His Secret Child

Or it would be, once she got rid of her uninvited guest.

“Stupid phone.” Carlo shook his head and stared at the shiny black object in his hand. “It’s not doing anything. I can’t reach her.”

“We can try my phone,” Fern offered. She picked hers up and clicked through her few contacts, watching as the man removed his boots and set them on a newspaper beside the couch. Despite his size, he seemed very weak. Fern wasn’t as afraid as she’d been before.

She put in the call. Felt a little bad about it—she couldn’t remember exactly what time it was in Paris, and she hated to wake up her friends.

No answer.

“Did you get a connection?” Carlo asked.

She shook her head. “Angelica bought some special plan to be able to talk over there. I should be able to get hold of her, but it might take a while.”

The guy, Carlo, stared down at his hands. “I guess I’ll be on my way, then.”

“Where will you go?” she blurted out against her own will.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Do you have friends in town? You grew up here, right?”

He nodded slowly, putting a forefinger and thumb on his forehead and massaging, as though it hurt. “I did grow up here. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the most upright kid. So a lot of people have a bad impression of me.”

“That’s too bad. I don’t think it’s a judgmental town these days—at least, I haven’t felt it to be—but maybe it was different in the past.”

Carlo shrugged. “We were a pretty offbeat family. My parents made some enemies and I just added to the number. It’s not Rescue River’s fault.”

That 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.