by Diana Palmer
Kath’s letter, which had apparently languished for a couple of months before reaching him, had just about broken his heart. She’d found the Lord, and moved to Rescue River because she’d liked the way he’d described it and wanted to raise their daughter there.
Apparently, she’d even thought there was a chance they could remarry and raise Mercedes together. Sometime later, after he’d sown his wild oats and come back home to the States.
But it had turned out they didn’t have the time for that. Kath had found out she was dying, and that was when she’d written to him, telling him about Mercedes and urging him to come home and take care of his daughter. She’d kept his identity secret from her social worker in case he wasn’t able to come home—warped Kath logic if he’d ever heard of it. So until the social worker received the copy of Kath’s letter he’d mailed and verified the information, even she wouldn’t know there was an interested, responsible father in the picture.
Which was how Mercedes had ended up with Fern, apparently.
Carlo ran his hand through his hair and almost groaned aloud. He shouldn’t have given up on their marriage so readily, but the truth was, he’d realized there was no more love or connection between them. Kath had been deep into a partying lifestyle she hadn’t wanted to change. Reuniting would have been such an uphill battle that he hadn’t minded when she’d kicked him out after just a week.
He was no good at relationships, never had been. But he hated that he’d left her to struggle alone. And even more, he hated that he’d left this innocent child to be raised by an unstable mother.
So now he was going to try to fix what had gone wrong. Maybe he’d failed as a husband. He’d failed at getting Kath into rehab. Failed as a father, so far.
But now that he knew about her existence, he was determined not to fail Mercedes. No, sir, never again. Though he was horrible at intimate relationships, he got along okay with kids. Even had a gift for working with them, according to his friends in the missionary field. Ironic that he, the guy who scared off most women and a lot of men, seemed to connect effortlessly with kids.
When Fern got off the phone, he stuffed down his feelings and made his face and voice bland. The first step in getting his daughter back was to find out what had been going on in her life. “Everything okay?”
Fern nodded, biting her lip. That was a habit of hers, he noticed. And it was really distracting, because she had full, pretty lips.
“Who was that?”
She gave him a look that said he’d overstepped his boundaries.
“Miss Lou Ann, from church,” Mercedes said. “She gave me a toothbrush. Want to see?”
“Sure,” Carlo said, and watched the child run toward the stairs, his heart squeezing in his chest.
“Lou Ann Miller gives all the children toothbrushes. Musical ones. She doesn’t believe in candy.”
“That figures. I remember her.”
Fern cocked her head to one side. “She remembers you, too.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He studied Fern and risked a question. “How’d you end up taking care of Mercedes anyway?”
She hesitated.
Easy, easy. “No need to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.”
Fern perched on the hearth and started stacking blocks absently. “It’s okay. I need to get used to talking about it. But it’s a sad story.”
Carlo’s stomach twisted with shame. He was, at least in part, responsible for the sadness.
“She’s my friend Kath’s little girl. Kath wasn’t in town that long, but she made a huge difference in my life. We got...super close. And then she died.” Fern’s voice cracked just as Mercedes came trotting back down the stairs, musical toothbrush in hand.
“Look, mister! It makes a song!” She shook it vigorously and then looked up and touched Fern’s face. “Why you sad, Mama Fern?”
“Just thinking about your mama.”
“Oh.” Mercedes nodded. “Bye!” she said suddenly, and ran across the room to a pink case full of dolls and doll clothes.
Fern chuckled. “Kids. When they don’t want to talk about something, you know it.”
Carlo had to know. “What...what did she say about Mercedes’s dad? Was he ever in the picture?”
“She didn’t talk much about him. Said he had issues. But what kind of guy would leave a terminally ill woman to cope with their little daughter alone?”
That was the question.
He had a lot to make up for, and it started with helping his daughter right now, stranded in the storm.
Given how fiercely protective Fern seemed, he didn’t think he could explain his role in the situation without arousing her ire and getting kicked out. And then how would the pair cope, given that the snow was starting up again?
No, better to wait out the storm without revealing his identity. Once it was over, he could see about paternity tests and get advice from a lawyer about how to proceed.
Meanwhile, he could help out a vulnerable child and foster mom. Maybe start to absolve himself of some of his misdeeds. Get to know little Mercedes.
Redeem himself. If that was even possible.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR CARLO THE late-morning trip out to the kennels was completely different from the night before.
It was daylight, and snowing hard.
And he was carrying Mercedes.
Just the feel of those little arms curled trustingly around his neck as he fought his way through thigh-high snowdrifts made his heart swell. He wasn’t worthy, he didn’t deserve it, but God had given him this moment, a blessing to cherish.
“You doing okay, sweets?” came Fern’s voice from behind him.
Was she calling him sweets?
“I’m fine, Mama Fern,” Mercedes piped up, and Carlo realized his mistake. Oh, well, it had felt nice for that one second. He shook his head and kept moving steadily toward the barns.
As soon as they got inside, Mercedes struggled to get down and ran to see the dogs. Carlo sank down on the bench beside the door, panting. Mercedes was tiny, but carrying her while breaking a trail had just about done him in.
