River of Secrets by Lynette Eason Page A

a swig of water from the canteen he’d filled earlier and again wondered if he should go find her. One of the workers stepped past him carrying an armload of insulation. Another carried a piece of drywall. Soon the exterior construction would be finished and then they would start on the inside, painting and decorating. The new wing consisted of eight rooms. One parent room with a private bath and sitting area, six children’s dormitories with a bathroom between each and one big playroom. It would be fabulous when it was finished.
    Once complete, this orphanage would be the nicest in the country. The kids deserved it. They sure didn’t deserve the tragedy in their young lives—watching their families die before their eyes, or being left on the doorstep by parents who couldn’t afford to feed them or just didn’t want them.
    Capping his water, he turned to ask one of the workers a question about the lumber. When he looked up, he stopped. Amy. Standing in the doorway, watching all the action. Their eyes met and she smiled, a worried half smile.
    Uh-oh. Something must be wrong.
    Hammering, drilling and men chattering in Portuguese echoed all around him, but faded into the background as Amy started toward him. Then her eyes flew wide, horror filling them. He heard the creaking, felt the rush of wind; something knocked him in the back and he went stumbling sideways. Renewed pain arched through him, his rib screeching at the rough treatment. Time slowed. Wood crashed around him, smashing into the floor. Pieces scattered, one slamming into his leg. He went down. Another piece of wood bounced off his shoulder, falling to swipe his knee.
    “Micah!” she screamed. Vaguely he wondered who Micah was. Then another piece of lumber clipped the side of his head, tumbling his world from its axis. Landing on his side, he felt a hand grab his arm and yank him out of the way as the rest of the stacked wooden wall smashed all around him. Lights flashed behind his eyes, a sharp pain streaked through his brain. He felt the warm gush of blood trickle down his right cheek. He raised a hand to the wound and looked up to see Amy kneeling beside him.
    “Micah, are you all right?” Her hands cradled his wounded head.
    The name echoed around him, through him, all over him. Micah. He knew that name. His name. Dazed, he whispered, “What?”
    “Are you all right?” she repeated. “Your head. Let me look at it.” Suddenly, she was all business, the professional nurse she’d been trained to be. “Salvador, get me the first-aid kit in the tool room. Hurry! Pressa! ”
    Salvador stood as though frozen, staring at the dripping blood. Amy raised her voice a notch. “Salvador, now! Agora! ”
    The teen snapped his attention to Amy, then hurried to grab the first-aid kit. He was back in less than ten seconds, and Amy had a square of sterile padding out and on Micah’s head in even less time than that.
    Micah’s ears buzzed. A thousand bees were swarming in and around his head. Then he realized he was looking into a face he’d seen all his life. He was looking into the eyes of Amy Graham, his sister’s best friend and the daughter of Senator and Cecelia Graham. The woman who had known his identity and had kept it from him. He stared at her, disbelief and disappointment, hurt and fury, all battling within him. He searched for the words to ask her why and came up empty. He could only stare into those bewitching blue eyes and wonder what really went on behind them.
     
    He knew. She’d seen it in his eyes as soon as she’d said his name. Amy swallowed hard and concentrated on the gash on his forehead. She didn’t think it needed stitches, but it could use a couple of butterfly bandages. One hand holding the gauze, she used the other to rummage through the first-aid kit and came up with some disinfectant and two Band-Aids. She affixed them to his head and sat back, never taking her eyes from his.
    Heart pounding, she waited for the