North Country Dad. Lois Richer
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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,