North Country Dad. Lois Richer
her assurance that she could teach him how to be a husband and father. How could Grant not have married her? How could he not have adopted her two adorable girls?
Pain pierced his battered heart. He’d been naive to believe God would let him have so much blessing in his life.
Eva’s death from a brain aneurism just six months after their marriage had decimated Grant. He’d never imagined that God, the loving God Eva had talked about, would take the one person who’d finally loved him. Losing his job a few months later had stolen every scrap of faith Grant had left.
So how could God possibly expect Grant of all people to be a father?
“You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
Grant lifted his head and saw the woman from across the aisle who had told the twins a story full of princesses and happily-ever-after. This particular princess had long red-gold hair that tumbled in a riot of curls around her face and down her shoulders. He realized suddenly that it was the exact same shade as the twins’. She had pale features like those the Italian Renaissance masters had smoothed from rare alabaster. But it was her smile that captivated Grant—wide, generous and inviting, it chased away the chill on his spirit.
“Maybe you don’t like coffee,” she said when he didn’t respond. Her smile faltered, a tiny frown line forming between her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry if I bothered you.”
“You didn’t.” Grant smiled and eased one hand free. “I’d love a cup of coffee. Thank you.”
“I hope you’re not just saying that to make me feel better.” Her smile returned when he shook his head. She handed him the cup with a twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve sure got your hands full. Your twins are adorable.”
Grant took a sip of the coffee. Earlier, he’d noticed a dark stain on the woman’s emerald-green shirt, and a smudge on Glory’s cheek to match it. But she wore a blue top now. Grant felt a stab of guilt at the thought that she must have changed clothes. She looked refreshed and awake. Beside her, he felt sticky, tired and utterly weary. And he had hours to go until they finally arrived in Churchill.
“How old are they?” she asked.
“Five.”
“Glory and Grace.” She sank into her seat across the aisle. “Wonderful names.”
“I didn’t choose them,” Grant admitted. “I’m just their stepfather. Grant Adams.”
“Hi, Grant. I’m Dahlia Wheatley. I own the hardware store in Churchill.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” He squeezed the words out, trying to hide his shock. Hardware? He could not think of a vocation less likely for this delicate-looking woman. Ballerina seemed more appropriate.
“I’ll confess, I guessed why you’re on the way to Churchill. Laurel Quinn is a friend of mine.” Dahlia smiled at him. “She mentioned she’d soon have a new employee at her rehabilitation project. She’s eager to have you start work. The boys seemed excited about you when she told them. But then I guess most pre-teens are excitable.” She grinned.
“Lives Under Construction is a great name for a project for troubled boys.” Grant wondered how involved Dahlia would be with his workplace. “I’ll only be working there on a part-time basis, but I’m looking forward to getting started.”
“It’s a great project. Once the boys figure out that the court did them a favor by giving them a chance to straighten out their lives instead of being locked up in a jail, they usually come around. Laurel will be glad you’re early,” she added. “Her newest group has already arrived. You’ll be able to meet with them before they start school.”
“I wanted to get to Churchill before September because the twins will be starting school, too.”
“They’re both clever. They’ll do well.” Dahlia’s face softened as she glanced at Grace and Glory. “Laurel’s rehabilitation program for troubled boys—we call it Lives—has gained a lot of recognition in the Canadian legal system.” Her voice proclaimed her pride. “There never seems to be a shortage of kids needing help. Fortunately that’s what they get at Lives, and now you’ll be part of it.”
“I was surprised Lives is so far into Canadian north, but I suppose isolation is one of the reasons for the program’s success,” he mused.
“I guess it helps that the boys can’t easily escape,” she teased. “But Lives’ success is mostly due to Laurel.” Dahlia’s hazel eyes glinted with gold as she studied him. “The building used to be an old army barracks. Her biggest asset though is the land. She can expand as Lives grows.”
“So she has plans for the place?” he asked.
“A lot. Laurel mentioned you’re a life skills coach?” When Grant nodded, Dahlia admitted, “I’m not sure I know what that means.”
“It means I’ll be coaching the boys to figure out what they want from their futures,” he explained, “and hopefully help them discover how to get it without breaking the law again.”
“I see.” Dahlia nodded, but those hazel eyes telegraphed her reservation. “Is that what you did before you came to Churchill? The twins said you were a teacher.”
“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.