Carlo fumbled in his pocket for the flashlight that was always on his key chain. In a minute, its feeble beam was joined by a stronger one from Fern’s phone. “There we go,” he said. “Light and an adventure.”
As had become automatic in his missionary work, he sent up a quick prayer. Unexpected stuff here, Lord, but not to You. Help us.
“Wonder where Troy and Angelica keep the candles,” Fern mused. She’d stood and was cuddling Mercedes on her hip.
“No dark,” the little girl sobbed.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay. We’ll have fun.”
“No, ’cause lights cost money. And we can’t get them back for a long time.”
Her words smote Carlo. Kath and Mercedes must have gone without electricity. Without intending to, he’d neglected his own child to the point where she’d lacked the physical necessities of life.
He’d lived up to every bad expectation he’d heard growing up. That Camden boy. Always in trouble. Won’t amount to anything.
Fern’s voice, sweet and calm, brought him back to the present. “Oh, no, Mercy, the reason the power went out is the storm. No big deal. The lights will come back on as soon as the workers can fix the electrical lines.”
Mercedes lifted her head. “Can we still make the cookies?” she asked plaintively.
“Um...no. The oven won’t work without power.”
“But I want to bake the cookies!”
“Shh!” Fern sounded frustrated and a little scared. “We’ve got a lot to think about.”
Hearing the anxiety in Fern’s voice made Carlo’s training snap into place. Take charge. “First thing, we’re all okay.” He injected total confidence into the words as he put a hand on Fern’s shoulder and a hand on Mercedes’s. “That’s most important. Next issue is the dogs. How are our guys in here?”
As he’d hoped, the thought of the dogs stopped Mercedes’s crying, which had to take a load of stress off Fern.
He was rewarded by her grateful smile. “Can you help me check them out, Mercy?” she asked, and they all walked over to examine the mama and puppy.
True to canine form, the two appeared to be completely relaxed. But when Carlo shone his light on the pup, he noticed that its sores looked raw. “Did your friends say what to do about these?”
“They said they’d heal unless the pup or mama get obsessive about licking them.”
Just then, Brownie lifted her head and started licking her puppy’s back.
“Hmm.” To Carlo, the wounds looked worse, and then a memory came back to him. “I have an idea about how to stop her from licking. Mind if I try?”
Even in the dim light he could see Fern’s concerned frown. “How much do you know about dogs?”
Good for her. The dogs were her responsibility and she couldn’t let just anyone take charge of them. He lifted his hands. “Believe me, I’m no veterinarian. But I did spend a week on a farm one time and something similar was going on with a mama cow and a calf.”
“And you fixed it?”
“No, I watched a very experienced farmer fix it, and it worked.”
She scratched behind the mama dog’s ears and looked up at him. “In Central America? And if it was a farm, must’ve been during the missionary years?”
He stared at her. “You really pay attention.”
“That’s the benefit of us quiet types.” Her slow smile made his heart skip a beat.
They were all kneeling around the sleepy pair of dogs. Carlo could see the furniture as dark shapes, and outside the window, the moon was just starting to rise. When he leaned away from the dogs and toward Fern, he noticed her light floral perfume.
“As long as it doesn’t hurt the dogs.” She bit her lip, her face suddenly scrunched with worry, and he couldn’t help it—he reached out a hand and smoothed the lines from her forehead.
Which made her go very, very still.
“Hey,” he said to calm the fear in those huge eyes. And to calm his own suddenly racing heart. “I want the dogs to stay safe, too. I don’t want to hurt them, okay? You can trust me.”
Even as he said it, his stomach turned over. Because yeah, she could trust him about the dogs, but what about her and Mercedes? Wasn’t he keeping the biggest secret of all from them?
She blinked behind those glasses, smiled and nodded. “Okay, farmer Carlo. Do your stuff.”
Man, was she cute when she tried to be funny. Apparently, Mercedes thought so, too, because she chortled with laughter. “He’s not a farmer, Mama Fern! He’s a soldier!”
Carlo was standing up to get what he needed from the kitchen, but at those words, he stiffened. “Who told her that?”
Fern lifted her hands, palms up. “Not me. How’d you know, Mercy?”
“I guessed a secret!” Mercedes crowed. “’Cause he’s like the movies Mommy watched at night.”
“There you go, Rambo,” Fern said drily.
He turned away, using his flashlight to guide him toward the kitchen. He was trying to leave his mercenary days behind, trying to atone for them, actually, but it seemed he couldn’t shed the stink of war. Nor the things he’d done there.
Oh, he’d been on the right side, fighting for the common people against dictators who committed atrocities and ruined lives. But you couldn’t help getting some blood on your hands, and as time had gone by, it had haunted him more, not less.
He shook off the thoughts and found lemon and red pepper and salt. Mixed them into a paste in a bowl, making sure the amount of red pepper was much less than his farmer friend would have used, figuring a puppy’s skin was more tender than a calf’s. And then he carried it out and spread a little near the cut.
The mama dog was curious, but even one whiff of his concoction made her turn away, snorting.
“Hey,” Fern protested. “What if she rejects the puppy now?”
