The Runaway Pastor's Wife (47 page)

Annie nodded. “You could say that, considering
neither of you wanted the kid.” She rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help it.

“In fact, I noticed an old picture of him in the
other room. But Annie, you’ve got to understand, even though we went through
this whole thing, we were still friends. It was never the same between us,
but even so—we had a bond, obviously. I really cared about Christine. And I
still do, believe it or not. I regret that I put her through all that. But
then, you know as well as anyone what a jerk I’ve been.”

“There’s an understatement.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “I had to tell
you. Especially now. I know it isn’t easy for you, but I feel like a ton of
bricks has been lifted off me. I’m sorry if it’s caused you pain. Again.”

“What a strange twist to an already peculiar
story. I never dreamed. It never even crossed my mind. Not once. And to think
you’re a father
.
Now
there’s
a scary thought.”

“No, I can’t say I’m a father. I fathered a
child, but there’s a big difference. Someone else has been his father. Thank
God.”

“You said there’s a picture of him in the other
room. Where did you see it?”

“In that room where I was staying. It was his
Little League picture from a long time ago. There’s a bunch of framed
photographs on the top of the dresser. I think there’s even one of you, if I’m
not mistaken.”

She wrapped a quilt around her and stood up.

“Annie?”

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re okay about all this now?”

“I’m okay about all this now, Michael. Shocked
down to my socks maybe, but yeah, I’m okay. It’ll take some getting used to,
though. I’m just curious to see this mysterious little love-child,” she trailed
off heading into the bedroom.

Moments later, she returned. “There’s a bunch of
pictures in there, but the only one of a little boy is just this one of—”

“Of who?”

Nothing.

“But . . .”

“But what?” He twisted around to get a look at
her. “Annie, what’s the matter?”

Her lips were moving but nothing came out.

“Come over here. I can’t hear a word you’re
saying. What’s wrong with you?”

“But this is . . . Max.” Her
knees felt weak.

He took the framed photograph from her hands.
“Yeah, that’s him. But how did you know his name?”

She dropped into the chair like a rag doll.

“No. No, I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“Annie, how could you possibly know his name if
Christine never told you about him?”

She shook her head. “No. There’s got to be some
mistake. Give me that!” She snatched the picture out of his hand. “This is NOT
your son,” she whispered angrily, jabbing her finger at the beaming young face
in the picture. His image blurred, her voice gone. “Because this—this is
my
son.”

He stared back at her. “That’s impossible!
That’s the same kid she’s been sending me pictures of for years! Why would she
send me pictures of
your
kid? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Annie was lost in a web, her mind and heart
tangled in tightening knots. She fought the rising volcano inside her as she
searched for an explanation.
No. It’s impossible.

She spoke deliberately, slowly, as if to a
child. “Michael, you said Christine gave your son up for adoption. When was
that?”

“Well, let’s see. She had the baby in March—”

“March?” she echoed, her heart sinking.

 “Yeah, March. And then she called me sometime
that fall. It was in the playoffs for the division . . . so I
think it was in October. Sometime in October.”

She forced herself to go on. “And did she tell
you when they found a home for the baby?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“What?”

Methodically this time. “Did she tell you when
they found a home for the baby!”

“Well, I didn’t hear about it until later. She
knew I was busy with the playoffs—”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID PLAYOFFS!”

“Geez, Annie! Calm down! I’m trying to
remember!”

“Just tell me! When did Christine give up her
baby?” A sob escaped.

He stared at her with eyes wide open. He began to
nod as it came back to him. “It was at Christmas. I remember now because of the
holidays. She was really sad about it. She said it was the hardest thing she
ever had to do. But she was also glad because she was able to give someone a
really amazing Christmas gift.” He looked back at her. “Some Christmas gift,
eh?” He chuckled.

Annie dropped her face into her hands and began
to cry. “Oh God, please no.”

Michael reached over to touch her shoulder. She
pushed his hand away. “No! Just leave me alone.”

“No, I won’t leave you alone! I want some
answers too. What makes you think Max could possibly be your son?”

“He
is
my son, you jerk! Don’t you think
I know my own son when I see him?” she cried, jabbing at the picture again.
“He’s my son!”

She rocked back and forth, tears streaming down
her face. “God gave him to David and me when he was just eight months old. An
attorney came to us at church. He said he couldn’t reveal any information
except that a young mother had requested that we consider adopting a little boy.
He said she wanted a good and loving home for her child, and that she
specifically asked for us. We assumed it was someone in the community who knew
David was a pastor. Maybe even the estranged daughter of a church member.
Something like that.”

Her words slurred as the memories rushed by. “We
were still newlyweds. We hadn’t even thought about starting a family yet,
but . . . after we prayed about it, we knew we were supposed to
give this little guy a home.” She caressed the picture, wishing she could feel
the warmth of his skin through her fingers, smell the scent of his hair.

“On December 20th, they brought him to us. They
placed Max in our arms and it was love at first sight.” She wiped her nose and
eyes, a sad smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

“Why? Tell me! Why would Christine do this?” he
yelled. “Why not just give the baby away to some stranger and be done with him?
Was this some kind of bad joke? Some kind of sick revenge on the two of us? And
I thought
I
was a jerk! This is unforgivable!” He tried to stand up but
fell back in pain.

Annie didn’t rush to his aid this time. “She did
it out of love, Michael.”

“But why? There are thousands of couples out
there desperate to adopt a baby. Why did she have to pick
you?”

“Because she knew me. She knew how much I loved
kids. And she knew she would never have to worry about her son. She trusted us
to take care of him and to love him.”

