Love Comes Silently(Senses 1) (5 page)

His bed rocked and Ken cracked his eyes open, knowing that Hanna had crawled into bed with him. “I heard a noise downstairs,” she told him as she climbed under the covers on the other side of the bed. “Maybe it’s a bear.”

“It’s probably the man delivering the paper,” Ken told her before closing his eyes once again. Hanna seemed to accept the answer, and Ken drifted back to sleep listening to the soft sound of his daughter’s breathing.

Later, Ken felt Hanna get out of the bed. Peering through slitted eyes, Ken looked at the clock before groaning and then getting out of bed. The house felt cold, and he could hear the wind whistling around the corners, making the room feel colder than it was. “Let’s get dressed, and I’ll make you some breakfast,” Ken told Hanna, and she returned to her room. “Do you need me to help you?”

“I’m not a baby!” Hanna cried back, and Ken smiled as he quickly dressed and cleaned up before going to see what kind of mischief Hanna had gotten into. He got a pleasant surprise when Hanna joined him outside her room dressed in clothes that matched, and she hadn’t managed to pull all the clothes out of her dresser to find them. She was carrying her shoes, though, and Ken scooped her into his arms, laughing as he flew her down the stairs, both of them making airplane noises.

They played all the way into the kitchen. Then Ken set Hanna down and began making breakfast. “You can get the newspaper,” Ken told Hanna, and she hurried to the front door. The words were on the tip of his tongue to have her walk and take it easy, but seeing her with energy, even if it only lasted a few hours, was very heartening.

“Daddy!” he heard Hanna squeal, and he stopped what he was doing so he could take a look at what had her so excited.

The front door stood open, and Hanna was outside in the wind, peering into what appeared to be a box. “What is it?” Ken asked as Hanna lifted the box and brought it inside before closing the front door with a slam.

“Hats,” Hanna said delightedly, and she began pawing through the box, lifting out hat after hat. There were some of every style imaginable: knit caps, wide-brimmed frilly hats, an old-fashioned stocking cap that dangled down Hanna’s back. There was even a small pillbox hat that made Hanna look adorably retro. “Where did they come from?” Hanna asked him without stopping to look up from her bounty.

“Was there a note?” Ken asked as he looked through the box, but he saw only the hats.

 

Ken’s phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket, surprised to see Mark’s number. “Hello,” he said tentatively.

“How are you?” Mark asked. “I just called to make sure you were okay.” The sadness in Mark’s voice was clear even over the phone. “Is that Hanna I hear?” She’d chosen that moment to squeal with glee when she saw a puffy pink hat. She placed it on her head before dancing around the living room. “She sounds happy,” Mark said.

“I think she is,” Ken agreed with a smile. “That was very—” He was about to thank him for the hats.

“Ken, I have to go,” Mark said in a rush, and Ken thought he heard Mark’s voice crack slightly. “I only called to make sure you and Hanna were okay. I was out running some errands this morning and I’m frozen to the bone. I’ll call you later… soon.” The call ended, and Ken stared at the phone for a few seconds before setting it on the hall table. Ken wondered at the strange phone call and figured it was Mark’s way of making sure they’d found what he’d left for Hanna.

“Let’s get some breakfast, and then you can try on each of the hats,” Ken told her before lifting Hanna into his arms and carrying her to the kitchen.

Chapter Two

 

P
ATRICK FLAHERTY had seen the little bald girl’s reaction to the

box of hats he’d placed outside the front door of the house she shared with her father. Patrick had found out the man with the beatific smile and eyes so deep it looked like the worries of the entire world would fit inside them was named Ken, and that he was some sort of artist. He hadn’t heard much else about him, other than he was new in town and that his daughter had been very sick. Patrick did know from watching him that the other man who’d lived in the house had been Ken’s boyfriend, but he appeared to have moved out, and now it was just Ken and his daughter. That was fine with Patrick. He’d noticed the other man the very first day he’d moved in two houses down the street from the small house Patrick had inherited from his mother. Not that he had any illusions that Ken had noticed him, other than to see him outside working.

