by Cheryl Wyatt
“Home with Mommy Fern?”
“Mama Fern. Yes.”
“I guess you miss your mommy.”
She looked at him. “Do you know her?”
He settled for “I don’t think so.” Because almost certainly, this wasn’t his own child, whose mother, Kath, he had indeed known quite well. Theirs had been a mistaken marriage, born of lust and bad judgment. Soon after the wedding, they’d started having serious problems. Her drinking and drugs and promiscuous behavior had led to them breaking up, not once, but twice.
What he hadn’t known was that the last time she’d kicked him out, he’d left her pregnant.
Fern walked back into the room and squatted down beside the child with a natural grace. “Half an hour till your bedtime, sweets. Want to have your snack in front of the TV? Finish your movie?”
“Yeah.” The little girl hugged Fern. “Thanks for letting me.”
“Fridays only. Let’s get you set up.”
Carlo’s head was spinning so badly with questions and fever that he had to stay seated, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open and take deep breaths. Not only was he sick, but he was dizzy with confusion.
Could God have arranged it that he’d meet his child this way, rather than wearing nice clothes in a social worker’s office?
Was that beautiful little girl his daughter?
Fern came back in. “She loves her princess movies,” she said apologetically. “I’m not real big on TV for little kids, but it comforts her.”
Carlo lifted his hands. “I’m not judging. Don’t most kids watch TV?”
“Yeah, but...I want to do better.”
She was a good, caring foster mom. And he had to find out the truth. “How old did you say she is?”
“She’s four, going on five.”
He nodded. “Now, did you name her Mercy or was that already her name?”
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “You can’t change a four-year-old’s name. She’s been Mercy all her life.”
Relief poured over him. He hadn’t messed up the all-important moment of meeting his own daughter. To be polite, he tried to keep the conversation going. “And you’re...hoping to adopt her?”
“I’m planning on it,” she said with satisfaction. “Everything’s looking great. As long as the birth father doesn’t show up, I’m golden.”
He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t want her father to find her?”
She shook her head impatiently. “It’s not like that. He’s shown no interest in her for four years, so it’s hardly likely he’ll show up now. Typical deadbeat dad, but we had to publish announcements for a few weeks to make sure he doesn’t want her.”
Carlo’s head spun at her casual dismissal. He wanted to argue that just because a dad wasn’t around, that didn’t mean he was a deadbeat. Some dads didn’t even know they had a child. But there was no need to argue with the woman who’d treated a stranger so kindly. “Mercy’s kind of an old-fashioned name,” he said instead.
She smiled. “Oh, that’s just what I call her sometimes. Her mom did, too. Her full name is actually Mercedes.”
The name slammed into his aching head with the force of a sledgehammer’s blow. He had indeed blundered into the home of his own child.
Copyright © 2016 by Lee Tobin McClain
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IMPRINT: M&B Love Inspired, Digital Exclusives
ISBN: 9781489206411
TITLE: THE HERO’S SWEETHEART
First Australian Publication 2016
Copyright © 2016 Cheryl Wyatt
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