The Soldier’s Homecoming

Back home to heal, army veteran Kyle Loness can’t wait to leave the town that holds such sad memories. He never expects beautiful newcomer Sara Kane to enlist his help with the town’s new youth center. What does he know about helping kids? But the more time he spends with the troubled teens—and Sara—the more the jaded soldier feels his defenses crumbling. It might take Sara—and the kids—to open his guarded heart to love again.

Northern Lights: On the edge of the Arctic, love awaits.

“I’m not the kind of person

men want to marry.”

“You’re not?” Kyle’s eyes did a head-to-toe scan of her. “Why?”

“I’m not pretty,” Sara admitted, embarrassed. “I don’t know anything about fashion or how to dress. I certainly don’t know anything about love or, uh, romance. I’ve never even dated.”

“Sara, not every man is concerned about glamour or looks. Not that you have to worry. You’re a very beautiful woman.” He touched her arm as if to reinforce his words. “But what matters most is that you have a generous, tender heart that cares for people. That’s the most attractive thing about you.”

Inside her heart the persistent flicker of admiration she always felt for him flared into a full-fledged flame. But Sara didn’t know how to respond. If she wasn’t careful, his kindness would coax her into confessing the ugliness of her past and then he’d see that she wasn’t any of those things he’d said.

LOIS RICHER

began her travels the day she read her first book and realized that fiction provided an extraordinary adventure. Creating that adventure for others became her obsession. With millions of books in print, Lois continues to enjoy creating stories of joy and hope. She and her husband love to travel, which makes it easy to find the perfect setting for her next story. Lois would love to hear from you via www.loisricher.com, loisricher@yahoo.com or on Facebook.

North Country Hero

Lois Richer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Jehovah hears the cries of his needy ones

and does not look the other way.

—Psalms 69:33

I wrote this story after losing my father last September.

I dedicate this book to his memory.

I love you, Dad.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“I’ve already told you, Marla. I don’t want to get involved with this ‘Lives Under Construction’ place.”

The anger in the man’s voice and the mention of her new employer piqued Sara Kane’s interest so much, she stopped reading her book on the northern lights.

“Yes, Marla,” he said with a weary sigh. “I know you told me I need to get involved, that you believe it will facilitate my recovery. And I will get involved. Eventually. But I told you I’m only going back home to Churchill to settle things. I’m not looking to get involved and I’m certainly not staying.”

Sara suddenly realized she was listening in on someone’s private cell phone conversation. Shame suffused her, but it wasn’t as if he was whispering!

Sara tried to refocus on her book but couldn’t because he was speaking again.

“Fine,” he agreed with some exasperation. “I promise you I will touch base with Laurel Quinn while I’m there, since you’ve already told her I’m coming.”

Did that mean this man knew Laurel? Maybe he, like her, was one of Laurel’s former foster kids, Sara mused.

“But touching base is all I’m going to promise you, Marla. You’ve been a wonderful therapist, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I have to stand on my own two feet now.” Though he barked out a laugh, Sara heard an underlying bitterness. “Two feet—get it? That was supposed to be a joke.”

Sara didn’t understand what was so funny, but then that wasn’t unusual. At twenty-two, there were a lot of things she didn’t understand. But she would. She was going to Churchill, Canada, to work, but while she was there she intended to do all the things she’d missed during the ten miserable years she’d been in foster care.

First on her to-do list was finding her birth mother.

“I don’t know what my future plans are, Marla. That’s what I need to figure out.” The man’s voice suddenly dropped. “Everything I loved doing is impossible now.”

The words brimmed with such misery, Sara had to force herself not to turn around and comfort him.

Don’t give up, she ached to tell him. Life will get better.

“You’re breaking up, Marla. I’ll call you after I get to Churchill. Bye.”

Churchill, Manitoba. Her new home.

A wiggle of satisfaction ran through Sara. This was her chance to start over. This was her opportunity to figure out how to be like everyone else instead of always being the oddball, and how to have the life she’d dreamed of for so long. Most of all, it was her opportunity to find the love she craved.

For Sara, Churchill would be a beginning. But for the man in the seat behind her, it sounded as if Churchill was going to be an ending. She couldn’t help wondering why.

The train rumbled along. People went to the dining car to eat their dinner. Forewarned by Laurel, Sara had brought along a lunch so she could save her money. The thermos of homemade soup was warm and filling. She’d just sipped a mouthful when he rose behind her. His hand pressed the seat back near her head, dragging on it as he stood. A moment later he walked past her down the aisle, paused politely for a woman with a child to precede him, then followed her into the next car. Sara’s curiosity mushroomed.

When the angle of his body and the dim overhead lights didn’t give her a good view of his face, Sara decided she’d pay more attention when he returned. That way she could ask Laurel about him when they arrived in Churchill.

But though she waited long hours, the man did not return. Frustrated that her formerly fascinating book on the northern lights no longer held her attention because he kept intruding into her thoughts, she finally exchanged that book for another in her bag, a romance about a hero determined to find the love of his life, who’d disappeared five years ago.

Yet even that couldn’t stop Sara’s mind from straying back to him. He was returning to Churchill. Because someone he loved had lived there, someone he’d had to leave behind? For a while she let the romantic daydream she’d been reading become his story. What would it be like to be loved so deeply that someone actually came to find you?

The train seemed to hum as it rolled along the tracks. Outside, darkness began to drape the landscape. Weariness overcame Sara. She leaned back to rest her eyes and again her thoughts returned to him. She’d heard deep longing in his voice when he’d mentioned settling things, as if he ached for someone.

Sara didn’t understand a lot of things, but she understood that feeling.

She ached, too, for somebody to love her.

Maybe, just maybe, she could find the love she sought in Churchill.

* * *

“Churchill, Manitoba. End of the line.”

Kyle Loness grimaced at the prophetic nature of the conductor’s statement. This seemed like the end of the line for him, for sure.

He peered out the window, waiting for everyone else to leave before he rose and reached for his duffel bag. The bed in his sleeper hadn’t afforded much rest. Now the bag’s extra weight dragged on him, making his bad leg protest as he went down the aisle to the door. He winced at arrow-sharp stabs of pain. Though it felt as if there were still glass shards in his calf from the explosion, he knew that was a mirage.

He knew because there were no nerves below his knee. In fact, there was no leg. A prosthesis allowed Kyle to walk. Yet the phantom pains were very real, and for a moment, just before he stepped onto the platform, he wished he’d downed another pain pill.

“Can I help you?”

The whisper-soft query came from a young woman dressed in clothes clearly inadequate for this place. Her long caramel-brown hair flew every which way, tormented by a gust of icy wind off Hudson Bay. Her gray-shot-with-silver eyes blinked at him, wide and innocent-looking between the strands. She shuddered once, before steeling herself against the elements.

“Thanks, but I’ll manage.” Kyle immediately regretted his gruff refusal as surprise flickered across her face. But she said nothing. She simply nodded once and waited for him to move.

To prove he was fully capable of maneuvering, Kyle stepped down too quickly. He would have toppled onto the platform if not for the woman’s quick reaction. She stepped forward, eased her shoulder under his arm and took most of his weight as he finished his ungainly descent.

While Kyle righted himself, his brain processed several fleeting impressions. First, she seemed too frail to survive Churchill. Her thin face looked gaunt and far too pallid in the blazing sun. The second thing Kyle noted was that she jerked away from him as soon as he was stable, as if she didn’t like him touching her.

Well, why would she? He wasn’t exactly hunk material, especially not since a roadside bomb had blown off his leg and scarred most of the rest of him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, embarrassed that he’d needed her assistance.

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t smile. She just stood there, watching him. Waiting.

Kyle turned away, pulled up the sliding handle of his suitcase and leaned on it. He needed a moment to regroup before negotiating the long walk through the old train terminal and down the street toward his dad’s house.

Except—his breath snagged in his throat—his dad didn’t live there. Not ever again.

A knife edge of sorrow scraped his already-raw nerves. Kyle sucked in a breath and focused on getting out of here.

There were taxis in Churchill—two of them. But he was pretty sure both would have been commandeered by the first people off the train. He could wait for them to come back, but the thought of doing so made him feel as though he couldn’t rely on himself. He’d grown up learning how to be independent and he wasn’t about to give that up, despite his disability.

Kyle felt the burn of someone staring at him and knew it was her. The woman’s scrutiny puzzled him. Once they glimpsed his ugly scars, once they realized he was handicapped, most people—especially women—avoided looking at him. She didn’t. His surprise ballooned when her fingers touched his sleeve.

“May I know what happened?” she asked in that whisper-soft voice.

“I was in Afghanistan. I lost part of my leg.” The words slipped out automatically. He steeled himself for the mundane murmur of I’m sorry, which everyone offered.

It never came.

“I’m so glad you’re safe now,” she said.

