Fern felt oddly jealous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. So I’d go into the next village and do what my job required, and I kept thinking, do they know Jesus, have they had the chance? It got to be an obsession. The first thing I’d do is look around, see if anyone had a cross hanging on the wall or a Bible beside their bed.”
“And if they didn’t?”
“If they didn’t, well, no matter how horrible they were being, I couldn’t do anything to put them at risk of death. I couldn’t contribute to anyone dying unsaved.”
“Must have cramped your style as a mercenary.”
“Exactly!” He chuckled. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me about this stuff before. It was as if God was pushing me out of fighting for justice and into saving souls.”
Fern turned over on her side to see him better and her heart fluttered again. Man, she’d better look out, because she could really fall for this guy. He was good and sincere and manly, not to mention super handsome. His words mesmerized her. A scene from her favorite Shakespeare play flashed into her mind: Othello, the older war general, explaining how Desdemona had fallen in love with him.
“She loved me for the dangers I had passed. And I loved her that she did pity them.”
“What?”
Had she said that out loud? She felt her cheeks burning. “Nothing, just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About Shakespeare, if you must know.” And she wasn’t saying any more than that. Wasn’t going to tell him she was dreaming about love stories and wishing someone like her could experience romance, too, even if just for the duration of a winter storm.
* * *
Carlo looked at Fern’s face, so pretty in the flickering firelight, and drew in his breath. He felt so drawn to her. On a physical level, definitely. Behind those glasses, her eyes were huge. Her hair shone as glossy as polished mahogany around her shoulders, and her petite figure was the perfect slender hourglass. Half the town’s library patrons probably came in just to get a glimpse of her.
But her appeal went beyond the physical. She’d drawn him out into talking about things he never talked about, and she really listened, unlike a lot of people for whom conversation was an opportunity to talk about their own issues and lives. She seemed really interested, and she’d made him think.
She was quite a woman, and with the way she was looking at him right now, he was in real danger of losing his heart. But the problem was, it was all going to blow up, and soon. Once the plows came through and they all rejoined the real world, it was just a matter of days until the truth came out about him being Mercedes’s father.
Now he wished he’d told her right away. What would have been the harm? He should have announced his suspicions that first night, despite being sick as a dog and dizzy and unsure.
Yeah, he’d had his reasons. He hadn’t wanted her to get mad and kick him out and then be stuck here alone. Before that, he remembered, he’d wanted to investigate the situation and pick up clues about how to approach getting custody of Mercedes.
He’d never dreamed he’d get to feel so close to her. That he’d care what she thought of him, or that it would matter if she hated him.
Because she would hate him, he was pretty sure of that. No matter how he tried to explain it, the reality was that he’d withheld the truth. And Fern, who was stubborn and upright and moral in addition to being cute and a very good mother, wouldn’t stand for that.
So he needed to do everything he could now to convince her he was a good guy. And although he really wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss the shadows away from her eyes, he needed to resist the temptation of those full, pretty lips.
He sat up and moved a little back and rubbed his hands together. “Enough about me. What about you, Fern? Don’t you feel called to what you do?”
She cocked her head to one side. “I’m not sure.”
“Being a librarian is doing good in the world, right? And if the Rescue River library is anything like it used to be, it does a lot for the poorer people in the community.”
“Yes, I remember you said you used to take your sister there.”
He held up a hand. “Stop trying to turn the tables. I want to hear about you, not talk more about myself.”
She stuck out her lower lip in an unconsciously pretty pout. “I don’t like talking about myself.”
“Talk about the library, then. Do you still have programs for the poor and rural kids?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. We just started a new one, in fact. Some of the migrant kids can’t get library cards because they don’t have a permanent address. So we started the friendly sponsor program. People in the community can offer their address to a migrant family, sort of guaranteeing that the books will come back. It ends up building some nice connections, in addition to making sure the kids can have plenty of books to read.”
“Folks will do that?”
“The response has been amazing.” In the dim light, her eyes glowed. “We thought we’d have a waiting list for the migrant kids, but instead, we have a waiting list of families wanting to sponsor them. I love Rescue River.”
“Pretty impressive,” he said. “And that was probably all your idea.”
She looked down, then met his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah. It was.”
“And you don’t think God has anything to do with your being in Rescue River and working at the library?”
Her brow wrinkled as she stared into the fire. “I don’t know, maybe He does. I like my job and I’ve been able to help with some good things.”
He noticed her modesty, her humility, and liked it. “But...”
“But what I really want to do is write and illustrate children’s books. I could reach even more people that way. And it’s as if there’s something tugging at me all the time, pulling me into myself, into my...my dreamworld. I have so many ideas I want to share.”
“Now that sounds like God.”
“Is it? I can’t tell. I feel selfish for even wanting to write.”
