His Secret Child Page 10

  It had been an unforgettable bonding time for her and Mercedes. And Carlo had been a huge part of that. Unexpectedly, he’d woven his way into the world she was building with herself and her child...and she hadn’t minded one bit.

  “Hey, hey!” It was Kenny Snyder, the fire chief, coming inside, stomping the snow off his boots. He was a warm, caring man, a deacon at their church. And so big and blustery and loud that she always found him a bit overwhelming.

  “Sierra!” Mercedes shouted, and Fern realized that Chief Kenny had his niece, just a little older than Mercedes, with him. “I built a snowman, did you see?”

  “I did, too.” Sierra surveyed the room and then looked up at her uncle, shrugging off her coat. “Can I play with Mercedes?”

  “Sure. That’s why I brought you.” He bent down to help her take off her snowy boots, talking to Fern and Carlo at the same time. “Everyone from the congregation knew you were stranded out here and we were all concerned. Since I’m a deacon, I got elected to come and check on you. And since little miss here was driving her mom crazy at home, I decided to bring her along to see her friend Mercedes.”

  “That was nice of you,” Fern said. “Come on in, Sierra. You can pet Bull, just be gentle. He’s an older gentleman.” She made sure the child knew how to interact with a dog and then loosened her grip on Bull, who proceeded to lick Sierra’s hands.

  Mercedes was still up in Carlo’s arms, and Chief Kenny cocked his head to one side and looked at both of them, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “This is Carlo Camden. Angelica’s brother?” She hurried to introduce the two men as Mercedes struggled to get out of Carlo’s arms. “He showed up unexpectedly to visit his sister just as the storm was started, so he’s been here with us.”

  “We knew each other in school, but it’s been a while.” Carlo put Mercedes down and held out his hand to shake with Kenny, who was still studying him with some puzzlement. “We made it through the storm just fine. Fern and Mercedes were troupers, even when the power went out. But it’ll be good to get some help with the dogs again.”

  As if on cue, Bull barked once and that roused Brownie and her puppy. Once little Sierra saw them, there was no question about where the girls would play. “Explain to Sierra how to be gentle with Spots,” Fern called over the children’s excited shrieks, knowing Mercedes would love to be the authority figure to the other girl.

  Their little private world had been invaded, and Fern couldn’t help regretting it. Spending time with Carlo had been surprisingly peaceful—well, mostly—but Chief Kenny and his niece were loud and energetic and it was already giving her a headache.

  As was the fact that he kept staring at Carlo. What was that all about?

  And then she realized that he was probably thinking they’d spent the nights together. Her face heated, not only because of the inference but because it had a tiny basis in truth. An attraction had grown between them, culminating in some romantic moments last night and a very sweet kiss this morning. One that had left her feeling full of promise.

  Still, she needed to do damage control, because Chief Kenny was a big talker and knew everyone in town. “Um, Carlo, when you go out to your truck, I can help carry your stuff. From the TV room. Where you slept.”

  Carlo looked at her blankly. “Okay.”

  She shot him a “help me out here” look and went past the girls into the TV room, returning with a pile of blankets and pillows. “Carlo slept in there,” she said pointedly to Chief Kenny.

  “Oh!” Light dawned on the man’s face. “Well, of course he did! It’s great you had some help.” He kept looking at Carlo. “I just can’t shake this weird idea... Mercedes, honey, come over here a minute.”

  Always eager to please, Mercedes ran over.

  “Stand right there.”

  “Uncle Kenny!” Sierra complained. “We want to play with the puppy.”

  Carlo rubbed the back of his neck. His face had gone pale and he opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something. But no words came out.

  “Can I go back and play with Sierra now?” Mercedes asked politely, and Fern smiled at her daughter’s good manners.