The compassion in her eyes stunned Kyle as much as the brief squeeze she gave his arm.

“God bless you.”

God? Kyle wanted to snort his derision. But her sincerity choked his reaction. Why shower his frustration with God on her? It wasn’t her fault God had dumped him.

“Thanks.” Stupid that her fleeting touch should make him feel cared for.

Alone. You’re alone, Kyle. Get on with it.

They were the only two people left on the platform. Kyle led the way inside the terminal. She held the door for him but he refused to say thanks again. He didn’t want her help. Didn’t need it. Coming here was all about taking back control of his life. About not being dependent.

On anyone.

“Hey, Kyle.”

“Hey, Mr. Fox.” Kyle added the traditional Native greeting in Cree then waved his hand at the stationmaster he’d known since he’d moved here when he was ten. He ordered himself not to wince when the old man ogled his scarred face. Get used to it, he told himself. Folks in Churchill weren’t known for their reticence.

“What was that?” The young woman stood next to him, her head tilted to one side. “Those words you said?”

“That was Cree, a Native language. It means something like ‘How goes it?’” Kyle kept walking, pausing just long enough to greet his former schoolteacher in French before moving on.

“How many languages do you speak?” the woman asked.

“A few,” he admitted.

As a toddler, Kyle’s first words were in French, thanks to his European mother. Then as a child, while his father consulted for the military, he’d become fluent in both Pashto and Dari. After that, learning a new language had come easily. In fact, his knack for languages was what had changed Kyle’s status from reservist to active duty, and sent him to Afghanistan two years ago.

“It must be nice to speak to people in their own language.” The woman trailed along beside him, held the station door open until he’d negotiated through it, then followed him to the waiting area out front.

“Yeah.” He glanced around.

The parking lot was almost empty. Trains came to Churchill three times a week—often not on time, but they came. Natives of the town were used to the odd schedule and disembarked quickly after the seventeen-hour ride from Thompson, anxious to get home as fast as they could.

Tourists usually took longer to figure out the lay of the land. Local businesses got them settled, signed them up for some excursions if they could and fed them. Churchill made a lot of money from tourists. Except that somehow Kyle didn’t think the woman behind him was a tourist, he decided after taking a second look. It seemed as though she was looking for someone.

So who was she?

Once Kyle had known all the town regulars. But he hadn’t been home in two years, and a lot of things had changed. Things like the fact that his dad was never again going to stand beside him while they watched a polar bear and her cubs play among the ice floes in the bay.

Dad was gone and Kyle was damaged goods—too damaged now to scout the back country, climb the rocky shore or do anything else requiring intense physical effort. He wasn’t even sure he could manage the walk home.

He paused to reconnoiter while his hand massaged his hip, as if it could short-circuit the darts of pain now shooting upward.

“Is something wrong?” Her again. Her quiet question was neither intrusive nor demanding. Just a question.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Kyle grimaced. Again he sounded sharp, irritated. He didn’t mean to, but the rawness of the place matched his mood. Still, he’d better get rid of that chip on his shoulder. This woman was not his enemy. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Okay.” That calmness of hers—where did it come from? What made her so accepting, so gentle in the face of his irritation?

None of your business. Stop thinking about her.

But he couldn’t because the soft slap of her sneakers against the pavement told Kyle she was right behind him.

“Are you following me?” he asked, turning to stare at her.

“Sort of.” The wind had tinted her cheeks pink, but now the color intensified into a rose blush. “Someone was supposed to pick me up.” She checked the plain watch around her too-thin wrist.

Kyle thought he glimpsed the faint white mark of a scar, but then it was gone as she shifted her small overnight bag from one arm to the other.

“I’m late and they’re not here.”

“Stay here. They’ll come to the station for you. Everyone in Churchill knows when the train comes in.” He studied her again, curious about this waiflike woman. “Who are you waiting—?”

“Sara!” The yell came from a blond-haired woman who screeched her van to a halt, jumped out and rushed over from the parking lot. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” She flung her arms around the younger woman in a bear hug. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” Those silver-gray eyes grew shiny.

Tears? Why? he wondered.

“You must be Kyle Loness. Marla told me you were coming.” The new arrival laid a brief hug on him, too, then laughed. “Welcome to you, too, Kyle.”

Oddly enough the embrace felt good, even though it knocked Kyle slightly off balance.

“Thanks. I’m guessing you’re Laurel Quinn.” He smiled when she slid an arm around Sara’s waist and planted a hearty kiss on her cheek in the same way his mom had done to him before cancer had sapped her strength. “You’re the woman who’s starting the youth center, right?”

“That’s me. I see you know Sara.” Laurel glanced back and forth between them.

“Uh, not really,” he said, suddenly too aware of the younger woman standing silent, watching him. “We just got off the train together.”

“Well then, Sara, meet Kyle Loness. Kyle, this is Sara Kane. She’s going to be our cook at Lives Under Construction.” Laurel beamed as she proudly said the name.

“Lives Under Construction,” he repeated, remembering his conversation with Marla. “What exactly is that?” he asked, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to get involved.

“It’s an alternative approach to serving time for young offenders,” Laurel told him.

“Here?” He glanced around, struggling to put together the few pieces Marla had given him. “You’ve made Churchill your base?”

“Yes. It’s perfect. The boys can’t run away because there is no place to run to. With our quarters outside of town, it won’t be easy for them to create much mischief, either.” Like him, Laurel didn’t miss Sara’s shudder. “It’s cold out here and Sara’s not dressed for this wind. Why don’t you come with us, Kyle? You can see my project for yourself. I’ll drive you home later.”

Home. The word made his stomach clench.

“Kyle?” Laurel frowned at the long silence. Her gaze slipped to his leg. “Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

But it wasn’t okay at all. He’d had the prosthesis on for too long. His stump was shooting pins and needles to his hip. He’d never make the walk to his dad’s house in this condition. Might as well take the proffered ride and see what Laurel had created. There was nothing waiting for him at home, anyway. Not anymore. “I’d like to see your Lives Under Construction.”

He didn’t tell her he was also coming because he was curious about Sara, and her role in Laurel’s center for troubled youth.

They walked together to Laurel’s battered vehicle. Kyle took a second look at Sara, who shivered as the wind toyed with her coat. Ms. Kane didn’t look as though she could survive a group of young offenders or the rigors of cooking for hungry teens.

Actually, she looked as if she needed another hug.

Don’t get involved.

Despite the warning in his head, Kyle wondered what Sara’s story was. He’d first spotted her yesterday when they’d boarded the train. During the ride he’d seen her twice more and thought she’d seemed a little tense. But she’d visibly relaxed the moment Laurel appeared and now gazed at her with a mix of neediness, adulation and hope.

Sara grabbed his bag and put it in the back of Laurel’s van with her own small satchel. “You take the front.” She waited until he had, then crawled into the seat behind. She remained silent as Laurel talked about her project. She didn’t lean forward to hear. Obviously she knew all about the plans for Lives Under Construction. But then she’d have to if she was cooking there.

“We get our first six boys later this week.” Laurel steered out of the parking lot and took a right turn. “A mix of twelve-and thirteen-year-olds.”

Churchill’s only highway ended about fifty miles out of town. Kyle knew they wouldn’t go that far. Only the odd inquisitive tourist did that.

“None of these kids are model citizens.” Laurel shrugged. “They wouldn’t be in the system if they were.”

He remembered that Marla had said Laurel was a former social worker. So of course she would know about the legal system as it related to kids.

“How long will they be here?” The pain in his leg was letting up but his mouth was dry from the medication he’d taken earlier. Kyle swallowed with difficulty, congratulating himself when it seemed no one had noticed the squeak in his voice.

Until Sara leaned forward and handed him an unopened water bottle. Whoever she was, this woman saw too much. Intrigued by Sara but also by Laurel’s project in spite of his determination to remain detached, Kyle took a sip.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Sara said.

“I have been given a one-year license.” Laurel’s pride was obvious. “If nobody messes up, the kids will be here for that long. I hope to get them excited about their education.”

“Local school?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

“Yes. As much as possible, I want them to become part of the community.” Laurel hit the brakes to swerve around a red fox that raced across the road. She must have seen his grimace of pain as his shoulder bounced off the door frame. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Spring always brings them out.” Kyle glanced around, noting the many signs of spring. New birth, new life. His dad’s favorite season. His heart pinched.

“This is spring?” Sara hugged herself tighter into her thin coat. “It can’t be more than a few degrees above freezing outside!”

“That’s warm for Churchill in May.” Kyle twisted to look at her. “Enjoy it. When it gets hot, the bugs come out. That’s not fun.”

A tiny groan pushed through Sara’s bluish-tinted lips before she subsided into silence.

When they finally pulled into the drive of a building that dated back to World War II, Laurel pointed out the renovations she’d incorporated into the old army barracks.

