The Mommy Plan

Widower Grant Adams loves his twin stepdaughters, but what does he know about pigtails and dresses and being a full-time dad? With his new job in a remote Canadian center for troubled boys, Grant needs a good nanny. But when he meets Dahlia Wheatley, who’s loving, patient and kind to his girls, he realizes the twins need more than a sitter—they need a mother. With her own harrowing past, Dahlia is as reluctant to get emotionally involved as Grant is. Yet his startling proposition just may form a happy new family of four.

“Is something wrong?” Dahlia asked.

Dahlia stood beside Grant, her face lifted as she searched his gaze.

Those eyes of hers saw too much. He couldn’t bear for her to glimpse that lost part of him that had never quite recovered. He shook his head. All he wanted was to be a good father to his twin stepdaughters. But was he?

Though Dahlia smiled, her beautiful hazel eyes didn’t have their usual twinkle. They locked on to his, freezing him in place.

“Would you like to go for a coffee?” Dahlia asked after a moment. She had more to say about him and the girls, he knew.

Grant was surprised by how much he wanted to say yes. “I should get the twins to bed,” he said.

“May I help?” The sparkle flashed back into her eyes.

“You want to help with bath time? You’ll get soaked,” he warned.

“It’s happened before. I didn’t melt,” Dahlia teased. “As long as you don’t mind sharing them for a while.”

Mind? He was delighted. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

LOIS RICHER

began her travels the day she read her first book and realized that fiction provided an extraordinary adventure. Creating that adventure for others became her obsession. With millions of books in print, Lois continues to enjoy creating stories of joy and hope. She and her husband love to travel, which makes it easy to find the perfect setting for her next story. Lois would love to hear from you via www.loisricher.com or loisricher@yahoo.com, or on Facebook.

North Country Dad
Lois Richer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

But if we must keep trusting God

for something that hasn’t happened yet,

it teaches us to wait patiently and confidently.

—Romans 8:25

To the wonderful folks in Churchill, Manitoba,

who make the north country so much fun.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“We’re orphans, just like Cinderella.”

Dahlia Wheatley had forgotten how cute kids were.

“Not quite,” she said with a smile. “You’ve got a daddy.”

“Oh, yeah.” The auburn-haired twins glanced at the man sprawled out in the seat across the aisle, chin tucked into his chest, stubbled jaw barely visible. They smiled and went back to coloring.

They’d scooted across the aisle forty minutes ago for a visit. Dahlia had encouraged them to stay and color with her markers while their dad slept. He looked weary, like a father who’d used every last ounce of energy to entertain his two young daughters.

Dahlia could almost pretend she was part of their family. For a moment, she let herself imagine smoothing that unkempt hank of dark hair off his forehead, then she caught herself.

She didn’t even know the man!

“I’m hungry.” The wiggly twin, Glory, looked at Dahlia expectantly.

“Me, too.” Grace handed Dahlia her marker. “When do we get to Churchill?”

“Not until tomorrow morning. It’s a long train trip.”

“Because Canada’s so big.” Glory nodded sagely. “I’ll get something to eat out of Daddy’s bag.”

“Let’s leave Daddy alone.” Dahlia lowered her voice, not quite certain why it seemed so important to her that they not wake him up. “He looks very tired.”

“That’s ’cause he’s not used to us,” Glory said. Dahlia thought the words sounded like something she’d overheard an adult saying. “He hasn’t been our daddy for very long. Our real daddy died.”

“So did our mommy.” Grace looked at Glory with the most woeful expression Dahlia had ever seen. “She’s in heaven, with God.”

“I see.” Touched by their grief, worried the two waifs would burst into tears, Dahlia thought fast. “I have a couple of chocolate pudding cups. Would they do?”

“Yes, please.” Glory released the paper she’d been coloring and climbed up to sit next to Dahlia. Grace flopped beside her half a second later.

Dahlia dug out the pudding cups she’d thrown in her bag before leaving Thompson to go back home to Churchill. Paying the high price for a plane ticket or enduring a lengthy train journey through Manitoba’s north country were the only choices available to reach Churchill. It took stamina for adults to endure the seventeen-hour train ride. Undertaking the trip with two energetic kids was a gutsy move.

While the twins ate their pudding, Dahlia fell into a daydream about their sleeping father and the circumstances that had led to him becoming a father to the twins. A wet splat again her cheek snapped her back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said, her blue eyes huge. “I was trying to scrape the bottom and the spoon snapped.”

“You got it on her shirt.” Glory reached out to dab the mess with a tissue. She ended up creating a huge smear.

“Thanks, sweetie, but I’ll do it.” Dahlia cleaned her shirt as best she could, knowing that the dark chocolate stain probably wouldn’t come out of her favorite top. “All finished?” she asked, eager to get the plastic spoons and containers into the garbage.

“Yep.” Grace licked her spoon, depositing a drop of pudding at the side of her rosebud mouth before she held out her cup. “Thank you.” Her sister copied her.

“You’re welcome.” Dahlia stored the trash, then pulled out a pack of wipes. “Let’s get cleaned up before your dad wakes up and wonders what happened to his cute girls.”

As she wiped their grinning faces and tiny hands, the twins told her that they were moving to Churchill from a small town on the prairies where their stepfather had been a teacher. Dahlia wanted to know more about the handsome daddy, but the twins had other ideas.

“Can we call you Dally?” Glory asked. “It’s a nickname. I like nicknames.”

“My grandmother used to call me that,” Dahlia told her. Memories swelled but she pushed them away. This wasn’t the time.

“Will you tell us a story?” Grace asked as she snuggled against her sister. “Our mom used to tell us lots of stories. Sometimes Daddy reads them from a book.” She tilted her head, her blue eyes intense. “Do you know any stories, Dally?”

“I might be able to come up with one.” Dahlia spread the small hand-quilted cover the twins had brought with them from their seats. When they were covered, she waited for them to settle.

