by Lois Richer
“Teaching life skills was part of my job as a high school teacher and counselor in a little town on the prairies.” Grant tried to keep his voice light, refusing to show how frustrated he was with God’s timing. “When they closed the school, my job ended.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve heard that’s happening a lot lately in rural areas.” Sympathy shone in those amazing eyes. “No family?”
“I’m afraid my stepdaughters are stuck with only me.” Grant glanced down.
“I’m sure they’re lucky to have you.” A soft look washed over Dahlia’s face when her glance again drifted to the sleeping children. Then her mouth tightened. “Though if family doesn’t offer the support it should, sometimes it’s better to be alone.”
Though Grant totally agreed with her, Dahlia’s voice held a note of longing that made him wonder how her family had let her down. In fact, he’d begun to wonder a lot of things about this beautiful woman.
“How did you happen to end up in the hardware business?” A shadow fell across her face. “If that’s not prying,” he added.
“It’s not. Anyone in Churchill could tell you and probably will if you wait long enough. Everyone knows everyone’s business.” She looked completely comfortable with that, but Grant’s worry hackles went up.
What if everyone noticed his shortcomings as a father? Maybe then they’d think he couldn’t work with the boys at Lives.
He desperately needed that job.
“Actually I’m—I was an architect.” She paused and he knew there was something she wasn’t saying. “I came to Churchill to be closer to nature while I do something worthwhile with my life.” Dahlia made a face. “Does that sound all noble and self-sacrificing? It isn’t meant to be. The truth is I left home after a split with my fiancé and my family. A friend told me about Churchill, and here I am.”
Something about the way she said the words gave Grant the impression that there was a lot more to her story. He wanted to hear the rest, but he could hardly ask her to confide in him. They’d only just met.
“Judging by what I saw when I came for an interview last month, Churchill is an interesting place.” Grant struggled to sound positive as a thousand doubts about this move plagued him again.
“Churchill is isolated, which makes it an expensive place to live,” Dahlia conceded. “The winters are cold and long, and there aren’t a lot of the conveniences people farther south take for granted. But there are tremendous benefits to living here.”
“I’m sure,” he murmured, while wondering what they were.
“We live with polar bears, belugas and a lot of other wildlife in gorgeous terrain,” Dahlia bragged with a toss of her curls. “In case it doesn’t show, I love Churchill. There’s no place else I’d rather call home. If you give it a chance, I think you’ll like it, too.”
Since Grant and the twins didn’t have anywhere else to go, he’d have to like the place.
“When we first left Thompson, I noticed you working on something.” He hadn’t wanted to ask before but now he glanced at the roll into which she’d stuffed her papers. “Blueprints?”
“Yes. Every year I sponsor a community project. This year I’m going hands-on with one at Lives.” Her smile dazzled him. “Would you like to see my plans?”
She sounded so enthusiastic his curiosity grew.
Dahlia popped off the lid without waiting for an answer. Her hands almost caressed the vellum as she unrolled it. She shifted so Grant could look without moving and perhaps wakening the twins. He gave the drawings a cursory glance. Surprised he took a second look then blinked at Dahlia.
“A racetrack?”
“Close.” Her hair shimmered under the dim lights. She grinned with excitement as she leaned near. “It’s a go-kart track,” she whispered, obviously not wanting the other passengers to hear.
“Go-karts?” Grant frowned. “For the town?”
She shook her head slowly. “For the boys at Lives Under Construction. And their guests,” she amended.
“Good for you.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. From what he’d seen of the place a month ago, Lives Under Construction needed some work. But somehow he’d never thought go-karts would be a priority. “Very nice.”
“Don’t ever try to fake it, Grant. You are so not good at it.” Laughter bubbled out of her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother it, her eyes wide as she scanned the car to see if she’d woken any sleeping passengers. When she spoke again, her soft voice brimmed with suppressed mirth. “I know what you think. Go-karts are frivolous and silly, and they are. But they’re going to be so much fun!”