“It will do to begin with. Later I hope to expand and add on.” She pulled open the heavy door. “Come on in. I’ll give you both the grand tour. Then we’ll have coffee.”

Having gained respite from his pain during the car ride, Kyle followed Laurel and Sara into the massive structure, proud that he wasn’t limping too badly and therefore wouldn’t garner anyone’s sympathy. He’d had enough sympathy for a lifetime.

“I’m impressed with what you’ve accomplished here,” he told her, admiring the changes in the old building. It came as a relief to end up in the kitchen. He sank gratefully into a chair. “Really impressed,” he added, noting the professional-looking kitchen. He was also aware that Sara had arrived before them and was now busy at the kitchen counter.

“Me, too.” Laurel grinned.

“So this is your dream, to help at-risk kids. Marla said it’s been a long time coming.” He pulled his gaze away from the silent Sara and wondered at her deference to Laurel.

“Yes, it is my dream.” Laurel’s blue eyes grew misty. “This is a big answer to my prayers.”

“Really?” She’d prayed to come to Churchill? Kyle bent forward to listen.

“Really.” Her smile had a misty quality to it. “Just after our son was born, my husband was killed in a car accident. I was a single mom, alone and with a child to support.” Her voice caught. “Brent was killed when he was sixteen, a victim of gun violence on the streets. His killer was thirteen. He’d been in the system for years, learned more violence with each visit.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kyle murmured, aghast.

“So am I.” Laurel reached out and squeezed his fingers. “But Brent’s death spurred me to a new goal. To create a place where young offenders could learn new ways instead of sinking deeper into violence. So here I am, almost fifty years old, starting a new career.” She smiled.

“I’m glad.” Kyle thought he’d never seen anyone who looked more at peace.

“Coffee?” Sara murmured from behind him.

Kyle tried to ignore the citrus scent that floated from Sara’s hair directly to his nostrils as she reached to set a cup in front of him. Brief contact with her hand ignited a spark that shot up his arm. Confused and irritated by the burst of reaction he did not want to feel, he edged away, shifting positions at the battered table.

“Thanks.” He couldn’t help the huskiness in his voice.

He did not like the reactions Sara evoked in him.

When he’d been injured, his fiancée had flown to his side in Kabul. Repulsed by the extent of his injuries, she’d dumped him and left on the next flight. That still burned. No way was he going to let himself get involved again. Besides, he was only back in town to close this chapter of his life.

“You’re welcome.” Sara handed Laurel a brightly colored mug of steaming brew then sat across from Kyle in a prim position, feet together, back ramrod straight.

Sara hadn’t poured a cup of coffee for herself. Instead, her long, thin fingers wrapped around a glass of plain water. Here in the kitchen, under the bright fluorescent lights, Sara might have passed for a teenager, except her serious eyes and the hint of worry lines around them told him she was older. Those eyes said she’d seen the rough side of life.

If Laurel had been a social worker, was Sara one of her “cases”? His questions about the younger woman mounted, matching the hum of the printer working overtime in Laurel’s office around the corner. He studied Sara more closely. She didn’t wear makeup. But then she didn’t need it. She had a natural beauty—high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes and wide mouth, all visible now that she’d scraped back her hair into a ponytail.

The room’s silence forced Kyle to refocus. He realized that Laurel had asked him his plans.

“I’m inquiring because Marla suggested you might be willing to give us a hand. I thought perhaps you could teach my boys what living in the North Country means.” Her smile flashed. “I’ve heard you’re the best tracker these parts have ever seen.”

Sara’s unusual eyes widened and refocused on him.

“Was, maybe.” Kyle grimaced at his messed-up leg then frowned at her. “Who told you about my tracking?”

“Everyone in town talks about you, Kyle. They’re so proud of your service overseas.” She went on to list all the things she thought he could teach her young offenders.

“Wait.” Kyle had to stop her. “I wish you success, Laurel. But I can’t take that on right now. Even if I could still do what I once did. Which I can’t.”

“I see.” She didn’t say anything more, nor did her face give away her thoughts.

Sara’s forehead furrowed in a frown as if she had a question. But she didn’t speak.

“And as for plans, I don’t have any firm ones yet.” He took a gulp of his coffee, glanced at his watch and knew he had to leave now, while the pain was still manageable. “I’m taking things one day at a time.”

Just then a low, menacing rumble filled the room, followed by a loud pop.

“Oh, it’s that dratted printer again. I’m beginning to wish I’d never seen the thing. It’s become my worst nightmare.” Laurel jumped up and raced to her office.

Sara’s wide eyes met his. “Excuse me.” She followed Laurel. It seemed as if she was eager to get away from being alone with him.

Kyle decided there was no point in sitting in the kitchen by himself. He walked to the office and paused in the doorway behind Sara, slightly shocked by what he saw. Two computers took up most of the floor space. They lay open, as if someone had been tinkering. A half-destroyed keyboard sat on top of a file cabinet beside a hard drive with six screws taped to it. In the corner, an assortment of cords and cables spilled out of a tattered cardboard box. He couldn’t decide if someone was tearing apart PCs or putting them together.

“Can we do anything?” Sara asked after exchanging a tiny smile with Kyle.

“I have no idea what’s wrong this time,” Laurel said, glowering at the now-silent printer. “I suppose I’ll have to call Winnipeg and get another sent out.” She exhaled. “That will take at least three days.”

“I can clean things up,” Sara offered. “But I’d be no help with fixing anything electrical.”

“I might be. My dad tinkered with computer stuff and I often helped him.” The words poured out before Kyle could stop himself. “Want me to take a look?”

“Would you?” Laurel stood back. “It’s jammed,” she explained.

“Yeah, I see that.” Kyle hid his grin as he eased past Sara. He pulled over an office chair and sank onto it, bending to examine the innards of the machine. With painstaking slowness he eased bits and pieces of paper free. After a moment of watching him, Sara brought a trash can so he could throw out the scraps. “Thanks.”

She didn’t smile, simply nodded. But those gray-silver eyes of hers followed every move he made between quick glances at the monitor. Since it was filled with an error message, Kyle couldn’t figure out what was so captivating. He refocused on the printer, removing the ink cartridge and resetting it after he’d lifted out the last shredded bit of paper.

“She has quite a stack of paper here. Do you suppose she’s printing a book?” he teased, winking at Sara.

“Sort of.” Sara picked up one of the printed sheets and read it. “It looks like a list of rules and procedures at Lives Under Construction. Is there one for each boy?” she asked Laurel.

“Yes. I was hoping to have them done before the boys get here.”

“Don’t worry.” Sara reached out and squeezed her fingers. Kyle noticed a smile flit across her lips. “I’m sure Kyle can do something. Can’t you?” She looked at him with a beseeching gaze that made him want to fix this fast. Why was that?

“It’s a good printer,” he told them. “But it’s touchy about loading in a lot of paper.”

“I think I know what that means. You’re not supposed to print more than a certain number of sheets at a time and then refill. Right?” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Kyle’s agreement.

“Yes. That would be a good idea. But for now this thing needs a new part before it will work again.” He stood too quickly and clasped the corner of the desk to balance. A millisecond later Sara’s hand was on his elbow, steadying him.

There it was again, that lightning-bolt reaction to Sara’s touch. Kyle eased out of her grasp as fast as he could without looking rude.

“I suppose a new part will take forever to get here and cost the earth.” Laurel sighed.

“Not necessarily. My dad used to have a printer like this.” Kyle smiled at the memory. “Dad was a pack rat. I’m pretty sure the old printer is still in a closet somewhere. I could see if it’s still there and strip the part for you, if you want.” He didn’t look at Sara. The flare from her touch still lingered on his skin.

“But you’ve just come home,” Laurel said. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

“I’m fine.” Not quite true but Kyle wasn’t going to tell her that.

Laurel glanced once at the printer, her longing obvious. “Look, Kyle. I appreciate it, but—”

“Laurel, let him try,” Sara urged.

“She’s right,” Kyle agreed, surprised by Sara’s mothering tone. “Let me take a look at home first. If I can’t find anything, then you’ll have a better idea of your next step.”

“See? That makes sense.” Sara grinned at him as if they shared a secret and when she did, his heart began to gallop.

Kyle tried to ignore the effect this stranger was having on him.

“You’re right. Thank you, Kyle.” Laurel stepped forward and hugged him. “You are a godsend.”

“I doubt that.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Do you mind if we finish our coffee before we leave? I haven’t had coffee that good since I left home.”

“That’s Sara. She can make anything taste wonderful.” Laurel led the way to the kitchen.

Kyle stood back but Sara, her cheeks now pink, motioned for him to precede her. Once he was seated, she poured fresh coffee. Then she sat with folded hands, listening intently as he and Laurel chatted, though she never offered her own opinion. Very aware of the way Sara kept glancing toward the office, Kyle figured she must be impatient to check her email so he finished his coffee quickly, almost scalding his tongue.