People in town had been talking about Ken and his daughter for months, their tongues flapping like a flag in the wind off Lake Superior. Apparently, Ken Brighton was some really famous artist, with his paintings hanging in museums and selling for big bucks all over the country. That was one thing Patrick had found out very quickly after the accident that left him nearly completely silent—people figured that since he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t hear, either, or think. Patrick clenched the handle of the snow shovel as his anger and hurt welled inside. He was the same person he’d been before the accident, and he wished he could make others see that.

After watching the front of the house for a few seconds more, Patrick let the squeal of joy he’d heard drifting on the wind bring a smile to his face as he returned to his chores. He had to get these done before the snow that had begun to melt hardened into ice he’d never get off the sidewalk.

Patrick worked for nearly an hour, and he was about to put his shovel away when he saw Ken and his daughter come out of the house. He couldn’t suppress a grin when he saw the little girl was wearing the poofy pink hat he’d given her. She held her father’s hand, and Patrick walked closer, waving at both of them. He saw the little girl wave back at him before she pulled her hand from her dad’s and walked down the sidewalk toward him.

“Hello,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for the maccheese, it was really good.” Patrick nodded and smiled, watching as the girl cocked her head curiously. Patrick touched his throat and shook his head. “Can’t you talk?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“Hanna, don’t bother the nice man,” Ken said as he came up behind his daughter.

“Daddy, he can’t talk,” Hanna said to him. Patrick was used to the pitying looks or even tsking sounds when people found out, but Ken smiled at him and extended his hand.

“I’m Ken Brighton, and this is Hanna,” he said as he firmly shook Patrick’s hand. Once Patrick let go, Patrick pointed to the embroidered name on his coat. One thing he’d begun doing after the accident was have his name added to his jackets and coats. It was the best way he could figure out to easily tell people his name. “It’s nice to meet you, Patrick,” Ken said with an ease that Patrick rarely saw in others. Most people didn’t quite know how to react to him. “We both wanted to thank you for the macaroni and cheese. It was fabulous,” Ken said, and Patrick began to shift slightly under the other man’s piercingly perceptive gaze.

Patrick smiled once again and nodded, placing his hand over his heart in a gesture that meant their thanks was appreciated. “We’re going to the store, and then Daddy and I are going to paint,” Hanna told him excitedly.

“We need to get going,” Ken said. “You shouldn’t be out in the cold for very long.” Ken might have been talking to Hanna, but he continued looking at him, almost studying him. “Thanks again for the food. I’ll return the dish later today,” Ken added with a slight smile, and Patrick felt his insides jump a little. Patrick waved as the two of them walked back to the car, and after getting inside, Patrick saw Hanna wave as they drove away.

He’d been attracted to Ken since the first time he saw him. But he quickly found out that he had a boyfriend, so Patrick did what he usually did—pushed his interest aside and went on with life. Granted, he wasn’t sure if the boyfriend was really gone, and if the relationship had just ended, then his handsome neighbor probably wasn’t looking for someone else right away. Not that he’d be particularly interested in Patrick, but he could dream. He watched until the deep green car disappeared from sight before putting his shovel away in the garage and then opening the door to the attached workshop.

Patrick turned on the lights, looking over his woodworking shop and the chest of drawers that he’d been working on. He made his living making fine handcrafted furniture, and he had an order he had to get completed, so he put the way his neighbor moved beneath his clothes and the depth of Ken’s eyes out of his mind and got to work.

T
HEhours Patrick spent in his workshop were regularly some of the most enjoyable of his day. He got to take an ordinary piece of wood, and with work and love, turn it into something beautiful.