Grant didn’t know how to respond and Dahlia noticed. Her face grew serious.
“You don’t approve.” She sighed. “The boys are sent to Lives by the justice system to do time for their crime. And they should.” She chose her words with care. “But many of them come from places where they’ve never been allowed to dream or imagine anything other than the life from which they’ve escaped.” She gauged his reaction with those hazel eyes. “Do you know what I mean?”
“Fathers were in jail, mothers were in jail, kids follow the pattern.” He nodded somberly.
“That, or they were beaten or abused, or forced onto the streets. Or any other horror you can name. Not that it excuses their crime.” Dahlia’s tone was firm. “But that’s not my point.”
Clearly Dahlia Wheatley had thought through her plan very carefully, but Grant couldn’t figure her out. An architect running a hardware store who wanted to build a go-kart track for some problem kids.
Unusual didn’t begin to describe this woman.
“I want to get the boys to dream, to visualize a future that they can create themselves.” A wistful smile spread across her face. “I want these boys to reach for something more than what they’ve had.”
“Why go-karts? I mean, how will go-karts help them do that?”
“I told you. It’s a community project.”
“But it’s not really for the community, is it?” he pointed out quietly.
“In a way it’s for the community.” Her eyes darkened to forest-green, her frustration obvious. “I want to do it because there was a time someone helped me see beyond my present circumstances. And besides, this project will give the boys focus and keep them out of trouble.”
“Has there been trouble?” In all his research about Laurel Quinn and Lives Under Construction, Grant had read nothing negative.
“Not so far,” Dahlia admitted. “But the current group of boys is more troubled than previous residents at Lives have been. Especially one boy, Arlen.”
As she nibbled off the last vestige of her pale pink lipstick, a thoughtful looked transformed her face.
“Arlen?” he asked.
“Yes.” She slid the drawings back into the tube, then leaned forward. “Most of the kids in town have access to quads in summer and snow mobiles in winter.”
“Quads? Oh, like all-terrain vehicles.”
“Right. But the Lives boys aren’t allowed to drive. Even if they could, Laurel can’t have them taking off all over the countryside. She has to know where they are at all times. They are serving a sentence, after all.”
“Right.” Grant blinked at the intensity of her tone. She certainly was passionate about this project.
“A go-kart track would allow them some freedom as well as some fun,” Dahlia added. “Lives sits on an old army base with a runway that I can clean up so it can be used as the track,” she explained. “I’ve acquired some karts, too, but they’ll need repair. The boys will have to figure out that part because I’m not very mechanical.”
“I see.” It wasn’t a bad idea.
“When it’s complete,” Dahlia explained, a faraway look filling her eyes, “the boys could have a special day when they allow their town friends to use the track.”
“Which would give them some esteem among their peers.” At last he understood. “Clever. I like it.”
“Then you’ll help?” Dah
lia said.
“Sure. If I can,” Grant agreed, pleased to be part of something that didn’t require making beds and trying to turn masses of red-gold auburn hair into what Eva had called French braids.
“Great! Thank you, Grant.”
“I’m going to be busy.” He glanced at the curly heads on either side of him. “There are these two, of course, and Lives. I’ll also be working part-time as the school’s guidance counselor.”
“I’ll be grateful for whatever time you can spare.” Dahlia settled into her seat with a smile and sipped her coffee.
Grant let his gaze trail down her left arm to her hand. No ring. So Dahlia Wheatley was single.
If there were single women in Churchill, maybe he could find a wife. People still got married for convenience, didn’t they?
Ordinarily Grant would have run a mile from the idea of remarrying. Eva had been his one and only shot at love and he’d lost her. But he wasn’t looking for romance. He sure wouldn’t marry to have children—he’d never bring a child into the world. But he needed a wife because he had no clue how to be a father. When it came to raising the twins, he was as hopeless as his old man. But the right wife would know how to fill in for his lack.
