Lucas Daniel was born with the power to heal. But it’s not a gift, instead it’s a life sentence filled with isolation and loneliness, leaving him starved of the love and affection he yearns for.
During his secluded childhood, he defies his mother’s over-protective rules and tries to befriend Kelsey, the new girl next door. But she thinks he’s a freak and wants nothing to do with him … until she accidentally discovers his secret. They soon form an inseparable bond, sharing their hopes and dreams for the future.
Until a devastating event leaves Kelsey’s life hanging in the balance. Lucas does everything he can to save her but leaves her face scarred for life. Believing his secret has been exposed, his mother whisks him away and changes their identities.
Now a reclusive country veterinarian, he’s managed to keep his secret for decades. But when Kelsey moves to the same rural town, he just might get everything he's ever wanted, and everything he's ever feared.
Lucas Daniel was born with the power to heal. But it’s not a gift, instead it’s a life sentence filled with isolation and loneliness, leaving him starved of the love and affection he yearns for.
During his secluded childhood, he defies his mother’s over-protective rules and tries to befriend Kelsey, the new girl next door. But she thinks he’s a freak and wants nothing to do with him … until she accidentally discovers his secret. They soon form an inseparable bond, sharing their hopes and dreams for the future.
Until a devastating event leaves Kelsey’s life hanging in the balance. Lucas does everything he can to save her but leaves her face scarred for life. Believing his secret has been exposed, his mother whisks him away and changes their identities.
Now a reclusive country veterinarian, he’s managed to keep his secret for decades. But when Kelsey moves to the same rural town, he just might get everything he's ever wanted, and everything he's ever feared.
I OPEN MY BUREAU drawer and pluck out a pair of tan leather gloves. On rare occasions, the sight of all these neatly arranged little prisons takes me back to my childhood. Apparently, today is one of those days. As the memories well up in me, I look in the mirror above the bureau to assure myself that the image of the man reflected there is not that scared little boy.
I stare at myself, seeing no trace of the scrawny, pale boy I’d once been. That kid died a long time ago. The man staring at me now has made it to the grand old age of thirty. I’ve managed to live longer than any known relative with the same disorder. My father, also afflicted, only made it to twenty, not even long enough to see me, his only child, enter the world.
Scratching at my five-day growth, I lean closer to the reflection and study my face. Still tanned from a long summer and autumn in the sun, the small wrinkles around my eyes are, for me, something I should be happy about; proof that I’ve outlived my predecessors. But the price of living this long is high. I may be alive, but I only live half a life. I suppose half a life is better than no life at all, though sometimes, when the loneliness weighs down on me, I wonder. It’s always there in the background. Occasionally I can smother it for weeks before it makes an appearance, sometimes only a day or so, but it always comes back to remind me. I’m alone, and probably always will be.
I run a hand through my thick, short-cropped hair, which had gradually grown darker when I hit my teenage years. I prefer it this way, believing it makes me appear stronger than the scrawny blond boy I’d been. And the transformation helped me embrace the new identity my mother created for me when she changed my name to protect me from a threat she perceived as life or death.
Though I would forever think of myself as Lucas Daniel, the rest of my world, small as it is, only knows me as Daniel Clark.
After my near-death experience, my mother’s paranoia that Kelsey’s father would either hunt me down, or reveal my secret to the world, overtook our lives. She moved us around constantly, never settling anywhere for more than a few months. Finally, she found someone shady enough to forge new birth certificates for both of us. Although she kept her given name, Emily, she insisted I change mine. I never had the chance to meet my father, but I wanted to keep a part of him close, and his name was the only way I knew how to do that. So, I stood up to my mother and demanded I keep the name Daniel. She relented, but she only ever called me Dan.
I sigh and step away from the mirror. Although I need a shave, I know women find me attractive. My time at university taught me that women tended to look my way, their gazes lingering that fraction too long. But soon enough, my rudeness and gloves made them see past the face they once found attractive. Soon enough, they agreed with everyone else.
I’m a freak. A freak to be avoided, to be left alone.
Something else I can’t hide, even beneath the warm layers of clothing, is my tall, muscular frame. If anyone knew I ate whatever I liked, that I never went through the drudgery of working out to stay in shape, they’d probably want to kill me for that alone.
