North Country Dad. Lois Richer
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.
“Hey, you two. Let’s go clean up and then you’ll be ready to enjoy the breakfast your dad brought. Okay?” She lifted an eyebrow at Grant. For a moment Dahlia thought he’d refuse to let her escort them to the washroom. But before he could, the twins’ sunny smiles returned and each grabbed her hand.
“Okay.” They squeezed in front of her, heading down the aisle, chattering back and forth like young magpies. Dahlia held the door open, then glanced back at Grant. He was still standing where she’d left him, a bewildered look on his face.
Then he lifted his head and looked straight at her. She’d never seen anyone look so lost, so overwhelmed.
That’s when Dahlia made up her mind.