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Overview
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.
Northern Lights:
On the edge of the Arctic, love awaits
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.
Northern Lights: On the edge of the Arctic, love awaits
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781460341155 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Harlequin |
| Publication date: | 10/01/2014 |
| Series: | Northern Lights , #4 |
| Sold by: | HARLEQUIN |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 224 |
| File size: | 277 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
"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 exfiancé 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.