This was what she used to dream about—kids, special sharing moments, someone on whom to shower the love she ached to give. Part of that dream had been a husband, of course. A man who’d love her as her ex-fiancé never had. A man perfectly comfortable with two little girls who couldn’t sit still, for example.

At that moment, the man across the aisle opened his eyes—gray eyes that cool shade of hammered metal—and stared directly at her. A smile creased his full lips.

“Go ahead with your story,” he said in a low, rumbly tone. “Don’t mind me.”

Dahlia swallowed. Most definitely a hunk.

“She’s going to tell us a special story.” Glory nudged her sharp little elbow into Dahlia’s side. “Aren’t you, Dally?”

“Sure.” Dahlia swallowed to moisten her dry mouth and told herself to stop staring at the man across the aisle. He wasn’t smiling at you, silly. He was probably smiling because of a dream. You’re dreaming, too.

“Are you sleeping?” Grace reached up and turned Dahlia’s head so she could examine it.

“No, honey, just thinking,” Dahlia said, embarrassed to be caught in the act of admiring their father.

“Do you know Sleeping Beauty? We love Sleeping Beauty, don’t we, Grace?” Glory bounced on the seat. “Tell us that story, Dally.”

“Yeah,” the man across the aisle said in that husky voice. “Tell us that one.”

But Dahlia was hooked on his deep voice and beautiful gray eyes. She couldn’t concentrate.

Then he cleared his throat and her good sense returned. Now was not the time for distractions. She had too much going on in her life. This was not the time to get sidetracked by nice eyes.

She forced her attention away from him and began her favorite fairy tale.

“Once upon a time—”

* * *

I need a wife. Someone like that woman.

Grant Adams glanced at the twins now asleep on either side of him, surprised he hadn’t woken up when they’d moved back beside him. The woman across the way was an amazing storyteller, her voice soft, melodic, like a lullaby. He’d let it lure him back into his dream world where life wasn’t so overwhelming.

But though it was late and the rest of the car was dozing, Grant wasn’t sleepy now. He was nervous. They’d be in Churchill by morning and then his new life would begin. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing the twins by bringing them to such a distant place.

A wife would have brought enough activities to keep the twins from being bored during the train ride. She certainly wouldn’t have let them bother other passengers, like the woman across the way. A wife would have known he’d need three times the snacks he’d packed.

A wife could show these children she loved them.

Not that Grant didn’t care for the twins. He did. Dearly. But he didn’t know how to be a father. He didn’t have the fatherhood gene—that’s why he’d avoided love and marriage. That’s why he’d vowed never to have children. Because he didn’t have what it took to be a dad.

He’d studied enough psychology to know his lack of skill had to do with his mom walking out on his seventh birthday and leaving Grant with an embittered, angry man who drank until he was abusive. Grant had quickly learned to keep out of his dad’s way, to not cause a fuss. None of this had earned him that special bond other kids had with their fathers. After a while, he had given up trying to find it and left home with an empty spot inside that craved love. Two failed relationships later, Grant knew he couldn’t love. He’d vowed never to marry, never to have kids and expose them to the loveless childhood he’d endured.

Until Eva.

Eva of the sunny laughter and ever-present smile. Eva of the strong, unquenchable faith in God. Eva the optimist. After an entire year of persuasion, he’d finally accepted her love and 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.

“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?” Dahlia 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.

“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.

She was a graduate of the betrayed-by-someone-you-trust-school and she had no intention of opening herself up to that again. But someone had to help Grant, and it might as well be her.

She’d step in—but only for the twins’ sake.

When they returned from the bathroom, Grant was still standing in the aisle. Dahlia suggested Glory and Grace sit together, leaving Grant to sit in the empty seat next to Dahlia. The two girls dug ravenously into what seemed to Dahlia pitifully small and not very nourishing breakfasts, but then, she was no expert on feeding children.

“Is that what they usually eat?” she asked.

“They usually have a large bowl of hot cereal. Eva, their mother, always fed them nutritious food. I’ve tried to maintain that, but—” He sighed. “I can’t always find it.”

“Was your wife a vegetarian?” Dahlia hoped that didn’t sound nosey. “My brother was a vegan. The doctor told my mom to make sure he got enough protein. Otherwise he was always starving.”

Grant considered that for a moment. “I brought soup along for supper last night, but it didn’t seem to satisfy them. I guess you noticed they were awake several times through the night.” He sighed. “I’m new to all this.”

“How long have you been at it?” she asked curiously.

“Eva died six months ago. We’d only been married nine months.” He turned to glance at the girls. “She was so good with them.”

“She had five years to practice,” Dahlia reminded him. “You’ve only been a dad for a short while. Give yourself time.”

“I’m not cut out to be a father. I’ve always known that.” Grant’s voice grew introspective. “But I didn’t know I was going to lose Eva and have to parent on my own.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dahlia whispered thinking he was lucky to have found love even though his voice betrayed the pain of his loss.

She thought he must have loved Eva deeply. She had seen the same kind of love between some of her friends in Churchill. But though she’d often longed for it, she’d never found that special kind of love for herself. Once she’d thought she had, but even then, even when she’d worn Charles’s engagement ring, she’d never been certain he was the man God chose for her. And apparently she’d been right because Charles had quickly dumped her when she’d sold her shares in her family’s architectural firm. He hadn’t bothered to show up to say goodbye when she’d left Toronto either. No one had.

Eager to forget the past, she asked, “Was that why you came to Churchill, to get away from the memories?”

“I’ll never get away from those.” Grant glanced at the girls. “But at least in Churchill I’ll have work.”

It suddenly occurred to Dahlia that, because of his work as a counselor, Grant might be able to help with Arlen.

“Speaking of your work, can I ask you some questions about the boy I mentioned before—Arlen?”

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be since I don’t even know him.” Grant sounded guarded.

