Читать книгу The Rancher's Secret Child - Brenda Minton - Страница 14
ОглавлениеThe next morning, Marcus woke with regrets. He stumbled to the kitchen and poured water into the coffeemaker before heading out the back door to the one thing he’d actually done to the old farmhouse. He’d added a porch with a swing, and he spent many a morning there watching the sun come up.
Nothing said home like a porch swing.
He loved the start of a new day when the sky turned from inky black to gray, and then that big orange ball peeked up from the horizon, the colors bursting forth like God sweeping a whole handful of crayons across the sky. Not that he would have shared that thought with anyone. No one knew how he felt about faith or life or art.
Art, another of his ventures and something he kept hidden in the upstairs bedroom, away from prying eyes.
He had a son. He had rejected the boy and it had cost him. Last night he’d lain awake thinking of that little boy’s eyes, his face. He’d been a funny kid, rolling on the ground with Lucky. Marcus thought of his nieces, Issy and Jewel. With a sigh, he took a seat on the porch swing and buried his face in his hands. Father, if it is Your will, take this cup from me.
Jesus had uttered those words in the Garden of Gethsemane just before he was taken into custody. He guessed having a son didn’t quite match up to what Jesus had been about to endure. But what Jesus had done had been the ultimate act of obedience, of giving himself up for others.
Marcus could admit to being torn. He had given his son up because he felt he wasn’t the dad Oliver needed. He wasn’t what any kid needed. It hadn’t been easy to watch his son take hold of someone else’s hand and walk away. Like a coward, he’d headed inside so he wouldn’t have to meet the boy’s dark and questioning eyes.
Oliver would be better off without him. He’d be better off with the woman, Lissa Hart. She seemed decent. She seemed to care. She would meet a good, honorable guy, get married, and they’d be a family. He’d meant to make himself feel better with the thought; instead, he felt worse. His son would be someone else’s family.
He leaned back in the swing as the sun peeped up over the eastern horizon, and he called himself a fool. He knew better than anyone that appearances were an illusion. His dad had been the master of the game, creating a facade that fooled people until they were too far into his web to escape. His own family had been victims of the deception.
Jesse Palermo’s wife, mother to his children, had preferred walking away from her own flesh and blood to staying with a madman. Marcus bore the scars of his dad’s abuse—his broken voice, the jagged line down his cheek and the emotional baggage.
His sister Lucy and his twin, Alex, had worked through their pain and married. Their youngest sister, Maria, seemed to have survived. Only because she’d been a little girl when Jesse died.
Marcus had been drifting for the past ten years or so, since their illustrious sire had died on the back of a bull he’d challenged Alex to ride. Marcus had made some money, sowed his wild oats and done his best to outrun the past. And he had a son. A boy named Oliver. A boy who would be better off without Marcus, because the only thing Marcus knew about being a father was what his dad had taught him. Jesse Palermo had beaten his children. He’d controlled his family and his congregation. He’d ruined every life he’d come in contact with.
A car barreled down his drive, tossing up dust and invading the early-morning peacefulness. He groaned when he recognized the old International wagon. His aunt Essie’s pride and joy. It wasn’t quite seven in the morning, so he doubted this was a pleasure visit. He headed inside for whatever lecture happened to be forthcoming. His skin was thick and she’d told him on more than one occasion that so was his head.
She met him on the front porch. Knocking on the door to seventy, she was a spitfire with long, graying hair pulled back in a braid. Today she wore jeans, a T-shirt and her apron. She’d obviously been at the café she owned before heading to his house on whatever mission had brought her.
Marcus sighed. He wasn’t fooling himself. 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 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.
“Is the little boy scared?” Bea asked the waitress, Libby. “I remember Marcus and Alex hiding under tables when it stormed. They were little like that.”
“He isn’t afraid.” Libby tried to move the cook, but Bea wouldn’t budge.
The bells chimed, signaling that the café door had opened. A breeze too cool for mid-May swept through the café and the rain became a deafening roar. Lissa didn’t have to look to know who would be coming through the door. She knew because the woman, Bea, glanced from the door to Oliver and back to the door. She knew because Oliver stopped looking worried and grinned big.
“I’m going back to the kitchen,” Bea announced. “Marcus is in big trouble.”