It was time to go home. Time to stop avoiding the truth.

Back in Laurel’s car, Sara again sat in the rear seat but this time she leaned forward to listen as Kyle described Churchill’s landmarks. Ten minutes later they arrived at his father’s house.

“I’m sure you’d like a few moments alone,” Laurel said. “I have some things to do downtown. We’ll come back in half an hour. Will that give you enough time, Kyle?”

A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to reconcile losing his father but all he said was “Yes. Thanks.” He climbed out awkwardly.

In a flash, Sara exited the car and lugged his bag to the door.

“Will you truly be all right?” she asked, her somber gaze holding his.

“I’ll be fine.” He wanted to be upset at her for lugging his suitcase out, but her compassion was genuine so he forced himself to smile. “I’m used to managing.”

“Okay.” She opened her mouth to say something more, but apparently thought better of it because she turned around and climbed back into Laurel’s car without another word.

Kyle waited until the battered SUV rumbled away. Then he faced the house.

Home. He was finally home.

He squeezed his eyes closed against the loss that burned inside.

Why didn’t You take me instead? he asked God. I’m useless, but Dad wasn’t. He was needed around here. What am I supposed to do now?

Kyle stood there, waiting. But no answer came.

He was all alone. He’d better get used to it.

* * *

He was strong, he was knowledgeable and he was kind enough to help when asked. But Kyle Loness made Sara daydream and she couldn’t afford that.

Because of Maria.

“Sara? Are you awake?” Laurel shifted the van into Park then turned to frown at her. “Oh, you are awake.”

“Yes.” Sara shoved away thoughts of Kyle.

“Well, I’m going to be about fifteen minutes. Then we’ll pick up a few groceries before we go back to Kyle’s. Do you want to wait for me in the car?” she asked as she climbed out.

“No.” Sara followed her onto the sidewalk. “I’d rather walk a bit. I need to stretch my legs.”

“Okay. Stick to the main street. I remember your skewed sense of direction,” Laurel teased. “Don’t get lost on your first day in Churchill.”

“I’m better at direction now than I was.” Sara blushed, embarrassed by the reminder of her first faux pas after she’d left foster care. “I won’t get lost.”

She waited until Laurel had entered the building before heading toward Kyle’s house.

The thing was, no matter how Sara tried, she couldn’t seem to forget about him, and not just because he was so good-looking. Good-looking? Her brain scoffed. Kyle Loness was heartbreakingly handsome. Tall and muscular, the faint shadow of a beard defined the sharp jut of his jaw. Sara supposed he grew it to hide the scar that ran from the outside corner of his eye straight down past his jawbone, which, in her opinion, did nothing to diminish his good looks. And when he’d looked at her with his cornflower-blue eyes, a funny little shiver wiggled inside her, just like the heroines in the romantic novels she loved. How silly was that?

But it wasn’t only his good looks that drew her. The image of Kyle working on Laurel’s printer had been burned into her brain. Obviously he knew about computers. And she didn’t. But she could learn, if someone would teach her. Someone like—Kyle? Maybe he could help her find her family.

Sara scanned the street ahead and saw him standing where they’d left him. Her silly heart resumed the pattering that had begun when he’d stepped off the platform and stumbled into her arms. She tried to quell it by reminding herself that Kyle Loness would find little interest in her. Why would he? Sara knew nothing about men.

Is it only his computer knowledge that intrigues you?

Of course it was. He might look like a romance hero but Sara knew nothing about romance, men or relationships.

Confused by her thoughts, she refocused on Kyle, who seemed lost in thought. Then he straightened, stepped toward the house and jerked to a stop. In a flash Sara realized why. Kyle had forgotten about the stairs and was now trying to figure out how to maneuver them to get into his house.

She had a clear view of his face. The pain lines she’d glimpsed on the train when he’d hobbled to his seat this morning had now etched deep grooves on either side of his mouth. He bit his bottom lip, grabbed the railings on either side and basically dragged himself upward, inch by painful inch, increasingly favoring his injured leg. His chiseled face stretched taut with concentration as he fought his way upward. She held her breath, silently praying for him, only exhaling when he finally conquered the last stair.

When Kyle paused, chest heaving with his efforts, Sara wanted to cheer. The sun revealed beads of perspiration dotting his face. For a moment he seemed to waver, as he had when he’d stepped off the train and again earlier, in Laurel’s office. Sara took an automatic step forward to help, but froze when he reached out and turned the doorknob.

This was his homecoming. He wouldn’t want her there.

She didn’t belong. Again.

Hurt arrowed a path through her heart. She squeezed her eyes closed.

Focus on why you’re here, Sara. You’re here to help the kids. To figure out God’s plans for your future and to make up for Maria.

For years Sara had tried not to think about the little girl. But now, as she fingered the scar at her wrist, the memories burst free of the prison she’d locked them in.

She’d been twelve when she tried to escape her foster home, unaware that her foster sister had followed her onto the busy street—until she heard Maria’s cry when the car hit her. Sara had rushed to the child, cradling her tiny body as life slipped away, unaware of the shards of headlight glass that dug into her wrists, left behind by the speeding car.

Sweet, loving Maria had died because of her.

In shock and overwhelmed by guilt, Sara had been too scared to tell police the real reason she’d run, so after she’d relayed all she remembered about the car that had hit Maria and received stitches on her wrists, they’d taken her back to her foster parents, the Masters. The couple used Maria’s death to convince Sara that if she tried to leave again, her foster siblings would pay. After that, there’d been no need for the Masters to lock her in the basement each night.

Sara’s overwhelming guilt kept her in their abusive home. She had to stay to protect the other kids, as she hadn’t protected Maria. She’d stayed until her new social worker—Laurel—uncovered the Masters’ perfidy.

Almost eighteen, Sara had finally been removed from their care. But she hadn’t gone home because she didn’t have a home anymore. All she had were faded memories of her mother sitting on the sofa crying and her father stoically staring straight ahead while strange people took her away from them. She’d never known why it had happened and she’d never seen her family again.

Now she needed answers.

Blinking away her tears, Sara watched Kyle disappear inside his house. She waited a moment longer, then walked back to Laurel’s car, puzzling over why she’d felt compelled to ensure Kyle had made it inside his house.

“Because I saw how lost he looked,” she whispered to herself. “Because he needs help. Because... I don’t know.”

“There you are.” Laurel’s gaze rested on Sara’s hand as it rubbed her scar. She moved closer, touched a fingertip to the tear on Sara’s cheek then wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’ve been thinking about the past again. Oh, my dear Sara. You’re free. God has something wonderful in store for you. Don’t let the past drag you down.”

“No, I won’t.” Sara dredged up a smile, hugged her back then walked beside her to the grocery store. But as they strolled down the aisles, she thought of Kyle inside his empty house.

They had something in common. Both of them had lost their families and neither of them could just forget about it.

Maybe, somehow, she could help him get over his loss.

Maybe if she did, he’d teach her how to use a computer.

Maybe then she’d finally find her family.

Chapter Two

Kyle rubbed his eyes, unable to dislodge memories evoked by the familiar aroma of his home. Tanned leather and Old Spice—it smelled of Dad, of happiness, of moments shared together. All of which were gone.

Emotion rose like a tidal wave. He fought for control.

When Kyle was younger, Churchill had been a fantastic adventure he’d embraced. Now it was just another problem in his life.

But for a moment, as the midmorning sun warmed Kyle through the window, the sensation of being loved enveloped him. He relaxed into that embrace. Comfort erased the pain of loss that dimmed everything in his world these days.

Home—without his dad? He closed his eyes and wept.

Moments later, footsteps treading up his stairs shattered his privacy. He rubbed his shirtsleeve across his face. The computer part. Of course.

“Come on in,” he called before they could knock.

Laurel preceded Sara into his kitchen. “Do you need more time?” Laurel scanned his face, then the empty tabletop.

“I haven’t looked yet.” He tore his gaze from the wall where a family photo hung. It had been taken six months before his mom’s death. “I was just sitting here—remembering.”

“You can help us out another time, when you’re more rested,” Laurel said in a gentle tone.

“I’m fine.” Kyle didn’t want to give Laurel any more chances to draw him into her program at Lives. He’d do this one thing for her now and then get on with his own life. He opened a door that had once been a pantry and nodded. “Yep, just as I thought.”

A small squeak of surprise made him glance over one shoulder.

Sara’s eyes were huge. She met his gaze, looked back at the shelves and said, “Oh, my.”

Finding her understatement hilarious, Kyle chuckled as he dug through his father’s accumulation of computer parts. “I told you Dad was a pack rat.”

“No luck, huh?” Laurel asked when he drew back from the cupboard.