“Since you’re a counselor, I thought you might have some insight. You see, Arlen’s very troubled. Lives is his last chance,” she explained. “If he doesn’t get his act together in the next four months, he’ll be moved into an adult facility.”

“A penitentiary?” Grant frowned when she nodded. “What did he do?”

“Recently, he threatened some people, and vandalized their property. But before that he was a good kid.” She looked at Grant closely. “I can’t explain the connection I feel to this boy. I’ve prayed and prayed about him but—” She stopped, blushed. Grant was so easy to talk to. Perhaps—too easy?

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“In your counseling—” Dahlia paused and summoned her courage. “Did you ever come across someone you thought was teetering on the edge, someone you were certain would tip one way or the other with the least provocation?”

“Yes.” Grant’s attention was totally focused on her now.

“You’ve run across someone like Arlen before?” she asked, relieved to hear he understood.

“The boy I’m thinking about became progressively more problematic for his teachers,” Grant said. “He seemed almost driven to break the law.”

At the sound of consternation from Glory, Grant excused himself and rose to mop up her spilled juice. Dahlia watched, unable to contain her excitement. Here at last was someone she could really talk to about Arlen. Laurel couldn’t discuss a client, of course, and Dahlia’s other friends didn’t sense the desperation in Arlen that she did. But Grant had not only seen it before, he’d dealt with it.

“So what did you do?”

“Talked,” Grant said. “A lot.”

The air rushed out of her lungs, taking her excitement with it. “I’ve tried talking to Arlen. He doesn’t hear me.”

“I didn’t mean you should talk.” For the first time a genuine smile lifted Grant’s lips, producing dimples in both cheeks that Dahlia found she couldn’t ignore.

“What I should have said was that he talked and I listened,” Grant corrected. “I encouraged, I tried to draw him out, I pressed him to expand on things he mentioned. Anything to keep a channel open between us.” He shrugged. “In his case, talking eventually worked. He’d been brooding about things that he’d never resolved. Once he got them worked out, he saw he had options and that gave him courage to push toward the future.”

“That’s helpful.” Dahlia nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

Grant studied her. In fact, his thoughtful gaze rested on her for so long, Dahlia felt herself begin to blush.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I’m curious.” Grant paused. “Is your go-kart project specifically tailored toward this Arlen kid?”

“It’s a community project. I do one every year,” she repeated. His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. “Say what you’re thinking.” She knew she wouldn’t like whatever was coming next.

“Maybe I made it sound easy to help that kid I told you about,” Grant said. His serious gaze held hers. “It wasn’t easy, Dahlia. It took months of work, for which I had trained. This Arlen—” He stopped, obviously uncertain as to whether he should voice his concerns.

“I am going to help him,” she said with firm resolve. “I’m going to do whatever I can.”

“That’s good. He could probably use an adult on his side. But be careful.” Grant laid his hand on her arm for emphasis. Immediately, a zing of reaction rippled through her and she caught her breath.

“You’re not suggesting I back off?”

“No.” He removed his hand. She edged away from his shoulder, hoping that would help her breathe more evenly. What was it about this guy that rattled her?

“I think you should be very careful. If he’s smart, he’s learned the system and mastered manipulation. He’s probably figured out how to con his parents, probation officers, maybe even you. It might be too late for you to help him, Dahlia,” he added in a soft tone.

“It can’t be.” She leaned back in her seat. She shouldn’t have said anything. No one, not even her closest friends understood how desperately she needed to help Arlen. Why had she thought Grant Adams would?

A pair of giggles made her look across the aisle. Once, children like Glory and Grace had been what she’d longed for, what she’d prayed for every day. Someone to love. Someone who cared about her, whom she could care about. Someone to share with.

She’d had that connection with her brother. He’d always been the one she’d counted on to be there for her. But she hadn’t been there for him. She’d let him down when he’d needed her most. He’d begged her to help him and she’d been too weak. Now he was gone. She missed him so much.

It was only since Arlen had come into her life that Dahlia had begun to hope again. She believed God would heal her hurting heart through caring for Arlen.

“Why is helping this boy so important to you?”

Those gray eyes of Grant’s refused to let her avoid his question, but something in her knew that she could tell him the truth, that she could trust him.

“The reason it’s so important to me to help Arlen,” she began, “is because...I want to adopt him.”

* * *

Grant wasn’t sure he’d heard Dahlia correctly. “Adopt him? But I thought—that is, he’s older than the usual age for adoption, isn’t he?”

“He’s thirteen,” Dahlia said. “He’s in trouble and needs someone who will be totally on his side.”

A single woman adopting a troubled boy who was on the verge of becoming a teenager? There were so many ways in which this was a bad idea that Grant wasn’t sure where to begin. He was about to voice his misgivings when he saw the sadness on her face.

Whatever Dahlia Wheatley’s reason for helping this kid, he felt certain it stemmed from some emotional pain of her own, and he wanted to know what it was. He’d hardly known her an hour and yet already he wanted to make things better for her.

“Why does Arlen matter so much to you?” He hated the way her hazel eyes dimmed of joy. “Please tell me.”

Dahlia glanced at the twins. Grant checked and noted they were playing one of the games they’d created together. He heard her inhale, gathering her courage.

“Because of my brother. Damon was my best friend. He was eighteen when he ran away from home.”

“I’m sorry, Dahlia,” he said, feeling the pain in those few words.

“He left because he couldn’t live up to my parents’ expectations.” Her hazel eyes grew shiny with tears. “Even though Damon tried his best, he felt he could never be enough for them. They wanted an heir for their architectural firm, a prodigy. Damon wanted to paint.”

“What happened?” Grant could tell there was more to the story just by looking at her.

“He was walking on the road at night. A car hit him. The driver left him there to die.” As Dahlia exhaled, a sob escaped her lips. Then she dabbed at her eyes and sat up straight. She looked him in the eye. “It was my fault Damon left, my fault he died.”