The distinct sound of a car door thudded
outside. They looked at each other.

“Michael, they must have cleared the roads! That
means—”

He grabbed her arm. “Annie! Shhh!” he croaked.
“Be quiet. We don’t know who’s out there. It could be Elliot’s men!”

“What should we do?”

He was already tossing the quilts aside. “Get me
off this sofa and over there, behind the kitchen counter. We have to stay out
of sight!”

CHAPTER 39

Eagle’s Nest

Michael sat on the cold kitchen floor, his back
leaning against the cabinet doors, his chest heaving with anxiety.

“What should I do?” Annie whispered, fear etched
on her face.

He cocked his head, listening for clues of who
might be outside the cabin.

“Wait—” Annie stretched up to peek over the
counter. “I think it’s Doc.”

Michael grabbed her elbow pulling her back down.
“Get down! If it’s Doc, we’ll know soon enough. If it’s not him, I don’t want
you getting your head blown off.”

Hearing a muffled voice outside, she gasped.
“Michael, did you hear that?”

He held up a finger, cautioning her to be
silent.

“Mom! It’s Max! Open up!”

The pounding on the door jolted her upright.
Michael’s stunned expression matched her own. “Max?” she mouthed.

Before Michael could stop her, she flew to the
door. “Max! Oh Max! I’m here! Hold on!” she cried, her fingers recklessly
unbolting the locks.

“Mom!”

She threw open the door and into his arms. “Oh
Max! What are you—how did you—oh, sweetheart!” She hugged him, crying his name
over and over.

“Mom! It’s okay—I found you! We were so scared
and I couldn’t stand not knowing where you were and Dad was so upset and—”

Annie pulled back from their embrace and shot an
anxious look over his shoulder. “Dad’s here? He came with you?” She flinched at
the tremor in her voice.

“Dad? No, he didn’t come.” He searched her eyes.
“Mom? Why did you—”

She saw Doc Wilkins emerge from his Bronco at
the foot of the porch steps. He stood with his hand on the open door, staring
up at Annie. Seconds ticked by as they silently communicated. Finally, he shut
the door. “Annie, I suppose we should have called before we came up, but Max
here was in a big hurry to find you. I—well, I apologize.”

She understood his meaning. “It’s okay, Doc.”
Her eyes lingered only a moment more, then back at her son. She buried her head
in his shoulder, hugging him again. “I’m just so surprised, Max! How did you
know where to find me?”

“It’s a long story. Can we come in? It’s pretty
cold out here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, of course! Come in.”

Doc ascended the stairs, one hand grasping the
handrail, his medical bag in the other. “Don’t mind if I do,” he mumbled.

They shuffled inside, drawn to the hearth where
a fire was on its last embers. “Doc told me about your ankle. Here, let me help
you.” Max held her arm as she limped along. “He said it was a pretty bad
sprain.”

“It’s much better,” she assured him, reaching
for a log as they neared the hearth. Let me get this fire going again. The
power has been out so long and this has been our only source of heat but—”

“I’ll check the breakers in just a minute,” Doc
offered. “The power came back on in town several hours ago.”

“Our?” Max asked, his hand still on her arm.

“Our what, honey?”

“You said ‘our’ only source of heat.”

She stopped, at a loss for words. “Did I say
‘our’?” She turned to set the log on the embers. “Max, would you hand me a
couple more logs?”

He walked to the end of the hearth and gathered
several logs. He turned, his eyes grazing the furniture pulled close to the
hearth. A pillow and lots of quilts spread out on the sofa. Another pillow,
another pile of quilts laying haphazardly on the chair and ottoman. A
scattering of mugs and plates on the coffee table.

Annie’s heart hammered against her chest as she
watched his mind working the puzzle.

Oh God, help me.

Max piled the logs in the fireplace and took the
poker from his mother’s hand. He stabbed at the glowing embers, stirring them
to flames that licked the waiting logs. Finally, he turned to face her. “Mom?”
he asked quietly. “What’s going on?”

Annie looked across the room to Doc for help.
Her eyes roamed the kitchen where she assumed Michael was still hidden behind
the bank of cabinets. Doc nodded ever so slightly acknowledging the silent
communication, then walked toward the kitchen.

“Max, there’s so much I need to tell you,” she
began. “But before I say anything else, I want you to promise me you’ll listen.
Let me explain everything before you jump to any conclusions. Do I have your
word?”

“Mom?” The frightened plea in his voice
unsettled her.

She took a deep breath and wrung her hands.
“Max, I came here to have some time to myself. I’m sure Dad told you.
But a couple days after I got here, someone else showed up. I had no idea,
of course . . . I mean, he just happened to come up here.
The cabin belongs to Christine, an old friend of mine from college. And it
turns out that
another
friend . . . well, actually a
mutual friend, I suppose . . . he shows up here too, and
he’s in some kind of trouble and he was hurt
and . . . well, I couldn’t turn him away, could I?”

“Him?” Max searched her face.

A moan from the kitchen interrupted them. Annie
watched as Doc lifted Michael from the floor, keenly aware that her son watched
as well.

“If you’ll excuse us, I need to attend to my
patient.” Max stared at Michael as Doc helped him out of the room.

Max pivoted. “Mom? What’s going on here? Who is
that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, honey. I
came up here to be alone, but it didn’t turn out that way.”

“Who’s that guy?”

“His name is Michael Dean. He had no idea
I
was
here, of course. He expected Christine to be here. He came here because he had
nowhere else to go. He’d been shot and he was being followed and he—Max, I
found him outside on the driveway. He had passed out in the snow. I didn’t even
know who it was until I was able to pull him inside here. And
then . . .”