His Secret Child. Lee Tobin McClain
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from his childhood. A reporter stood in front of an overturned tractor trailer on the interstate as snow blew his lacquered hair out of control. “Folks, it looks as if things are only going to get worse for the next couple of days. All nonemergency vehicles are advised to stay off the roads, and several of our rural counties have just issued complete road closings...”
Great. He needed to get out while he could. He stood to go and her phone buzzed again. She answered and as he chugged the rest of his tea and reached for his boots, he heard one side of an intense conversation that seemed to be about dogs.
When she clicked off the phone, she looked worried.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “I mean, besides the snowstorm. I need to get out of here while I can.”
“They’ve actually closed the roads between here and town,” she said. “And the people Troy and Angelica hired to take care of the dogs can’t get out here.”
“How many dogs?”
“Something like forty.”
“That’s a lot. Where?”
She walked to the window that faced the back of the house and gestured out. When he put his face to the glass and looked, he saw the vague outline of a barn about a football field’s distance away. It came back to him then, from Angie’s wedding: the size of the barn, the number of dogs Troy and Angelica housed inside.
When he walked to the other window and looked out toward his truck, it was completely obscured. As was that path that had led to it.
He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. He really, really wanted to get out of here, and he was sure he could make it in his truck.
On the other hand, he hated to leave a woman and child alone out here. “How are you going to take care of the dogs?”
“I’ll get it done.” She straightened her shoulders as worry creased her forehead. “How hard can it be?”
“Pretty hard. You’ve never done it before?”
“No, but one of their usual helpers can coach me through it by phone.”
He studied the storm, then turned back to look at the petite woman in front of him. Taking care of forty dogs meant a lot of messy kennels to clean. There’d be heavy bags of food to carry, water to fetch, medications to dispense if any of them were sick. And from what his sister had told him, they weren’t the easiest dogs.
He made a snap decision. “I’d better stay and help you.” Even as he said it, his heart sank. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Excuse me? I’ll be the one issuing invitations. Which I didn’t do.”
“Sorry to be rude. But there’s no way you can manage all those dogs alone. What will you do with your daughter?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out, okay? Look, I don’t even know you.”
He nodded. “I know. It’s not exactly comfortable, is it? I can sleep in my truck or in the barn.”
She tossed her head back, looking at the sky. “There’s no way that will work! The barn and the bunkhouse aren’t winterized, not well enough for a person to stay, and you’ll freeze to death in your truck. And you’re sick!” She bit her lip and looked around, struggle evident on her face.
“I assume you’ll give me a blanket if I’m extranice?” He meant to lighten her mood, but the line came out sounding flirtatious. Great move, Camden.
She ignored him. “I guess,” she said slowly, “you can stay in the TV room. And I’ll lock the doors upstairs.”
“If you’re sure, that would be fantastic.” It was a shame that women had to be so careful, but they did. And he was glad his daughter—his daughter, he could still barely wrap his mind around that concept—was safe with someone like stern, protective, beautiful Fern.
She was worrying her lower lip. “For now, I’d better check on Mercy and then go out and make sure the dogs are okay. They got their dinner, but I want to make sure they’re warm enough. Let them out into their runs one last time.”
“I’ll go with you.” He stood and got his feet under him.
“No! You don’t need to come.” Then she bit her lip, and he couldn’t help thinking how cute she was. Not a stereotypical librarian at all, despite the thick glasses.
“What?”
“I...I guess I don’t want you to stay here alone with Mercy, either.”
“Then, you’ll have to accept my help. As much as I can do anyway. Bull can watch over...your little girl.” Whoa, he had to be careful what he said until he decided how he was going to punt.
She let out a sigh and he recognized it. “Not a people person, eh? Me, either. We don’t have to talk.”
She stared at him. “You get that?”
“I get that. I’ve got an introverted side myself.”
She raised an eyebrow and then put on her coat and sat down to pull furry boots over her skinny jeans. “I guess I could use some help, come to think of it. It’s like a Little House on the Prairie storm. Wonder if we should tie a line from the house to the barn.”
“Not a bad idea,” he said. “But I think we’ll be able to see our way back. The structures are bigger than in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s day.”
She stared at him again. “Why do you know about Laura Ingalls Wilder?”
“Because I have a little sister,” he said. “I used to get books at the library for her all the time. Those were some of her favorites. Mine, too, if you want to know the truth.”
“You’re a sensitive soldier?”
“More like a desperate big brother.” He chuckled. “It was either books or playing with her one and only Barbie doll. I couldn’t stomach that.”
She opened the door and cold wind cut into Carlo’s body like a frigid knife. He wasn’t used to this, not after years in the tropics. “You ready?” he asked, shrugging into his jacket.
“I guess. But if you collapse out there, I don’t think I can drag you back.”
“I won’t collapse.” In truth, he felt better after the meal and the bit of a nap. Strong enough to make it out to the barn, which he could barely see through the whiteout conditions. Maybe a rope wasn’t a bad idea, at that.
He broke a path all the way to where the dogs were, checking back frequently to make sure she still followed. She was small boned and thin, and the cold and wind had to affect her more than it did him, but she pushed on without complaining.
When they got to the kennels, she took the lead, unlocking the gate and then the barn door, letting herself in to a chorus of barking. She approached each dog, touching them, clucking at them, and they calmed down quickly.
Okay, so on top of being cute and maternal, she was a dog whisperer.
And she was raising his daughter and hoping to keep the child away from her worthless birth father, he reminded himself. She was his enemy, not his friend. He was here to learn more about her, not admire her looks or skills.
“If you start at that end, we can let out whoever wants out,” she said, nodding toward the kennels closest to the door.
He knew from his sister’s notes that most of the dogs were bully breeds because Troy, who owned the rescue, took in dogs that wouldn’t otherwise find a home. As he started opening kennels, he could see that some were scarred, probably from abuse or neglect. But their rough background didn’t mean they were stupid; most elected not to go out in the storm. When he finished his side, he checked the heating unit.
Fern was taking twice as long as he was to work with the dogs, and he realized