“You’re still sick,” Fern scolded, standing in front of him. “You should probably be resting, not working.”
“I’m fine, I just need a minute.” Carlo wiped perspiration from his brow and staggered to his feet, calling to mind all the time he’d spent in battle under less than ideal physical circumstances. “What’s the drill? Same as last night?”
Fern put a hand on her hip. Man, was she cute! “The drill is, you sit there and rest. Mercedes and I will feed the dogs.”
“I’m a good helper,” Mercedes called over from where she was squatting in front of a kennel, fingers poking in at the puppies inside.
“That’s right, honey. But we never put our fingers in unless we’re sure of our welcome.”
Mercedes’s lower lip poked out. “These ones are fine. You said.”
“That’s right. You’re doing it just right.”
Sunshine returned to the little girl’s face and Carlo marveled at her mood shifts. Was that normal, or a product of losing her mom and changing homes? Or of whatever lifestyle Kath had put her through?
In any case, Fern seemed to handle his daughter beautifully. He wondered if he could do half as well.
“Oh, before I forget.” Fern snapped her fingers and hurried over to the cage just next to the one where Mercedes was squatting. “We’re supposed to check on this one mama dog. I got a text this morning.”
“Pregnant?” Carlo asked. He was starting to catch his breath. Man, his stamina was totally gone after just a couple of weeks of this wretched tropical fever. But he needed to pull himself together and show he was a hard worker, a man who could protect and care for others. That was how he’d get custody of his daughter, not by wheezing on a bench like
a ninety-year-old with lung disease.
“No, she’s not pregnant. She had puppies and all but one died, so they put the one in with another litter to socialize it and...aw, Mama, you’re lonely, aren’t you?”
Carlo walked over to where Fern was kneeling and peered into the kennel. A large chocolate-brown dog lay in the back corner, head on paws.
“C’mere, come on, Brownie, I’ll give you a biscuit,” Fern coaxed, but the dog stayed down, emitting a low whine.
“That’s not good. They said she needs to eat.” Fern frowned. “I wonder if it’s good for her to be right next to her puppy like this. Where she can see her, but not be with her. That would be hard.”
No kidding. Carlo found himself identifying with the mama dog. “Is she feeding the pup?”
“Apparently not.” Fern nodded toward the next kennel, where five or six puppies played and rolled and nipped each other. “I guess that mama dog over there is feeding all of them. And they say it’s better for a puppy to be with other pups, but I feel bad for poor Brownie.”
“Mama Fern, look! The little one is hurt!” Mercedes’s voice sounded distressed.
Both Fern and Carlo stepped over to where Mercedes knelt by the cage full of puppies. “Over there, Mama! Help him!”
In the corner of the cage, a small brown-and-white-spotted puppy lay alone. Carlo felt his heart constricting, looking at Mercedes’s face, wondering if the little guy was dead and if so, how that would affect Mercedes. “Is there a flashlight?”
“Mercedes, run and get our flashlight from the desk,” Fern urged, kneeling to see the little dog. “He’s not moving,” she said to Carlo in a low voice.
“Here, Mama!” Mercedes handed the flashlight to Fern and she shone it on the puppy. Its eyes were closed, its breathing rapid, but at least there was breathing.
There were also a couple of open wounds on his side and back.
“Oh, wow, I don’t know what to do,” Fern said. “That’s the one that doesn’t belong. It looks like either the mama dog or the other pups have turned on him.”
As if on cue, the chocolate-colored dog began to whine from the next kennel.
“Should we put him back with his mama?” Carlo asked.
“I don’t know. Let me text the people who normally take care of them,” Fern said. “And meanwhile, I’ll get the others fed.”
“I’ll stay and watch over him,” Mercedes offered.
“Okay, that will be great. I think Carlo will stay with you and help. Right?” Fern gave him a stern, meaningful stare.
“Um...okay.” Man, this diminutive, shy librarian had a spine of steel. There was no disagreeing with her.
This time, Fern didn’t linger with each dog, but moved rapidly from kennel to kennel, letting dogs out into the runs if they’d go, pouring food from large canisters. Carlo marveled at how hard she was capable of working, and he handled the dogs two or three kennels to either side of the problem dogs, trying to lighten her load while also keeping an eye on Mercedes, making sure she wasn’t seeing something upsetting.
When Mercedes cried out, he was glad he’d stuck close. He rushed back over in time to see one of the other puppies jump on top of the spotted pup and nip at it. “He’s hurting the little puppy,” Mercedes cried. “Stop him!”
Carlo didn’t know if it was normal puppy play or something more aggressive, but he could see that the little guy wasn’t in any shape to play rough. “Step back, and I’ll pull him out,” he told Mercedes, and then he went in and picked up the puppy.
“Oh, no, oh, no, is he okay?”
“I don’t know.” He needed to keep Mercedes calm as well as help the pup. Which meant keeping her busy. “Can you find a towel we can wrap him in?”
Fern was all the way down at the other end of the kennel, so Carlo got Mercedes to help him wrap the puppy in the towel she’d found. “We’ll be really careful,” he said, watching Mercedes. His daughter. Wow.