Marcus nodded a greeting to a few people, pulled off his hat and headed in their direction. He half grinned at Oliver as he pulled out the empty chair at their table.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked as he folded his lean, athletic frame into the seat. He’d taken off his hat and he dropped it on Oliver’s head.
Lissa started to ask if it mattered that she did mind. Instead, she forced a smile and shook her head. “No. Of course not.”
At her terse response he grinned and nodded at the coffee cup on the table. He turned the cup over for the waitress to fill and leaned back as if he didn’t feel the tension. But even Oliver felt it. The boy glanced from Marcus to Lissa and back to Marcus.
“Are you enjoying your biscuits and gravy?” he asked Oliver.
“Yeah. They’re the best.” Oliver took another big bite. “Can I see your dog again?”
“Maybe,” he answered.
Lissa wanted to hurt him for being so noncommittal. She wanted to yell at him for invading their lives and turning everything upside down. But then, hadn’t she been the one doing the invading? Because she’d made this trip, none of their lives would ever be the same.
“Hey, Oliver, want to come back to the kitchen and help me make today’s dessert? You can even taste the pudding to make sure it’s good.” Essie, owner of the café and Marcus’s aunt, approached their table. She wiped her hands on her apron and appeared to be completely innocent of interfering.
“Can I?” Oliver looked from Essie to Lissa. And then his gaze drifted to Marcus, and for the first time the boy seemed confused and unsure of the situation. “Aunt Lissa, are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay. And yes, you can go with Miss Essie. I think that would be fun. When you get back, we’ll leave.”
He gave her a quick hug, and the feel of his small arms wrapping around her neck was the sweetest thing ever. He wasn’t hers, but she loved him as if he were. Marcus Palermo could take him from her. She’d known that when she came here. She’d known for the past year that her time with Oliver might be limited. It had been a constant source of stress.
Essie gave them both a long look that held a lot of meaning, then she walked off with Oliver’s hand tucked in hers. The two were discussing chocolate pie and brownies. Oliver glanced back as he walked through the door to the kitchen.
“Surprise,” Marcus whispered as the doors to the kitchen closed. They weren’t alone. There were still people in the café sending them curious looks that they didn’t try to disguise.
“Yes. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
“Imagine how I felt when my aunt showed up at my place to inform me there was a woman in town and she had a little boy that looks a lot like me. Why are you still in town?”
He had a point. A good one. “I couldn’t leave. I wanted you to have a night to think about Oliver and being a father.”
“So you planned on giving me another chance?” He arched a brow at her, clearly questioning her honesty. Or her sanity.
Lissa didn’t quite know what to say.
She had wanted to go on, to forget Marcus and Bluebonnet Springs. But Oliver had been in the back seat of the car, his dark eyes intent on her face in the mirror, and he’d asked about Marcus and wondered if he’d been a friend of his mommy. Pushing aside her feelings of protectiveness, for Oliver’s sake she’d searched for a place to stay. For one night, she’d told herself. To give Marcus a chance.
She didn’t want to get ten years down the road and have Oliver ask her why she’d kept him from his father. She also didn’t want to settle into her life as Oliver’s mom and have Marcus show up out of the blue one day and take him.
“You could give a guy a chance to catch his breath. This did come out of nowhere,” Marcus said. The admission seemed pulled from deep inside. “It’s hard for me to imagine Sammy keeping this from me. I know we weren’t a good match. But he’s mine. That’s pretty obvious.”
“So, does a new day make things different for you?”
“His mercies are new every morning.” He spoke so softly she almost didn’t hear the words she hadn’t expected from this hardened cowboy. “Nothing is different. But everything has changed.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t plan on getting married or bringing kids into the world.”
“You can’t undo what already is.” Her heart ached for the little boy who at that moment was eating pudding and didn’t know that his father was sitting there trying to figure out if he could be a part of his life.
He toyed with the spoon next to his coffee cup. “It isn’t that I don’t want him. But I don’t want to hurt him. He’s better off with you.”
“He’s your son.”
He sat there for a long minute looking at her. “Right. My son that Sammy didn’t tell me about. That speaks volumes.”
“She was afraid.”
