North Country Hero. Lois Richer

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