North Country Mom

“I doubt it.” Jack said it with a bald fierceness, his gaze on his daughter. “I’m moving for Giselle, to keep her safe.” His jaw clenched and a tiny tic appeared.

“Oh. Is she in danger?” Alicia couldn’t contain her curiosity about this obviously hurting man and his very cute daughter.

“Maybe.” He gave Alicia the kind of look that sized her up in about three seconds. “Her mom was an internal-affairs cop. We thought she’d be safer there than on the street. Turns out we were wrong. Simone was killed by a dirty cop two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” Alicia’s heart winced at the grief that colored his voice. “So you’re left to take care of Giselle on your own. But you can’t do that if you’re working as a cop, so you bought the hotel,” she guessed. “Good for you.”

“And because Laurel’s here in Churchill. She’s the only family we have left.” Jack’s gaze drifted to the other passengers, who were settling into a drowsy state as spring’s twilight faded and darkness fluttered over the land.

Then he faced her, a line of strain deepening around his mouth. His blue eyes turned navy. Alicia felt the tension emanating from him.

“I’ll do anything to protect Giselle,” he said in a fierce voice. “Including figuring out a new occupation. It helps that Laurel has a friend who is a mega-hotelier. His name is Teddy Stonechild and he comes to Churchill a lot. He promised to help me get the place up and running.”

“Giselle will be safe in Churchill. We’re so isolated that most of the world barely knows we exist,” Alicia said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I hope that’s not true.” A smile tried to play with the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Otherwise, my hotel will go broke.”

“Highly unlikely. Teddy knows everything about running a hotel. He should, given how many he has.” Alicia shrugged. “Anyway, the polar bear seekers book every available room from mid-September to November, the northern lights hunters come in January and February, and we get a lot of folks stopping by to see the belugas from now till fall. Lodging in Churchill is very limited and very relaxed, so I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“I hope so.” The words emerged in a quiet murmur as Jack stared at his daughter. “Because failure is not an option.”

“I’ll say a prayer for you and Giselle,” she offered.

“I doubt that will make a difference.” His voice hardened. “God abandoned us when He let Simone die.”

“God doesn’t abandon His children.” Alicia bristled under the look Jack gave her, a look that said he thought she was being childish. “Believe me, I know.”

“Why? Do you have kids?” Jack asked.

“I’m single,” she said firmly. Then, lest he think she was angling for a date, she added, “And I intend to stay that way.”

“Not exactly what I asked.” His gaze narrowed. “But I agree with you. I intend to stay single, too.”

“Oh?” A hunk like him staying single? In Churchill? Alicia almost laughed.

“I will never allow myself to go through losing someone I care for again.” The absolute loss in Jack’s voice killed her amusement. When he spoke again, his voice was more even. “If you had kids, you’d understand how they become the focus of your life. You’ll do anything for them. Giselle is my world. Besides her, nothing else matters.”

I do understand what you mean, Jack. I know exactly how you feel. I’d do anything to keep my son safe. But I don’t know where he is, or how to find him.

“Sorry, guess I’m not very good company tonight,” Jack muttered turning away. The keep-away signs were clearly posted. Only natural, given he’d lost his wife.

Not that Alicia was interested in Jack. The idea of a relationship with any man scared her. That was her legacy from Vancouver. After the attack she’d never felt safe there, so she’d come to isolated Churchill, got a job and eventually, with the help of her dear friends, she’d bought her store.

Churchill was Alicia’s escape from the ugliness of her past.

Minutes passed. She felt Jack’s occasional scrutiny but kept staring out the window. She didn’t want to talk anymore. Not now that the dark curtain of memories had fallen around her. Her heart ached with the same old longing—to know her child was safe, loved, cared for. If only God would answer that prayer.

Not that Alicia had any right to ask a thing of God. Giving her son away when he was most vulnerable made her unworthy of motherhood.

But I was vulnerable, too, her heart cried. I didn’t know I’d never see him again. Don’t let him grow up alone and scared like I was, Lord. Please keep him safe.

Her cell phone vibrated. She snapped it open. “Hello.”

