His Secret Child

by Lee Tobin McClain

  She eased the bag open and then tensed as his breathing changed. He shifted over to his side while she sat, frozen, watching him.

  As soon as he breathed steadily again, she parted the edges of the bag.

  The first thing she saw was an eight-inch hunting-type knife, in an old-looking leather case that would go on a belt.

  Well, okay, then. He hadn’t taken that through airport security, no way.

  She picked it up with the tips of two fingers, pulled it out of the duffel, and set it beside her on the floor.

  Digging on through, she found some trail mix, a thriller paperback and a Bible that had seen hard use. She took the risk of flipping through it and saw underlining, highlighting, turned-down pages.

  Wow. He took his faith seriously. What would that be like? Since being saved, Fern attended church most Sundays and read a devotional book every night before she went to sleep, but she’d never gone so far as to study the Bible on her own.

  He certainly didn’t fit the stereotype of a Bible scholar, but Angelica had said he was a missionary. And anyway, who was she to judge? The fact that he had books, especially a Bible, was a point in his favor. Not quite enough to counteract that deadly looking knife, though.

  Next, she found a vest. Camo colored, made of heavy nylon, with pouches that held hard plates. She pulled it out a little, making a slight clatter, and her heart pounded as she went still, turning her gaze to the man on the couch.

  He shifted but didn’t open his eyes.

  Whew. He was really out. She studied the vest more closely. A bulletproof, military-style vest? But why?

  She put the vest down, thinking through the few facts she knew about Angelica’s brother. He’d been a good uncle to Xavier, a male influence who’d gotten him into sports when he was little. He’d been in the military, and right before Xavier became sick, Carlo had gotten the call to the missionary field. Come to think of it, she didn’t know whether the call was from a person or from God. Why hadn’t she listened more closely?

  And if he’d gone into the missionary field more than two years ago, why were a bulletproof vest and hunting knife in the top of his overnight bag?

  She rummaged underneath the vest and pulled out a photo in a metal frame, of Carlo squatting down in the midst of a group of ragged, dark-skinned boys. In the background was jungle-type vegetation and a leaf-covered hut. All of them, Carlo and the boys, were smiling broadly. The younger ones were pressed close to Carlo and he had his arms around them.

  So he liked kids. Reassuring.

  She wasn’t finding the ID she wanted, but she was finding evidence of a man with a complicated life.

  She fumbled further and found a piece of notebook paper, folded over twice and much crumpled. She opened it up.

  “Dear Uncle Carlo, I miss yu pls come hom.”

  The signature was a scrawled XAVIER.

  Fern drew in a deep breath and let it out, some of her fears abating.

  She hadn’t found an ID, but she believed in the man now. He was Angelica’s brother, and if his possessions were any indication, he cared about kids, especially his nephew. Why else would he keep the letter from Xavier?

  Carefully, she replaced all the items in the bag and closed it up. Then she sat back on her heels and studied the man.

  He was breathing evenly, now lying on his side. He had short hair and his skin was bronzed, and there were creases at the corners of his eyes. Obviously a guy who spent most of his time outside.

  She tried to remember what Angelica had told her about him. Their friendship had started at church, so it wasn’t that old. It was natural that Angelica had talked about her brother’s missionary work, but hadn’t she also mentioned something about a marriage that hadn’t worked out, somewhere out West? If she remembered right, Angelica hadn’t even had the chance to meet Carlo’s wife—the marriage had been too brief and chaotic.

  His arms bulged out the edges of the T-shirt he was wearing, but his face had relaxed in sleep, erasing most of the harshness.

  Here was a soldier, but also a missionary. With a well-worn Bible. Who cared about kids.

  As she watched him, she was aware of a soft feeling inside that she rarely felt. Aware that her heart was beating a little bit faster.

  How ridiculous. He was nothing like the few guys she’d gone out with before—mostly pale, video-gaming types. If he’d ever set foot in the children’s room of a library, she’d be surprised.

  And there was no way he’d look at the likes of her! She only attracted supernerds. She was a boring librarian who never left Ohio. She couldn’t keep up with him.

  “Quit staring.”

  “What?” She jumped about six feet in the air.

  “Did you like what you found?” he asked lazily.

  “What I... What do you mean?” Fern felt her face flashing hot.

  “In my bag.”

  “You were awake!” She felt totally embarrassed because of her thoughts, because of how long she’d sat staring at him. Had he been watching her, too? What had he been thinking?

  “I’m a trained soldier. I wake up when you blink. So don’t try to pull one over on me.” He was half smiling, but there was wariness in his eyes. “What were you looking for?”

  “Um, an ID? I wanted to see if you were really Angelica’s brother. I talked to her, but then I thought you might not be Carlo at all.”

  “You didn’t find an ID in there,” he said flatly, “so why aren’t you calling the police?”

  “Or pulling your own nasty-looking knife on you? Because of your letter from Xavier.”

  “What?”

