The Rancher's Secret Child

“It concerns me,” he said as he poured her a cup of coffee. She took it and gave him a long look. “What about this concerns you?”

Wrong thing to say. He knew it when she moved closer, her lips thinning with displeasure.

“What concerns me is that there is a boy in need of a father and you’re acting as if it isn’t your responsibility.”

“I’ll support him. I’ll give him whatever he needs.”

“But not your time. Or your love. The two most important things you can give a child.” She started to ramble in Portuguese, which he spoke little of.

He poured coffee in his favorite mug and tried to ignore the memories that the cup evoked. He hadn’t even thought about it when he’d pulled it from the cabinet. Sammy had given him the mug with the verse from Lamentations, about God’s mercy being new every morning. She’d wanted him to remember that each day was a fresh canvas. He guessed that might be one reason he loved mornings. They did feel new. A fresh start. Every day.

New, even though the old baggage kind of held on and wasn’t easy to be rid of.

It bugged him that he’d pulled that mug out of the cabinet. He looked up, wondering if God was telling him something and wishing He hadn’t bothered.

“He’s your son, Marcus. That’s as clear as that ugly nose on your face.” Aunt Essie had resumed English, like someone had pushed a switch.

“My nose isn’t ugly,” he replied. “And that boy deserves better than a dad who might or might not be his own father’s son. I won’t do that to any woman or any child. That’s why Sammy kept him from me. I don’t know why she made the decision to have his guardian introduce him to me after she was gone.”

A wash of grief flooded him, bringing the sting of tears to his eyes that he’d regret later. Aunt Essie’s expression softened and she put a hand on his arm, giving a light squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you cared about her.” Essie patted his arm. “You are Jesse Palermo’s son, but that doesn’t mean you are going to be the same kind of father he was. You are your own person. And if there was good in him, I prefer to think that’s what you have in you. My nephew wasn’t a bad man. Power and alcohol changed him.”

He closed his eyes, willing away the dampness. He didn’t cry. His dad had beat the tears out of him years ago with the old phrase that he’d give him something to cry about. After a few good, sound beatings, he’d no longer cared to find something to cry about.

“I did care about her, but together we were combustible. It wasn’t a good thing, the two of us. Two kids with similar pasts and a lot of anger. We were both getting our acts together. She was further along that path and she didn’t want to be pulled backward.”

“Okay, so the two of you didn’t work. That isn’t the boy’s fault. The woman is at the café with the boy, Oliver. And I refuse to let you throw this away. He’s your son. He needs you.” She gave him a quick hug. “And I think you need him. You have ten minutes to get your act together and get to town.”

She left with one last warning to do the right thing. He’d tried to tell her that yesterday he’d done the right thing. He’d sent Oliver off to live a life with a woman who obviously loved him. A woman who seemed to know how to be a parent.

A woman who had sparked something foreign inside Marcus. She’d looked at him with those sky blue eyes of hers, and she, too, had challenged him to do the right thing. And he’d wanted to.

Which resulted in the decision he’d made. He’d sent her on her way. But she hadn’t left town. Why hadn’t she left? Because she was stubborn, that was why. Because for some reason she thought he should be involved in Oliver’s life. For what purpose?

Thunder rumbled in the distance and gray clouds rolled from the south. He’d seen the forecast and knew they were in for some serious rain. The kind of rain that could only cause trouble. It seemed that the weather was the least of his concerns. He had to get to town and convince Lissa Hart to leave.

He didn’t want himself tied to the woman. That was another good reason to send her back to where she came from. Having Oliver in his life clearly meant having Lissa there, as well. If one was trouble, the two together was catastrophe. As if on cue, lightning flashed across the sky.

* * *

The rain started as Lissa stood with her cell phone on the covered porch of Essie’s café. Her mom, or foster mom, Jane Simms, continued to talk.

