Alaskan Sweethearts (18 page)

Hunter knew she’d never make it. She’d have to cross the creek and climb the twenty-foot embankment on the other side.

“Joey,” Scarlett’s grandmother moaned as she and Hunter’s grandfather rushed over to where Scarlett stood.

Hunter reached out and stopped Scarlett.

“Not you,” he said, his voice low. He’d seen the reflection on the guns those two men coming toward Victor had. “I’ll go.”

He couldn’t bear the thought of Scarlett being hurt.

The woman turned to him, her jaw slack in surprise at his words.

“I’ve got to go,” she said. “It’s Joey. I don’t know how Victor got hold of him. Joey must have seen him and—”

“Trust me,” Hunter asked.

He could see the moment when she decided she did.

That was all he needed. Hunter took a sure foot forward. He needed to move quickly, but it needed to be smooth so Joey’s father didn’t feel as if he was being rushed. The police were due to check in any minute now. If he could just keep things stable until then.

* * *

Scarlett stood there, frozen with fear. She didn’t want to believe that Victor would hurt their son, but she didn’t know if he would or not.

Please, God, save my baby,
she prayed, and the very act of turning to God freed a torrent of emotion loose in her.

She had no choice but to trust in God and Hunter to help her. She fell to her knees as she watched Hunter move steadily toward Victor. Thus far, her ex-husband didn’t seem to realize that the other man was ready to cross the creek and would soon be climbing up the embankment where he stood. She knew the two men coming from the opposite direction were distracting Victor from Hunter.

He’s got my baby,
Scarlett prayed further as though God didn’t know.

She had watched Joey squirm in Victor’s hold. Her ex-husband had turned to face the men coming toward him and she could see Joey more clearly. Then one of the men lifted an arm and she saw the gun he held.

“No,” she whispered so low no one but God could have heard.

The realization pierced through her that she was too far away to move fast enough to save her son if that man started shooting. It made her alarmed at first and then she felt a peace rush through her. She breathed more evenly. When pushed to the admission, she did trust God and Hunter. Not through reason, but through knowing each of them as she did.

Hunter had crouched as he’d climbed the far side of the embankment, but then she saw him start to rise and run.

Joey had freed himself somewhat from his father’s hold, mostly because Victor was trying to hide behind Joey and had to loosen his grip to do so. Scarlett saw that her ex-husband was going to use their child as a shield against the bullets that might come at any time from that raised gun. Then Joey scrambled up until he was sitting on top of Victor’s shoulder. She saw him squish up his face the way he did when he was taking medicine. Then he held his arms wide, braced his feet against his father’s back and yelled.

“Geronimo.”

Her son’s shout shook the air as he launched himself from his father and jumped right over the embankment.

Dear Lord,
Scarlett prayed, too terrified to say more. She saw her son tuck and roll his body into a ball as he pummeled through the air. And then she saw Hunter race up the side of the embankment, opening his arms at the right moment to gather Joey to his chest so the boy didn’t fall. Together they rolled down the embankment.

By then the bullets were whizzing. She wasn’t sure if the man with the gun was aiming at Victor or Joey or the police who had showed up behind them.

“Drop your weapons!” the police bullhorn blared out the message.

Scarlett didn’t have room inside her to be any more scared so she kept her eyes on her son and the man who had saved him.

Everything was a blur then. Police seemed to be everywhere—on this side of the embankment and in the cemetery on the other side. The two gunmen had their hands up in surrender and Victor stood clenching Joey’s teddy bear. Scarlett realized she’d need to suggest the police search the insides of that bear if they didn’t do it automatically. She suspected the stolen drug money had been closer to them this whole time than they knew.

It took a few minutes for her to be able to stand. By that time Joey and Hunter were walking toward her, both triumphant in their success. When they reached her, she just held out her arms and they both walked into her embrace. She never wanted to move again.

Joey squirmed away from them after a bit, but Hunter kept his arm around her even when they turned to face their grandparents. Neither of the older couple made any remarks about the long hug. In fact, they were squeezing Joey too much to notice.

“He doesn’t like the mushy stuff,” Scarlett whispered to Hunter.

“It’s the price of being a hero,” Hunter murmured back.

“Well, you’re my hero, too,” Scarlett said then, turning so she faced the man.

“I was hoping you’d see it that way,” Hunter said with a grin. “I like the mushy stuff.”

He bent his head to kiss her.

Scarlett felt her world tilt a little with that kiss. “I’m not sure about us,” she whispered when she could breathe. “I need—”

Hunter nodded. “I know. You need some time. And I’m letting you have it. I just want you to know I love you and I’m going to be proposing regularly every Saturday for the next six months.”

“Marriage?” she asked, stunned.

“Marriage. Family. The whole works,” Hunter said with a grin.

She let the suggestion sink into her heart and found it didn’t frighten her the way she thought it would.

“Six months is a long time,” she said then, a teasing note in her voice.