“Of me.” One brow arched. She understood what he meant. Sammy had given birth to his son and then decided he wasn’t suitable to be in his child’s life. And later she’d regretted that decision.
Meeting him changed everything for Lissa. She hadn’t expected to like him. She hadn’t expected a lot of things about him. Like his thoughtfulness. Or the depth of emotion in his dark eyes.
“Time goes by and what seemed like a good decision starts to look like a bad one. Sammy regretted not telling you. And then she ran out of time.” She closed her eyes to regroup. It had been a year. She still missed her friend. Her sister. “And now you’re about to make the same mistake. What looks like a good idea today, five years down the road, might be the worst mistake of your life.”
“Valid point,” he said. “But if I allow you to tell him I’m his father, and I hurt him... Five years down the road, we can’t undo the damage. Speaking from experience, that kind of hurt can’t be undone.”
She wasn’t here to share stories, but she understood the damage an abusive parent could do to a child. She understood the scars, invisible and visible.
She understood how it affected relationships.
“You should at least get to know him.”
“How would that work, me getting to know him? How would you explain to him who I am and why he is spending time with me?”
“I’m not sure. We don’t have to tell him you’re his dad. Not until you’re ready. Or until we think he is ready.”
She glanced toward the window. The sky had darkened and, if possible, the rain came down harder.
“This rain is only getting worse.”
He was right. The rain was coming down in sheets. After the previous week of rain, she knew that the creeks would rise. The roads back to San Antonio would be a nightmare.
Before she left, she had to put all of her cards on the table. He deserved the whole truth, even if it meant losing Oliver. She reached into her purse and pulled out the letter.
“You should read this. Sammy left it with her will.”
He took the paper, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll look at it some other time.”
“Sooner rather than later, Marcus.”
“Right.”
“Fine, here’s my number.” She wrote it on a napkin and handed it to him.
Thunder crashed and the windows rattled with the force of the wind. He glanced at her number and back to the storm raging outside. “You might ought to stay in town.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just a little rain. And it might let up before I leave. I have to pack up and check out of our room at the B and B.”
She stood to retrieve Oliver from the kitchen, but Marcus pushed himself out of his chair first. “I’ll get him.”
It was a start, so she waited where she stood and watched as he headed for the kitchen.
He had stories. She didn’t want them. She didn’t want to be affected by a man her foster sister had deemed “too broken.” She’d always had a soft spot for broken things. It was her reason for becoming a nurse. Because as a nurse she had a reason to care, a reason to fix broken people. Fix them and send them home. Once she sent them home, they were out of her life. And then she had new people to care about, to help.
Lissa knew her own hang-ups. She had lived in a broken and abusive home with a mother who never put her child first. A mother she had tried to fix. And she’d failed. Time and again. Six months ago she had promised herself that she wouldn’t be used. Ever again. She wouldn’t enable. She wouldn’t give money. She would always care—she would pray for the woman who had given her life—but she wouldn’t give her the power to hurt her.
She and Sammy had been from similar backgrounds. As teens in the Simms home, they had made a pact to never be abused again, or tie themselves to broken men who would wound them the way their own mothers had been wounded. And they wouldn’t have children with men who would leave scars.
When Sammy had met Marcus, she’d been drawn to him in a way she’d deemed unhealthy. She’d never introduced him to Lissa, but she’d told her about him and about how easy it had been to fall for his charm. She’d lost herself a little, and when she realized that, she’d broken things off.
A few minutes later Marcus returned with Oliver. His aunt stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her mouth a firm line of disapproval. Marcus squatted, putting himself at eye level with his son. Lissa watched, wondering if Oliver suspected that this man was his father.
“You be good, okay?” Marcus said. She heard the rasp of emotion and knew he cared. That he cared spoke well of him. If only he realized that.
“I’ll be good. Can I come back and see your dog?” Oliver took a slight step forward. “And could I get a hat like yours?”
Marcus nodded and he looked up, meeting her gaze. He stood and backed up a step, putting a hand on his son’s head.
“We’ll be in touch?” Lissa asked.
Again he nodded. She took Oliver by the hand and left. Even though he’d said they would be in touch, she wondered if he meant to keep his word or if this was an easy way to say goodbye.
