скачать книгу бесплатно
“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?
No, but a whole house? It’s too much for her. I know you and Simone volunteered with the restoration work on that sod building at the museum in Vancouver. You must have picked up some knowledge. Laurel had pinned him with her gaze. The boys are really looking forward to this, Jack. They’re planning a community celebration when it’s finished, to show off their handiwork. You’ll help Alicia, won’t you?
If I have time, Jack had finally agreed. Running the hotel is going to be a steep learning curve, sis. It’s not something I’ve ever done.
It won’t be like running a big-city hotel. Laurel had chuckled. Anyway Teddy will be here for the whole summer to help. He’s grooming his son to take over his hotel empire. Teddy wants to give him time to manage on his own. With an expert like him to teach you, you’ll have lots of time for Alicia.
That’s when Jack had noticed something in his sister’s voice, something that he had to nip in the bud.
Don’t matchmake, Laurel, he’d warned. Don’t even consider it. I’m not interested in anyone. At all. Ever.
Ever? Laurel had smiled sympathetically. I know Simone’s death hit both you and Giselle hard. Give it a little more time.
More time? For what? It felt as if he’d barely survived the past two years. Jack was pretty sure more time wouldn’t heal the gaping hole in his heart. Simone had been his high school sweetheart. They’d done everything together. They’d been soul mates. That only happened once in a lifetime and God had ended it.
Now Giselle would be the focus of his world.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to crush you.” The soft apology broke through his thoughts as Alicia jerked away. Cool air chilled his arm where her warm cheek had rested. Her face bore a flush of embarrassment. “Please excuse me.”
“No problem.” He rotated his shoulder, trying to ignore her scrutiny through the shadows. It didn’t work. He subconsciously noticed every detail about her. Not because he was interested, he told himself. Just a habit left over from his law-enforcement days.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
“I’m not used to sitting so long.” His nose twitched at the scent she wore. He’d noticed it earlier. Something dried and earthy, like an herb. Sage? “Are you full-blooded Cree?”
“Yes.” She looked a bit surprised at his sudden question but didn’t volunteer any more. Instead, she averted her eyes as if hiding something.
“Where do your parents live?” Why did he feel compelled to learn more about her?
“They died when I was thirteen.” Alicia faced him, her eyes darkening to black diamonds. “My dad was a pilot. They were returning from visiting a friend up north when their plane crashed. I was sent to live in Vancouver with a distant relative.” Her gaze challenged him. Any other questions?
“I didn’t mean to pry,” he apologized.
“It’s not a secret. Anyone in Churchill could have told you the same thing,” she said.
But Jack was pretty sure they couldn’t tell him any other details about Alicia Featherstone. According to Laurel, she kept to herself. He guessed most people respected the resolute barriers she wore like shields.
“Can I ask you a question?” Alicia murmured.
“I guess.” He waited warily, hoping she didn’t have the wrong impression. Alicia was very pretty but he wasn’t interested.
Liar.
“What’s with the boots?” Her gaze fell to his feet.
“You don’t like them?” Jack held out one foot, admiring the feel of the supple leather snuggled against his toes without pinching.
“They’re great. Very, uh, pretty.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s just that you don’t strike me as the pretty type.”
“Thanks.” Jack smothered his chuckle when she dipped her head. “It’s not about fashion. I do—did,” he corrected gloomily, “a lot of work on my feet. I decided early on that I wasn’t going to be a literal flatfoot so I bought good shoes.”
“You do realize they’ll be ruined in Churchill?” she warned. “You must have noticed on previous visits that we only have pavement in some places. Other streets are gravel. The worst roads around town are dirt. If you wear those on the beach, the stones will poke through the soles and you’ll suffer a lot worse than flat feet.” She thrust out her own foot. “Trust me. You will end up in ordinary hiking boots, just like the rest of us.”
“Never.” He liked her dare-you attitude. “Tell me about your store.”
“Tansi?” She frowned, leaned her head to one side. “I told you. I gather First Nations work from all across Canada, some of it very unusual. I try to sell it with bits of history attached, to give tourists perspective on how the piece came to be, what it means to our culture.”
Jack noted how a sparkle lit up her eyes as she spoke. It was clear Alicia loved her work. He paid close attention as she continued.
“There’s a lot of prejudice toward Native Canadians.” Her chin thrust out as if to defend her people. “I’m trying to create a bridge by showing and teaching the values in our culture. I want to help people appreciate the meaning of their purchase.”
“What kinds of things do you sell?” He wanted to keep her talking. She intrigued him. Surprising when nothing had really interested him for ages.
“My stock changes constantly. There are no two things alike. At the moment I have an Inuit carving of a walrus, very tiny but perfectly detailed. A woman makes beaded slippers with real rabbit fur trim for my shop. She lives entirely off the land. This trip I restocked silver and beaded earrings made by a village elder who is wheelchair-bound but the most creative lady you’ll ever meet.” Alicia shrugged. “I also have some paintings of the northern lights, knitting that’s been dyed from local plants, photos of the area. All kinds of things.”
“And I’m sure the polar bears are represented, too,” he teased.
“Of course. Bears are an important part of Cree culture,” she said.
“Do you make any of these crafts?”
“I’m not really talented in that way.” The light in her eyes faded to a dull mud tone. “I never had much time to learn the old ways because I was taken from my community when my parents died.”
“Were you adopted?” he asked, curiosity growing.
“No. I was thirteen. Adoptive parents want babies or very young kids.” She frowned at him. “Why did you ask that?”
“Just wondering.” But Jack knew he couldn’t shut down like that. He’d poked into her life; turnabout was fair play. Besides, he needed help to figure out his next move. “Giselle is adopted. My wife wanted to keep it a secret as long as she could. I didn’t agree but Simone was adamant. Then she died. I thought I’d tell Giselle when she turned sixteen.”
“But she found out first?” Alicia guessed.
“Yes.” His lips tightened into a line. “Two months ago she found her mother’s old diary and figured out we weren’t her birth parents.”
“It happens.” Alicia didn’t say any more but somehow Jack felt her empathy.
“She’s really angry that we didn’t tell her.” He sighed. “That’s natural, I guess. But she keeps demanding more information about her birth family.”
“And you don’t want to tell her?” Disapproval laced her voice.
“I can’t tell her more because I don’t know any more.” Jack’s jaw clenched. Why had he started this?
Alicia leaned against the window of the train, her gaze on him.
“I have so little information.” He raked a hand through his hair as helplessness gripped him. “There’s nothing to go on. Simone insisted on a closed adoption. That means that Giselle can’t find out anything more than what we already know until she’s eighteen. Then she can request the adoption agency in British Columbia to open her file.”
“Normal procedure.”
Jack nodded. Did Alicia know about adoptions? If she did, maybe she could talk to Giselle, help her understand it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get the answers she wanted.
“I’m assuming her birth father’s name wasn’t listed or is a dead end?” Alicia asked.