“Let’s just watch. Mamas are protective. They’ll go against their best interest to take care of their young.”
Boy, did he hope he was right! He’d gotten attached to the little pup, and he felt responsible for it. Not only that, but he wanted to shove the skepticism off Fern’s face, to replace it with admiration. Fortunately, for now at least, the dog kept the puppy close to her side and allowed him to nurse.
Carlo did the evening feed of the kennel dogs himself, brushing aside Fern’s offer to go out with him. He needed a few minutes away. He needed to think.
Was he doing the right thing, not telling Fern the truth about his connection to Mercedes?
She’d be angry if he told her now, that was for sure. She might kick him right out into the snowstorm.
If she did that, he’d be fine, he’d manage, but what would happen to her and Mercedes? With shaky electricity and phone service and a barn full of dogs to take care of, they needed help. He was more and more impressed with Fern’s self-reliance and independent spirit, but even she had her limits. Taking care of a farm and a bunch of dogs and a little girl in these conditions was much more than a one-woman job.
When he went back inside, the relief on her face made him feel ten feet tall, and more certain that he was right to keep things calm, keep controversial stuff to himself, while they needed him.
He noticed that the floor was strewn with toys, mostly action figures and little plastic soldiers and dinosaurs. A box of juice lay on its side next to a dark, damp spot on the carpet. “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose, “but Mercy’s got issues. She’s still a little scared of the dark, and after you left, it got worse. It’s because of stuff she went through with her mom. And to top that off, she’s easily frustrated, and I... Well, I caved and let her watch a video on my phone. It’s stupid, because we need to save the charge, since the landline gets glitchy in storms, but I didn’t know what else to d
o.”
“She had a meltdown?”
She nodded. “They can come on suddenly. Again, it’s a function of her background. Kath was honest with me about how she wasn’t the best at parenting throughout Mercedes’s younger years. There was poverty and some drug use, and Mercedes didn’t always get comforted right away. That affects a kid.”
Once again, guilt washed over Carlo. He should have been there, helping, maybe even taking custody of Mercedes if Kath wasn’t able to handle her care. If only he’d known.
“So anyway, she’s upset right now because she never made cookies before, if you can believe it, and now we can’t because of the stove.”
He took a breath and did what he’d been trained to do: let the past go, focus on now. There was a lot in Mercedes’s history he couldn’t fix, but this was one thing he could. “I have an idea,” he said. “We can rig something up to bake cookies using the fireplace. Want to help me try?”
She cocked her head to one side, a slight smile making her look flirtatious. “Are you really that handy?”
“Let’s just say I’ve spent a lot of time improvising. Do you have any tinfoil?”
They used his flashlight to go through the dark kitchen cupboards, finding what they needed. They were fortunate to stumble onto an oil lamp, too, half-full. Once that was lit, Carlo carried it out to where Mercedes huddled under a blanket on the couch, clutching Fern’s phone. He set the oil lamp on the hearth above, well out of the child’s reach—you couldn’t be too careful with kids and fire.
“Okay,” Fern said, carrying the rest of the supplies out to the fireplace. “Do your best.”
“Hey, Mercy, want to stop watching the video and help me build an oven?” He needed to save the charge on that phone. His own phone was next to worthless, and they had to be able to get in touch with the outside world for emergency purposes. The landline had been out when he’d checked.
Carlo fooled around with baking sheets and tinfoil while Mercedes watched. Finally, he had something he thought would work. “Bring those cookies, women!” he jokingly commanded.
Fern flashed him a fake scowl. “Neanderthal,” she shot at him before rising effortlessly to her feet from a cross-legged position and taking Mercedes to the kitchen.
Mercedes seemed to have forgotten her fear of the dark, and the dogs slept peacefully, and Carlo felt calm descend over him. Thank You, Lord, he whispered as he looked around the lamp-lit room.
So many times he’d been in places where weather and illness and violence had made life awful. Here was the softer side, the reason he’d fought for his country. Here was the home that he’d not had while growing up.
Angelica had done herself proud, creating such a wonderful environment for herself and her child, pushing through all the barriers to a relationship that came from the way they’d been raised. He was proud of his little sister, and happy for her, too. She practically glowed through the phone when she talked about her new husband. And as Fern and Mercedes came back into the room, Mercedes carefully carrying a tray of cookies to bake, he had a moment of wishing he might get some of that glow, that joy, for himself.
This won’t last. Fern will be furious when she finds out.
But just for this one night, he was going to pretend.
So they put the cookies in the makeshift convection oven. Carlo had no clue about how long it would take—he was anything but a chef—but whatever the baking time, he figured it would be too long for a four-year-old. “Want to let Bull out?” he asked Mercedes. “The old guy’s got to be lonely in there.”
“Yeah!” she yelled, and ran to the door.
“Hold on.” He raised a hand, his voice automatically taking on the tone of command, and she turned around, eyes wide. “Don’t touch that door. We want to get the mama and pup ready.”
“You guard them while I help Mercedes get Bull,” Fern said. She was lifting an eyebrow at him, her expression cool, and suddenly he knew she was thinking he’d overstepped his bounds, that he shouldn’t think he could tell everyone what to do.