“Not yet.” Kyle motioned to Sara. “Could you help me for a minute? I think the printer is on the bottom of this shelf. If you could hold up this box while I free it, I wouldn’t have to waste time unpacking all this junk.”

“Okay.” She moved beside him and followed his directions exactly.

With a tug Kyle freed the printer, but in doing so brushed against Sara. Assailed by a host of reactions, from the fragrance of her hair to the way one tendril caressed her cheek, to the fierce look she gave when he had to yank on the cord to free the end, he realized that asking for Sara’s help had been a bad idea.

He moved away, eager to put some distance between them and hopefully end his heart-racing response to her.

“Thanks.” He set the printer on the table and opened it.

“If you explained how to reinstall it, I wouldn’t have to drag you back out to Lives. Maybe I could do it myself,” Laurel said.

Kyle lifted his head and arched one eyebrow. From what he’d seen in her office earlier, Laurel Quinn’s aptitude did not lie in computers.

“Yeah.” Her face turned bright pink under his look. Laurel laughed. “You’re right. I haven’t got a clue.”

“I can do it in a matter of a few minutes,” he told her as he lifted out the part she needed. He deliberately didn’t look at Sara. “But you will have to bring me back home after, and I know you’re busy.”

“I’ve got almost everything ready to greet the first two boys, Barry and Tony.” Laurel’s eyes shone with expectation. “I’m hoping that while you and I are busy with the printer, Sara will start some of her fantastic cinnamon buns for tomorrow.”

“I can do that.” Sara, cheeks pink, looked away from Kyle. What was that about?

“I’ve got what we need.” He held up the tiny relay switch. “I’m ready to go.”

“Oh, Laurel, I just remembered. We’ll need to move those groceries so there will be enough room for everyone,” Sara said quickly.

Too quickly? Kyle searched her face. A puzzled Laurel opened her mouth, but Sara grabbed her arm and pulled, insistent. Frowning, Laurel stepped outside.

“Come out when you’re ready, Kyle,” Sara said, her voice a bit forced. “We’ll meet you at the car.”

And that was when Kyle got it. Sara knew the stairs gave him problems. She was keeping Laurel busy so he could navigate without feeling as if they were watching him.

Her thoughtfulness eased the knot of tension inside.

Sweet, thoughtful Sara. Why couldn’t he have met someone like her first?

Kyle shut down the wayward thoughts. He’d ruled out romance in Afghanistan the day he’d been dumped, and he wasn’t going to change his mind now. Anyway, Sara couldn’t care about him. How could she? He was a ruined shell with nothing to offer a woman. He couldn’t even figure out his own future.

Kyle shrugged on his jacket, shoved the printer part in his pocket and stood. He’d get this done and then move on to his own business. Sara was nice, sure. But there was no point in pretending her kindness was anything more than that.

Self-consciously he tromped down the stairs and walked to the car. Once again, Sara was seated in the rear seat, so Kyle sat in front. Once again, he filled in the drive’s silences with facts about Churchill. And once again, after he got the printer running, Sara served him her delicious coffee along with a sandwich and some kind of lemon cookie that melted in his mouth. As Kyle ate, he quashed his yearning to linger, to get drawn in by the warmth of Sara’s smile and forget the emptiness that awaited him at home. He couldn’t afford to forget that. His future wasn’t here in Churchill. God had made sure of that.

So finally he pushed back his chair, thanked Sara for the lunch and asked Laurel to take him home. Sara walked with them to the car.

“I’m glad to have met you, Kyle,” she said, hugging her arms around her thin waist, revealing the scars he’d noticed earlier. “I’ll be praying for God to bless you with a wonderful future.”

“Thanks.” He wanted to tell her asking God for anything was pointless but he didn’t. Instead, as they drove away, he voiced the other question that plagued him. “What is Sara’s story, Laurel? Why is she here in Churchill? She looks like she’ll blow away in the wind.”

“You’ll have to ask Sara. Suffice it to say that she deserves happiness and I hope she’ll find some here. She’s a wonderful person.” Laurel smiled at him. “So are you, Kyle. Anytime you want to fill in a few hours of your day, feel free to drop by. Lives Under Construction can always use another hand.”

“I know Marla told you I’d be interested in doing that,” Kyle admitted. “But the truth is, all I want to think about right now is cleaning up my dad’s place.”

Laurel patted his shoulder then swung the van into his driveway. “After you’ve had time to grieve, please visit us, even just for another cup of Sara’s coffee.”

“I’ll think about it,” Kyle said, knowing he’d do no such thing. He climbed out of the car. “Thanks again. See you.”

Kyle waited till Laurel’s car disappeared, then braved the stairs again. Inside, the house seemed empty, lonely. He flicked up the thermostat and sat down in his father’s recliner in the living room. A notebook lay open on a side table. He picked it up.

“Two weeks until Kyle comes home. Yahoo!” His father’s scrawl filled the page, listing things they’d do together. Kyle slammed the book closed.

Why? his heart wept. Why did You take him before I could see him again?

Suddenly he heard Sara’s words in his mind.

I’ll be praying for God to bless you with a wonderful future.

Well, Sara could pray all she wanted, but whether God granted her prayers or not, nothing could make up for the loss of his dad.

With a weary sigh he rose and thumped his way to the kitchen, where he sat down to deal with the stacks of mail someone had dropped off. For a moment, he wished Sara was here with him. Somehow he thought that smile of hers and the calm way she approached life would make facing his not-so-wonderful future a whole lot easier.

But of course, imagining Sara in his house was just a silly dream. And Kyle was well aware that it was time he let go of dreams and face reality.

* * *

“Laurel, what’s an ATV?” Sara shifted to allow the flames of the fireplace to warm her back.

“All-terrain vehicle. Like those big motorized bikes we saw this afternoon. Why?” Her friend stopped working on her sudoku puzzle to glance up.

“Kyle mentioned an ATV.”

“Well, we have an ATV here,” Laurel told her. “But I’m not sure you should try riding it without some lessons.”

“I’m sure I can walk anywhere I need to go. I’m looking forward to it.” Sara loved to walk. In the time since she’d been released from the Masters’ home, she’d discovered the freedom of going wherever she wanted, of turning around, of changing direction without having every movement scripted for her. That freedom was precious. Sara ignored Laurel’s next remark about winter being too cold for much walking. “Tell me about Kyle’s father.”

“His name was Matt, ex-military,” Laurel said. “I knew him a little—a very nice man, full of laughter. He and Kyle ran a tourist business together. Matt couldn’t go overseas when Kyle got hurt because he’d had a heart attack. He didn’t want his son to know. I think the hardest thing for Kyle to accept is that his dad isn’t here with him.”

“There’s a kind of reverence in his voice when he mentions his father.” Also an echo of utter loss that Sara couldn’t forget. “He must have loved his dad very much.”

Laurel stayed silent for a few moments “Sara, you’re not comparing the love they shared with— Well, you don’t think of your foster father as your dad, do you? Because the Masters are not in any way part of who you are. They tried to ruin you, but you were too strong. Now your heavenly Father has other plans for your future.”

“I wish I knew what they were.” Sara wanted to escape the misery she’d endured. But at night, when the darkness fell, those horrid feelings of being unloved returned.

Actually, they never quite left her. That was why she needed to find her birth family—to make newer, better memories.

“Hang on to the truth, Sara,” Laurel told her.

“The truth?” Sara wasn’t sure she knew what that was anymore.

“You are the beloved child of God. But you have to trust Him and be patient for His work to erase what the Masters did.” Laurel got up to press a kiss against the top of her head. “I love you, too.”

Sara squeezed her hand. But she waited until Laurel was busy making hot chocolate before she slid a sheaf of papers out of her pocket and studied them.

To find your birth parents we must have these forms signed and returned along with the fee and a copy of your birth certificate. This will initiate a search of our records.

So many times Sara had wondered about the mother who only came back to her in fragmented dreams. Who was she? Why had she put Sara into foster care? Why had she never come back? Didn’t she love Sara? Didn’t her father care that his daughter might need him?

In the past, Sara had come up with a thousand reasons why her parents had never come to retrieve her—fairy tales, happily-ever-afters, like the romance stories she loved reading.

But now she needed the truth. She wanted to find her parents, embrace them and let their love erase the past. She wanted to have what Kyle had lost—people who loved her always.

She wanted a forever family.

“Here you go, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” Sara hurriedly tucked her papers into her pocket before accepting the gigantic mug from Laurel. Laurel was as close to Sara’s ideal mother-fantasy as anyone had ever been, but even Laurel couldn’t fill her need for her mother’s love.

“Enjoy it.” Laurel smiled. “Savor this time alone because once the boys arrive it’s going to get mighty busy.” She sat in the chair across from Sara, her face serious. “Are you sure cooking here won’t be too much for you?”