  “You had a letter from Xavier. And it was folded and refolded, almost to where it’s tearing at the creases. So that means you looked at it a bunch of times. You really care about your nephew, don’t you?”

  A flush crept up his cheeks. “Yeah. He’s a good kid.”

  “And maybe you’re not a terrible guy. Or at least, maybe you’re who you say you are.” Awkward, awkward. Fern was way too awkward with people, especially men. Being alone was way more comfortable and safe.

  * * *

  Carlo tried to sit up, pulling on the back of the couch to shift his weight to a sitting position. The room only spun for a minute.

  He had to get out of here before his pretty hostess dug deeper into his stuff or his psyche and found out something he didn’t want known.

  Bad enough that she’d found a hunting knife in his bag. He checked his ankle holster reflexively, even though he knew his weapon was safe there.

  Her phone buzzed and she checked the front of it. Worry creased her face as she punched a message back. Then she got up and turned on the TV.

  The weather analysts were in their glory as she flipped from station to station.

  “It’s being called the storm of the century!”

  “If you don’t have to go out, don’t go out!”

  “Stay tuned for a list of closings!”

  Finally, she settled on the local station he remembered from his childhood. A reporter stood in front of an overturned tractor trailer on the interstate as snow blew his lacquered hair out of control. “Folks, it looks as if things are only going to get worse for the next couple of days. All nonemergency vehicles are advised to stay off the roads, and several of our rural counties have just issued complete road closings...”

  Great. He needed to get out while he could. He stood to go and her phone buzzed again. She answered and as he chugged the rest of his tea and reached for his boots, he heard one side of an intense conversation that seemed to be about dogs.

  When she clicked off the phone, she looked worried.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “I mean, besides the snowstorm. I need to get out of here while I can.”

  “They’ve actually
closed the roads between here and town,” she said. “And the people Troy and Angelica hired to take care of the dogs can’t get out here.”

  “How many dogs?”

  “Something like forty.”

  “That’s a lot. Where?”

  She walked to the window that faced the back of the house and gestured out. When he put his face to the glass and looked, he saw the vague outline of a barn about a football field’s distance away. It came back to him then, from Angie’s wedding: the size of the barn, the number of dogs Troy and Angelica housed inside.

  When he walked to the other window and looked out toward his truck, it was completely obscured. As was that path that had led to it.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. He really, really wanted to get out of here, and he was sure he could make it in his truck.

  On the other hand, he hated to leave a woman and child alone out here. “How are you going to take care of the dogs?”

  “I’ll get it done.” She straightened her shoulders as worry creased her forehead. “How hard can it be?”

  “Pretty hard. You’ve never done it before?”

  “No, but one of their usual helpers can coach me through it by phone.”

  He studied the storm, then turned back to look at the petite woman in front of him. Taking care of forty dogs meant a lot of messy kennels to clean. There’d be heavy bags of food to carry, water to fetch, medications to dispense if any of them were sick. And from what his sister had told him, they weren’t the easiest dogs.

  He made a snap decision. “I’d better stay and help you.” Even as he said it, his heart sank. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “Excuse me? I’ll be the one issuing invitations. Which I didn’t do.”

  “Sorry to be rude. But there’s no way you can manage all those dogs alone. What will you do with your daughter?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out, okay? Look, I don’t even know you.”

  He nodded. “I know. It’s not exactly comfortable, is it? I can sleep in my truck or in the barn.”

  She tossed her head back, looking at the sky. “There’s no way that will work! The barn and the bunkhouse aren’t winterized, not well enough for a person to stay, and you’ll freeze to death in your truck. And you’re sick!” She bit her lip and looked around, struggle evident on her face.

  “I assume you’ll give me a blanket if I’m extranice?” He meant to lighten her mood, but the line came out sounding flirtatious. Great move, Camden.

  She ignored him. “I guess,” she said slowly, “you can stay in the TV room. And I’ll lock the doors upstairs.”

  “If you’re sure, that would be fantastic.” It was a shame that women had to be so careful, but they did. And he was glad his daughter—his daughter, he could still barely wrap his mind around that concept—was safe with someone like stern, protective, beautiful Fern.

  She was worrying her lower lip. “For now, I’d better check on Mercy and then go out and make sure the dogs are okay. They got their dinner, but I want to make sure they’re warm enough. Let them out into their runs one last time.”

  “I’ll go with you.” He stood and got his feet under him.

  “No! You don’t need to come.” Then she bit her lip, and he couldn’t help thinking how cute she was. Not a stereotypical librarian at all, despite the thick glasses.

  “What?”

  “I...I guess I don’t want you to stay here alone with Mercy, either.”

  “Then, you’ll have to accept my help. As much as I can do anyway. Bull can watch over...your little girl.” Whoa, he had to be careful what he said until he decided how he was going to punt.

  She let out a sigh and he recognized it. “Not a people person, eh? Me, either. We don’t have to talk.”

  She stared at him. “You get that?”

  “I get that. I’ve got an introverted side myself.”