As Grant mulled over the idea of marriage, his eyes were busy admiring the lovely Dahlia. He wondered if she’d consider such a proposition. He had a hunch she was good with kids. After all, he’d slept for over three hours and yet somehow there’d been no catastrophe or complaints. Dahlia’s doing, he was sure. The drawings tucked into the seat backs and the smudge of marker on Dahlia’s hand were signs that she’d known exactly how to handle them.
“Grant?”
He blinked and refocused on Dahlia, glad she could have no idea of his thoughts—otherwise she’d probably flee the train.
“I was thinking that maybe I could babysit Grace and Glory once in a while, in exchange for your help with my project.” Her gaze lingered on the girls before it lifted to meet his.
“That would be nice.” It surprised Grant just how nice it sounded.
“Good.” She smothered a yawn. “Sorry. I’m tired. I think I’d better get some sleep before we arrive.” After smiling at him again, she turned sideways in her seat, pulled a blanket over her shoulders and closed her eyes.
Grant wasn’t in the least bit sleepy. Maybe coming here hadn’t been a mistake after all. Maybe God was finally answering his prayer.
Glory murmured something and shifted restlessly. He stayed as still as he could, even though pins and needles were now numbing his arm.
Don’t let them wake up yet, he prayed silently. I’ll never get them back to sleep and they need sleep. Please?
God answered his prayer as Grace automatically reached out and folded her hand over her twin’s. Moments later, both little girls were still.
Grant glanced sideways at Dahlia Wheatley. He couldn’t imagine anyone taking Eva’s place. But neither was he capable of ensuring the girls had the home life their mother would have wanted for them.
Was Dahlia mother material?
He gave his head a shake. First things first. All he had to do right now was get to Churchill, and get their lives set up. He’d worry about Dahlia’s part in their lives later.
Chapter Two
A face full of ice-cold water ended Dahlia’s dream of a family of her own.
She jerked upright, lifting one hand to dash away the water droplets clinging to her chin. Grant’s twins stood beside her with smiles on their chubby faces. “Girls, did you just throw water at me?”
“We saw that on television. Everybody laughed,” Grace informed her. “The little boy behind you was crying so Glory said we should try to make him laugh.”
Whoever was laughing, it certainly wasn’t Dahlia.
“Please don’t do that again. It isn’t nice, okay?” She sat up and dried herself off as she best she could with her blanket.
“Where’s your father?”
“He went to get us something to eat. We’re hungry.” The two looked at each other mournfully.
“Did your father tell you to stay in your seats?” Dahlia asked.
“Yes.” Grace looked ashamed.
“Then you should obey him.”
When they’d taken their seats, Dahlia dug through her overnight case and found a clean, dry T-shirt. She’d have to change. Again.
“What’s inside that round thing, Dally?” Glory asked, pointing to the tube with her plans for the go-kart track. “Treasure?” Her blue eyes began to glow with curiosity.
“They’re special papers.” Dahlia looked down the aisle for Grant’s return. She waited as long as she could, but her damp silk top made her shiver. Finally she rose. “You two stay in your seats until your father comes back, all right?”
They nodded solemnly but Dahlia could see the bloom of interest flare across their faces and vividly recalled their earlier mischievousness. She’d just have to change her top in record time and get back before they got up to something else.
Easier said than done, especially after she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She released her damp hair from its clips and bundled it on the top of her head. Then she hurried back to her seat.
And stopped in the aisle, aghast. Nothing in her dreams of parenting Arlen had prepared her for this. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
The air left her lungs in a gust of dismay. Her go-kart blueprints, her precious drawings, were spread on the floor. And the two little girls were coloring them.
Glory looked up at her and beamed.
“We colored it for you. Grace likes red, but I think roads should be black.” She brandished Dahlia’s black marker. “I mostly stayed in the lines.”