“Patrick,” he heard from behind him, and he turned off the planer as his cousin Julianne stepped into the workshop. “I called for you four times,” she said, and Patrick shrugged. There wasn’t much he could do. He didn’t have a phone out here and he didn’t want the interruptions, either. “You haven’t been in the diner this week, and I was worried about you.” If he didn’t show his face every now and then, the mother hen would come looking for him.

Patrick lifted his hands and showed her that he had all his fingers before turning around so she could see he was in one piece and hadn’t wasted away to nothing.

“How anyone can not be able to talk and still be such a smartass is beyond me,” she chided, slapping him on the shoulder. “But you manage it in the first ten seconds.” Julianne was the only real family Patrick had left, and he loved her dearly. She checked up on him and had him over for dinner with her family from time to time. “So you’re alive. Is there anything new?”

Patrick rolled his eyes, and Julianne placed her hands on her hips and waited. Patrick began to slowly pantomime what he wanted to say. He and Julianne had developed a sort of sign/body language of their own. It had slowly developed over the years since his accident. She’d often said that she’d take classes with him to help him learn to sign, but Patrick kept putting it off. He didn’t want to learn because it sort of meant giving up hope. “Your neighbor’s daughter came home from the hospital?” Julianne said tentatively, once Patrick had finished. “That’s really nice. Is she okay?”

Patrick nodded with a smile, smoothing his hand over his head.

“Oh, she lost her hair,” Julianne said. “So that’s why you bought all the hats yesterday.” There were definitely no secrets in this town. Everyone knew everything about absolutely everyone. At least that had the side benefit of letting him talk less. Julianne set her purse on the workbench and pulled up a stool, settling in for a while. “Did she like them?” she asked, and Patrick nodded, pantomiming her reaction, to both his and Julianne’s delight. “Do they know they were from you?”

Patrick shook his he ad, his expression turning serious. That he’d made Hanna and her dad happy was all that mattered, and seeing them out together with her wearing one of the hats he’d given her was all the reward he needed.

“You don’t want them to know, do you?” Patrick shoo k his head again. “Why?” Julianne asked as she stood up and walked around the bench. “You have the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, and not everyone is going to reject you because you can’t talk.” Patrick scowled and knitted his brows at Julianne. He knew the expression was exaggerated, but that was part of how he communicated. “I doubt they’re those kind of people,” Julianne added, and Patrick relaxed his expression. She was probably right, in fact more than likely right, but still….

Patrick looked a round the workshop and found a piece of paper. “
I took mac and cheese like Mom used to make and Hanna really liked it. She said thank you and was wearing one of the hats I gave her
.” Patrick passed the note to Julianne who read it and nodded. Patrick took the paper back. “
She seems like a very sweet little girl
,” he wrote.

Julianne smiled at him. “Sounds like she’s a real cutie.”

Patrick colored, and Julianne got one of those knowing looks that always made Patrick squirm. When they were kids, he could never get away with anything around her because she could figure him out in two seconds. Now, she seemed even more in tune with him, and he turned to one of his machines.

“Turning away isn’t going to do you a bit of good,” Julianne teased. “I saw the way you blushed.” He heard the stool skid on the floor and then her footsteps as she walked toward him. “You know, it’s okay to like whoever you want.” She touched his arm. “It’s her father that’s really caught your interest, isn’t it?” Patrick nodded, but didn’t turn around. “You know I loved your folks to pieces, but about you being gay, my aunt and uncle were full of shit!” Julianne told him with a touch of venom in her voice. “They filled your head with that nonsense to the point that you believe it, but they were wrong. And if they were still alive, I’d tell them so and you know it. So stop listening to what they filled your head with and follow your heart. You deserve to be happy just like anyone else.”

Patrick reached for the pad of paper, trying to think how he could explain it to her, but he couldn’t. Even if he had his voice, he wasn’t sure he could tell her, and writing it down was damned near impossible. “
It doesn’t matter. He just broke up with his boyfriend
,” Patrick wrote.