The Rancher's Secret Child

by Brenda Minton

  “Of course we will,” Lissa responded.

  Doc eyed Lissa over the top of his wire-framed glasses. “So, do you plan on letting Marcus be a part of the boy’s life?”

  Of course everyone had guessed. It wasn’t a stretch. When a person saw Oliver and Marcus together, it was obvious they were father and son.

  “Yes, he’ll be a part of Oliver’s life. As much as he wants to be a part of his life.”

  Doc raised his glasses to the top of his head and gave her a look that could only be disappointment. “Don’t let his gruff demeanor fool you. Marcus Palermo cares. Deeply. He’s loyal to a fault. And he isn’t going to just let you walk away with his son.”

  She knew that. A month ago she had convinced herself that the cowboy Sammy had described was the type of man who wouldn’t want to deal with a child. She’d convinced herself he would just sign over custody. It had been easy to believe. Until she met him. Now, although she wasn’t sure of his parenting ability, she was positive he would fight for his son.

  “His voice?” she asked. She needed to change the subject, and she did wonder about Marcus and what had happened to him during his childhood.

  “That’s his story to tell.”

  “Because Marcus loves to talk about himself,” she said.

  At that, Doc laughed. “Yes, he’s a talker.”

  They both knew that he wasn’t.

  Doc got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Oliver’s mom died in a car accident?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “That’s a tough one. And you’re a good woman for being there for him. I guess you could always stay in Bluebonnet. Maybe the two of you could work out a custody agreement.”

  “I have a job in San Antonio.”

  “Of course you do. But change isn’t always bad. And if it’s a job you’re worried about, I could use a good nurse.”

  Stay in Bluebonnet? No, she couldn’t imagine herself living in a small town. She had never considered leaving San Antonio. She loved her job. Her foster parents and friends were in San Antonio.

  But if Marcus took custody of Oliver, her heart would be here. In Bluebonnet Springs.

  “I don’t think so, Doc. I’m just here for two more weeks.”

  He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that. How is it you’re related to Oliver?”

  “His mother and I were foster children in the same home.”

  “That’s a tough situation.” He sat on a rolling stool and faced her. “I’m sure this won’t be easy for any of you.”

  “No, it won’t be.”

  “Well, I know you probably have a lot of opportunities in the city, but I’m going to leave the offer on the table and hope you’ll reconsider. I could use a good nurse practitioner to run the clinic when I retire.”

  “I appreciate that offer. And I’m not qualified as a nurse practitioner.”

  “It’s something to work toward.”

  It was an offer she never would have expected. It was an open door if she needed one. She could stay in Oliver’s life. She would also be stuck in Marcus’s life. And Oliver’s daddy was becoming problematic for more reasons than the one she had anticipated.

  He was not the person Sammy had described. He controlled his temper, spoke gently to his son, and he cared deeply about the people in his life.

  For the past few days he had made her feel like one of those people.

  Chapter Nine

  At nine o’clock, Marcus handed Oliver his toothbrush and his bear pajamas. He had to admit, he was proud of himself. He’d kept his son safe for an entire day, fed him, spent time with him, and now he was rocking the bedtime routine.

  “Do you have a step stool?” Oliver stood at the bathroom sink, eyeing it with a look that said he didn’t see this happening.

  “Let me ask Essie,” Marcus offered. He looked from the sink to the boy. “Or I can pick you up and set you on the counter.”

  Oliver looked at the granite top and nodded. “Okay, lift me up.”

  Marcus lifted Oliver, who then sat crossed-legged on the granite vanity top to brush his teeth. When he finished, he jumped back down and reached for a washcloth to wipe his face. Marcus watched, amused at the bedtime routine.

  “Will you read me a story?” Oliver asked as he put the brush back in the drawer. “Lissa always reads to me.”

  “What does she read?” he asked, watching as Oliver brushed his hair, almost as if he meant to go out and not to bed. When he finished, he handed the brush to Marcus.

  “She reads the bible storybook to me. And The Three Little Pigs. Do you like The Three Little Pigs?” Oliver reached for his hand.

  Marcus took that small hand in his. Did Oliver miss Sammy? That was a stupid question. Of course he missed his mom. Marcus’s own mother had skated out on her family. Even though Marcus had been a teen and he’d understood why she left, he’d missed her.

  And resented her. But she’d never read to him.

  “So? Will you read me a story?” Oliver asked as he led Marcus to his bedroom.

  A room the little boy obviously shared with Lissa. There were twin beds covered with handmade quilts. A rocking chair held folded clothes. And the room smelled of citrus and wildflowers. Lissa’s perfume, if he was to guess.

  “I’ll tell you a story,” Marcus offered.

  He pulled back the blankets on one of the beds, the one with a stuffed teddy bear and a dinosaur robot that didn’t look too cuddly. He moved the dinosaur to the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed as Oliver slid under the quilt. The little boy, eyes sleepy and big, reached for the teddy bear.

  “What story will you tell me?” Oliver asked on a yawn.

  “I like the story of God’s people praising Him as they went against the enemy. There weren’t very many of them, but God promised them the victory if the priests went before them singing praises.”

