The Rancher's Secret Child. Brenda Minton
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He knew what had brought her out here. The same thing that had kept him up all night and had him doubting himself this morning.
“Aunt Essie, I just made coffee.”
She had a spatula in her hand. She must have carried it out of the café with her, but she went ahead and waved it in his face.
“You!” After decades in America, her Brazilian accent was normally undetectable, but today was a different story. “You’ve pulled stunts in your life, but this? Oh, I should paddle you, Marcus Palermo.”
He drew in a breath and exhaled. She could only be talking about one thing. Or one person. “How’d you find out?”
“Yesterday afternoon Mindy rented a room above her store. The young woman showed up with a boy that looked a lot like you and Alex when you were little. This morning that young lady came in my café, and wasn’t I surprised?” She waved the spatula a little too closely to his face. He grabbed it from her hand and tossed it onto the counter.
“Imagine my surprise when she showed up here,” he countered.
“So you sent her on her way as if the boy, your flesh and blood, doesn’t matter.”
He recoiled at the way she described his decision and her eyes narrowed, as if she’d spotted a chink in his armor.
“What, Marcus, you don’t want to take responsibility for your actions?” she demanded. She’d been more a parent to the Palermo offspring than their own mother and father, and he wasn’t surprised by her questions. He wasn’t even offended. Truth was, he did feel guilty.
“I sent her away because the boy does matter,” he told her as he spun on his heel and walked back to the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“There you go, shutting yourself off, acting as if none of this concerns you. As if you don’t have emotions.”
“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