“Hey, I’m used to being in charge, what can I say?” He spread his hands and grinned at her.
“I noticed.” One hand on her hip, she lifted her chin. Yeah, a woman to be reckoned with.
“I’m keeping her entertained, right?” he challenged her.
She frowned another second, considering, and then chuckled. “Yes, you are, and I’m grateful. Just...not used to sharing the spotlight.” As she said it, a surprised expression crossed her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I normally hate having other people around!” Then she clapped a hand to her mouth. “That came out wrong. It’s just that, I’m an introvert. Kids and animals I can hang with all day, but I usually find adults to be pretty exhausting.”
“But not me?” He kept his eyes locked on hers.
“You can be...annoying, but not exhausting.” She said the words slowly, and her eyes widened, and she blew out a breath. “This is freaking me out.” And she turned around to where Mercedes was waiting at the living room door.
She wasn’t the only one freaked out. Carlo hadn’t ever been this comfortable around a woman. Or actually, his agitated inability to take his eyes off Fern wasn’t what he’d call comfortable. But he wanted to stick with her. Wanted to protect and help her. Didn’t want this private interlude to end.
“Here he comes! Look out!” Mercedes cried as Bull raced into the room, moving with surprising agility on his three legs.
He saw the other two dogs and skidded to a halt.
A low growl came from Brownie’s chest, and her hackles rose.
Bull lumbered toward the pair and Carlo watched the dogs closely. In battle, he’d learned to trust his instincts, and he was relying on them now. If a fight started, he’d have to move fast.
Bull reached the mother dog and she stood, moving in front of the puppy. There was still that little growl, maybe a whine, coming from her chest.
And then Bull’s stub of a tail started to wag. He sniffed the mama dog and then pushed past her to the pup, and she let him. He sniffed the little one and then jerked his head away from the ointment on the pup’s back. Then the old bulldog plopped down on the floor beside their bed, letting out a massive doggy sigh.
“He likes them!” Mercedes said. “Oh, Bull, you’re such a good dog! I wish we could have a dog, Mama Fern,” she added as a calculating expression came into her eyes.
“That’s something to think about.” Fern winked at Carlo and he about melted.
“The cookies!” Mercedes cried, and Fern hurried over to check. They pulled them out just in time.
And for all their half burned, half baked gooiness, they were the best cookies Carlo had ever had.
The house got progressively colder—even a gas furnace wouldn’t operate without electricity—so they stuck close to the fire. After they’d scrounged for a little dinner and read several storybooks, Fern went upstairs and came down with an armload of blankets. “It’s warmest here, so we’ll kind of camp out like a pioneer family,” she explained to Mercedes as she spread blankets out on the floor.
“And he’s like the daddy!” Mercedes pointed at Carlo.
Fern laughed. “Yes, he’s like the daddy.”
Carlo’s conscience nudged him. Like nothing. He was the daddy.
And here was maybe the only time he’d get to spend with his daughter, so he was going to make the best of it. He got up and helped Fern create a giant nest on the hearth rug. Soon, Mercedes, safe in between the two grown-ups, was yawning in the glow of the fire.
“Tell me the story about the princess,” she begged Fern.
“But you’ve heard it a thousand times. And Carlo doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Anything to keep her talking in that quiet, slightly husk
y voice, and to watch the lamplight glow golden on the hair of his little girl.
It was like something right out of Laura Ingalls Wilder. It was them against nature, their little family against the world. He listened to Fern’s story of a princess who had one mama watching over her in heaven and one taking care of her on earth, and marveled at how she nurtured his little girl. Marveled that God had worked so much for good.
He didn’t want the moment to stop. And when Mercedes’s eyes closed, her lashes dark against flushed cheeks, he wanted to lean over and kiss her forehead, but that might be too weird.
And who was he kidding? He wanted to kiss Fern, too. But that, for sure, he didn’t dare to do. “Sleep tight, you two,” he said, and made his way to the cold, lonely couch in the next room.
Chapter Six
The next day Fern got out her watercolors and sat at her easel in front of the big picture window. But her eyes couldn’t stay on her work. She kept getting distracted by the scene outside.
The day had dawned bright and sunny, but not as cold, and blessedly, the electricity had come back on sometime during the night. There was snow everywhere, and it was above her knees when they’d gone out to feed the dogs at sunrise.
And now Carlo had taken Mercedes outside to build a snowman. “Mama Fern needs some time to herself,” he’d said cheerfully after breakfast.
How had he known that?
“So,” he’d continued, looking only at Mercedes, “you and I are going to build the biggest snowman in the state of Ohio.”
“Yay!”
Fern had felt a moment’s hesitation, letting him take Mercedes out. Caring for the child was her job. But somehow, the situation felt right, if very strange. Her, Fern Easton, nerd extraordinaire, stranded here with a beautiful little girl and a giant, attractive soldier who normally wouldn’t give her the time of day. Stranded, and spending time together like a family.
She’d never in her life felt part of a family. As early as she could remember, she’d known she was the extra, the foster kid, the one on the outside. Even in families that had lots of foster kids, she’d been the quiet one nobody had chosen to play with.
His Secret Child Page 6
