North Country Dad

“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 (#ulink_bbefe2b2-fbfa-5326-94ab-637ed731c971)

“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.