Читать книгу North Country Dad - Lois Richer - Страница 11

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.