  The chief nodded. “Sure, of course.” After she was safely occupied with Sierra, over in the corner where the dogs were, he turned to Carlo again. “Mercedes looks exactly like you used to look as a kid,” he said. “I just can’t shake the idea that you’re somehow related. You look as alike as father and daughter! Of course that couldn’t be.” He looked from Carlo to Mercedes and back again. “Could it?”

  Fern looked at Carlo, waiting for him to laugh off the fire chief’s odd notion.

  But Carlo’s face was still and sad and solid. “It’s possible, but Mercedes doesn’t know,” he said quietly. He shot her a quick glance, then looked back at Kenny. “Neither does Fern. There are a lot of steps to take, so I’d prefer you keep that speculation to yourself.”

  Chief Kenny lifted his hands like stop signs. “Of course! Of course! Sorry.” He went on talking while Fern’s world whirled into a faster and faster rhythm until she thought she might pass out from the dizzy feelings.

  Chief Kenny had asked if Carlo was Mercedes’s father.

  And rather than denying it, he’d said, “Mercedes doesn’t know.”

  She reached for a chair arm and sank slowly onto the edge of the chair, because her legs felt so shaky. “You said Mercedes didn’t know,” she said to Carlo, her brow furrowing. “And that I didn’t. Does that mean...you did?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then came over to squat in front of her. Chief Kenny was still talking, backing away, going across the room to kneel down by the girls and the dogs.

  “Fern... I—”

  “You did know. Is it true? Are you Mercedes’s father?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me.” She kept her voice soft so Mercedes wouldn’t hear, but the fury she felt had to be coming through. “Anymore. Don’t lie anymore.”

  “Fern. When I got here, I was sick. Practically delirious. I had no idea of finding...of finding my daughter in this house. I came to see Angelica.”

  She couldn’t even process his words, because the enormity of what she’d just learned was pressing down on her. Carlo was Mercedes’s father.

  If it was true, if he was Mercedes’s father, then all his kindness was false. Mercedes’s father had left her, abandoned her, left her to live with Kath when she was deep into drugs. He’d let Mercedes be neglected and scared and alone all those years, put her at risk.

  “You’re a big military hero, but you couldn’t take care of your own child?” The words burst out of her.

  He blinked and shook his head back and forth, slowly. “I didn’t know about her, Fern. I didn’t even know she existed until a few weeks ago.”

  “How can that be?” Her voice had a little hitch in it, and she took a couple of deep, gasping breaths to calm down. “How could you not know?”

  “Kathy kicked me out and I went back to the jungle.” His voice was patient, calm. Infuriatingly so.

  “Doing your important missionary work?” He was still squatting in front of her chair, trapping her, and she couldn’t bear it. She nudged at him with the side of her foot. “Could you...move?”

  He shuffled over to the side, still on his knees and too close. “I wanted to try to work things out with her, Fern. That’s why I came home, after I found the Lord.”

  She waved her hand. “You keep talking and talking. You’re full of excuses. But a little girl has suffered. Your own child.”

  Suddenly, Mercedes was there, looking worried, putting a hand on each of them. “Stop fighting! Kind words and inside voices.”

  “Sorry, Mercy.” She kept the words in a whisper to hide her near hysteria. And she looked: from Carlo to Mercedes, from M
ercedes to Carlo.

  How had she not noticed what Chief Kenny had seen instantly? What kind of idiot was she?

  She drew in another breath and forced calm into her voice. “Run and play with Sierra, honey. Look, she’s holding Spots!”

  Mercedes turned. “No, not like that, two fingers!” she cried, and ran toward Sierra. Chief Kenny was beside her, looking their way with concern.

  “Let’s go in the kitchen and talk,” Carlo suggested, and even though she didn’t want to do anything the man said, she recognized that he was right. She wasn’t going to get any less upset. And she didn’t need Mercedes seeing that.

  God had chosen this man to do missionary work? Really?

  She got to her feet, shaking off Carlo’s helpful touch at her elbow, and walked to the kitchen on stiff, old-lady legs. She felt as if she’d been hit by a sledgehammer. She felt as if she were going to die.

