Amish Christmas Joy. Patricia Davids

could pretend you’re happy to see me.”

      “If you’re here to repay the money you stole, then I’m thrilled.”

      She dropped her gaze. “I’ve come for...another reason.”

      “Mama, I’m tired,” the girl whined. She peered at him through a mop of blond hair, straight and pale as wheat straw. He was stunned to see the characteristic round face, small upturned eyes and slightly flat nose that indicated she had Down syndrome.

      His Amish mother had always told him such children were God’s most precious gifts, sent to special families for a special purpose.

      “I’m hungry. I wanna go home.” The girl’s speech was slow and halting. She hid her face against Valerie’s leg.

      “Hush. I’m talking,” Valerie snapped.

      Sympathy for the kid made Caleb take a step back from the door. October in Houston was balmy compared to the crisp autumn weather of his childhood home in Ohio, but the rain was picking up. “You want to come in?”

      She steered the child past him into the living room. “Lie down on the sofa while we grown-ups talk.”

      Talk about what? What did they have to say to each other after so long? He should have shut the door in her face. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want something.

      “But I’m hungry, Mama.”

      No matter what Val had done, the child deserved his kindness. “I’ve got some cold pizza and milk in the fridge. It’s not much, but she’s welcome to it.”

      Breakfast of champions. His Amish mother would be horrified to see him feeding a kid pizza at this time of the night. Then again, she’d be horrified by a lot in his current life.

      The look the girl gave him was tired, fearful and hopeful all at the same time. He crouched to her level. “It’s pepperoni pizza. Is that okay?”

      She nodded once. He glanced at Valerie. “Would you like something? Coffee?”

      “Sure.” She followed him into the kitchen. He pulled a pizza box from the fridge, placed a slice on a paper plate and stuck it in the microwave.

      Valerie took a seat at the glass-topped table in the corner. “Things are such a mess. I didn’t know where else to go. My boyfriend kicked us out, the jerk. My mom died last month.”

      “I’m sorry.” Caleb had never met her mother. He shot a look toward Valerie as he spooned grounds into the coffeepot. She had a tight grip on her purse. She bit the corner of her lip and looked everywhere but at him. When the microwave bell dinged, she almost jumped out of her chair.

      He checked to make sure the slice wasn’t too hot, then carried it into the living room. Valerie’s daughter was sitting upright on the sofa, struggling to keep her eyes open. He handed her the pizza. “I’ll get your milk in a minute, okay?”

      She snatched the plate from him and started tearing into the pizza. He went back to put a second slice in the microwave. Clearly, one wasn’t going to be enough.

      Valerie was on her feet, pacing the length of the room. “Mom’s old man doesn’t want the kid around anymore. Not that Joy is a problem. She’s not. She’s quiet as a mouse.”

      “Joy, is that her name?”

      “Yeah, Joy Lynn.”

      “Nice.” What else could he say?

      “I thought you’d be married by now. I remember how much you wanted kids.”

      “I came close, but it didn’t work out. She went back with her ex.” And took her two kids with her. Another painful chapter of his life with a rotten ending. Parenthood didn’t seem to be in the plan for him. The coffee finished dripping. He took a mug out of the cupboard and began to fill it.

      Valerie sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Joy is your daughter. I thought you should know.”

      He replaced the coffeepot with great care and set the mug down, amazed that he hadn’t dropped either. “What?”

      “I know I should have told you sooner, but she’s your kid.”

      “I don’t believe you.” Val always twisted the truth.

      “Joy, how old are you?” she asked over her shoulder.

      “I’m eight, Mama.”

      “When is your birthday, honey?”

      “You know that. December twenty-fifth. That is Christmas Day. Nana says I’m her Christmas Joy...only, she has gone to heaven, hasn’t she?” Joy’s voice faded away.

      Valerie had left him in early summer. It was actually possible.

      Unlike the last woman who claimed he fathered her babe.

      He refused to think about that final, painful confrontation with his Amish family. He had to focus on the present problem. Gripping the edge of the counter, he glared at Valerie. “Is this some kind of joke?”

      She took a step back. “No. Mom’s death made me realize that Joy should get to know you. You’re all the family she has left.”

      “She has you,” he retorted, wondering what kind of mother she was. Hard to imagine the self-absorbed, party-all-night woman he’d known in that role. He glanced toward Joy in the living room and his heart skipped a beat. He had a daughter.

      If Val was telling the truth, he’d missed eight precious years of his child’s life. The knowledge made him ache inside. Why had Valerie kept this from him? He would have stood by her. She had to know that.

      “Mama, can I have my milk now, please? I remembered to say please. I’m being good.”

      Valerie arched one thinly penciled eyebrow. “Can she have some milk, Caleb?”

      He wouldn’t get his hopes up. Valerie could be lying. It was nothing new for her. He yanked open the fridge, pulled out a carton and handed it to her.

      She took it, filled a glass with milk and carried it into the other room. He moved to the doorway to watch.

      “Here you go. Mama left her cigarettes in the car, sweetie. Will you be okay with your daddy while I go get them?”

      Joy jerked upright. “I have a daddy?” The kid sounded as surprised as he was by the news.

      “Yes, you do. His name is Caleb Mast.”

      “A real daddy?” Her wistful tone carried hope and wonder.

      “Your real daddy,” Valerie assured her.

      Joy’s eyes narrowed. She pulled back and glared at her mother. “Is he another uncle like Jimmy and Keith?”

      “No. He’s your father. You’re going to love him.”

      “What if I don’t?”

      What if she didn’t? He wasn’t a puppy or a kitten, something a kid liked on sight. He scratched at the stubble on his cheek. He was an ex-Amish oil-rig roughneck with few manners and a job that took him away half the year. He wasn’t anyone’s idea of a daddy. He’d given up that dream.

      He turned away to get the forgotten pizza from the microwave and heard the front door open and close. He carried the second slice to Joy. She smiled when she saw it and licked the milk mustache from her upper lip.

      What if she is my daughter?

      Did it change anything? He didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. How much bonding could happen in the short time he spent ashore? Besides, he was about to take a job on one of the rigs off the coast of Brazil. He stood next on the company list to transfer. He expected to get word to pack his bags any day. He’d be gone for a full year when the opening came through.

      She finished the milk and handed him the plate with the glass. “I like pizza.”