Oliver crawled off his lap. “You just don’t want to be a dad. That’s what I heard them say in town.”
Marcus paled beneath the accusation. He opened his mouth. Lissa waited, wanting him to say the right thing. But what could he say to that. He had never planned on being a dad. He didn’t trust himself to be a dad.
“It’s something I have to get used to, Oliver.” He stood, his hand going to the boy’s. “I haven’t been a dad before.”
He looked to Lissa, clearly lost and unsure of how to handle the hurt his son was experiencing.
“Oliver, we’ll talk about this. Maybe it’s nap time?” Lissa reached for his hand.
Oliver ran out of the storage room and into the waiting arms of Maria. His aunt Maria, Lissa realized.
“I don’t want a nap,” Oliver responded, burying his face against Maria as her arms went around him. “I want my mommy.”
Tears trickled down Maria’s cheeks as she soothed the little boy. “How about we go to the house and have cookies and milk? I’ll put in a movie and we’ll cuddle.”
Lissa ached to hold him, to comfort him. She had been prepared to lose him, or so she’d thought. Bringing him here, she’d known she was giving him up to Marcus. But she hadn’t expected to feel this distance as Oliver picked someone else’s arms over hers.
A strong arm went around her waist, offering comfort. She nodded and told Maria that sounded like a great idea. The younger woman lifted Oliver and carried him from the stable. Marissa had also left, which meant she and Marcus were alone.
And then she was in his arms and he was holding her as she cried against his shoulder. His lips touched her hair and he murmured that it would work out. They would figure this out and do what was best for Oliver.
His next words were ones she wasn’t prepared for. “You have to tell me more about Sammy. Oliver was living with you. There has to be a reason for that.”
She nodded, admitting that there had been a reason. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to discuss the mess her best friend and foster sister had made of parenting.
Worse, the feeling that she was closer than ever to losing Oliver. And the man holding her, offering her comfort, was the man who would take him from her.
Chapter Eleven
“Let’s take a ride to my place,” Marcus told the woman he’d carefully set aside after hugging her through the worst of her tears. She brushed a hand across her face and drew in a deep breath.
“I guess we should talk.”
Not that long ago Pastor Matthews had told him that the closer he got to God, the more his faith would be tested. He’d never been too good at tests. This time he couldn’t fail. There was too much riding on his choices and the outcome.
How in the world did he part Lissa from Oliver? Worse, he couldn’t let his son go. A week changed everything, it seemed. God created the heavens and the earth in six days. And in about the same amount of time He’d turned Marcus into a father. A man who couldn’t begin to think of signing away his rights.
“We can drive over to my place. I need to check on things there.”
She nodded and followed him out of the barn. The rain had stopped. Alex emerged from the tractor-repair shop he’d built on the property and saw them heading toward the old farm truck. He stepped back inside the garage and came out with keys.
“You might need these.”
“Thanks. Don’t send out a posse. We might be a while.”
“Marcus,” Alex warned.
Marcus raised a hand to wave him away. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t going to lose his temper. He wasn’t even thinking of taking a drink. At least he had that going for him. He just wanted to know everything. And the only one who could tell him the entire story was the woman walking next to him, acting as if she was on her way to walk the plank.
“I’m fine,” he repeated, this time for her benefit.
He opened the door and she climbed in the truck. Blue eyes locked with his. He reached to touch her pale cheek. Her eyes closed beneath his touch, but she moved closer, curving into his palm in the sweetest way.
He felt as if she’d turned him inside out and upside down. He didn’t know front from back, right from left. Somehow he had to find his old, steady self, the man who kept emotion on the back burner. Cold-as-Ice Palermo, they’d called him. That had been a million years ago, it seemed.
He closed the door and walked to the driver’s side of the truck. When he got in, he turned the radio to a cowboy country station that he liked. Soulful lyrics about open roads, rodeo, sweethearts and gentle rains. All the things a man could dream about but never thought could be reality.
“She slipped,” Lissa said as they drove.
Tires hummed on the drying pavement. In the west there was a flash of red through gray clouds as the sun set on the horizon.
“Slipped?”
“After she had Oliver. She stopped working. She went out with a guy. She started drinking. You have to understand, she told me that she’d broken up with you because you were angry and wild, drank too much and she was afraid of you. That’s the excuse she gave for not telling you about Oliver.”
“I’m a mean drunk?” He said the words, not quite understanding. “That’s why I didn’t get to see my son until he was five years old? And you kept him from me an extra year.”
He fought down the anger. But he had to be fair. It wasn’t really Lissa he was angry with. He noticed the fear in her blue eyes. He didn’t want her afraid of him. He wanted her trust. That made this about the most complicated relationship of his life.
But it wasn’t a relationship. They shared one thing, Oliver. Maybe they shared a friendship. And now he realized they shared distrust.
“I knew you would take him from me. The letter gives you the right.”
“You’re right, it does. And I will.” He couldn’t begin to explain how it felt to know what was taken from him, with no thought to his feelings or Oliver’s. He was going to make it right.