She felt his smile as he kissed her.

“I might be ready in two,” she said.

“I love you, Scarlett Murphy.”

“I love you, too, Hunter Jacobson.”

“Truthfully, I’m Colin Hunter Jacobson. I might take my full name back again.”

She nodded. “I approve.”

When they kissed this time, they didn’t even hear the grandparents cheering them on.

Epilogue

T
he wedding was exactly two months and three weeks from the day that Scarlett drove into Dry Creek, Montana, and met Hunter. They’d talked about having it out at the house where they would be living—the one that the elder Jacobson had given to the Murphy family. In the months after they’d arrived back in Dry Creek, they’d restored the house until it sparkled with new tiles and paint. The roof had been repaired and Joey’s bedroom was decorated like a pirate’s den.

They might have expected the gossips in Dry Creek to exclaim that they were marrying in haste, but their grandparents had saved them from that fate by getting married themselves three weeks before Scarlett walked down the aisle of the church in Dry Creek to where Hunter awaited.

The elder Jacobson had maintained that he and his Maggie needed to marry first so that he could do the honor of walking Scarlett down the aisle as her new grandpa. Hunter had worried that two hasty marriages didn’t make either one of them respectable in the eyes of the neighbors, but he had learned upon returning from Nome that the congregation had unanimously voted him in as their new treasurer. The reason no one had assigned him to the rotation of passing the collection plate was that it was tradition for the treasurer to do the recount each Sunday to check those who passed the plate.

As it turned out, people were more forgiving than Hunter had expected and the whole town had turned out for his wedding. The church was flooded with roses. Red, pink and white. The bridesmaid, Scarlett’s sister Fiona, wore a frothy pink gown. The sister’s hair shone in the candlelight. Hunter asked his brother Cash to be his best man and rented him a tuxedo. His other brother, Kurt, was head usher.

Joey was the ring bearer and, at the last minute, his new puppy, from Sally’s new litter, ran down the aisle behind him. He had several barn kittens at home, but he knew it would be beneath their dignity to have to escort him at a wedding.

Joey had recovered from his scare after Scarlett assured him his father and the other two men were in prison. He hadn’t known that his father put money in his bear, and once he had the puppy to play with, he let go of his bear.

Scarlett and Hunter had written some of their own vows and the word “trust” appeared in them so often that the attorney, Edward Monroe, turned to his wife and smiled.

“They made it,” he whispered as she patted his hand in agreement.

At the moment the pastor said the groom could kiss his bride, Hunter dipped his head to claim Scarlett as his own.

When the kiss ended, the bridal couple looked into each other’s eyes for a minute.

“I love you,” Scarlett whispered. “I trust you.”

“It’s the same for me,” Hunter said.

Then the two of them turned to face the congregation.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from NORTH COUNTRY DAD by Lois Richer.

Dear Reader,

I am delighted that you have chosen to read the first of my North to Dry Creek books.

The desire to write about Alaska started before I even had a story idea. I’d visited the state a few times and it’s gorgeous. So I went to visit my sister, Doris, who lives in Anchorage and, from there, we flew up to Nome, Alaska. Dennis Weidler, the General Manager of the KCIY Christian radio station located there, graciously showed us around the area. He was the one who informed me that Nome had a Dry Creek. Once I knew that, the ideas started to flow and I decided I wanted to connect this northern Dry Creek with the Montana Dry Creek you’ve all read about.

The Jacobson family, ranchers in Dry Creek, Montana, allowed me to tell my story.

If you have time, look me up on Facebook and let me know you enjoy the series.

Sincerely yours,

Questions for Discussion

1. Hunter Jacobson felt responsible for his grandfather’s schemes. Have you ever felt responsible for something that you couldn’t control? What responsibility did Hunter have to his grandfather?
   
2. Hunter mentioned that he thought God would take care of his grandfather’s problem once he and the older man made their peace with God and returned to church. Was that a sound conclusion? Was it ultimately true or not? Can you think of a time when you made a bargain like that with God? What happened?
   
3. Hunter was a worrier. What things do you worry about? Does God want us to worry?
   
4. Scarlett Murphy clearly blamed the Jacobson family for the hard life her family had endured. Do you think her resentment made her life better or worse? Have you had a resentment that you couldn’t seem to shake?
   
5. The problems between the two families started decades before the book began. What could the two partners have done to stop the estrangement? Of the two men, who do you think loved Scarlett’s grandmother the most?
   
6. Do you think Hunter’s grandfather owed the Murphy family the land he was willing to give them? Why or why not?
   
7. Scarlett’s grandmother kept secret the value of the diamond ring so her grandchildren felt they had some security. Was this wise? What else could she have done? What would you have done in her situation?
   
8. Hunter’s brothers left the family ranch because they didn’t agree with their grandfather’s actions. Was Hunter right to stay?
   

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

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Chapter One

“W
e’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.