North Country Mom. Lois Richer

isn’t the past. You aren’t fifteen and vulnerable. You don’t have to beg.

      “Release me,” she demanded, then wished she hadn’t. He was only trying to help; no point in antagonizing him. He might end up as a customer and Alicia needed every buyer she could get to fulfill her dream of opening a second store.

      “Sorry.” He dropped her arm and held up his hands, backing away.

      “Thank you. I’m going to find a seat,” she said firmly as she bent to corral the rest of her packages. One box skittered beyond her reach.

      “By all means.” The man caught the runaway box and laid it on top of the others in her arms without touching her. Then he opened the heavy door, held it and waved her past.

      “Thanks.” Alicia tried to ignore his presence as she searched for a vacant seat.

      It would have to be one of those days when the tired old train was full. Two of the most biased people in town were on board. Though it hurt, she pretended she didn’t notice the way they turned their backs on her and hoped the man behind her didn’t notice, either.

      Finally she spied two seats together in the middle of the car. She hurried toward them, relieved to let her packages tumble onto the seat.

      “Um.” He was right behind her. “That’s my seat.”

      “Oh.” Her face reddened, but she wasn’t going to be intimidated by either his height or his muscle-honed body. She twisted to look at him.

      That was a mistake. His face nearly made her gulp. Classic hunk material. All chiseled lines and sharp-angled cheekbones topped by beach-bum-blond hair and rich blue eyes that seemed to bore into her. Alicia inhaled and focused.

      “Both seats are yours?”

      “Technically, one is my daughter’s, but she’s sleeping over there.” He jerked a hand toward the seats across the aisle. A preteen girl lay sprawled across the two reclining chairs, her long black hair spread around her like a curtain. “Giselle wasn’t feeling well earlier so I’d rather not wake her. It would be better if we could share these two seats.” His short, terse tone dared her to argue. When she didn’t respond, he glanced down at her packages spread across both seats then back up at her. “If you don’t mind?”

      Actually, Alicia did mind.

      The intimacy of sitting beside him made her very uncomfortable. Besides, she’d counted on catching some sleep before the train arrived in Churchill tomorrow morning. With this heartthrob sitting next to her the chances of that were as good as her winning the lottery; however, as the last person to board the train she was hardly in a position to argue.

      He tapped his toe, clearly impatient for her decision. As if she had a choice. Still...she was making progress in her whole avoid men issue. She could do this.

      “Uh, thanks for sharing.” Alicia tried to gather the packages, but she no sooner had a grip on two than the third popped out of her arms.

      Usually she brought a bag for just this purpose, but somehow she’d misplaced it at the last stop when she’d left the train to pick up Mary Starblanket’s beaded earrings. Frustrated and embarrassed that everyone was now watching them, she tried to hide below the seat back and in the process lost all the packages she held.

      “Maybe this will help.” He held out a sack made of netting. “I’ll hold it, you get them inside. Perhaps then we can finally sit down.”

      “Thanks.” So bossy. But at least he was helping. When the bag was full, he tightened the top then swung everything into an overhead bin, including her backpack. She winced at the rough handling but said only, “Window or aisle?”

      “Aisle. My legs are too long for the inside seat.”

      They certainly were; long and clad in designer jeans. But it was his feet Alicia noticed—feet covered in a most amazing pair of boots which lovingly hugged his feet in gleaming black calfskin. For a fit like that, she guessed the boots were custom. She wondered who’d made them. Good craftsmen were hard to find. She should know. She was always looking for unique, handcrafted items for her shop.

      Suddenly aware she was staring, Alicia huddled against the wall to give him more room.

      His smile and the way he pointed his booted toes up were the only signs he gave that he’d noticed her scrutiny. He thrust out a hand. “Jack Campbell.”

      “Alicia Featherstone.” As his fingers engulfed hers a tiny shiver of—what? Fear? Dread?—made the hairs on her arm stand to attention. She blinked. No, it felt more like anticipation. Surprise bloomed inside her. It couldn’t be anticipation. Men made her nervous. Had done ever since—

      “What’s in the packages, Alicia?” he asked.

      “Stock for my store.” He certainly wasn’t reticent. “I buy handmade goods from First Nations people to sell to visitors to Churchill,” she explained. “Canada has a thriving Native arts population. I’m trying to help it expand.”

      “Tansi.”

      This handsome traveler spoke her native Cree language? Delighted, Alicia shot back a greeting in the same language.

      “Pardon?” Jack raised both eyebrows in an imperious question mark.

      Uh-oh. Alicia switched to English. “I thought you were speaking to me in Cree.”

      “Maybe I was and didn’t know it.” His tanned face relaxed and suddenly he looked much younger. And more handsome, if that was possible. “I don’t know what it means but isn’t Tansi the name of your store?”

      “In Cree it means ‘hi’ or ‘how are you.’” She tilted her head to one side. “And yes, my store is called Tansi. How did you know?”

      “I’ve been to Churchill before.” Jack inclined his head. “My sister, Laurel Quinn, lives there. She runs a rehabilitation project for troubled boys called Lives Under Construction.”

      “I’m very familiar with it. I teach her boys classes on Aboriginal culture.” Alicia silently completed a second inventory on Jack. Yep, he was the stuff of romantic teenage dreams. Fortunately hers were long gone. “How long will you be visiting?”

      She followed his gaze to the girl who slept so peacefully across the way. Giselle didn’t look anything like her father. Perhaps she favors her mother. A pang of loss pinched Alicia’s stomach into a knot as she remembered a baby, so tiny, so precious.

      Where is he now, Lord?

      “Giselle and I aren’t visitors this time.” The tightness in Jack’s voice made her curious. “We’re moving to Churchill permanently. I bought a hotel.”

      “You’re the new owner of the Northern Lights Lodge,” she said in sudden understanding.

      “Yes.” He didn’t exactly look thrilled.

      “You aren’t excited about your venture? Do you have lots of experience?” She wished she could make herself small enough so his broad shoulder didn’t keep brushing hers, but that was not easy when she was five foot eight.

      “No. I was a cop in Vancouver.” His voice hummed with a low rumble. “It’s all I ever wanted to be and I was good at it.”

      A cop who loved shoes? She’d think about that later.

      “I lived in Vancouver once.” Alicia couldn’t quite suppress a shudder. “Why’d you quit being a cop to run a hotel?” she asked, then realized how nosy she sounded. To change the subject she said, “You’ll probably regret leaving mild Vancouver when winter returns to Churchill.”

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

      “Oh. Is she in danger?” Alicia couldn’t contain her curiosity about this obviously