His Secret Child by Lee Tobin McClain

Author:Lee Tobin McClain
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

On Sunday morning, Fern was dishing scrambled eggs onto Mercedes’s plate when the farmhouse doorbell rang.

Her whole body tensed. Was he back?

Friday had been a rough day, with her own emotions so raw and Mercedes upset about how she’d kicked Carlo out. Yesterday, she’d managed to cocoon with Mercedes all day, reading stories, watching movies and playing in the snowy yard. Through it all, she’d tried to convey all the love and caring she felt for the little girl, sick at heart that their time together might come to an end soon.

She just hadn’t wanted to face the world, not with her own humiliation about Carlo’s betrayal so raw, and her fears about losing Mercedes so intense. But now Mercedes scooted out of her chair and ran to the door, clearly joyous about company.

“Wait, don’t open it without Mama,” she called, setting the egg pan down on the stove and hurrying after Mercedes. For all she knew, Carlo could have come to sweep the child away, legally or not.

He wouldn’t do that, said a voice inside her. The voice that knew Carlo as an honorable, even heroic man.

You don’t know him as well as you thought you did, said a rival voice. He might.

But when she opened the door, slender, silver-haired Lou Ann Miller stood there with a napkin-covered basket in hand. “Hello! I tried to call but couldn’t get through.”

“Spotty reception,” Fern apologized. No need to mention she’d turned her phone off.

“Anyway, I made way too many of these rolls, and I wanted to share them with you and Mercedes. You like cinnamon rolls, honey?”

Mercedes squealed. “Mommy used to cook them. She let me pop the can and it made a bang!”

Lou Ann chuckled. “These are made the old-fashioned way, but they’ll be almost as good as the canned ones. May I come in a minute, Fern?”

At that, Fern realized then that she was keeping a seventysomething woman on the porch in the cold. “Of course! We were just sitting down to breakfast. Would...would you like to join us?”

“Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Lou Ann said. She handed her big puffy coat to Mercedes. “You find a place to put that, dear. Maybe right over there on the banister. No need to hang it up.”

As she led the well-dressed woman toward the kitchen, Fern resigned herself to a lecture, probably an effort to get her to attend church. After all, it was Sunday morning, and only nine o’clock. There was plenty of time to get there for the ten-thirty service.

Normally, she would go. She’d been extra meticulous about churchgoing since she had Mercedes to care for, a young soul to raise up right. Today, though, she felt hopeless about that and unable to face the friendly, curious, small-town congregation.

“What a good breakfast you cook for that child,” Lou Ann said as they approached the table, and the older woman’s approval warmed her. She was glad she’d fixed a big pan of eggs, plenty to share.

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