His Secret Child. Lee McClain Tobin

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 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