  She raised an eyebrow and then put on her coat and sat down to pull furry boots over her skinny jeans. “I guess I could use some help, come to think of it. It’s like a Little House on the Prairie storm. Wonder if we should tie a line from the house to the barn.”

  “Not a bad idea,” he said. “But I think we’ll be able to see our way back. The structures are bigger than in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s day.”

  She stared at him again. “Why do you know about Laura Ingalls Wilder?”

  “Because I have a little sister,” he said. “I used to get books at the library for her all the time. Those were some of her favorites. Mine, too, if you want to know the truth.”

  “You’re a sensitive soldier?”

  “More like a desperate big brother.” He chuckled. “It was either books or playing with her one and only Barbie doll. I couldn’t stomach that.”

  She opened the door and cold wind cut into Carlo’s body like a frigid knife. He wasn’t used to this, not after years in the tropics. “You ready?” he asked, shrugging into his jacket.

  “I guess. But if you collapse out there, I don’t think I can drag you back.”

  “I won’t collapse.” In truth, he felt better after the meal and the bit of a nap. Strong enough to make it out to the barn, which he could barely see through the whiteout conditions. Maybe a rope wasn’t a bad idea, at that.

  He broke a path all the way to where the dogs were, checking back frequently to make sure she still followed. She was small boned and thin, and the cold and wind had to affect her more than it did him, but she pushed on without complaining.

  When they got to the kennels, she took the lead, unlocking the gate and then the barn door, letting herself in to a chorus of barking. She approached each dog, touching them, clucking at them, and they calmed down quickly.

  Okay, so on top of being cute and maternal, she was a dog whisperer.

  And she was raising his daughter and hoping to keep the child away from her worthless birth father, he reminded himself. She was his enemy, not his friend. He was here to learn more about her, not admire her looks or skills.

  “If you start at that end, we can let out whoever wants out,” she said, nodding toward the kennels closest to the door.

  He knew from his sister’s notes that most of the dogs were bully breeds because Troy, who owned the rescue, took in dogs that wouldn’t otherwise find a home. As he started opening kennels, he could see that some were scarred, probably from abuse or neglect. But their rough background didn’t mean they were stupid; most elected not to go out in the storm. When he finished his side, he checked the heating unit.

  Fern was taking twice as long as he was to work with the dogs, and he realized she was patting and playing a little with each one. She was obviously unafraid of them, even though several stood as tall as her waist.

  Carlo started letting out the dogs on her side, this time taking a little more energy to pat and talk to them.

  By the time they met in the middle, he was feeling feverish again, but he still needed to keep the energy to get back to the house. “Ready to go back?”

  “Sure. You look done in.”

  “I am. But I’ll do my best not to collapse on you.” He tried to smile.

  “At least let me lead this time.”

  “No, it’s...”

  But she was already out the door. She obviously was a woman who did what she wanted to do, who, despite appearing shy, was very independent. Okay, then. He could respect that.

  The storm had grown even worse. His breath froze and the wind whipped his face, and despite the fact that he’d broken a path and had someone walking in front of him, Carlo came close to losing his footing several times. His head was swimming.

  Then Fern stumbled and fell into a thigh-deep snowdrift.

  He reached for her, braced himself and pulled her out, and as he steadied her, he felt a sudd
en stunning awareness of her as a woman.

  She looked up into his eyes and drew in a sharp breath.

  Did she feel what he felt, or was the closeness a distinct displeasure?

  Wind squealed around the fence posts, and whiteness was all he could see. Whiteness and her face. “Come on,” he said into her ear. “We’ve got to get inside.”

  She pulled away from him and soldiered on toward the house, tossing a mistrustful look over her shoulder.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Three

  Fern woke up to silence, utter silence. The light in the room was amazing. She walked to the window and gazed out into a world of soft white mounds overlaid with a crystalline sparkle. Sunlight peeked through a gap in heavy clouds that suggested the snowstorm wasn’t done with them yet.

  When you see the wonder of God’s creation, how can you doubt Him? She smiled as her friend Kath’s words came back to her, even as she marveled at her friend’s faith. Despite Kath’s horrendous past and her illness, she’d been able to praise God and had taught Fern to do the same.

  She slipped out of bed and went to her bedroom door.

  Locked.

  Oh, yeah. The stranger.

  As if a locked door could stop a man of Carlo’s skills. But it had made her rest a little easier.

  Her feeling of peace shaken, she took a deep breath and headed down the hall into Mercedes’s room. Maybe the stranger would sleep for a long time. He certainly needed to; by the end of the evening last night, he’d looked awful.

  She frowned at the intrusion into her safe world. She’d wanted to be out here alone, not hosting a stranger. A disturbing stranger.

  Why was he so disturbing?

  Because you’re attracted to him, an inner voice said.

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. To anyone, really, but especially to this jock type who was so handsome, so far out of her league. She didn’t need to get her heart broken. She needed to protect it, because she needed to stay sane for Mercedes. Opening herself up to feelings would make all the bad stuff come back in, and she just wasn’t ready for that.