“Mama Fern said kids can only touch a dog with two fingers, so you better hold him,” Mercedes told Carlo gravely.
So he sat cross-legged on the floor and held the dog, and Mercedes petted the pup with two fingers, and somehow she ended up sitting in his lap, leaning her head against his chest and chattering every thought that came into her four-year-old brain.
Just keep breathing, Carlo told himself.
No matter what happened, he’d have these moments with his daughter to cherish forever. He could enjoy the fruity smell of her hair and the pink of her cheeks and the confiding, sweet tone of her voice. He could look at her dark eyes and realize that those came from Kath, but her strong chin probably came from his side of the family. He got a sudden memory of his sister, Angelica, when she was small, and realized that Mercedes had her flat cheekbones and cute nose.
Fern came up behind them, a heavy bag of dog food in her arms, breathing hard. “Oh, man,” she said, “you took him out. Is he okay?”
“I think he’s going to be.” Carlo looked up and tried to communicate with his eyes that he had no idea, but was putting a positive spin on things for Mercedes’s sake. He felt like a cad for just sitting here while she worked, but on the other hand, he could clearly see that Mercedes needed nurturing. So maybe this was how you managed it with two parents—you dumped gender stereotypes and played whichever role needed playing at the time.
Fern was studying her phone. “They said to take him out if he’s being bullied, that sometimes the rest of the litter turns on a puppy.”
The sad mama dog came up to the front of the cage and sniffed and whined her agitation.
“Do you think she knows it’s hers?” Fern asked.
“Sure looks that way. What else did your friends say?”
“Oh, they’re not my friends, they’re just people who help out here. I don’t...” She trailed off, waved a hand, leaving Carlo curious about what she’d been about to say. “Anyway, they said maybe we should take the mama and the pup up to the house, and see if she could still feed him some. Apparently, they just moved him over a day or two ago. She might still have her milk.”
“We can have them at the house?” Mercedes jumped out of Carlo’s lap and threw her arms around Fern. “I always wanted a puppy! What’s his name, Mama Fern?”
“I don’t think he has one yet.” Fern stroked Mercedes’s hair and there was such happiness and tenderness in her face that Carlo had to look away. “We’ll think of something to call him, at least for now.”
“His name is Spots,” Mercedes announced. “’Cause he has spots!”
“Makes sense to me.” Carlo got to his feet, bringing the pup with him. “If you carry the little one and I carry the mama...”
“Can you? She’s huge.”
He gave her a look and then opened the cage. “I can, unless she wants to walk. I don’t know how her health is.”
“And you hafta carry me,” Mercedes reminded him.
“That’s right.” He patted her messy hair as warmth spread through his chest.
So they made their way back to the house in stages. Carlo carried the big dog while Mercedes and Fern worked in the kennel and watched the puppy. Then he went back to carry Mercedes while Fern brought the puppy and a bag of supplies.
By the time they got settled in the house again, he was sweating and dizzy, but he kept it together and brought in a bunch of wood and built a fire. Made sure the mama and puppy were settled, along with Fern and Mercedes. And then he collapsed onto the sofa.
He must have dozed off or even passed out, because Fern touched him and he jerked and then relaxed. Something in her touch was soothing.
“You made yourself sick again, didn’t you?” she scolded. “I heated up more soup. Sit up and eat it.”
Carlo couldn’t let her do this. Couldn’t let himself accept the caretaking, especially when he knew that his only shot at Mercedes was being su
perman here. If he couldn’t be superman, if he had to be weak, then he needed to hide it away. Along with his strange desire to reach up and touch Fern’s cheek. “I’ll just sleep it off in the den,” he growled, and slunk away from the vulnerability and the weakness and the worry.
* * *
FERN WATCHED HIM go, and the sense of rejection was enormous. Just like her to mess things up with Carlo. Of course he didn’t want to spend time around her. She’d come on too strong with the nurturing, but what was she supposed to do? She was more used to being around kids and animals than adults. Kids and animals loved being taken care of.
A big manly man like Carlo was different, she supposed, and it was just her own awkwardness that had made her think she could take care of him, or that he’d want her to.
“Mama? What are we gonna do now?”
The plaintive voice pulled Fern out of her funk. It didn’t matter what some strange man thought of her. She squatted down beside Mercedes, who was sitting cross-legged petting the little puppy. “You’re doing just the right thing. I’m proud of you for being so gentle. You just keep doing that while I text the caretakers and find out what to do next.”
Although Fern could see now that Brownie’s ribs showed, her demeanor was much happier. She wasn’t whining anymore, just licking her puppy as if to make up for the time apart.
Minutes later Fern’s phone buzzed and she read the instructions, still sitting with her arm around Mercedes. “Okay, they say we’re supposed to get the mama dog something to eat. Even if she’s nursing, we should put some soft food nearby so she can eat whenever she needs to and get her milk back up.”
“What’s the puppy doing?”
Fern watched as the puppy nuzzled at the mama dog’s teats and took a deep breath. Okay, time for a new mothering challenge. “Mama dogs feed their pups from their bodies. The dog has a nipple like a baby bottle, and milk comes out of it.”
“That’s silly! That’s not where milk comes from.”