“I’m sure.” Sara cupped her hands around her mug.

“Let me tell you a bit about each boy so you’ll be prepared.” Laurel gave a brief history, ending with the youngest and in Sara’s eyes the most vulnerable boy, Rod.

“I think I’ll like Rod.” Sara knew she’d like all of the boys. Kids were easy to love.

“I’m not telling you about them because I expect you to get involved with their programs,” Laurel said.

“Oh?” Sara frowned, confused.

“I hired you to cook for us because I know how great you are at it.” Laurel leaned forward. “But I want you to be free to do other things.”

“Like what?” Sara already had a to-do list. Finding her family was first.

“Sara, you lost most of your childhood being a servant to the Masters. All the years you should have been a kid were spent making sure the other foster kids were okay.”

“I had to do that,” Sara said simply.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” her mentor insisted. “You’re twenty-two. Have you ever taken time to think about yourself?”

“I managed.” Sara didn’t like to dwell on the past.

“Oh, my dear, you managed wonderfully. But now you have this time in Churchill and I want it to be your time. I want you to enjoy your life, find new interests. Make new friends.” Laurel’s voice softened. “I want you to focus on your future.”

Sara thought about Kyle, alone in his house with that awesome yard. Rod would be arriving tomorrow. The sprout of an idea pushed down roots in her mind. She tucked it away until she could consider it more thoroughly.

“I will focus on my future. But I need you to do something for me, too, Laurel.” Sara paused to assemble her thoughts. “I know I’m going to love it here. But I will only stay till Christmas. By then I believe God will have shown me what he wants me to do with my future.”

“Well...” Laurel inclined her head.

“No, I mean it. I know myself, Laurel. I’ll love it here, I’ll get too comfortable and I’ll want to stay. But you must ignore that, even if I ask you not to. You have to find someone else to take over for me after Christmas. Promise?” She leaned forward, her gaze intent on Laurel.

“If you insist,” Laurel finally agreed.

“I do. I thought about this a lot while I was going to cooking school. Our minister said that in order to be the person God intends us to be, we must discover what He wants us to do.” She leaned back, smiled. “That’s what I am going to do while I’m here in Churchill. I’m going to search for God’s plan for my future. So you cannot let me talk you into my staying.”

Laurel studied her for a long time before she nodded. “All right.”

“Now, what kind of things should I do while I’m here?”

“There’s a pool at the recreation center attached to the school. You could take swimming lessons,” Laurel told her. “Also, the school holds classes for anyone who wants to upgrade their education. You might want to look into that.”

“Yes, I do.” Sara didn’t feel compelled to explain. Though the Masters had claimed Sara was homeschooled, Laurel had revealed their lies.

Laurel understood how awkward and geeky Sara felt, how much she wanted to shed her “misfit” feelings and be like everyone else. That was why she read so much. But sometimes it wasn’t enough to just read about something. Her reaction to Kyle was a prime example. Nothing she’d read had prepared her for the instant empathy she felt for him.

“I’ll pray that God will reveal His plans to you, Sara, so you’ll be able to figure out what He wants for your future.”

Sara already knew what she wanted in her future. She wanted her family reunited.

“Could I take computer classes?” Sara asked.

“Why not? You’ll probably have to wait till fall for the new sessions, though. We’ll phone and check tomorrow. I’ll pray that God will reveal His plans to you so you’ll be able to figure out what you want for your future.” Laurel drew her into a hug.

She already knew what she wanted; she wanted her family reunited. But she closed her eyes and let her spirit revel in Laurel’s embrace. Somehow that triggered thoughts of Kyle. Hugs were new to her, but he was used to them. He’d had parents who loved him and showed it. She’d seen it in the photos on his kitchen wall. He came from a tight-knit happy family.

“I’m going to bed now,” Laurel said, releasing her. “You must be tired after that long train trip.”

“Oh, no. Riding on that train was like being rocked to sleep.” Sara could remember being rocked. Barely.

Laurel kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Goodnight, Laurel.” Sara followed her, stepped into the room Laurel had given her earlier and gazed around. Her room. Space that belonged to her and her alone.

For now she had a home, just like Kyle.

Sara marveled at how far she’d come today. She loved Churchill from the moment she’d stepped off the train. Rough and wild, but brutally honest. Everyone seemed friendly—except for Kyle. An image of him sitting in his kitchen—exhaustion, agony and utter loss etched on his face—filled her thoughts. Sara could excuse his brusqueness because he’d been hurting, body and soul.

What she couldn’t excuse was the way she’d stared at him so admiringly.

“Stop thinking about him,” she scolded herself. “This isn’t a fairy tale. He’s a wounded veteran who lost his father. He’s none of your business.”

To dislodge Kyle’s face from her mind, Sara curled onto the window seat, seeking the rolling ribbons of northern lights her book had talked about. But Laurel said the approach of summer meant it would stay light well into the night, that Sara wouldn’t see the lights for months.

The northern lights, learning the computer—it seemed as though everything had to wait till fall. But she would only be here till Christmas. Would she find her family by then?

She had to. As soon as possible.

Reading had always been her escape as well as her education, but Sara now knew book knowledge wasn’t the same as actually living and experiencing. She was short on experience. That was why she always felt as if she was a step behind everyone else. But she would catch up; she would learn about love and families and all the things other people took for granted.

She tugged the papers from her pocket and began to fill them out. Tomorrow she’d visit Kyle, not only to discuss the idea she’d had earlier to help Rod, but because she didn’t want to wait until fall to learn how to use a computer. Maybe she could persuade Kyle to do an exchange—she’d clean his house or maybe cook him something and he’d teach her how to use a computer to search for her family.

Because her family was out there. Somewhere. Sara just had to find them. Then she would finally have somebody who loved her, somebody she could love back. She’d have the circle of love Kyle had always known to support her in doing whatever God asked of her.

“Please help me.” The prayer slipped from Sara’s lips as she peered into the growing gloom. “Please?”

Chapter Three

“Thank you.” Kyle paid the delivery boy, hefted the box of groceries onto the counter and closed the door. “Finally,” he muttered.

He grabbed the tin of coffee, opened it and started a fresh pot of brew. While he waited impatiently he unpacked the rest, bumping into several pieces of furniture in the crowded room as he stored his supplies.

It wasn’t long before exhaustion dragged at him, caused by staying up too late to open the cards and letters full of sympathy from those who’d known his dad. Kyle turned, swayed and grabbed the back of a kitchen chair to keep from toppling over. He needed to sit, and fast. But first he poured himself a cup of too-strong coffee.

“Better,” he groaned, savoring the rich taste. “Much better.” But not as good as the coffee Sara had made him.

Kyle pushed that thought away.

The prosthesis ground against his skin—his “stump,” he corrected mentally. There weren’t enough calluses to protect the still-raw tissue, even after almost three months. He sank onto a chair, rolled up his pant leg and undid the brace that held the prosthesis in place. The relief was immediate. He reveled in it as he sat there, sipping his coffee. Unbidden, memories of the day he’d been injured filled his thoughts. To distract himself, he booted up his dad’s laptop and checked his email.

A tap on the window drew Kyle’s attention. Sara Kane stood watching him. He waited to see the revulsion his fiancée hadn’t been able to hide. He searched for the disgust and loathing that had swum through her eyes when she’d seen his damaged limb. But Kyle couldn’t find it in Sara’s dark scrutiny and wondered why.

What could he do but wave her in? While she entered, he closed the computer and set it on his dad’s desk.

“Good morning. I brought you some cinnamon buns.” Her gaze moved from the computer to him. She closed the door behind her and set a pan on the table. Her gaze held his. “You didn’t answer the doorbell.”

“It’s been broken since we moved in here. Dad was always going to fix it but—” Kyle realized he was rubbing his leg and quickly dragged his hand away. He was about to pull down his pant leg when she spoke.

“I could help you,” she whispered. “If you want help.”

“I don’t.” Stop acting like a bear, Kyle. “Thank you but I’ll be fine, Sara.” He didn’t want her here, didn’t want her to see his ugliness. “Don’t worry about me.”

Her solemn gaze locked with his but she said nothing.

“How did you get here?” He clenched his jaw against a leg cramp then gulped another mouthful of coffee, hoping that would help clear his fuzzy head.

“Laurel. She had to stop in town before picking up the boys from the airport. I wanted to ask you something so I told her I’d walk over here from the post office.”

Kyle watched as Sara filled the kettle with water and switched it on. A moment later she’d found a basin under the sink and added a towel from the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Kyle demanded through gritted teeth as waves of pain rolled in. He’d refused to take any pain reliever last night, knowing he had to learn to manage it or risk becoming addicted. And he couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t afford to become dependent on anyone or anything.

“Hot water will ease your soreness.” Sara kept right on assembling things.