Grant resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, to comfort her. “How could it be your fault?” Grant knew this wound in her heart had festered for years.

“Damon died the night of my sixteenth birthday.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “He’d had a big fight with my parents about his grades that afternoon. He asked me to talk to them, but I was too afraid to confront my parents.” Her voice dropped with shame. “I was always too weak to stand up to them.”

“Dahlia, there is no way a sixteen-year-old is responsible for her sibling. It wasn’t your fault.” But Grant knew he wasn’t getting through to her. She simply gazed at him with that sad, weary smile.

“I was too weak to be there for Damon, but I am going to be there for Arlen.” Her voice held fierce determination. “He’s not going to be one of the lost ones. Not if I can help it.”

Because they were getting close to Churchill, Grant decided to say nothing more. “I’m glad you told me, Dahlia,” he said very quietly. “Your brother sounds like he was your best friend.” She nodded. “Regarding Arlen, though, I need to think about the situation a bit before I give any advice. Okay?”

“I’d appreciate any advice you have to offer,” she murmured. “Thanks for listening.”

Grant nodded and moved back to his seat across the aisle while marveling at Dahlia’s mother’s heart. Then the girls cuddled against him, begging him to tell them again about their new home.

As Grant related what little he knew about the house Laurel had arranged for them, he was very aware of the woman across the aisle who was now gazing out the window as if she were a world away.

Grant wasn’t sure exactly how, but he was going to talk to Dahlia again. He sensed she needed release from the pain of her past and he wanted to help her more than he’d wanted anything in a long time.

An architect. That fit. He could see her long delicate fingers drawing gorgeous houses or state of the art office towers. He could not see her weighing nails or discussing grades of oil.

Funny, but Grant could also see himself around her in the future, which disconcerted him. Still, there was definitely something special about Dahlia. Most women were bored to tears with him. They tried to get him to talk about himself, but Grant preferred to listen, mostly because it was safer.

But he had a sense that Dahlia was the kind of person who could get you to admit things before you even realized you had. He could see her as a wife, and as a mother. She was generous with the twins and made them laugh. That’s what he wanted in a mother for Grace and Glory....

Grant shook himself out of his daydream. There were any number of reasons why he shouldn’t be thinking of Dahlia in this way, not the least of which was she wanted to adopt this boy, Arlen. And if there was one thing Grant knew for sure about his new life in Churchill, it was that he wasn’t going to subject any more kids to his parenting. Grace and Glory were all he could handle.

Chapter Three

“You must behave and not bother anyone,” Grant told the girls as he got them ready to go to Lives Under Construction.

He felt foolish for having thought it would be easy to find a babysitter for the girls after only a few days in town. It was a mistake Eva never would have made. Now he resigned himself to the difficulty of keeping them occupied during his first session with the boys at Lives.

At least his car had arrived on yesterday’s train so he could drive. Lives was situated just far enough out of town that walking there with two five-year-olds would be impossible.

“We’ll behave,” Glory promised.

“Put your crayons and coloring pads in your backpacks. You can work on those, but you can’t interrupt. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” They nodded with serious faces.

Daddy. Why did he always feel like an imposter when they called him that? Maybe it had something to do with his most recent failures.

Today the twins had begun kindergarten. He’d been so busy setting up his office at the high school that he’d forgotten to buy their supplies. Eva would have made sure they were prepared, maybe even had their hair trimmed. Heaven knew Grant craved shorter hair for the twins. The endless combing, snarls, braids—all of it made him feel even more of a klutz. But he couldn’t bring himself to cut those glorious curls.

Tomorrow he’d go to the northern general store and buy everything on the list the teacher had sent home for him. She’d been understanding, but Grant hated looking so incompetent. He doubted any of the other parents had sent their kids to school without supplies.

Then there were clothes. The twins were still wearing things they’d clearly grown out of. He should have stretched his funds, cut back more, done something in order to outfit them better, but he couldn’t help that now. They’d have to make do until a paycheck came in, though everyone in town would probably be talking about the shredded knees of their pants. Add mending to the list of things he couldn’t do.

When they got to Lives, the twins bounded out of the car, happy and excited. They’d taken to Laurel immediately when she’d appeared yesterday with a welcome cake, but Grant wasn’t sure how Grace and Glory would react to the boys. Maybe he could get the girls to stay in the kitchen while he met with them.

“I thought we’d all sit around the kitchen table,” Laurel told him, dashing his hopes as they walked in.

The boys were in the midst of enjoying a snack. Silence fell when he entered with the girls. As usual, Grace and Glory won over their audience quickly, and it wasn’t long before the boys were plying the twins with food. When they were finished, Grant thought he saw regret on the boys’ faces when he situated the twins at a table in the corner to color.

“Remember now, no interrupting,” he reminded softly.

“We won’t, Daddy,” they chirped together.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to Laurel. “I don’t have a babysitter yet.”

“They’re no problem. Now, let me introduce you properly,” Laurel said. “This is David, Marten, Arlen, Kris and Kent. They’re all new to Lives. This is Rod—he’s been here for a while.”

“Nice to meet you,” Grant said, taking in details about each of the boys.

David, Martin and Kent were towheaded preteens who looked nervous and scared. Grant guessed they’d been talked into committing some offense and had been sentenced to Lives with the hope that one term would be enough to straighten them out. Kris stood next to Arlen, and had adopted Arlen’s bored expression. It was an expression Grant had seen many times before. Rod was the only boy who looked perfectly comfortable.

“I’m Grant. I hope we’ll all work well together,” he said with a smile.

“What exactly are we working toward?” Arlen made no effort to conceal his surliness.

“Lives operates on respect, Arlen,” Laurel reminded quietly but firmly.

“So you’re the resident shrink,” Arlen said, ignoring her.