Fortunately, no one but my mother really knows me.
Unfortunately, I have to keep it that way.
I look at the soft gloves in my hand and take comfort in them. They’re a necessity I’d once hated, but eventually learned to embrace. Slipping them into the back pocket of my jeans, I head out of the bedroom, down the short hallway and into the open-plan living area.
The two-bedroom cottage is cosy enough for me and the only other occupant, my border collie, Sam. Who right now is whining on the other side of the front door. I’d let her out to do her business before my shower and now she wants in.
Rubbing my hands against the crisp winter chill, I stride over the polished floorboards in my thick socks and open the door. Sam slips inside, her bushy tail wagging at an astounding rate as I run a hand over her side and give her an affectionate pat. She is one of only two living things I allow myself to feel with my bare hands. With the sensation of touch such a rare experience, her soft fur is a luxury I never take for granted.
As I make my way around the kitchen bench, I notice a faint plume appear before my lips. Halfway into winter and it’s still getting colder.
While I wait for the kettle to boil, I prepare the open fireplace for my return in the evening. Then I make my morning coffee in a travel mug, shrug into a warm parka and slip into the work boots waiting for me beside the front door.
Sam follows me onto the veranda and sits at my side when I stop at the top of the steps. I take a sip of the hot coffee and stare into the white wall of fog before me.
I love these mornings. The utter silence, the way the fog engulfs everything. It gives me the sense of being in my own silent world of solitude. When there is nothing but this white void, I can imagine the world beyond no longer exists. And I don’t mind that idea one bit. If it were only true, I’d never have to wear these gloves again.
I walk over the gravel driveway towards the invisible stables, and soon, the classic red barn with white trim looms before me. I place a hand on the large metal door, enjoying the wet, sharp coldness beneath my bare fingers. It rumbles and vibrates as I slide it open enough to step inside, out of the damp air, and into the familiar smell of horse manure and leather.
Sam charges ahead, sniffs at the ground and follows a scent only she can detect. While she’s busy, I dry my hands on my jeans and slip on my gloves.
The large barn houses four stables—two on each side of the wide walkway—an area for Lucerne, hay, oats, chaff and molasses. Opposite the feed is a tack room where I keep riding gear, rugs and brushes. Nothing special, just practical and well maintained, but it happens to be one of my favourite places.
I enter the first stable to my left, scratch the chestnut mare behind her ears, then unbuckle the front of her rug and pull it halfway along her back. She watches me with curious eyes as I slide a gloved hand over her swollen belly, checking for any abnormalities. She has a month or so before she’s ready to foal, and everything seems to be going smoothly.
After I tip a bucket of prepared food into her feed bin, I cross to the other side of the walkway, open the stable door and stand back.
Beau, a sixteen-hand bay stallion, emerges, walks right up to me and nuzzles one of my leather gloves. My pride and joy, this horse is the only other living thing I allow myself to touch, because just like Sam, I know it’s completely safe to do so.
I bought Beau at the stockyard auctions when I first moved to Cascade almost six years ago, paying next to nothing for him. In fact, I’d been the only bidder, and I almost hadn’t raised my hand at all. When the handler led the young colt into the arena, I watched the feisty beast rear up and almost strike the poor sap trying to hold on to him. Then, with all four legs firmly planted on the ground, he’d strained against his halter, dragging the handler across the dirt floor like a water skier. As the colt’s rump connected with the arena’s railing, he’d spun around. Only then did I see he was not only missing his left eye, but crude scars covered the left side of his face and neck. And in that instant, I knew he was meant to be mine.
Once the handler finally managed to get a semblance of control over the colt, I saw his beauty and potential. Though I knew the horse would be forever physically scarred, I also knew I could do something about his behaviour, knew I had to save him from what was bound to be his destiny.
Since then, Beau has sired over thirty horses, two of which I still own. My miniscule horse stud costs more than it makes, but it’s a hobby I take great pleasure in, and something I can do with a minimum of human interaction.
Removing a glove, I run my fingers over the criss-crossing scars on Beau’s face and neck, and feel the uneven, crudely healed wounds. I give the stallion an affectionate slap, then slip my glove on.