“I know.”
“You’re the one who raised him.” He watched as tears gathered in her eyes and she nodded. “Not Sammy?”
It was the story of the two women in Solomon’s court. The one said to split the baby in half. The true mother was willing to spare her child and give him up.
No matter what, Oliver would be split. His anger with her lessened to a slow simmer. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Figure something out?”
“Some way to share custody. You could take that job Doc offered. It would be easier for him to split his time between us.” He had other reasons for that suggestion. It would make it easier for Marcus to see her. If he kept her near, he would see her, hear her laugh, share Oliver’s big adventures as he grew up.
“I can’t. I have a job. I have an apartment.”
“Okay. Well, we’ll have to give this time and work on something that is good for Oliver.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “Yeah, me too. And for what it’s worth...I don’t blame you. I just don’t want to give up my son.”
“I know.”
Yeah, she knew. Because she considered Oliver her son, too. He might not lose his temper, but it would have felt good to hit something.
They pulled down the road to his place. With the windows down, he could hear the water roaring.
Slowing to a stop, he sat in his truck and stared at the old farmhouse that he’d planned to spend his life in. He had known it would need work. He’d planned on reinforcing the porch and putting in new windows. It was hard to take it all in, the collapsed porch roof, the broken windows. The tree that had fallen, crashing into the roof.
He got out and headed toward the back door. It took a hard shove to get it open. And then it took a full minute to get his bearings.
As
he’d expected, the floodwaters had receded and left behind mud and silt, leaves and small branches that had come through the broken windows. A yowling sound, faint but miserable, echoed from the rafters. He stepped back into the living room and listened, waiting to see where the sound came from. When he heard it again, he followed it to the spare bedroom. He peeked in the closet and saw golden eyes glowing from the shelf. The cat hissed.
“I’m thinking about helping you out of this situation if you calm down. But I’m not interested in getting clawed up.”
He pulled off his jacket and reached for the loose skin on the back of the cat’s neck. As soon as he had hold of the hissing feline, he wrapped it in his jacket. The cat fought a good fight but then settled in his arms.
“I’m not fond of cats.”
“Yet here you are rescuing him.” He spun to face Lissa. She stood in the doorway, humor shining from blue eyes that he thought he’d see in his dreams for the rest of his solitary life. If he ever allowed himself to dream of forever with someone, she’d look a lot like this woman.
Someday she’d be married to a doctor, maybe a business owner. They’d have some cute little kids. She’d have a good, stable life. The kind of life she probably dreamed about when she was a kid. The kind of life that would make her feel secure. And where would Oliver be? He noticed the cat had started to purr. Its wet fur had soaked his jacket and the T-shirt he wore. It didn’t matter, because the only thing he could think of was what the future might hold for Oliver, and for him.
“You okay?” Lissa asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Not sure the same can be said for this trespasser that I found in my spare bedroom. I’d say he got caught in the creek and somehow he managed to get inside the closet and on the shelf.”
“Brave cat. What about you, though? This is a lot to take in.” She glanced around, making her point. His house, his dream, appeared to be trashed.
He shrugged it off as if it didn’t matter. They both knew it did. It had been about more than a house, a building; it had been a legacy and feelings he’d had for a family that had shown him love.
This home had made him feel safe. In a tumultuous childhood, it had been his haven. But now, as he looked around, it looked as if the dream ended here, with the flood and devastation.
“You have insurance? You can rebuild.”
Right. She made it sound easy, but a person couldn’t rebuild memories. As wrong as it might sound to others, he couldn’t imagine another house on this land. A new home would be an empty shell without memories of the family that had meant so much to him.
“Yes, I can rebuild.” He gave her the answer she wanted to hear.
“What are you going to do with that cat?” she asked as they stood there in the kitchen.
He opened the fridge and found lunch meat. He opened the package and put it on the counter. The cat scrambled out of his jacket and attacked the meat, alternately growling and purring.
“I guess I’m going to feed it. And then name it. Lately, it seems as if animals and people find me.”
“Yes, you’ve had your share of surprises. I guess a cat doesn’t seem like a big deal after having a boy dropped on your doorstep.”
She reached to pet the cat. It hissed but kept eating, allowing her to stroke its still damp fur.
Marcus leaned against the counter. “I’ve had to do more self-examination in the last two weeks than I’ve done in my life. When you first showed up, being a dad was the furthest thing from my mind. I couldn’t imagine letting a kid into my life. And now I can’t imagine life without him.” He glanced around the muddy kitchen and sighed. “But I also have a whole new set of concerns. What kind of life can I give him? I’m a single man without a real home.”
* * *
Her hands touched his shoulders. He flinched when she traced a finger down the scar on his face. No one ever touched that scar.
“I didn’t come here expecting you to be a person I would trust Oliver to. But I do. You’re not the only one who has had to realize some cold, hard truths.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re good. And kind. Oliver needs you.”
“But that would mean taking him from you.”
“I know.” And she backed away, hurt by his words.