“Life skills coach, actually,” Grant corrected in a bland tone. “I’m here to help you figure out what you want in your future.”

“Money, power, fame,” Arlen joked. He grinned when Kris snickered but his eyes never left Grant.

“That’s all you want?” Grant held the boy’s glare. “It shouldn’t take us long then.”

“You think it’s that easy to get those?” Arlen barked a laugh then looked to the other boys. “Hey, this guy’s got the secret to life.”

“There’s no secret, Arlen.” Grant leaned back and studied the boy. “If you want money, you get a job. If you want fame, you do something notable. If you want power, you become a leader.”

“Who gets rich from working a job?” Arlen sneered.

“Lots of people. They work, they save and they accumulate. Is money your goal, Arlen?”

“It’s everybody’s goal.” Arlen stretched his legs out and leaned back in his chair.

“Actually, it isn’t,” a voice from behind Grant said.

Grant turned, surprised by the thrill he felt at the sight of Dahlia.

“Lots of people with money are very unhappy.” Dahlia offered Grant an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt.”

The twins rushed to Dahlia, calling her name with glee. She hugged both of them, smoothed their hair and asked about the pictures they were creating.

“Hi, guys,” she said to the boys. They all responded but one. “Hello, Arlen.” She looked directly at the sullen boy. He ignored her. “I should have phoned first,” Dahlia said, her gaze moving to Laurel. “I didn’t realize you were having a session this evening.”

“We’re just talking.” Laurel held up the coffeepot. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.” Dahlia turned to Grant. “May I take the twins outside to play while you finish your discussion?”

“Sure.” Grant noticed how ecstatic the twins were to be with Dahlia, how eagerly they followed her from the room. Was he giving them enough attention?

He waited for Dahlia to escort the girls outside before he steered the conversation back to money. The boys initiated a good discussion about the role of money in their lives, but Grant found he was distracted by the woman playing with the twins outside the big kitchen window.

After half an hour, Grant knew it was time to shut down the group session. He wasn’t doing his best listening and the boys were tiring. He ended on a thinking point and after scribbling a couple of notes, Grant gathered his and the twins’ belongings and said goodbye. When he stepped outside, squeals of laughter greeted him.

“You’re it.” Dahlia tapped him on the shoulder then raced away.

Grant stood in the twilight, a memory weighing him down. Games were not something his father had permitted. In fact, he’d downright disapproved of them. The one time Grant had tried to join a school football league, he’d been severely punished.

Keep your mind on your work, boy. You won’t live here free forever.

Even now, the injustice of it burned inside. All through his childhood he’d slaved to keep the house clean and the yard tidy. He’d even learned to cook simple meals, which his father couldn’t bother with once he’d gotten a bottle in his hand.

“Is something wrong?” Dahlia stood beside him, her face lifted as she searched his gaze.

Those eyes saw too much. He couldn’t bear for her to glimpse that lost part of him that had never quite recovered from his father’s brutality. He shook his head then touched her arm.

“You’re it,” he said.

Though Dahlia smiled, her hazel eyes didn’t have their usual twinkle. They locked on to his and held as a fizzle of current zipped between them, freezing him in place.

“Would you like to go for a coffee?” she asked.

Grant was surprised by how much he wanted to say yes. But the twins danced at his side. “I should get them home to bed,” he said.

“May I help?” The sparkle flashed back into her eyes.

“You want to help with bath time? You’ll get soaked,” he warned.

“It’s happened before. I didn’t melt.” Dahlia teased. “As long as you don’t mind sharing them for a while.”

Mind? He was delighted. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It turned out Dahlia had ridden her bicycle over to Lives, so Grant loaded it into his trunk. Then they headed home with the twins chattering all the way.

“I’m hungry,” Glory announced to Dahlia. “We had beans for supper. They were yucky. Daddy forgot mommy’s special spices.”

“He burned my toast, too,” Grace added with a baleful look. “Can I have not-burned toast before we go to bed?”

“We’ll see,” Grant said so that Dahlia wouldn’t have to say anything. It was his favorite expression because he never actually had to promise anything. He didn’t make promises anymore, not after promising Eva he’d raise her girls the way she wanted. Look how that was turning out.

“I’m not the world’s greatest cook.” Dahlia tossed Grant a smile. “But I can manage not-burned toast.”

“Easy to say,” he warned. “Just wait until you have helpers.”

Dahlia laughed as if it was the best challenge he could have given her.

When they reached his house and she bounded out of the car, ready to face her test, Grant had two conflicting thoughts in his mind.

He liked this dynamic woman—a lot. And he’d be doing her a favor if he kept his distance.

* * *

Dahlia wasn’t sure what she’d expected Grant’s home to look like, but it wasn’t this. An old sofa and a matching chair covered in a pretty chintz pattern framed a large coffee table, the perfect size for two little girls to sit at and color. In the corner a tidy desk nestled under the window. There was no dust and no mess, yet the room had a lived-in feel, as if people enjoyed each other here.

She allowed herself to be pulled through the house as the girls chattered about their first day at school. It was while Grace and Glory were showing her their room that Dahlia noticed how few clothes they had in their wardrobe. None of them looked warm enough for the cold northern winter that would soon arrive.

After a lively bath time, Dahlia made the girls cinnamon-sugar toast, which they devoured. Then she supervised toothbrushing, read them a story and tucked them into bed, conscious of Grant standing by, watching. As she was about to leave the room, she noticed that Grant seemed tense.

“Good night, girls,” he said, his voice hesitant.

“Kisses first, Daddy,” Glory reminded.

He dutifully bent so that each girl could embrace him, and waited patiently as they plastered kisses across his cheek. But when Grace tipped up her face for his return kiss, Dahlia’s heart squeezed.

A look of pure panic spread across Grant’s face. He hurriedly brushed his lips against Grace’s cheek, and a second later, did the same with Glory. Then he quickly drew away.