Beau follows my every move as I break off a biscuit of Lucerne and tuck it under my arm. At the rear of the barn, I slide open the large door and head into a small yard.
Behind me, Beau snatches a bite from the biscuit.
I spin around. ‘Hey, we’ve spoken about that.’
Beau’s ears twitch as he chews the stolen morsel.
‘Come on.’ I grin as I walk over to an open gate, grip the biscuit and spin it like a frisbee into the fog. Beau gallops after it, disappearing into the thick shroud of mist.
I close and secure the gate, then check my watch. Time to get to work.
After I lock up and climb into my beaten-up Landcruiser with Sam, I travel down the long gravel driveway. Through the fog, the gnarled winter trees appear in pairs on both sides, at first like ghosts, then solid and black, leaning towards me, as if reaching for me with deformed, arthritic fingers. At times like this, they remind me of my mother’s warnings when I was a kid. Warnings that if anyone found out about my disorder, that people, both good and bad, would all want a piece of me. And they’d take every piece they could lay their greedy fingers on until there was nothing left.
The thought makes me shiver. I reach out and turn up the heater to full blast.
<><><>
As I pass the ‘Welcome to Cascade’ placard, the fog thins just enough to let the sun’s white orb shine through, but the town beyond the white barrier remains hidden. The first sign of civilisation stands on the corner of Tucker Road and Main Street; the only petrol station in town, which charges outrageous prices due to a lack of competition.
As I take a left, I soon pass the two-hundred-year-old church, which has been used in several Australian television series over the years. I slow for the school zone. Even though school started half an hour ago, a few groups of mothers huddle together, chatting. Some glance my way, but when they recognise the Landcruiser, they quickly avert their eyes.
Good.
Further along the road, the street opens up to allow for parking in front of the quaint collection of shops. Majestic old oak trees flank the street, their limbs bare now, but in summer their canopy reaches high overhead, providing abundant shade from a magnificent archway all the way to the end of town.
She’d been right.
I quickly push down the surge of thoughts that want to race through my brain every time I think of her.
Slowing for the raised pedestrian crossing at the town’s centre, I continue on to the very last building on the right. I pull into my parking space, climb out and hold the door open for Sam.
Eager to get inside before anyone comes along, I push on the glass door’s handle and find it locked. I shake my head.
Emily’s late. Again.
Finding the key, I let myself and Sam inside, pull on the blind over the door and let it fly up with a rattle. Behind the glass stencilled with ‘Cascade Vet Clinic’, I turn the ‘closed’ sign around.
Sam trots behind the reception desk and snuggles into her bed in the corner. I turn on the ducted air, shrug off my parka and flick on the lights as I walk towards the rear of the clinic. When I reach the examination room, I hear the bell over the front door tinkle.
Ready to reprimand my mother for her tardiness—which is becoming quite a habit lately—I hurry up the hallway and stop short.
Mrs Winston, the well-to-do sixty-something busybody, and wife of Cascade’s mayor, stands at the reception desk with a confused expression. In her arms, she holds Poppet, her white Chihuahua.
She spots me. ‘Dr Clark. Am I too early?’
‘No.’ The familiar tension created by having to deal with someone like Mrs Winston enters my body. Most of the locals have long ago received the message that I prefer to be left alone, but Mrs Winston seems oblivious.
She stares at me, shifting Poppet from her left arm to her right. I know she’s waiting for me to say more. I suppose I could be polite and explain why no one is here to greet clients, but I refuse to indulge her with small talk.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘Poppet’s here for her yearly shots.’
By way of invitation, I simply tilt my head towards the hallway and head to the examination room.
As I remove my leather gloves and replace them with the latex variety, Mrs Winston appears in the doorway. Without a word, I indicate for her to place Poppet on the exam table. She obliges, but refuses to let go of the trembling dog.
I sigh on the inside. Becoming a vet had been my dream since I was ten years old. I love animals, and they seem to love me. It’s that simple.
Unfortunately, there’s one problem. Animals come with owners. And owners are a pain in the arse I can do without. I have no problem giving them a diagnosis or explaining the treatment or what an operation might involve. That’s easy, part of my job. It’s the chitchat that I loathe.