“Are you a nurse?” Kyle clamped his jaw together more tightly. Couldn’t she see he wanted to be alone?

“If I say yes, will you let me help you?” she asked in a soft tone.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” A flicker of a smile played with the corner of her lips but Sara kept right on working.

The woman had guts, Kyle admitted grudgingly as she added cold water to the basin, tossed in a handful of salt and set it on the floor in front of him. Because he craved relief, he didn’t object when she poured boiling water from the kettle into the basin. Steam billowed up as she knelt in front of him. She dunked the towel, thoroughly soaked it then wrung it out. A moment later she wrapped the steaming towel around his stump and held it there, her hands gentle but confident.

Kyle almost groaned before he flinched away. No one outside the hospital staff had ever touched that ruined, angry part of him.

“Is it too hot?” She waggled her fingers in the water and frowned. “It doesn’t feel too hot.”

Actually it felt a lot like a warm hug.

“Kyle?”

He studied the top of her caramel-toned head. Somehow Sara’s tender touch eased his yearning to be enveloped in his father’s arms, something he’d craved during his intensive rehab and the weeks of therapy that followed.

“Kyle?” His name rushed from her lips, urgent. “Is it okay?” Her eyes were wide with—fear?

Why would she be afraid?

“It’s fine,” he groaned.

Liar. It is light years better than fine.

“I’m glad.” A sweet smile lit up her entire face.

In the quietness of that moment Kyle couldn’t help but compare Sara’s response to the decimating reaction of the woman who’d claimed to love him. When she’d glimpsed his shattered limb in the veteran’s hospital she had turned away and raced out, never to return.

Clearly, as he’d noticed several times, Sara was made of stronger stuff. His curiosity about her rose.

But Kyle didn’t ask questions because the longer Sara’s calm gaze held his, the more his muscles relaxed. She rinsed the cloth three times, each time reapplying and holding it in place until it cooled. Finally the knot of pain untied and slid away. He sighed his relief.

“The water’s too cool now,” Sara murmured. “I could heat more?”

“No. Thank you.” Kyle felt half-bemused as he realized his whole body felt limp, as it had when he’d come out of the anesthetic after each of his surgeries. “Where did you learn to do that?” His curiosity about the strength in such a delicate-looking woman grew.

“My fos—brother used to get banged up. Hot saltwater cloths always helped him.”

Sara’s slight hesitation before she’d said brother and the way she stumbled over banged up intrigued Kyle. What story lay hidden beneath those few words?

“It’s a great remedy.” The way she’d knelt in front of him to care for him humbled Kyle. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

“You’re welcome.” She rose in one fluid motion and glanced at the pan of rolls she’d left sitting on the table.

His father’s favorite line from Milton’s Paradise Lost flickered through Kyle’s mind. “Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eyes, in every gesture dignity and love.” He’d never known anyone but his mom who’d so perfectly fit the description.

Until now.

“I’ll just slip these buns into the oven to warm. You can rest for a while, then, when you’re ready to eat, they’ll be waiting.” Sara tightened the foil around the container and placed it inside the oven.

It struck Kyle then that he was doing what he’d vowed not to. He was letting someone do things for him. He was letting himself become dependent.

“What did you want to ask me?” The question was perfunctory. He didn’t want to hear. What he really wanted was for this disturbing woman to leave him alone.

Sara took her time dumping the basin, washing it out and storing it.

“Come on. I can’t be that unapproachable,” he prodded with a smile.

“Yes, you can.” Sara looked straight at him, unsmiling. “But I’ll ask anyway. I want to use something of yours.”

“Use something—of mine?” That sounded as if she’d made it up on the spur of the moment. Maybe she was only here because she felt sorry for him. Kyle’s gut burned. “Like what?”

“That.” She pointed out the grimy window that overlooked his backyard.

Kyle followed her pointing finger. He couldn’t figure out what she meant at first. There was nothing in the backyard. Except—

“I’d like permission to use your greenhouse, Kyle,” she said.

“My mom’s greenhouse.” Past memories, very personal memories, of the joys he shared inside that greenhouse built inside his head but he suppressed them. Kyle was suddenly irrationally annoyed at the way Sara kept pushing her way into his world. All he wanted was to be alone. “What could you possibly want that for?”

“Last night Laurel told me some of the boys’ histories so I’d understand why they’re at Lives.” She sat down. A tiny line furrowed her brow as she studied her hands. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to discuss them.”

“I’ll keep whatever you want to tell me confidential,” Kyle promised, curiosity mounting.

“Laurel says one of the boys is quite withdrawn. Rod.” She peeked through her lashes at him. “But he did very well when he was involved in a program at a tree nursery.”

Kyle waited, surprised by her earnest tone.

“Of course, there aren’t any tree nurseries here in Churchill,” Sara said, “but I thought that if he could get involved in growing something, it might help. We don’t have the capability at Lives. But I remembered seeing your greenhouse when we were here yesterday. If Rod could grow fresh herbs, I could use them in my cooking. Laurel said we’d share whatever we grew with you.” Her silver-gray eyes never left his face. “If you agree to let us use the greenhouse, that is.”

“I see.” Kyle studied the glass structure. “The roof might not be stable, you know. I’d have to have it checked, maybe repaired.”

A disappointed look flickered across her face. “You’re saying no?”

“I’m saying I don’t know.” Kyle didn’t want to reveal any sign of weakness, and having her see his injured leg made him feel weak, so he strapped on his prosthesis, rolled down his pant leg then slid his feet into a pair of his father’s moccasins. “Let’s go out and take a look.”

“Okay.” Sara pulled on the thin jacket she’d shed when she first came inside.

“You’ll freeze if that’s all you have to wear until summer gets here,” he warned.

Sara chuckled, her smile brimming with something he couldn’t quite define. All Kyle knew was that little seemed to faze this woman. A twinkle in those gorgeous eyes told him she’d faced much worse than cold weather, and come out on top.

“I’ll be fine, Kyle.”

He had a strong feeling that Sara Kane would be fine, though he couldn’t have said why. Perhaps it was the resolute determination in her manner. Sara Kane wouldn’t give up easily. He admired that.

“Open that cupboard. There should be a jacket in there, a red one.” He didn’t tell her the coat was special. He simply watched as she drew out his mother’s red parka. “Try it on.”

Sara shrugged into the coat. Her transformation was spectacular. A bird of paradise—she looked magnificent, delicate and incongruous in this land of icy winds and frozen tundra. The color lent life to her, enhancing subtle undertones in her hair and making her skin glow with a beauty Kyle had almost missed.

“I don’t think any of our guests ever looked as good as you in that.”

“Your guests?” She pulled the faux-fur collar around her ears and studied herself in the mirror, seemingly bemused by what she saw.

“Dad and I ran a guiding company,” he told her. “There are gloves in the pockets, I think.”

“Guiding? What does that mean?” She pulled on the gloves and bent her fingers experimentally, as if she expected the gloves’ thickness to impede movement.

“Guiding tourists to see the local sights,” he explained. “The northern lights, whale watching in a Zodiac, ATV treks into the wilderness or jaunts to see the polar bears—we did it all.” Bitterness oozed between his words, rendering his tone brittle and harsh, but even though he heard it, Kyle found it impossible to suppress his sense of utter loss.

“Polar bears.” Sara’s eyes were huge. She peeked over her shoulder as if expecting one to pounce from the bedroom.

“Churchill is famous for its polar bears. But it’s late in the season. When the ice goes out they leave to hunt seals. This year it’s very early but the ice is almost gone. Global warming, I suppose.” Kyle hated the fear pinching her pretty face. He rushed to reassure her. “But even if some bears are still hanging around, you don’t have to worry. There’s a town patrol that does a good job of keeping tabs on the bears’ whereabouts. Sometimes you’ll hear gunshots—pops,” he modified when her eyes expanded even more. “The noises deter the bears. I didn’t hear any on the way here yesterday or so far this morning, so it should be okay.”

“Uh-huh.” Sara inhaled and thrust back her shoulders as if she were about to venture into battle.

“Listen, Sara.” Kyle leaned forward. “Before we go outside I want to tell you something.”

“Okay.” It looked like she was holding her breath.

“Churchill is very safe.” He grabbed his jacket off the hook near the door. “But we tell this to everyone who comes here to prepare them. Just in case.”

“In case.” She gulped. “Right.”

“It might seem counterintuitive to you, but if you do happen upon a bear, do not turn your back on him and do not run.” Gently. Don’t terrorize her, Kyle. “Either of those actions will make you look like prey to him.”

“Which I will be,” she pointed out in a whisper, her face now devoid of all color.

“Well, yes.” He had to smile. “But what you want is to look like his adversary. Make yourself as tall as possible. Put your arms in the air and wave them. Yell as loud as you can. But do not run.” Why did he suddenly feel he had to protect her? “Bears love the chase.”

