boots, then follow him deeper inside the home. He gestures to a leather armchair beside a massive stone fireplace, and I take a seat. The cabin is warm and smells of firewood and freshly brewed coffee. Everything about the place is masculine, like a woman hasn’t seen this place in years—or maybe ever.

“I’m Otto Daniels, Hank’s dad. I’m not sure what you need from Hank…but I’m a pretty good listener.” He smiles that warm smile again.

Hank’s dad…which means I’m his granddaughter. My eyes fill with tears again, this time threatening to spill over.

Otto’s chin dips, his brow furrowed in concern. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

He nods, and takes a seat in the armchair across from mine, and then waits patiently for me to speak.

“Um. Well,” I start, then stop, bringing my hands to my lap and wringing them, just like my mother does when she’s nervous. “I believe Hank is my father,” I blurt before I can chicken out.

Otto’s eyes—green like mine—widen as he stares at me. “Could you repeat that?” he asks, leaning forward like maybe he didn’t hear me correctly.

“I’m Hank’s daughter.”

He blinks, his mouth opening, then closing. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my son has never mentioned having a daughter.”

I blow out a breath. “To my understanding, he doesn’t know.” I explain about my mother and Raymond and the DNA test, and he listens silently.

When I finish, he doesn’t speak for a long moment, he just stares at me with a haunted expression. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-five.”

He shakes his head, and his hand comes up to cup his jaw. “Twenty-five years.” He breathes the words into the air, not looking at me.

Otto’s eyes fill with tears as he sits there, looking at nothing. He finally turns toward me and stares like he’s seeing me for the first time. “The green eyes should’ve been a dead giveaway,” he chuckles nervously. “And the red hair.” He brings one wrinkled hand up and drags it down his face. “I need you to know that Hank will want to confirm this with a DNA test, okay? Try to understand that despite him keeping a low profile, his success has come with expectations and people who try to take advantage.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take a DNA test,” I say.

“I’ll take you to him.” He rises, his back bowing slightly with old age. He’s staring at me now; his eyes are soft.