A moment later, his composed mask was back in place. But Dahlia had seen the truth.

Grant Adams was scared of his daughters.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say as they moved back into the living room. Grant made tea and poured it, carrying her cup to where she sat in the easy chair. After the silence stretched out too long, he tilted his head and studied her in a quizzical way.

“Why did you choose a hardware store?”

It was exactly the right thing to break the tension that had fallen between them. Dahlia burst out laughing.

“I’m serious. It’s not at all what I’d have guessed you’d do,” he said.

“It’s not that far from architecture,” she mused. “Once I drew plans to build things, now I sell goods to make plans come alive.”

“But don’t you miss the creative part of being an architect?”

“Not really,” she said, only then realizing it was true. “I like the problem-solving aspect of running a hardware store.” She looked directly at him. “Besides, I couldn’t stay in the family firm anymore.”

Dahlia knew he was waiting for an explanation, but she wasn’t sure how much to tell him.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s painful,” he assured her.

“It is quite painful.” Dahlia cleared her throat, sipped her tea then began. “I trained as an architect because my parents expected me to join their architectural firm. They told me that since Damon was gone, I’d take over.”

“You didn’t want that?”

“I did, more than anything.” She heard the fervency in her own voice and smiled sadly. “I had a lot of dreams for the company. My fiancé, Charles, and I used to talk about the things we’d change, how we’d grow the business.” She looked down into her tea. “I had no idea my parents thought I was incompetent.”

“But—” Grant raised an eyebrow.

“They wanted Charles as CEO. I would be a figurehead, to carry on the family name.” The sting of it was as sharp as it had been four years ago. “I graduated top of my class, well ahead of Charles. I could have taken a fellowship with a prestigious Montréal firm. Instead I went home, because they ‘needed’ me.”

Dahlia couldn’t disguise the bitterness that shone through her words.

“Why would they do that?” Grant asked.

“Because I was too weak, or so they thought.” Dahlia saw confusion on his face and decided to tell him the whole story. “I had cancer as a child. Despite the fact that I got better, my parents always considered me sickly. Fragile. The doctors said I was cured, but my parents never heard that. My entire childhood, they were always on the watch, protecting me from myself.” She exhaled. “Thank goodness for my Granny Beverly.”

Grant sat silently watching her, waiting. That’s what made him good at his job, Dahlia decided. He didn’t have to say a word because you could feel his interest in you.

“Granny Bev was a dragon. She suffered terribly from arthritis, but she came to see me every single day when I was in the hospital. And she always spoke the same message. ‘You are strong, Dally. You can beat this. You can do whatever you put your mind to.’”

“Good ally to have,” he murmured.

“The best.” Dahlia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Because of her, I beat cancer and finished school on the honor roll, though I’d missed more than half the year. Because of Granny Bev, I ignored my parents’ comments about being too delicate for gymnastics, too.” She smiled. “I actually teach it now, twice a week. You should enroll the girls.”

“Maybe I will,” he said.

“I’m a pretty good teacher.” Dahlia knew she sounded proud and she didn’t care. It had been a long, hard road to silence those negative voices that had dragged her down, and she’d succeeded.

Almost.

“Tell me the rest of the story,” Grant prodded.

“I fell in love with Charles at university. He said he loved me, gave me an engagement ring. I thought my life was on track.” She made herself continue though she’d begun to wish she hadn’t started this. Revealing personal details was not her usual style and defending herself even less so. “We both interned at my parents’ firm. They loved Charles. They offered him a job when we finished school.”

“Was he supportive of you?” Grant asked.

“At school, yes. And at first he was a great partner at work.” She paused.

“And then?” Grant nudged.

“Then things began to change.” The understanding in his eyes encouraged her to continue. “Meetings were changed without notifying me. My parents took me off three large commercial projects I’d brought in and gave them to Charles although his specialty had always been residential.”

“You complained?”

“Vehemently. They said they were worried about my health. Charles didn’t want me to be run-down for the wedding. To prove them all wrong, I went out and found three more major clients.” She smiled wryly. “Didn’t do me any good. I caught the flu, which turned into pneumonia. I was out of the office for a week. By the time I came back to work, Charles was acting CEO. I had been given the title of assistant.”

Grant whistled. Dahlia nodded.

“My parents’ explanation was that in two months they would turn the company public so they could retire and travel. They felt Charles was a natural for CEO, but he needed time to prove himself before a new board came in. I was to be the company spokesperson and find new clients, because I was so good at it,” she mocked. “I’d be a figurehead, but Charles was the boss.”

“What did Charles do?”

“Charles pretended it was all a big surprise, that he hadn’t put in a word here and there to make my parents doubt my ability. He’d always promised we’d run the company together, but from the first day I knew who was in charge and it wasn’t me.” She forced a smile. “He said to think of it as a merger that would be cemented when we married. Later I could stay at home and ‘look after myself’ while he ran things.”

Grant tented his fingers under his chin but said nothing. Dahlia continued.

“It took just two weeks before my office was moved off the main floor and I lost all my clients. Charles said he was reorganizing, but I got organized right out. My parents wouldn’t listen to me. In Charles they’d found the son they’d lost.”

“So what did you do?” Grant asked.

“The day the company went public I bought as many shares as I could—enough to get me into the general meeting. The board suggested Charles as CEO. I publicly refused to support him and stated why. A vote was called. Granny Bev, who had also bought shares, voted with me. Charles lost.”

“And your parents?”

“They were furious. I told them how disappointed I was that they’d treated me so poorly.” She exhaled, brushed away a tear and continued. “I told them that I’d prove I am strong enough to build my life and that until they were ready to acknowledge me as a fully capable adult, I didn’t want to see them again.”

“And you haven’t?” he asked when she paused.

“Granny Bev had a stroke the next day. I stayed with her until she died. As soon as her funeral was over, I left. I’ve never gone back.” Dahlia had to stop for a moment. “Before she died, Granny Bev said to me, ‘You are the strongest person I know. Live your life your way, Dally.’ So that’s what I’m doing.”

