His Secret Child. Lee Tobin McClain

made her almost like him, that he admitted his own culpability rather than blaming everyone else but himself. A disease so many people seemed to have these days.

      “Do you...would you like something to drink?”

      “Yes, thank you.” His face had taken on a greenish cast. “My head hurts pretty bad.”

      “Of course. Tea and aspirin?”

      “Tea sounds good. I’ve got medicine.”

      Fern hurried into the kitchen and turned on the gas under her kettle to bring it back to a boil. It was so rare for her to have someone over, she barely knew how to handle it. But Carlo looked as though he was about to pass out.

      What was she going to do? She couldn’t have him stay. Oh, the place was plenty big, but she couldn’t house a giant man who seemed to take up all the air in a room. She couldn’t deal with company full-time.

      Being solitary, living in her own head, was what had saved her as a foster child, shuttled from house to house, never fitting in, never really wanted. It had become a habit and a way of life. Nowadays, she preferred being alone. She thought longingly of her paints, of the children’s story she was working on.

      The water boiled and she fumbled through the cupboards, finding a mug and tea bag. Carried it out to the living room.

      “Do you like milk and sugar... Oh. No, you don’t.”

      He’d fallen asleep.

      He’d tipped over right there on the couch and was breathing heavily, regularly.

      No! That wouldn’t do. She didn’t want a stranger sleeping on the couch. She had to get him out of here. “Hey,” she said, nudging him with her knee as she set the tea down beside him.

      He leaped to his feet and grabbed her instantly in a choke hold, pulling her against his chest.

      “Aaah! Hey!” She screamed, which made Bull start barking.

      Carlo dropped his arms immediately and sidestepped away from her, lifting his hands to shoulder level. “Sorry. Sorry.”

      She backed halfway across the room and eyed him accusingly. “What was that for?”

      “Jungle instinct,” he said. “Sorry. I...don’t do well when I’m startled. Did I hurt you?”

      She rubbed her neck and stretched it from side to side as her heartbeat slowed back down to normal. “I’m fine.” The truth be told, his closeness had had a very weird effect on her. She didn’t like being grabbed, of course, but being forced to lean against that broad chest had given her a strange feeling of being...protected. Of being safe.

      Which was ridiculous, because obviously, having him here was putting her and Mercedes at risk, not keeping her safe.

      “Mama Fern? You okay?” The little-girl voice behind her was wary.

      She turned, squatted down and smiled reassuringly. “Yeah, honey, I’m fine. C’mere.” She held out her arms, and the little girl ran into them, nuzzling against her.

      “I didn’t know you had a child here.” Carlo stood as if to come over toward them, and then swayed.

      Fern wrapped her arms tighter around Mercedes. “Sit down and drink your tea,” she ordered, gesturing toward it on the end table. “You look terrible. Do you know what’s wrong? Have you seen a doctor?” She sat cross-legged and settled Mercedes in her lap.

      “You ever hear of dengue fever?”

      “Dengue! You have it?” The mother in her was glad it was indeed noncontagious.

      He nodded. “You know what it is?”

      “I’m a reference librarian, so I learn about all kinds of things like that. Do you have a bad case?”

      “I hope not.” He was rubbing the back of his neck again, as if it hurt. “It’s been a couple of weeks and I thought I was better, but I’m weak. And apparently, it’s possible to relapse, and if you do, it’s pretty serious.”

      “Fatal sometimes.”

      “Thanks for reminding me.”

      “Sorry. Sit down.”

      He did, and drank the tea, and she watched him and stroked Mercy’s hair and wondered how on earth she could get rid of him.

      * * *

      Carlo stared at the blurry woman and child across the room and wondered what to do.

      His head was pounding and the pain behind his eyes was getting worse.

      He reached out and brought the teacup to his lips, trying hard to hold it steady. Forced himself to drink. Staying hydrated was key.

      “So you don’t know anyone in town you could stay with?” she asked skeptically. “From growing up here, I mean?”

      Well, let’s see. He could stay with the family he’d bummed off when his parents had been too drunk or stoned to unlock the trailer door. Or maybe the teacher he’d lifted money from when his little sister had needed medicine they couldn’t afford.

      Or, who knew? Maybe some of the guys with whom he’d chugged six-packs in the woods had made good and would take him in. Trouble was, he’d lost touch during his years in the jungle.

      “I’m not sure. I can work something out. Stay with my grandfather, maybe.” Although Angelica had said something about new rules at the Senior Towers, maybe they’d make an exception for an ailing veteran, if he and Gramps could resolve their differences long enough for him to ask nicely.

      He tried to stand and the world spun.

      “Sit down!” She sounded alarmed.

      He did, wishing for a cold cloth to cover his eyes.

      “Let me call the emergency room in Mansfield. You need a doctor.”

      He waved a hand. “Not really. All they can do is tell me to rest and wait it out.”

      “Oh.” She bit at her lower lip. Whoever she was, she was real pretty. Long brown hair and fine bones and big eyes behind those glasses. The kind of woman he’d like to sit down and have a conversation with, sometime when he wasn’t delirious. “Well,” she continued, “do you think some food would make you feel better? Chicken soup?”

      Something hot and salty sounded delicious. He’d slept through the meals on the plane and hadn’t stopped for food on the drive from the airport. Maybe that was why he felt so low. “Yeah, food would be great.”

      “Be right back. C’mon, Mercy.”

      “Is he staying all night, Mama Fern?” The little girl didn’t sound worried about it.

      Somehow this Fern didn’t strike him as the type who’d have men overnight casually. She looked way too guarded and buttoned up. But her little girl seemed perfectly comfortable with the notion of a man spending the night.

      “No, he’s not staying. But we’re going to fix him a snack before he goes. Come on, you can help.”

      “Yay!” The little girl followed her mother and Carlo watched them go, feeling bemused.

      How old was this little girl—maybe three or four?

      Not far off from his own daughter’s age, so he ought to pay attention, see what she did, what she liked. He needed to make a good first impression on the child he was coming to raise.

      More than that, for now, he needed to figure out what to do. It was a blow that his sister wasn’t here, and of course he should have called, had tried to call, but when he hadn’t reached them, he’d figured she and her new husband would be here. They were newlyweds, practically, though Angelica’s last note had let him know she was expecting a baby. And they also had a kid who was in full recovery from leukemia, his beloved nephew, Xavier. Not to mention that