‘Let her go,’ I say.
Mrs Winston hesitates a fraction of a second before she releases the little dog and clutches her purse, instead.
As soon as I place my hands on Poppet, she stops shaking and licks at my latex gloves. Her bulging eyes lock with mine as her tail begins a rapid sweep against the stainless-steel table.
‘You know,’ Mrs Winston says, ‘I saw Nora Dawson yesterday.’
I ignore her and concentrate on easing Poppet’s lips back so I can get a good look at her teeth. Next I check her ears, then listen to her heartbeat.
‘She’s just broken up with Ray McKnight.’
Mrs Winston seems determined to ruin my examination. Without giving her even a grunt of encouragement, I open the small bar fridge, which contains an array of vaccinations, antibiotics and anti-inflammatory vials. I hear her release a small scoff, an obvious sign that I’ve offended her, but my deliberate rudeness does nothing to discourage her.
‘She’d be perfect for you, Dr Clark.’
Why was it she felt she had to play matchmaker for me? I hate being reminded of just how lonely I am, have always been and always will be. Yes, I’d love to share my life with someone special, but I can’t, and that’s that.
After preparing the two injections, I turn to the exam table and avoid Mrs Winston’s curious stare. I can feel her eyes on me as I give Poppet her shots. Why Mrs Winston thinks any newly single woman would be interested in me is so ridiculous I actually struggle to keep a straight face.
‘Well, maybe that new woman who’s moving into the old Edwards’ farm might be more to your liking. Unless you’re one of those …’
Avoiding any eye contact, I move Poppet closer to Mrs Winston, turn away from her once again and pretend to tidy the bench.
‘All done,’ I say.
She releases a huff before her footsteps retreat down the hallway. I grin to myself. Let her think I’m gay. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, it would give the town gossips something new to add to the list of things they already believe. Plus, the upside is, Mrs Winston might finally give up on her matchmaking crusade.
When I hear her voice in reception, I let out a breath of relief. Emily has finally arrived. Curious about what Mrs Winston has to say, I inch towards the doorway.
‘Well, it was a good day until I had to deal with that son of yours. If you ask me, he’s in desperate need of psychological help.’
I grin.
‘For his germaphobia?’ my mother asks.
‘Among other things. Manners being one of them.’
‘I’ve talked to him,’ Emily says. ‘I really have. But you know how men are about shrinks. And since we don’t have one in town, there’s not much I can do about him, I’m afraid. Anyway, how’s Poppet?’
‘As always, for some strange reason, she just seems to adore Dr Clark.’
‘He’s never had any complaints from his patients, that’s for sure.’
I wait for Mrs Winston to leave before wandering out to reception. My mother watches me enter, an amused glint in her eyes.
‘What did you say to her this time?’
‘Not much. Hopefully, she finally got the message to leave me the hell alone. Seems she’s the only one around here who forgets.’ I lean on the desk’s high counter as my mother files away a copy of Poppet’s vaccination record. ‘You were late again.’
She gives me an innocent look. ‘I was?’
‘You know damn well you were. I really should fire you.’
She laughs. ‘Then who’d deal with people like Mrs Winston for you?’
I like to see her happy. Growing up, she’d been so tense, always on edge, always because of me.
When I’d first discovered the clinic, it had been run by a husband-and-wife team who were ready to retire to the coast. The timing couldn’t have been better. The set-up had been perfect for me to step right in. When I’d told Emily, she’d quickly jumped in with an offer to help me run the place. At first I’d objected, but her arguments eventually persuaded me. With her help, my dealings with people had been limited. Usually, she’d greet the patient’s owner and find out exactly what they thought was wrong. Before showing the patient in, she’d bring me up to speed, saving me a lot of unnecessary talk with the owner. She also handled all the administration and purchasing duties.
But most importantly of all, it meant I didn’t have to hire a stranger who would expect conversation from me.