He nodded, his eyes on her, watching, waiting.

“She left me her stock in my parents’ company. I sold my stock to buy my store here. I’ve never regretted that,” Dahlia added.

“And Charles?”

“I’ve regretted him many times, but I never heard from him again, which is just as well,” she told him.

“So now you’re determined to live by your grandmother’s words,” he mused. “You’re proving you’re smart and strong and capable.”

“Yes.” She frowned at him, hearing something underlying his words. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all. I’m just wondering if it’s enough for you.”

“What do you mean?” Dahlia found herself irritated by his words.

“I’ve seen you with the twins. I’ve listened to you talk about Arlen. You have a heart for kids. You love people. You need people.” Grant paused, then quietly said, “Shutting out love because one man hurt you won’t heal your heart.”

“I have lots of love in my life,” she replied defensively. “I have good friends. We support each other. And one day maybe I’ll have a child, too. Perhaps Arlen.”

“Will that prove your strength?” he asked quietly. “Will he be enough to heal the pain Charles and your parents caused?”

Dahlia stared at Grant. Images of the fairy-tale dream from her youth, one she’d never shared with anyone but Damon, played through her mind. A family, motherhood. A husband, laughter, love...

“I don’t know what it will prove,” Dahlia whispered. “I only know I can’t give up everything I’ve worked for. I need to prove myself.”

Grant didn’t say anything for a long time. Tension stretched between them like a taut wire and finally, when Dahlia could stand it no more, she rose.

“I should go home. Thanks for sharing the twins’ bath time with me. It was fun.”

“Not a word I would have used to describe it, but you’re welcome.” He smiled as he escorted her to the door.

She started to say good-night, but instead, she asked, “After all I told you, aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I’m not a judge, Dahlia. You have a right to live your life any way you want. I wonder though—” He paused, not taking his eyes off her.

“Yes?” Dahlia shifted under that stare.

“I wonder if you realize you just described love as making you vulnerable and weak.”

Dahlia felt as if he’d somehow seen right into her heart. Without addressing his comment, she simply said good-night, took her bike from the driveway and rode away, aware that he stood there watching until she turned the corner. Her thoughts were on Grant and what he’d said.

She was embarrassed by how much she’d shared with him, but more than that, she was floored by his observation. Did she really see love as making her weak and vulnerable? She’d certainly been made to feel that way by her parents and Charles.

Then Dahlia wondered if Grant said that to her because he felt the same way.

She remembered the petrified look on his face when the girls were saying good-night to him and decided that whether he knew it or not, she wasn’t the only one who needed help untangling feelings about love.

Perhaps they could actually help each other. Dahlia could offer him assistance with the twins, and he could help her get through to Arlen. Perhaps they could help each other get closer to love.

The question was, was it safe for her to spend time with a man who made her heart beat a little faster simply by studying her with those gray eyes that seemed to look right into her heart?

There was only one way to find out.

Chapter Four

“I guess I don’t understand what Grant’s doing,” Dahlia admitted to Laurel. She glanced around Common Grounds, the local coffee hangout, relieved it was almost empty. She didn’t want anyone to overhear. “He never says very much to them.”

“Grant explained to me that he’s trying to gain the boys’ trust first, by listening,” Laurel said. “It only seems like he’s not doing anything.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Dahlia shook her head. “I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing with the boys. It’s his daughters I’m referring to.”

“The twins?” Her friend shook her head, her confusion evident. “Grant seems like a very conscientious father.”

“He is. That isn’t what I meant, either. It’s just—” Dahlia sighed. Laurel was looking at her quizzically. “Don’t you think he seems rather standoffish with the girls?”

“I haven’t really seen him with them much but no, I’ve never thought that,” Laurel said. Her forehead pleated in a frown. “Why? Do you think there’s something wrong?”

“No, no.” Dahlia wished she’d never said a word. “I’ve just noticed he doesn’t show them much affection, though I suppose that could have something to do with his grieving process.”

“Maybe he’s not the affectionate type,” her friend suggested. “It’s obvious the twins love him dearly, so I doubt there’s anything to worry about.”

Dahlia didn’t want to belabor the point, though her reservations remained. “I have to get back to work, but thanks for sharing coffee with me. I don’t get out of the store in the afternoon very often.”

“You should,” Laurel encouraged. “You push yourself too hard.”

“If I don’t, who will?” Dahlia smiled, paid for their coffee, then hurried back to work. On the way she met Eddie Smart, one of the many miners who used Churchill as his home base.

“Hey, gorgeous. Are you free to have dinner with me tonight?” When she hesitated he added, “I’m going back up north to the mine in a couple of days.”

“Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m tied up.” Dahlia felt guilty for refusing again but she didn’t want to add to the romantic thoughts she knew he harbored toward her. “Can I take a rain check?”

“Sure,” he said good-naturedly. “I’ll be back in time for the fall supper. How about we sit together at that?”

“I’ll try,” she told him, unwilling to commit. Eddie was sweet. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings but she was not attracted to him.

As Dahlia walked toward her store, her thoughts returned as usual to her go-kart track. She decided to call Grant later to see if he could help her with it on Saturday. The weather was gorgeous but northern winters came hard and fast. She needed to get the project going.

As it turned out, Laurel took the twins leaf hunting for a school project early Saturday afternoon so Grant was free to accompany Dahlia on a survey of the road she wanted to use for the track.

“It looks in fair condition,” he said as they walked the winding, paved road. “I wonder why it was made in a circle.”

“I did some research on this old base.” As they walked together in the warm sunshine, Dahlia basked in a sense of camaraderie. It was nice to have someone to help her with the go-kart project. Of course, Grant wasn’t just someone.

“And you learned?” he prompted.