“It’s me. Listen, Alicia, there’s something you must know. Jeremy Parcet has been asking questions about you.” Nancy Runningbear’s voice was as clear as if she was seated beside Alicia in the train instead of miles away in Vancouver. “He’s been looking up kids who were in your class, asking them where you are, what you’re doing, stuff like that.”

“M-Mr. Parcet is?” Terror stole Alicia’s breath. “Why?”

“His father died. Apparently there’s a stipulation in his will that Jeremy must show proof of an heir within three years or he can’t inherit.” Her old friend paused. “I was told Jeremy’s wife can’t have children,” she murmured.

Alicia’s throat choked with fear.

“My guess is he’s done some research, knows you got pregnant after he attacked you and is now after the child.” Nancy harrumphed her disgust. “I thought you should know.”

“Thank you.” The words came out in a whisper.

“Don’t thank me. That man was someone you trusted, your teacher for goodness’ sake. He should be in jail for what he did to you.” Nancy paused. Alicia could hear Nancy’s husband’s voice in the background. “Harold’s telling me to get to the point which is, if Jeremy can prove he’s a father, he’ll be able to inherit. It’s around four million, Alicia, very big motivation to find you. Once he does, he’ll turn up and press for details about your child. You have to be careful.”

“Yes.” Fear clamped a band around the back of Alicia’s neck. “I appreciate your warning, Nancy,” she murmured, checking over one shoulder to be certain no one was listening. “I’ll always be grateful for the way you and Harold took me in back then. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“God would have provided someone else,” Nancy assured her, her voice cracking. “He always does. We’re just happy He used us. I have to go now. You be careful.”

“I will. Thanks for the heads up. Bye.”

Alicia stared into the darkness outside while she absorbed what she’d heard. The wheels clicked over the tracks in a rhythmic motion that had apparently lulled Jack to sleep. She peeked over at him again. The man was certainly handsome. But she couldn’t think about his looks or the way his raspy voice made her skin tingle.

The same ten-year-old prayer sighed from Alicia’s heart. Surely God would answer soon. Surely this time He’d protect her from Mr. Parcet. If not her, because she’d failed to be the mother she should have, then surely for her innocent child.

She’d let herself imagine expanding her business, but she ought to know that God didn’t give people like her their dreams. That was for better people, people who didn’t make terrible mistakes like giving away their child.

But the past didn’t matter now. She had to concentrate on finding her son, on making certain he was safe and loved. And far away from Jeremy Parcet, her rapist.

Again Alicia’s gaze rested on Jack. He’d been a detective. Maybe— No! Asking him for help would mean revealing her past. She could imagine the disgust she’d see in those blue eyes.

No. She’d have to handle this herself.

Chapter Two

Painful prickles woke Jack around three-thirty. He tried to shift his sleeping arm but a weight held him down. Waking more fully, he peered through the darkness at the woman whose head rested against his shoulder.

She reminded him of the Indian maiden in that show Giselle used to love when she was little. Pocahontas. Only Alicia Featherstone was prettier. Those high, defined cheekbones and straight, proud nose proclaimed her Native Canadian ancestry. Her hair, almost black as a raven’s wing, was bound in thick braids and tied at the ends by strings of leather woven with turquoise beads. Thick bangs fringed her broad forehead ending just above arched black eyebrows.

Though her eyes were closed, he knew they were a rich espresso that turned black when she was upset. Lush lashes rested on dusky cheekbones. Her full lips pursed as she gave a tiny shiver and shifted her head to a more comfortable position against his shoulder.

Alicia wore no rings. She’d said she was single, which Laurel had told him in passing. His sister had also mentioned that Alicia had planned a big summer project for the Lives Under Construction boys—building a sod house like the Cree Indians would have used when the first settlers came to Churchill. As soon as Laurel had been certain he was moving to Churchill, she’d asked Jack to help.

Alicia doesn’t know the meaning of overdoing, his sister had told him. Nothing stops her from giving her all. She’s what Mom used to call a giver. She thinks she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to.

Not a bad thing to believe. He’d hidden his chagrin at Laurel’s request. You think she’s in over her head?