What lines? The renderings were now obscured by every color of the rainbow, thanks to the markers Dahlia had allowed the girls to use earlier.
“I’m putting lines in the middle of the road,” Grace said, the tip of her tongue sticking from the corner of her mouth as she drew long yellow stripes in what was once the middle of Dahlia’s go-kart track. “Roads always have lines.”
“What are these little things?” Glory dabbed at the icon for the go-karts with her marker, pressing so hard she went through the paper. Her bottom lip drooped as she saw the damage. “I broke it.”
Grace carefully set her yellow marker on top of Dahlia’s white jacket to embrace her sister.
“It’s okay,” she soothed, hugging Glory close. Then she looked up at Dahlia. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”
Dahlia took one look at those sad little faces and said, “Of course. It’s fine, Glory. Now let’s gather up my markers. We’re going to be at Churchill soon.”
She rolled up the blueprints and pushed them into the tube, pressing the lid on. Then she scooped the markers into their plastic case, ignoring the streak marring her white jacket. When the girls were once more settled in their seats, Dahlia scrounged through her bag and found two packs of crackers and cheese.
“I don’t know where your dad is,” she said, summoning a smile. “But why don’t we have a picnic. A proper ladies’ picnic,” she emphasized when Grace began to climb down. “We have to sit nicely in our seats. Now we’ll carefully open our snacks.”
Of course the cheese and crackers didn’t open properly and crumbs spilled everywhere. It seemed only seconds passed before the cheese and crackers disappeared—except for what covered their faces and hands.
“What’s going on?” Grant stood in the aisle.
Dahlia noticed the lines of tiredness fanning out around his gray eyes. He was an exceptionally good-looking man despite his rumpled shirt and tousled brown hair. Not rail thin. Just nicely muscled with a dark shadow on his chin and cheeks. He wasn’t as tall as some of her male friends in Churchill, which Dahlia liked. It always made her uncomfortable when someone loomed over her five-four frame.
“Um, what are you doing?”
Dahlia suddenly realized that they had the attention of all the other passengers.
The morning was going from bad to worse. “They were hungry,” she murmured.
“That’s why I went to get them something to eat.” He held up a bulging white bag, gray eyes cool as a northern snow sky.
“I figured that, but the twins were getting restless,” she murmured. “I didn’t think you’d want them disturbing others, so I let them have some cheese and crackers.”
“Thank you. That was very kind, Dahlia. It’s just that their mother didn’t feed them processed food.” Suddenly his gray eyes narrowed. “That’s not what you were wearing before, is it?”
“No, I changed.” She caught sight of Glory’s face, her blue eyes were wide with worry. “Because I, uh, spilled some water.”
“You did?” Grant asked, a hint of suspicion flashing in his eyes. “Did you spill water on your hair, too?” When she nodded, he glanced at the twins, then back at her. “I see. Well, thanks for helping them.”
“No problem.” She waited, shifting under his intense scrutiny.
He turned his focus on the girls. “I brought you fruit juice and a roll with jam.”
“Mommy doesn’t let us eat jam,” Grace said.
“Well, you’ll have to eat it today. It’s all I could get.”
Before Grant turned away Dahlia saw red spots appear on his cheekbones. The poor guy was trying, but the twins looked mutinous.
“I don’t want it.” A sad look fell across Grace’s face. “I want my mommy,” she wailed in a tearful tone as Glory joined in.
Those tears tore at Dahlia—she wanted to gather the girls in her arms and comfort them. But Grant simply patted Grace’s head and clung to the bag with their breakfast while gazing helplessly at his weeping daughters. Glory, her face now streaming with tears, hugged her sister close and murmured reassurance.
Dahlia couldn’t figure out Grant’s reaction. He cleared his throat but no words emerged. He seemed confused. What was going on?
When it became clear to Dahlia that, for whatever reason, Grant wasn’t going to comfort the girls, she stepped in.