“Okay.” She trembled, her alarm visible.

Kyle had wanted Sara to be cautious. Instead he’d alarmed her.

Her eyes lost their silver sheen and darkened. She looked petrified.

Way to go, Kyle.

“I’d offer to drive you back, but I don’t think I could drive, even if Dad’s old truck was running. He cracked it up just before—” He swallowed, forced himself to continue. “Anyway, I don’t have transport.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Sara didn’t look fine. She looked like someone who had dredged up her last ounce of courage to face the lion’s den.

“Yes, you will be,” Kyle agreed. “Now let’s go take a look at Mom’s greenhouse.” He rose, ignored the twinge of pain in his hip and followed her outside, embarrassed by his slow progress down the stairs and Sara’s obvious attempt to ignore it.

Kyle didn’t intend to be in Churchill long, but by the time he reached the bottom step he’d made up his mind to hire someone to build a ramp. Dragging himself up and down these stairs sucked the energy out of him, not to mention that it made him feel like some kind of spectacle.

“Okay?” Sara opened the gate to his backyard.

“Just dandy.” He chose his steps over the uneven ground carefully. What a fool he’d been to wear these soft leather slippers and risk injuring himself again.

“The structure looks good,” Sara said, her head tilted to one side like a curious bird as she peered at the glass roof. “Of course, I don’t really know anything about greenhouses.”

“A friend wrote that he’d check on things till I could get home. It looks like he’s made sure everything is still solid.” Kyle pressed against the metal frame. Nothing swayed. “I brought the key. Let me check inside.”

The door swung to with a loud creak. Inside, the glass was dingy with years of dust. Debris covered parts of the floor.

“Oh, my.” Sara stared like a deer caught in headlights.

“After Mom passed away, Dad and I never used this for anything much but storage. I should have cleaned it out.” Kyle pulled away the cobwebs. “It’s filthy.”

“It won’t take long to clean.” Obviously recovered, Sara pressed the toe of her shoe against a stack of plastic bins. “What are these?”

“I don’t know. Dad must have packed them.” Kyle turned a pail upside down and sat on it. Then he opened the top bin. A bundle of bubble wrap lay inside. He lifted it out and slowly unwrapped it. A notebook fell out.

Instantly Kyle was a kid again, rushing home from school to find his mom in here, scribbling in her gardening journal while Dad teased her about her addiction to roses. Kyle gasped at the overwhelming pain.

“Kyle, what’s wrong?” Sara hunkered down in front of him. Her hand covered his. “Are you in pain?” she asked ever so gently.

“Yes.” For once he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. His heart ached so deeply he felt as if life had drained out of his body. He fought to be free, but the ache blemished his spirit like a scab on a scar.

“Can I help?”

“I’m okay.” Kyle inhaled, forced away the sadness. “This is my mom’s journal. I didn’t realize we still had it.” He flipped through the pages, chuckling at the funny drawings his mom had made. “She was always trying to produce a new breed of rose.”

“Under these conditions?” Sara lifted one eyebrow in surprise.

“Yes. Look.” He held up the book to show the sketch. “This was going to be her Oliver rose—named in memory of her high school friend. But the Oliver rose couldn’t take Churchill’s harshness. He was too weak.”

He was suddenly aware of Sara, crouched behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“I can’t read her writing.”

“No one could.” He cleared his throat. “Listen. ‘My dear Oliver is a wuss. One chilly night without the heater and he’s lost all his leaves. Pfui! A weakling. And a reminder of what God expects of us, a stiff backbone that weathers life’s challenges. I want a rose that will use the negatives of life to get tough and still bloom. I’ll wait and try again next year. But I fear my Oliver rose is finished.’” Kyle smiled. “She always spoke of her roses as if they were people.”

“It sounds like she had a sense of humor,” Sara said.

“A wicked one. Listen to this.” Kyle read her another passage about a yellow rosebush a friend had sent them. His laughter joined Sara’s. “I remember that bush. Coral Bells. It lasted year after year, no matter what adversity it encountered. My mother put Oliver next to it to give him some gumption. But it didn’t help.” He closed the book, suddenly loath to continue revealing these precious memories. “I wonder what else is in this box.”

To hide his emotions, Kyle tugged out layers of old newspaper, aware that Sara still crouched beside him, neatly folding each piece of paper he tossed on the ground. Below the paper lay trophies from school sports, local awards he and his father had won for their business, a book filled with clippings and letters from past customers—he kept pulling them out until finally the box was empty.

“Garbage.” Kyle refused to be swamped by memories again while Sara watched. “I should chuck them.” He set aside the plastic box and began working on the second bin. But it, too, was filled with childhood mementos that only served to remind him of things he could no longer do.

At the very bottom lay a series of Sunday-school awards and a big ribbon with top place printed on it in silver letters, from the championship quiz team he’d once led.

“More garbage.” Bitterness surged that God hadn’t been there when Kyle had needed Him, despite his faith and despite the many pleas he’d sent heavenward. “No need to keep any of this.”

But Sara was already rewrapping each item and laying it carefully back into the container.

“Looks like this is the last one Dad got around to packing.” Kyle paused, needing breathing space so he could face whatever came next without revealing to Sara how affected he was. “My father the pack rat must have needed room in the house.”

“I think he wanted to keep your special things safe for you,” Sara said, her voice firm yet soft. “So you wouldn’t forget your history.”

“Maybe.” He yanked off the last lid and tossed away the flat sheet of plain brown paper lying on top.

And stared at the contents.

Sara’s fingers curved around his shoulder.

He felt stupid, awkward and juvenile. But he could do nothing to stop the tears. They rolled down his hot cheeks and landed on his wrinkled shirt in a trickle that quickly became a river.

Kyle lifted out the familiar wooden box, letting the satin smoothness of the wood soak through to his hands, waiting for it to thaw his heart.

“Kyle?” Sara’s gentle voice bloomed with anxiety. But she said no more, waiting patiently until he finally pulled his emotions under control. “What is it?”

“A seed box,” he told her. His index finger traced the letters he’d carved on the lid years earlier. “It was a Christmas gift Dad helped me make for my mom when I was twelve.” He lifted open the top, slid out one of the drawers, brushed a fingertip against the velvet lining inside.

“It’s beautiful.” Sara leaned forward to examine the surface. “Is it rosewood?”

“Yes,” he said, surprised by her knowledge. “I had to order the wood specially. I thought we’d never get it done in time.” The laugh burst from him, harsh and painful. “Actually, I guess we didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Sara sounded slightly breathless.

“Mom had barely put her seeds in this when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. By planting time she was too sick to come out here anymore.” He snapped the lid closed and thrust the box inside the bin. “She was so sure God would heal her. She said over and over, ‘Trust in God, Kyle. He’ll never let you down.’” Fury burned inside, a white-hot rage that could not be doused. “Well, He did. He let me down twice. And I will never trust Him again.”

He rose and made his way to the door, not caring about his awkwardness. All he wanted was to get away, to hide out until he found a way to deal with his anger.

“Do whatever you want in here, Sara. You’re welcome to it. Just don’t ask me to help you.” With that, Kyle stepped outside. He stood there, eyes closed as he inhaled the fresh, crisp air into his lungs and blew out frustration.

You’re starting over, he reminded himself. Forget the past.

Behind him he heard Sara close the greenhouse door with a quiet click. Desperate to be alone, he headed for the stairs to the house. He almost cheered when behind him a horn tooted and broke the strained silence. Kyle glanced over one shoulder at Sara.

“It’s Laurel,” she said. One hand went to the zipper of the red coat.

“Keep it. You might need it.” He held her gaze, nodding when her eyes asked him if he was sure.

“Thank you.” She hesitated then lifted her chin. “And thank you for letting us use the greenhouse. Enjoy your cinnamon buns.”

“Thanks.” He watched her walk to Laurel’s van. She opened the door then turned to face him.

“God bless you, Kyle,” she said in the softest voice. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“That’s not necess—” Kyle’s words fell on emptiness. Sara was gone, the van driving away.

Kyle stomped into the house, fuming. He didn’t want her here, checking on him, blessing him. He wanted to be alone, to become totally self-sufficient.

Yet as he sampled the sticky sweetness of the cinnamon buns, Kyle almost welcomed the thought of someone else, someone whose presence would stop him from being engulfed by bitterness at what he’d lost.

He stopped himself. His plan for the future did not include staying here or becoming dependent. It certainly could not include getting mesmerized by a pair of silvery-gray eyes. He would never allow himself to be that vulnerable again.

For now, Kyle was home. He’d take the rest of his life one step at a time.

But if Sara did come back, he’d try to find out more about her, like what had made her stare so longingly at his dad’s laptop when she’d seen it lying on the desk.

And why she seemed so certain God would bless him.

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