Lee McClain - His Secret Child

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.”