“Selfish?” It was the last word he’d associate with someone who’d just taken in her friend’s kid to raise. “How come?”
“Because it’s so much fun!” She leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “I have to kind of steel myself to go to work at the library every day, because it means so much time interacting with people. I’m an introvert, and it tires me out.”
“I can relate,” he said. “I need time to recharge myself.”
“But when I’m writing and illustrating my children’s books, I feel as if I could work all through the night and never stop. I have endless energy for it.”
“And your work in the library has helped you, I’m sure. But maybe God’s telling you it’s time to go in a different direction.”
Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. “Do you think so?”
His breath caught. Something about this pretty, passionate woman confiding in him and asking his advice took him to a place he’d never gone before. “Yeah,” he said, reaching out to touch her chin with one finger. “Yeah, I think so.”
Her eyes went wide and conscious then, and her tongue flicked across her lips. Sudden awareness of him as a man, he could guess that much, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
Back in his previous life, he’d have known exactly what to do. With his wife, they’d been on the same page. Marriage had been more of an impulse than a true commitment.
He hadn’t understood true commitment back then, and his actions had shown it. His choice of a wife had shown it.
But now it was different. He’d found Christ and realized the error of his ways. He’d learned what God wanted for a man and a woman, and it wasn’t a one-night stand or even a short, intense relationship.
It w
as for life.
And he wasn’t good for life. Not now, maybe not ever. He was still feeling his way with God, trying to understand where his work was supposed to go and who was supposed to be a part of it. So far, the only message he’d gotten clearly was that he needed to try to take care of his daughter.
Which he’d assumed would mean sweeping her away from an unsuitable and neglectful foster family and raising her himself.
He hadn’t guessed he’d end up half falling in love with the wonderful woman who was already doing a pretty fine job raising his daughter.
He couldn’t help it; he leaned in closer. Those full lips were so pretty and her eyes soft and questioning. He reached out and ran a hand along her hair, and it was just as soft and silky as it looked.
She opened her mouth and started to speak, then closed it.
He let his fingers tangle in her hair, just a little. “Is this okay?”
She bit her lip. “I...I don’t know.”
“How come?” She was as jumpy and nervous as a fawn and he needed to tread carefully here. His hormones were leading, for sure, but he needed to follow his heart and soul, as well.
She shook her head rapidly and looked away. “I just don’t do this kind of thing,” she said to the wall, her voice so soft he could barely hear it.
“Because...because why?”
She shook her head hard again and looked down. Were those tears in her eyes?
“Hey,” he said, “we’re not doing any particular kind of thing right now, okay? No need to be worried.”
Her face went pink. “I didn’t mean... I didn’t expect you to...” She met his eyes, her face miserable. “I’m not the kind of woman men make passes at. Especially men like you.”
He felt his eyebrows lift almost into his hairline. “That’s hard to believe.”
“No, it’s true,” she said. “I don’t really date.”
“Do you...have some kind of belief against it?” He knew she was a Christian, a fairly new one, and sometimes people put tight limits on themselves as new Christians. Though he couldn’t imagine that Fern needed them. She seemed like such a balanced, thinking woman.
“No. I just don’t get asked out.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes and looked at him with a touch of defiance. “Guys just don’t see me that way.”
“You sure you’re not putting up some kind of vibe against being approached?”
She cocked her head, then nodded decisively. “That, too.”
“You’re not putting out that vibe with me.” He let his hand curl into her hair again, and a whiff of flowery shampoo floated his way.
Lord, help! He wasn’t going to be able to stop if he started kissing her.
“I’m not putting out that vibe because...I’m drawn to you.” Her words were so quiet that Carlo had to lean in to hear them.
He shut his eyes, still holding on to her. Lord, what do I do now?
But he already knew the answer: back off. Fern was an amazing woman, one of a kind, and she deserved much better than someone as damaged and bad at relationships as he was. Someone who was, even now, withholding the truth from her. She deserved a real chance at love.
He slid his hand out of her hair reluctantly, and put it on her shoulder. There, that was good. That was friendly and impersonal. “We’re both vulnerable. It’s been a long couple of days.” He swallowed hard and let his hand drop. Made himself lean back away from her.
Her eyes widened with an expression of utter betrayal. “You made me tell you I’m attracted and then... Really, Carlo?”
“I’m sorry.” His body was still at a fever pitch and he’d used up every ounce of his store of human kindness and patience and self-control. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You’ve got that right.” She scrambled to her feet and spun around. “I can trust you to watch the fire, at least?” Her cheeks held high spots of color and her voice sounded shaky.
“Um, sure.” Clearly, he’d done something wrong. He’d been trying to do the right thing, and he’d screwed up. At least with her, but maybe not with God, because backing off from romance, given the major secret he was keeping, was definitely the right thing to do.