It had also been an opportunity to forgive her without having to say the words. For a long time there, I’d resented her for keeping me so isolated I was almost socially inept. When I’d gone to university on a full scholarship at the age of seventeen, I’d realised she’d been right on so many levels. My disorder handicapped me when it came to social interactions, but thankfully it hadn’t prevented me from following my chosen path in life. By the time I’d realised how right my mother had been, I’d believed I’d damaged our relationship so profoundly that I just couldn’t admit I’d been wrong to resent her when all she’d been trying to do was be a good mother. The circumstances she found herself in when she discovered my disorder were anything but normal. Giving her this job was my apology for the coldness I’d shown her during that turbulent time in our lives.
The phone rings and Emily snatches it up. ‘Cascade Vet Clinic … Oh, Jess, glad you called … Of course I can talk.’
I stare at her as she scribbles something on a post-it note and passes it to me, never missing a beat in her personal conversation. The note simply says, Coffee! Which means she expects me to go and get it. I try to make eye contact with her, to show my annoyance, but she knows better and keeps her head down.
I make a show of removing my latex gloves and flicking them at her, but her only response is to swivel around in her chair and turn her back on me.
Shrugging into my parka, I grab my leather gloves and shove my hands inside them. Outside, the sun has almost broken through the thinning fog, but the air still has plenty of bite. I hurry past the small hardware store next to my clinic, past the goodwill shop and the news agency. As I walk past the only supermarket in town, I see Ned Jamison heading my way. It’s almost imperceptible, but I notice Ned arc around me, even though we are in no danger of wandering into each other’s paths. It doesn’t surprise me. After all, the town sees me as an oddity to gossip about. The reason everyone believes I constantly wear gloves may be an outright lie, but what isn’t a lie is my self-imposed solitude. And the locals love to speculate on that one.
When I reach the Little Drop of Heaven café, I push through the door and stride inside.
Josephine Little works behind the counter. At only seventeen, she’s dropped out of high school to help her parents run the café after her father suffered a heart attack. I know all this through Emily, and I also know Jo wants to sell the place and move to Sydney once her parents pass away. I respect her for that. It shows how much she cares for them. She could, after all, already be gone.
As she turns towards me, I see her eyes flick to my gloves. She does nothing to hide her distaste. Nor does she bother to try to smile. Fine with me. Smiles are something I’ve learned to do without.
These Hands is a beautiful, emotionally charged love story about two people who struggle to find their place in the world due to their emotional scars and their physical hindrances. Lucas and Kelsey are lost souls who find solace in one another and when they do, the chemistry between them is undeniable. It was so easy to get caught up in the love story of these two!
The book begins in present day, primarily following Lucas around in his daily activities. A traumatic event happens (I'll let you learn what on your own!) and then the story flashes back to childhood when he first meets Kelsey. I am not always a fan of flashbacks, as they can be somewhat jarring to the flow of a narrative, but this one worked well because of the timing. Traumatic event, then boom! I was following Lucas' own memories while he was navigating the trauma. These scenes from childhood were critical to the storyline and it was helpful to see them in "real time" as flashbacks instead of mere references in the present. (It would have been far too much emotional baggage to unpack otherwise.) I did feel this part ran a little long, but overall, the scenes contributed well to the story.
After the flashback, the story picks back up in present day and continues to be told through primarily two points of view - Lucas and his childhood friend/love interest, Kelsey. Having the two perspectives deepened the story, so I could see the personal internal struggles they dealt with, but I found it a little odd that Lucas' chapters were narrated in first person, whereas Kelsey's chapters were narrated in third person omniscient (where we hear her thoughts). That was a little strange, but thankfully not too distracting from the story.
I was so wrapped up in the main characters' love story that I eagerly awaited for their joyous ending, especially after navigating through the painful struggles they endured in their childhood and as adults. I was disappointed, however, when I realized that Lucas and Kelsey do not get a happily ever after ending. (The ending is bittersweet instead.) Technically, this makes the book not a "contemporary romance" as it was originally classified when I read it, but it is nonetheless a memorable love story.
Two additional characters narrated the story: Bryce, Lucas' neighbor, and Georgia, his daughter. The chapters they narrated added important details to the story, but I felt these two characters were a bit flat. I struggled to care about either of them, because I could not grasp who they were as people.
While I did not get that happy ending I had craved for Lucas and Kelsey, the story was so thoughtfully developed. It was both heartwarming and heartbreaking, so keep a few tissues nearby!