“You have to give him a chance.” Jane was repeating what she’d already said more than once. “Oliver is his son. And it will be easier if you honor Sammy’s wishes. If he comes back later and takes you to court, well, you don’t want that for Oliver.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You have vacation time. It wouldn’t hurt you to take time off.”

The wind blew the rain across the porch, the drops pelting Lissa’s face. She wiped away the moisture and glanced inside the café, where Oliver was digging into his biscuits and gravy. He waved happily.

“I know and I need the time off, for more reasons than this.”

“Is he still calling you?” Jane asked, speaking of a fellow nurse Lissa had dated for a short time.

“Not as often.” She wanted to cry over the entire situation, but that wasn’t her style. She would work through this, because on the scale of disasters she’d faced in her lifetime, this definitely didn’t rate highest.

“His problems aren’t yours,” Jane reminded.

“I know. It’s Troy’s past that is the problem. And my past.” She had fallen for a smile and sweeping romantic gestures, not realizing the baggage that came with both.

“It’s okay to have goals, Lis. It’s okay to want more. And it is okay to stay here and give this man a chance with his son. You’re a good judge of character. That’s why Sammy trusted you to know if he was ready to be a dad.”

“I don’t really want this responsibility. I love Oliver. I don’t want to hurt him, and regardless of how I go with this, that could happen.”

“But no matter what happens, you’ll protect him,” Jane countered. “I know you will. You’ve been more than an aunt to that little boy since the day he was born.”

She sighed, holding the phone tight to her ear as thunder rumbled across a sky heavy with clouds. It was May. Of course there would be storms.

Neither she nor her foster mom spoke for several long moments. As much as they had loved Sammy, they’d also known her faults. She had struggled, even after Oliver’s birth. Neither of them wanted to speak of the past, not when it meant dwelling on the Sammy who had slipped into old behaviors and left her son too often with Jane or Lissa.

She’d been trying to straighten up and do right. That was what they focused on. She’d been working so hard on being better, for Oliver’s sake.

“Don’t dwell on it,” Jane spoke softly. “You’ve taken a lot on yourself. And Sammy left a large hole in your life, along with this burden. You know I’m praying for you.”

“I know you are.” She looked anxiously up at the sky again. “I’d better let you go. It’s raining harder and making it difficult to hear. I’m going to go back inside with Oliver.”

“Give him kisses from his Gee Gee.”

Lissa smiled as she said goodbye and she felt better. Jane always made her feel better. She was a true mother, even if she had come late to Lissa’s life. Her own mother had failed Lissa for the first fourteen years, but Jane and Tom Simms had picked up the pieces and given her a future. They were the parents she turned to. Her own mother was someone she occasionally reached out to, hoping to find her better.

As she entered the restaurant, the wind picked up and so did the rain. Big drops splattered the windows and bounced off the cars parked along the front of Essie’s. A flash of lightning lit up the early-morning sky and Oliver gulped as he swallowed a bite of biscuits and gravy. Wide-eyed, he looked up at Lissa as she sat down across from him.

“Is it a tornado?” he asked in hushed tones.

“No,” she assured him. “Just rain. We always need rain in the spring.”

A woman ran out of the kitchen. “Land sakes, it’s gonna flood. I heard it on the news.”

The waitress hurried from a table where she’d just delivered an order and took the older woman by the hand. “Bea, it isn’t a flood. It’s a storm. We get them in the spring and they pass. Look, there’s a little boy and you don’t want to scare him. Head on back to the kitchen. I left an order for you to cook while Essie is gone.”

The woman, midfifties and wearing a floral-print dress, orthopedic shoes and athletic socks, focused her wild-eyed attention on Oliver. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

“Why, doesn’t he look the spittin’ image of the Palermo twins? I reckon someone is in big trouble and that’s why Essie went roaring out of here in her old Scout. She said Marcus was about to get his ears boxed.”

The waitress tugged on the woman’s arm. “Bea, back to the kitchen.”

Bea remained standing, wringing her hands in her apron. She glanced at Oliver and then at the windows. Lightning flashed across the sky. She trembled visibly.