But keeping his emotional distance wasn’t easy, and he needed physical distance to do it. “I’ll handle the fire,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended. “Go on up to bed.”
Chapter Eight
“Mama Fern, Mama Fern, there’s trucks outside! And it’s sunshining!” Forty pounds of excited four-year-old landed on Fern’s stomach.
Fern squeezed her eyes against the bright light and wrapped her arms around Mercedes, turning on her side to snuggle the child close. “You’re my sunshine, sweets.”
But inside, she felt as if one of those snowplows—which she could now hear scraping and grinding gears out on the road—had run right over her.
After Carlo’s abrupt rejection, she’d tossed and turned much of the night. She’d replayed it over and over in her mind: the way he’d gotten her talking, the things he’d shared, how close she’d felt to him, how comfortable. Had that been false?
She’d actually told him she was attracted to him. Hot embarrassment flooded her chest and neck and face even now.
“Let’s go tell Mr. Carlo!” Mercedes wiggled in her arms and, when Fern let her go, bounced upright.
Fern couldn’t face him, not yet. “Mama needs to shower and get dressed. You can go tell him.”
“Okay!” The child jumped down to the floor and ran out, yelling, “Mr. Carlo! Mr. Carlo! There’s trucks!”
It was just another stab, how quickly Mercedes had gotten attached to Carlo. She’d expect them to stay friends, would want to see him.
Fern drew in deep breaths, a calming strategy she’d learned from a social worker way back when she was a kid and something awful happened. Just get through the next hour, the next week. Pretty soon the snowplows would break through, and they wouldn’t have to see each other every hour of every day.
After that, Angelica would come home and Fern’s vacation would be over. She could go back to her small life in her little house down the street from the library. She could focus on Mercedes and her job and her children’s books. No more pretending that she could make it in the normal adult world of happy, promising relationships.
She wrapped her arms around her hollow-feeling stomach and trudged to the bathroom, but even a long, hot shower didn’t lift her spirits.
Breakfast felt strained, even punctuated by Mercedes’s happy talk and the sound of the plows and a few other vehicles driving by outside. Apparently, the county had gotten the road clear. Fern broke her own rule about keeping her phone away from the table and texted John Allen Bunting, who plowed the farm roads and driveways. From him she learned it would be another hour or two before they were fully out.
Before Carlo could leave.
Oh, she wanted him gone. It hurt to look at him. Because like a fool, she’d gone further than getting attracted to him. Somewhere during the past three days of snowbound privacy, she’d lost a piece of her heart to the man.
To avoid him, she washed the breakfast dishes by hand, looking out the window into the blindingly sunny, snowy world. When would John Allen and his plow come? When could she escape this torture of being stuck in the house with the man who’d broken through the walls around her heart just so he could crush it?
“Hey.” He touched her shoulder, a tiny taste of the fruit forbidden to her. “You okay?”
“Fine.” That came out harsh, so she tossed him a fake smile to soften it. Trying to be subtle, she eased her shoulder out from under his hand.
Instead of letting her go, he clamped his hand down tighter. “No. Uh-uh. What’s wrong?”
> “Nothing’s wrong!” She spun hard away from his hand and from that patient, patronizing tone in his voice. As if she were Mercedes’s age. Come on, John Allen, get your plow out here.
He took a step backward, hands up. “Whoa. What’s going on? Are you upset about last night?”
“Just...leave...me...alone.” She ground out the words through clenched teeth and turned back to the sink, plunging her hands into the warm, soapy water.
He started to walk away and then turned back. “No. No, I’m not willing to leave it like that. The plows will be here soon and I—”
“Let’s hope,” she interrupted and then stared down at the suds, taking deep breaths. “Where’s Mercedes? Would you mind keeping her busy for a little while?”
“She’s playing with her dolls. She’s fine.”
And indeed Fern could hear the chirp of Mercedes’s pretend voices from the living room.
Get a grip on yourself. At all costs, she had to avoid letting him see into her soul again. Had to protect herself from more of the hurt that had kept her awake all night. Staying inside herself was safer.
No fighting. That was too passionate. “Did you sleep okay?” she asked brightly, grabbing a cup and plunging it into the soapy water.
“Fern. That’s already clean.” He reached in and pulled the cup away from her, and their hands touched in the soapy water, slippery and warm.
Something like electricity shot through Fern’s hand, up her arm and straight to her heart. Carlo’s spicy aftershave tickled her nose.
He sucked in his breath. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
She pulled away from all the feelings and shook her head.
“Last night, I felt we were getting so close. And now you’ve shut me off.”
“You shut me off!” The words burst from her and she clenched her jaw to keep from saying more.
He was still standing so close, half behind her, and he leaned sideways to see her face.
His Secret Child Page 8