  “Did they win?” Oliver asked, his eyes getting heavy.

  “They did win.”

  “Will you pray?” Oliver opened one eye. “I’m kind of sleepy. Pray they find that lady. And will you tell God to tell my mom that I’m okay.”

  “I will.”

  Marcus was glad Oliver’s eyes were closed, because those prayer requests hit him hard. He brushed away the tear that trickled down his son’s cheek and felt one slip free from his own eye. He might not be much of a dad, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize he loved his son. If it took a fight, he would have Oliver in his life.

  He prayed a silent prayer for all of them, and then he prayed for Oliver and for Lissa and the town. He tagged on the special request that God pass on a message to Sammy. Oliver was okay. He was better than okay. He had people who loved him and they were looking out for him.

  There was no echoing amen at the end of the prayer. Oliver had rolled over onto his side, the bear tucked close to his chin, his thumb in his mouth.

  “Good night, son.” He tucked the comforter around Oliver, then left the room, flipping off the light as he went.

  Essie was sitting in the living room working on a quilt. She glanced up as he walked in, and then she removed the glasses she wore for close-up work and reading.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I know I’m going to be his dad. I’m not sure how to take him from Lissa. She’s been his mother for the past year, but she’s also been in his life since the day he was born.”

  “I think you’ll figure it out. You’re already figuring it out.”

  “I’m glad you think that, but this was just one night. We’re talking a lifetime of nights.” A lifetime of opportunities to let his son down. He checked his watch. “I should go get Lissa.”

  “You be careful on those roads, Marcus. I’ve been listening to the scanner and it’s treacherous. Accident after accident tonight
. And the water is coming up fast.”

  “I’ll be careful. Anything you need from town?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I can think of. Let me know when you get home. Even if I’m sleeping, wake me up.”

  “I’ll wake you up when I bring Lissa, but then I’m going on back to my place.”

  She had her glasses back on, but she raised them a fraction to give him a forbidding look. “You can’t sleep there tonight. If the water comes up, I’m sorry, but it might take out that old farmhouse.”

  “It’s been standing a long time, Essie.” He couldn’t imagine the farmhouse being gone. Most of his good memories were built around that house and the Browns.

  She continued to give him a look.

  He bent to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll stay at Alex’s.”

  “Good.”

  She went back to quilting and he headed out the back door to his truck.

  The rain appeared to be coming down even harder, if that was possible. It took him twenty minutes to make the ten-minute drive to town. When he pulled into the church lot, a patrol car was leaving. He parked and jumped out of his truck, running for the nearest door of the church and avoiding puddles along the way. Pastor Matthews must have seen him coming, because he had the door open as Marcus rushed up the steps.

  “Come into the ark,” the pastor said as Marcus entered the building, swiping a hand over his face to wipe away the rain.

  “Why’s the county cop here?” Marcus asked as he shrugged out of his rain-soaked jacket.

  “We had a little incident with a spouse. Your friend is a black belt. Did you know that?”

  “My friend?”

  Duncan Matthews grinned. Marcus liked the pastor. He considered him a friend. One of his few. But the look on his face might move him from the friend category.

  “Oh, come on, Marcus, have a sense of humor.”

  “I have a sense of humor,” he grumbled. “Is she okay?”

  “You mean Lissa? The woman who isn’t your friend?” Pastor Matthews nodded and they started down the hall together. “She’s fine. Slow down and try not to charge back there like you think the building is on fire. She did take a blow to the jaw, but she says it isn’t broken, just bruised. Doc says she’s done for the night and needs to go home and get some rest.”

  “That’s why I’m here, to take her home.” He stumbled over that last word and heat crawled into his cheeks. “To take her to Essie’s.”

  They entered the clinic and he spotted her sitting in a rocking chair, legs drawn up, an ice pack on her cheek. She sighed when she saw him, as if she knew him well enough to know what he might be thinking or what he might say.

  The last thing he planned to do was say what he was thinking. He thought she looked small, sitting in the chair curled up like that. He thought she looked like a woman who needed a hug. And he wasn’t a hugger. Maybe Essie could give her a hug. Or Oliver.

  Not him.

  Hugging her was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “You heard?” she asked when he pulled up a stool and sat next to her.

  “Yeah, I heard. You’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I should have been more observant. If I’d been on my guard, I would have noticed, but I thought I could defuse the situation with words. I prefer words.”

  “Black belt?”

  Blue eyes twinkled at him. “Yeah. Surprise. My foster mom wanted me to feel empowered.”

  He understood that. What he didn’t understand was why he reached to move the ice pack. He didn’t get why he needed to see where she’d been struck. He definitely didn’t understand why he touched the bruised flesh and felt the pain deep, as if it were his own.

  He closed his eyes against memories that called to mind why he cared. He knew why it mattered. He knew why it bothered him to see her flesh marred, to see the flash of pain in her eyes. He and his siblings had all suffered at the hands of their father.

  “Stop. You didn’t do this.”