“Like I said before, we’ll figure something out,” Marcus reassured her.
He headed up the stairs. Lissa followed. As they made the turn at the landing, the cat ran past them. He guessed the animal had decided to stay. He should probably name it. And buy some cat food.
Whatever thoughts he had on the cat, it didn’t matter once they hit the upstairs bedroom.
“What in the world?” Lissa stepped inside the room, spinning to take it in.
“You did this?” she asked. But it was more of a statement.
“Yeah.”
She touched a canvas with a painting of an abandoned church he’d seen while driving through the country. He’d had to tramp through a field of bluebonnets to take a picture. The old building had been surrounded by evergreens and barely visible from the road.
“Amazing.”
“I enjoy it.” It had been his therapy for years. “Some people journal their feelings. I used to sketch. And when I got a little money, I bought paints. The last few years of bull riding, as I was getting sober, the other guys would go to the bar.”
“You’d stay in your room and paint.”
“Bingo.”
She reached for his hand. The gesture didn’t make him feel trapped, but it did something to his heart he hadn’t quite expected.
* * *
Lissa realized the moment she took hold of Marcus’s hand that in the short time they’d known each other, she’d become comfortable with him. The small gestures such as holding his hand, kissing his cheek, seemed natural. It felt as if they had always been.
But she knew better than to let those feelings control her logical self. She’d learned that while working in the emergency room. The first time she’d had to treat an injured child and her emotions had almost clouded her judgment, she had realized that to be effective she had to put aside some of that emotion and keep her thinking clear.
The situation with Marcus was proving to be very similar. It would be easy to be drawn to him, to feel something for him. But clear thinking had to prevail.
As if reading her thoughts, he pulled his hand from hers and started moving paintings. He had a half-finished sketch of a horse standing in a field. She watched as he moved the canvas and others, stacking them neatly against the wall.
“What are you going to do with them?” she asked.
“Box them up and move them to Alex’s. I’m afraid of the structure of this house. We probably shouldn’t even be in here. It makes sense to get things out while I can.”
With that he grabbed several of his paintings and headed down the stairs with them. She picked up a couple more and followed. Voices carried, a child’s higher tones, someone older, responding. As they entered the kitchen, the back door flew open and Oliver ran through, Alex behind him.
“Hey, we thought we’d come help.” Alex pulled on leather gloves as he looked around. “This place is a disaster.”
“Thanks.” Marcus headed for the door, but then he paused, as if remembering something. He shifted the paintings and glanced back at Oliver. “Want to help me out, little man?”
With a quick nod, Oliver slid through the door and held it open for Marcus. And then the two of them were crossing the mud-soaked yard. Lissa watched from the window. She had placed the paintings she carried on the dining room table, leaving them for Marcus to retrieve. It was better this way, better if she gave Marcus and Oliver time alone, time to bond.
She needed time and distance, too. To let her heart get used to losing Oliver. Her gaze slid to the tall, handsome man walking next to the little boy. Her heart would miss him, too. That was an unexpected
outcome of this trip and the two weeks she’d spent in Bluebonnet. The small town had grown on her. The man Sammy had labeled dysfunctional had grown on her, as well.
As a friend. Just a friend. She wouldn’t let him be more. Not that he wanted more. Not with her. They were too similar and, at the same time, too different.
“This is a real mess,” Alex grumbled as he walked around the house.
“He doesn’t think he can repair it.”
Alex stepped back into the kitchen, where she still stood watching Marcus and Oliver as they loaded up the truck. Oliver said something and Marcus gave him a serious look.
“I wasn’t talking about the house. He can build a new one.”
“He doesn’t want a new one. This house means something to him.”
“I know. He used to sneak off and come over here. But anyway, I was referring to the situation with Marcus and Oliver. And you.”
“It isn’t a mess. It’s life. Life is always messy.”
“Yeah, and complicated.”
Right, complicated.
Marcus and Oliver seemed to have forgotten the artwork. They were heading toward the barn. She stood for a few minutes watching as the two of them talked and then disappeared through the open double doors.
“You can go on out there,” Alex said as he picked up the paintings she’d left on the table. “I’m going to load some of this up for him and then I’m heading back to my place to feed livestock. Tell Marcus that later I’ll be in town to help some of the church members start the cleanup process.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Alex patted her on the back and then he left. The gesture had been awkward but comforting. She smiled at the thought. Alex was a good brother. Marcus had a big support system to get him through this.
She wasn’t so sure about herself. She didn’t know who she would be without Oliver. She also knew she couldn’t fight Marcus. She didn’t have the money. And it wouldn’t be right. Marcus was his biological parent.
Sighing, she started across the wide expanse of yard. From the barn she heard laughter. Oliver said something she couldn’t quite hear and then he laughed again. She entered the dimly lit interior of the barn and saw the two of them working with a lasso. Marcus guided Oliver’s hand as the little boy held the rope. Together they brought it up, circled it a few times and then let loose. The rope flew through the air, landing on horns stuck in a bale of hay.
The Rancher's Secret Child Page 13
