North Country Family. Lois Richer

tingeing his voice. “N-not anymore.”

      “That’s too bad because God hears the prayers of His kids,” Rick said softly.

      “Maybe He h-hears but He d-doesn’t answer.” Noah turned his head away.

      “God always answers, Noah.” A yearning to help this angry, fatherless boy swelled deep inside Rick. “You know, a lot of us make mistakes that we wish we could undo. But that doesn’t mean God doesn’t hear our prayers.”

      “Then wh-why doesn’t He m-make things d-different?” Noah demanded.

      Rick had asked himself that same question a thousand times, mostly whenever he was reminded of his last days as a stockbroker, right after he’d made that last, greedy, too-speculative gamble and lost his clients’ money. Seniors, single parents, a fund to help the needy—they’d all put their trust in wonder broker Rick Salinger. And because he was so desperate to prove he was better than the no-account street kid he’d been, he’d skipped the due diligence and invested in a scheme that cost them everything.

      With that memory came waves of guilt. For a moment he got sucked into it. Then he shook it off, forcing himself to focus on Noah.

      “You want God to wave a magic wand and make it all better?” When Noah nodded, Rick smiled. “That would be nice, but I think God wants us to learn from our mistakes.”

      Noah didn’t look convinced. “How do you kn-know for sure?”

      “Because God is a loving Father who wants the best for His kids.” Rick stifled a laugh at the look on Noah’s face. Clearly the kid had no love for members of the clergy.

      “My g-grandfather is a minister, t-too,” he said after a long silence.

      Rick waited for more information but Noah just added, “I wish m-my mom would w-wake up. I’m s-starving.”

      As if in answer, an anxious voice across the aisle, two rows back, called, “Noah?”

      Rick watched Noah’s shoulders tense. He waited for the boy to answer. When he didn’t, Rick said, “He’s here. With me.” He half rose to identify himself and immediately got caught in the worry-filled stare of the loveliest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

      A woman who looked too young to be the mother of this boy stood. She passed a hand over her jeans, straightened a sweater that accentuated the golden glints in her eyes then stepped into the aisle. Her blond hair caressed her cheeks in tumbled layers of tousled curls as she raked a hand through them.

      He knew that face.

      Rick scrambled to remember where he’d seen her before but came up blank. He was positive that he knew her, though Noah’s mother didn’t seem to know him. She barely glanced at him before she hunkered down beside her son.

      “You were supposed to tell me if you were going somewhere, Noah.”

      Rick immediately understood that the harshness he heard in her voice came from the fear still lingering in her eyes. A mental image of her—younger, without the worry, carefree and happy—flashed through his head.

      Where did that come from?

      “S-sorry, Mom,” Noah muttered. He didn’t sound sorry.

      “Noah didn’t want to wake you so he moved over here. We’ve been chatting to pass the time.” He thrust out a hand. “I’m Rick Salinger.”

      Instantly a barrier went up in her cocoa-toned eyes. After several moments’ hesitation she slid her small hand into his for about half a second then immediately pulled it away.

      “Cassie Crockett,” she said with her chin thrust forward. “I’m sorry Noah bothered you.”

      “He didn’t— Just the opposite, actually. Did you know your son is a cardshark?” Rick was certain he’d never met anyone named Cassie Crockett so he couldn’t possibly know her, and yet that face...

      Rick regrouped and grinned at Noah. “He beat me in six straight games of hearts.”

      “I’ve been there.” A smile flickered at the corner of her lips. “Humbling, isn’t it?”

      “Very,” Rick agreed, wanting to see what a real smile looked like on Cassie Crockett. “But I was glad to have someone to talk to. Seventeen hours from Thompson to Churchill makes for a long ride, even if this part of northern Canada is the best of God’s creation.” He paused then asked, “Have we met before?”

      “No.” Short and succinct, her answer flew out almost before he’d finished asking the question.

      “I don’t mean to push it, but you seem very familiar to me,” he said.

      “I assure you, I have never seen you before.” She held his gaze, dark brown sparks in her eyes defiant.

      “I’m h-hungry, Mom.” Noah looked at Rick, and seemed to sense an ally. “I b-bet Pastor Rick is hungry, t-too. We want b-breakfast.”

      “Pastor?” Cassie’s voice squeaked. Her heart-shaped face paled as her eyes narrowed.

      “H-he’s a minister in C-Churchill.” Noah seemed either unaware of or unconcerned about his mother’s reaction.

      “I am.” Rick sensed that a change of subject would be helpful. “They serve a passable breakfast on board, Mrs. Crockett.” He smiled again, hoping to allay whatever fears made her tense. “I could show you the way.”

      “That’s okay,” she said, her voice colder than before. “We’re not ready yet.”

      “I’m r-ready, Mom,” Noah contradicted.

      “We have to clean up first.” Cassie’s brow furrowed as she studied her son. “Your hair needs combing.”

      “Then c-can we have breakfast with P-pastor Rick?”

      Noah’s blue eyes begged her, but Cassie seemed to be searching for an excuse not to join him, so Rick gave her an out.

      “Maybe I’ll see you there.” He grinned at Noah. “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the card game.”

      “It was n-nice m-meeting you, too,” Noah responded. “T-thanks for telling m-me about Churchill. If we g-go to a r-restaurant, I’m g-going to order c-c-caribou.”

      “Good. But if anyone offers you muktuk, make sure it’s fresh.” Rick hid his smile and waited for the inevitable question.

      “Wh-why?”

      “Whale skin and blubber are best eaten fresh.” Rick chuckled at Noah’s dismayed look. “It’s actually not bad when you get used to it.” Then he nodded at Cassie. “Excuse me.”

      Apparently Cassie hadn’t realized she was blocking his way. Her cheeks flamed bright pink as she stepped out of the way and beckoned to Noah to follow.

      Rick tried not to hear their discussion as he waited for another passenger to move out of the aisle, but it was difficult not to eavesdrop.

      “Why d-didn’t we go with Pastor R-rick, Mom? I’m s-starving.” Noah’s stutter seemed to worsen with his temper. “I w-want to g-go n-now.”

      “Noah, behave.” Cassie sounded irritated. “We’ll go for breakfast soon, but not if you’re going to make a fuss. That is not how a Crockett behaves,” she said softly, almost too softly for Rick to hear.

      “Mrs. P-Perkins said all C-crocketts behave b-badly,” Noah muttered in a sullen tone.

      “Mrs. Perkins was wrong.” Cassie sounded desperate to shush her son.

      “Th-that’s what she said about y-you,” Noah retorted. “Sh-she said you m-made the b-b-biggest mistake of your l-life.”

      Able to finally move forward to the dining car, Rick couldn’t hear Cassie’s response. Noah’s words had raised a thousand questions in his mind—but