  How had she known his thoughts? Did she guess that he always feared the monster deep within? What if it was sleeping, waiting to someday rear its ugly head and lash out at someone he cared about? He’d lost his temper once with Sammy. He’d called the next day and told her they were done. Not because of her, but because of him. He wouldn’t allow himself to get close if it meant he might hurt someone he cared about.

  “No, I didn’t do this,” he answered gruffly. “Let’s get you back to Essie’s so you can sleep. Doc, I’m taking your patient home. Need anything before we go?”

  Doc looked up from the desk he’d commandeered. He glanced from Lissa to Marcus. “No, I don’t need anything. I am sorry that you’re taking my assistant. I guess you won’t be able to talk her into staying and working with me on a permanent basis.”

  Lissa stay permanently in Bluebonnet? She had stepped away from him and was studying the little girl, who still slept on the bed. Her lips moved in a silent prayer. A woman of faith. Something else to like about her.

  No, he didn’t think he could talk her into staying. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Sorry, Doc, you’re on your own.”

  He glanced at the woman standing next to him. She looked about done in and she was cradling her arm, probably to give her shoulder some relief. When her time was up in a couple of weeks, she’d probably be glad to see the last of Bluebonnet.

  Until then, he guessed it was up to him to take care of her. He would put her in the category of family. That would make it easier to deal with whatever it was he felt.

  * * *

  They were walking down the hall when Marcus stopped abruptly. Lissa glanced up at him, wondering what was going on. He was always the strong, silent type, but since he’d arrived at the church to take her home, he’d gone beyond silent.

  Brooding might be a better word.

  “What?” she asked as he stared down at her.

  “You can’t put yourself in dangerous situations like that. Oliver needs you.”

  “I didn’t put myself in a dangerous situation. I refuse to take the blame for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But what I did do is protect myself and possibly keep an already abused wife from being further abused.”

  She poked his arm once for good measure.

  He had the good sense to look contrite. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It worried me.”

  “It wasn’t fun for me, either.” She winced because everything hurt now.

  Marcus sighed as he stared down at her and then, before she could brace herself or object, he scooped her up and held her as if she was a five-year-old child. She tried to get loose, but his arms tightened around her and she was forced close, feeling the strength in his arms.

  Suddenly, objecting became the last thing she wanted to do as she settled in his arms and felt his warmth, felt the strong beat of his heart. As they went out the door, Pastor Matthews provided an umbrella, shoving it into her hands, and then he tossed her an already damp jacket. A jacket that smelled like Marcus.

  “You all be careful out there,” the pastor warned, and she wondered if the warning had a double meaning.

  Marcus picked up his pace as they headed for his truck.

  “I could walk,” she offered.

  “I know you can. But you look like you might collapse. You’re not heavy.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  A moment later they were at his truck, and he managed to pull the door open and deposit her in the seat without ever letting her feet touch the ground. She pulled on her seat belt as he went around to get in on the driver’s side.

  Not surprisingly, he climbed in without a word. In the dark interior of the truck, barely illuminated by the distant light at the front of the church and the orange glow of a streetlight, she saw the harsh set of his mouth. He was a thing of beauty, with chiseled features, a
strong mouth and dark eyes.

  If she didn’t know better, she might think he was mad at her. But she did know better. She knew he was worried. Upset. For her.

  He caught her staring and quirked a brow. As they pulled from the parking lot, he turned up the radio, a country station playing softly.

  “Stop staring.” He finally spoke, his voice soft and raspy.

  “What happened?” She felt a strong pull toward him and a need to know his stories. It couldn’t lead anywhere, this attraction or the other deeper, more startling emotions. Proof yet again that she had a radar for dark and brooding men.

  But she wanted his stories.

  “Happened?” He peered through the rain-splattered windshield as the wipers worked to keep it clear. The road was dark and the lines nearly invisible.

  “Nothing, focus on the road.”

  They hit standing water and the truck hydroplaned, swerving just a bit. He grimaced and kept a tight hand on the wheel.

  “Relax,” he told her.

  “What if the bridge is out?” she asked.

  “You’re all about the positive, aren’t you?” He kept his attention on the road.

  “Sorry.”

  He slowed as the rain came down harder. “My dad.”

  The two words spoken in his raspy voice took her by surprise. She shifted in the seat and studied his face, the clenched jaw, the way his hands gripped the wheel.

  “Your dad?”

  “You asked what happened. My dad did this to me. I was—” he shrugged “—I guess maybe fourteen. I don’t remember. Must have been the lack of oxygen to my brain as he tried to choke the life out of me.”

  “Why?” The word came out as a whisper. Shock made her feel cold. She shivered in his jacket, which still covered her.

  “Lucy and her husband, Dane. Back then they’d been sneaking around, dating. My dad didn’t allow dating. When he found out, he ran Dane off and he locked Lucy in a storage room in the barn.”

  “You tried to get her out.”

  “Yeah. First Alex tried to talk to him. Alex is always the diplomat. When that didn’t work, I tried to reason with him my way. I knocked him down and thought I’d take him with my fists. Unfortunately, he was bigger and stronger. Doc guesses he damaged my larynx. He also bashed my shin with a shovel. And left the scar on my face.”