A Father's Promise (17 page)

“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.”