  “Are you here to take her from me?” she demanded as soon as they were in the kitchen.

  He pulled out a chair for her. “Fern, there’s so much we need to talk through. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am to upset you like this.”

  “You are here to take her away. You tricked me on purpose, to get her to like you, and it worked, and now you’re going to take her away.” At the idea of losing Mercedes, a huge dark gulf opened inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared down at the floor, trying to hold herself together.

  She’d tried so hard to give Mercedes everything she needed, and it had brought her so much joy to do it. And Mercedes was making progress, feeling more secure by the day. To change things now, to have her go live with her father...with Carlo... She lifted her eyes to look at him. “I’m not letting you have her.”

  “Look, Fern, I know you’re angry. We can talk this through.”

  His kind, understanding tone lit a fire in her. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t angry.

  Because he was the one who had just calmly ruined her life and that of the little girl she loved.

  “You can talk all you want.” She stood up then, poked him in the chest. “You can tell me all your excuses. But here’s what I know. You’ve neglected this child for her whole life, the whole time she needed you, and now you’ve come in and messed her up again. She thinks you’re just some nice man, and now she’ll have to find out you’re her father, and you were lying to her!”

  The calm expression was gone from Carlo’s face now. He’d gone white, and now he took a step back, his fists clenching at his sides.

  “What?” she taunted. “Nothing to say now? Why don’t you try sweet-talking me? It worked to distract me from the truth before.”

  “I’ve got plenty to say.” His voice sounded stiff, guarded. “But I’d better not say it.”

  “Go ahead,” she challenged. This anger felt way better than despair.

  “Fern, you’re not thinking of that little girl in there. You’re thinking of yourself and your own hurt feelings.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have no idea what’s going on in my head.”

  “All I know,” he said, “is that Mercedes wants a daddy. And now that I know about her, I’m here to be one. I think you’re mad because it interferes with your neat little plan to have complete control of her.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” She put her hands on her hips. “Start accusing me, will you? Take the spotlight off yourself. Maybe I am mad that you lied to me. That you...that you kissed me, just to get close to me so you could take Mercedes!” Was that true? Had his advances toward her been just about trying to get his daughter back?

  She’d thought it was weird that a big, handsome, charismatic man like him was attracted to a mousy little librarian like her, but somehow, this morning, he’d made it seem believable. She’d gotten all happy. She’d even started imagining a future with him. But it was a big lie. “I need a moment,” she said, and went into the pantry and slammed the door behind her, taking deep, gulping breaths, trying to regain control. Because if she didn’t, if she really let go, she might never pull herself together again.

  * * *

  As soon as Fern left the room, Carlo sank down at the kitchen table and let his head fall into his hands.

  How had everything gone so terribly wrong?

  The pain on Fern’s face was the worst thing. He’d gotten past some of those walls she’d built around her heart, he’d started to connect with her and then he’d caused her pain. He’d never regain her trust.

  And maybe he’d never be able to have access to his daughter.

  Lord, help. It was his simplest prayer, the one he used when he was too weary and discouraged for words. The one he’d used in the POW camp. The one he’d used when his best buddy had died in his arms.

  He counted on the fact that God could fill in the blanks. But how God could help with or fix this, he honestly didn’t know.

  Fern came out of the pantry, grabbed a paper towel and blew her nose. Then she turned to face him. “It’s best that you go now.” Her voice was completely, dangerously calm.

  But Carlo didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave this place that had held such happiness, however brief. “We need to set up a time to talk, figure some things out,” he said. “Obviously, this was a shock, and I’m sorry—”

  “Stop. Now.”

  The abrupt words surprised him into silence.

  “I don’t want to meet with you. I don’t ever want to see you again. You betrayed me, which I obviously don’t like, but you also betrayed Mercedes, and that’s unforgivable.”