“There was a lot of suspicion in the fifties. Everyone feared invasion by the Russians so the airstrip here was maintained. When the base closed, they dismantled the long, straight runway so no enemy plane could land. I guess they figured this circular bit wouldn’t be of use to anyone.”

“It will make a good go-kart track,” he said, studying the weeds and grasses that threatened to take over. “It’s good that this area is fenced. No wandering polar bears. But it sure will need some cleanup.”

“That’s where the boys come in,” she said with a grin. “They can put in some sweat equity. I’m hoping you’ll help them see my vision.” She winked at him then stopped, surprised by the freedom she felt with him.

“I’ll try.” Grant blinked then glanced away. He resumed walking, obviously preoccupied.

“Is something wrong, Grant?”

“I was just thinking that I need a better way to get through to the boys about what their futures will be like if they make no changes. Mere words don’t seem to impress these guys.”

Dahlia thought about it for a moment. “Have you seen Miss Piggy yet?” Dahlia told him.

“What is a Miss Piggy?” Grant laughed, looking dubious.

“Miss Piggy is a C-46 aircraft. She’s called Miss Piggy because she was able to hold so much freight. Years ago she actually did transport pigs on board.

She was to fly from Churchill to Chesterfield Inlet but lost oil pressure in her left engine shortly after departing Churchill. She crash-landed, and Miss Piggy became a tourist attraction, sitting there gutted on the rocks.”

“Interesting,” he agreed. “But how does this teach the boys?”

“The load was probably too heavy. Later they speculated it wasn’t properly checked. That’s likely what caused the crash.” She raised an eyebrow. “How would you like to be the guy who loaded that plane? A mistake like that—” She let it trail away.

“It could have cost lives,” he finished, nodding. “I see where you’re going,” Grant said. “Being responsible in everything so you don’t cost people their lives, doing your job in every detail, not sloughing off just to get a paycheck—it would be a good lesson for the boys.” He checked his watch. “I’m supposed to meet with them in twenty minutes. Want to come?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” she asked, thrilled to be included.

“Not at all. Are you done here?”

“I am. It’ll be nice to have an excuse to go to Lives and see Arlen.”

Grant was silent as they walked back to her vehicle. When they arrived, he stopped and laid his hand on her arm. Her skin began to tingle at his touch.

“I want to mention something, Dahlia. About Arlen.”

The serious tone of his voice made Dahlia steel herself.

“Arlen’s got a lot of pent-up emotions. He wants to lash out. You’re making yourself a perfect target for his anger by being so available to him.” Grant’s eyes held hers.

“I just want to be his friend,” she said, blushing under his scrutiny.

“Arlen may not be ready to be friends, with anybody.” His gaze softened, chasing away the chill of the afternoon. “Dahlia, this kid—he’s not in a place where he can appreciate that you’re trying to help him. He’s locked up in his own painful world. You might have to back off for a while.”

“I care about him,” she said stubbornly. “How can I not feel that?”

“I’m not saying don’t care.” Grant smiled. “Just protect yourself.”

“How?” she demanded.

“Don’t be so—” He searched for the right word. “Vulnerable,” he said at last. “He’s getting his kicks from seeing your disappointment when he slights you or ignores you. Don’t focus on him alone. Treat him as one of the group and if he doesn’t respond, ignore him.”

Dahlia hated hearing those words and for a moment, she wanted to argue. But Grant was a counselor and part of her knew he was right. They got in her car and headed toward Lives.

“I don’t want Arlen to hurt you,” Grant said breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “But he seems to want to. For some reason I think hurting you helps him, maybe takes the focus off of what’s really underneath all that pain.”

“I’ll try to be more blasé with him,” she said at last. “But I’m not giving up. I still want to adopt him.”

“I know, but—” Grant was obviously struggling with something. Finally, he said, “He has a mom, Dahlia.”

Dahlia was surprised to hear this. She’d thought Arlen was all alone.

“She made him a ward of the court,” Grant added.

“So he doesn’t really have a family, and his mother obviously isn’t meeting his needs,” Dahlia argued. “So maybe I can be his refuge.”

Grant frowned. He opened his mouth, but Dahlia cut him off.

“I am going to have this boy in my life. Somehow. And you can’t talk me out of it.”

Grant nodded, but his face grew very serious, as if he was deeply troubled by her words.

Everything Grant had said depressed her. But Arlen was exactly like her brother. He needed her and she was going to be there for him. She would not fail again. Grant made her feel as if her dream of adopting Arlen would never come true. And it had to. Because that was part of God’s plan for her, that’s why He’d laid this particular boy on her heart. She knew it just as she knew making the go-kart track was the task He’d given her to help the boys and prove herself strong.

When they pulled up to Lives, she stepped out of the truck and walked to the front door. She entered the building in front of Grant. All her apprehension melted at the sound of the boys’ laughter and the twins’ high-pitched squeals.

It was easy for Grant to warn her off—he had two amazing little girls in his life.

She had no one. But she would soon, somehow. She had to.

* * *

“How are you, Arlen?”

Grant gritted his teeth at the sound of Dahlia’s ingratiating tone. Hadn’t the woman heard anything he’d said? He held his breath, waiting for the boy’s sour retort. Arlen didn’t respond.

Grant stepped into the kitchen, wondering why. He caught his breath at the sight of Arlen seated at the table, with a twin on either side. He was folding paper into an airplane. A huge smile transformed his usually surly face. Grant caught his breath when Glory reached up to touch his cheek.

Don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her.

But Arlen’s smile only grew as he smoothed the mess of curls off her face. “Didn’t you comb your hair this morning, Glory?” he said in a very tender voice.

“Daddy tried, but he’s not very good at it.”

Grant’s face burned at this condemnation.

“She gets knots,” Grace explained. “Daddy doesn’t like hurting her so he bundles her hair up like that. But it never stays. Are you going to make me an airplane, too, Arlen?”

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