His Secret Child
A Surprise Father Snowed in at the dog rescue farm where she’s housesitting, Fern Easton can’t turn away the handsome stranger who appears during the blizzard. Who is this mysterious man who’s as capable with stray dogs as he is with her four-year-old foster child?Carlo Camden’s returned to Rescue River to be a father to a daughter he never knew existed. But he doesn't expect to stumble upon little Mercedes right away. Let alone to start caring about the devoted beauty who desperately wants to be her mom. Carlo’s surprise homecoming is all about making amends. But he might just have found the woman of his dreams, too…
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A Surprise Father
Snowed in at the dog rescue farm where sheâs housesitting, Fern Easton canât turn away the handsome stranger who appears during the blizzard. Who is this mysterious man whoâs as capable with stray dogs as he is with her four-year-old foster child? Carlo Camdenâs returned to Rescue River to be a father to a daughter he never knew existed. But he doesnât expect to stumble upon little Mercedes right away. Let alone to start caring about the devoted beauty who desperately wants to be her mom. Carloâs surprise homecoming is all about making amends. But he might just have found the woman of his dreams, tooâ¦
âYouâre hoping to adopt her?â
âIâm planning on it,â Fern said with satisfaction. âAs long as the birth father doesnât show up, Iâm golden.â
He cocked his head to one side. âYou donât want her father to find her?â
âItâs not like that. Heâs shown no interest in her for four years, so itâs hardly likely heâll show up now. But we had to publish announcements for a few weeks to make sure he doesnât want her.â
Carloâs head spun at her casual dismissal. He wanted to argue that just because a dad wasnât around, that didnât mean he was a deadbeat. Some dads didnât even know they had a child. But there was no need to argue with the woman whoâd treated a stranger so kindly. âMercyâs kind of an old-fashioned name,â he said instead.
She smiled. âOh, thatâs just what I call her sometimes. Her mom did, too. Her full name is actually Mercedes.â
The word slammed into his aching head with the force of a sledgehammerâs blow. He had, indeed, blundered into the home of his own child.
LEE TOBIN McCLAIN read Gone with the Wind in the third grade and has been a hopeless romantic ever since. When sheâs not writing angst-filled love stories with happy endings, sheâs getting inspiration from her church singles group, her gymnastics-obsessed teenage daughter and her rescue dog and cat. In her day job, Lee gets to encourage aspiring romance writers in Seton Hill Universityâs low-residency MFA program. Visit her at leetobinmcclain.com.
Then He said to them, âWhoever welcomes
this little child in My name welcomes Me; and whoever welcomes Me welcomes the one who sent Me. For it is the one who is least among you all who is the greatest.â
âLuke 9:48
For my daughter, Grace
Contents
Fern Easton looked at the fire sheâd just built, then out the window at the driving snow, dim in the late-afternoon light. She shivered, but not because she was cold.
No, she was happy.
Two whole weeks to herself. Two whole weeks to work on her childrenâs book in blessed peace.
As soon as sheâd gotten home from the library, sheâd shucked her sensible slacks and professional shirt and let her hair out of its usual tidy bun. Threw on her softest jeans and a comfortable fleece top. Next, sheâd set up her drawing table in the living room of her friendsâ house.
House-sitting was awesome, because out here on the farm, no one would bother her.
Out here, she had a chance to fulfill her dream.
From the back room, her four-year-old daughter crowed with laughter over the antics of the animated mice and squirrels on the TV screen. Her daughter. Some days, Fern couldnât believe her good fortune.
Sheâd fed Bull, the ancient, three-legged bulldog she was babysitting as a part of the house-sitting deal. Puttering around like this, feeding an animal, taking care of her sweet child, was what she wanted, and determination rose in her to make it happen full-time.
Sheâd create a fantasy world with her books, and in her life, too. She wouldnât have to deal with the public or trust people whoâd inevitably let her down. She wouldnât have to come out of her shell, listen to people telling her to smile and speak up. She wasnât really shy, she was just quiet, because there was a whole world in her head that needed attention and expression. And now, for two weeks, she got to live in that world, with a wonderful little girl and a loving old dog to keep her company.
She practically rubbed her hands together with glee as she poured herself a cup of herbal tea and headed toward her paints.
Knock, knock, knock.
She jerked at the unexpected sound, and worry flashed through her.
âHey, Angie, I know youâre in there!â
Fern felt her nose wrinkle with distaste. Some friend of the homeowners. Some male friend. Should she answer it?
More knocking, another shout.
Yeah, she had to answer. Anyone whoâd driven all the way out here in a snowstorm deserved at least a polite word from her before she sent them away.
She opened the door to a giant.
He wore a heavy jacket and cargo pants. His face was made of hard lines and planes, only partly masked by heavy stubble. Intense, unsmiling, bloodshot eyes stared her down. âWho are you?â