  The words dug at his shaky self-confidence. She was right. What had he been thinking, coming back here?

  “What kind of person does that? What kind of person are you?” She shook her head, raising her hands like barriers. “Never mind. Just go.”

  Inside, the part of him that had been a bad kid, the talk of the town for it, came kicking and screaming to life. The way that hurt boy had reacted followed close behind the feelings, but Carlo was older now, wiser, could stifle the automatic flash of defensive rage. “You’re angry. With good reason. But we still have to talk.”

  “I’m not talking to you!” Her voice was loud, sharp and a little scratchy, as though she wasn’t used to yelling. Well, of course she wasn’t. Fern was a quiet librarian.

  Except when she wasn’t.

  The door to the kitchen burst open. “Hey, did you get things worked out?” The fire chief, whom Carlo couldn’t like, not when he’d accidentally shoved Carlo under a bus, sounded booming and jovial.

  Fern swallowed, the muscles working in her neck, and her fingers gripping the countertop turned white. “Carlo had just decided to leave.”

  “Not exactly right,” Carlo said. “You’d decided I should leave. Which I’ll do, as soon as we set up another time to talk.”

  “Hey, hey, I feel responsible,” Chief Kenny said. “I...I maybe shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You were right to speak up,” Fern said, her voice dripping icicles. “Otherwise, I don’t know when the truth would have come out.”

  “Hey.” Chief Kenny came up and put an arm around Fern, who cringed a little. “I’d like to help.”

  “I’d like some time alone,” she said firmly.

  The man looked startled, then nodded. “Yes, of course, I understand. Would you like someone from the congregation come to visit you? Maybe a woman.”

  “Who’d tell the world our troubles? I don’t think so.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Not everyone’s a gossip. I’ll see if Lou Ann Miller can come over here. Won’t tell her anything except that you could use the company, and you can talk or not, as you like. Okay?”

  Carlo saw Fern fight the urge to wither the jovial, clueless fire chief with a choice putdown, saw the muscles in her throat move as she swallowed. “All
right,” she said in a resigned voice.

  “And as for you,” Kenny said, turning to Carlo, “I’d be glad to get together, talk over old times. Do you have a church home?”

  “Oh, he’s super religious,” Fern interjected sarcastically. “He’s a missionary. A real hero!”

  “Is that so?” Kenny smiled hesitantly. He seemed to realize he was out of his element.

  “I’ve been working as a missionary, yes,” Carlo said. “And I’d be happy to get together sometime, but right now we need to set up a joint appointment with the social worker. Daisy Hinton?”

  “Fine,” Fern said. “Now get out.” She waved a hand at Carlo and then turned to the fire chief. “I mean him, not you. Although—”

  “Mama!” Mercedes stepped through the doorway, eyes wide, one finger in her mouth. “Why did you tell Mr. Carlo to leave? Stop fighting!”

  Fern squatted down and held out her arms, and the little girl ran to her. Fern hugged her tight, tears running down her face like a stream over stone.

  After a minute, Mercedes struggled free. “You’re crying, Mama,” she said, reaching out to touch Fern’s face. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about, sweets.” Fern’s voice broke on the pet name.

  Mercedes turned to Carlo and put her hands on her hips. “Were you mean to Mama Fern?” she asked him reproachfully.

  “Not on purpose, but yeah. I hurt her feelings.” Carlo was starting to think it was definitely a good idea to leave now. He’d gotten what he needed, a plan to meet with Fern and the social worker. Now he needed to get out before he blurted the whole truth to a four-year-old.

  The trouble was, if he left, he wasn’t sure when he’d ever see his child again.

  He squatted down to Mercedes’s level. “I’m going to go,” he said, his throat tight. “Give me a hug?”

  “Don’t you dare.” Fern moved to put herself between Mercedes and him. “Mercedes, go in the other room.”

  Mercedes started to cry. “Mama, he just wants a hug!”