A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(24)

She understood what drew him to her particular piece of property. She’d overheard Hans talk about it with Vater many times—about how the island in Mill Creek formed a small falls that would be a valuable source of power for a sawmill. The creek was wide there and ideal for constructing a millpond to hold the logs that lumber companies farther inland would soon be floating downriver.

Ward already had a sawmill in Forestville at the mouth of Mill Creek, which competed with Jacob Buel’s mill. Hans and Vater had speculated that by building another sawmill four miles upstream, Ward was hoping to get the larger share of the logging business. And with all the immigrants who had recently moved to the area, the shrewd businessman was probably hoping to sell lumber to them.

Most of the immigrants couldn’t yet afford to move out of their log cabins and build bigger farmhouses made of the boards produced by sawmills. But once they paid off their loans—if they paid them off—they would be able to start saving for better homes and barns. When that happened, Ward seemed determined to have his mill well-established and so be the first in line to make a profit.

And apparently he was willing to resort to devious means to get her land.

Annalisa couldn’t keep from picturing Hans’s head when she’d discovered him. He’d had a deep bloody wedge near his hairline, almost as if someone had hit him with the edge of a farm tool or ax.

If Ward had done the deed—as Vater claimed—then what would stop the greedy man from doing the same to her?

She started toward the gun above the door.

If Ward wanted to kill her, he’d have to make sure he did it someplace where Gretchen couldn’t witness the deed.

The horse came to a halt outside the door.

“Stay here,” she warned Gretchen. Snowdrop was chewing a long bone he’d found while rummaging in the woods. His ears pricked, and he lifted his tiny ebony face. “Keep Snowdrop safe and out of the way.”

Without waiting to see if Gretchen obeyed, Annalisa yanked the gun from the rack. Then in one swooping movement she kicked the door open and pointed the rifle at the intruder. “Go away!” she called into the dawn. The gun trembled, and she willed herself to hold it steady.

Dim light poured out of the cabin and cast a pale shadow on the horse and then on a man as he rounded the beast.

“Good morning to you too.” Carl’s arms shot into the air. “Whatever you think I did, I probably did do it but didn’t mean to.” He stared wide-eyed at the barrel of the gun aimed at his heart.

She glanced behind him, searching for any sign of Ward, but the farm was as still as when she’d gone to the barn earlier.

Worry raised Carl’s brows and gave her a wide glimpse of every handsome line in his face. “I thought you were Ward,” she said.

“Ah, Ward again.” He braved a smile, but didn’t lower his arms. “If you mistook me for Ward, he must be a very dashing fellow.”

“Dashing?” A sudden smile tugged at her lips. “Hardly.”

“Devastatingly handsome?”

“Nein.” Her smile almost broke free at the thought of Ward’s yellow, pockmarked face.

“Then I don’t know how in the world you could have mistaken me for Ward.” His grin crept wider.

“I didn’t expect you to be riding a horse.” But upon a closer look at the horse, she could see it belonged to Vater.

“Your father insisted I bring the cranky old beast along. He said something about needing an extra horse for the plowing today.”

“Ja. It’s a good day for the plowing.”



“Then you won’t need to shoot me after all?” He nodded toward the gun still pointed at him. “At least not today?”

She dropped the barrel and swung the gun behind her back. “I suppose I can hold myself back this time.”

He laughed—a laugh that contained his pleasure at her jest.

She smiled, and warmth spread through her belly.

He lowered his hands, and through the faint light his gaze collided with hers again as it had the night before.

The depth of his eyes held her captive with their charm. And the warmth in her belly spread into her limbs like sweet hot syrup soaking into pancakes.

This man was strange, her reaction to him even stranger. She ought to run inside and avoid any connection with him—no matter how slight. He was a man, and experience had taught her not to trust men.

She took a step back into the open doorway. She couldn’t let her guard down.

“You can tie up Bets”—she nodded toward one of the clothesline poles—“and then come in for your breakfast.”

When he ducked inside a few minutes later, she was surprised when he greeted Gretchen and the puppy, as if he was truly glad to see them.

She retrieved the pan from the hearth and scooped the rubbery pancakes and mushy potatoes onto his plate, attempting to calm the quaking inside. She frowned at the mess on his plate and tried to console herself by blaming him. If only he’d been on time . . .

Her stomach gurgled with the increasing hunger pangs of her body that was working to feed her unborn baby on a limited supply. If Carl didn’t want the meal, Gretchen would gladly eat her fill. And whatever her daughter couldn’t finish, Annalisa would gratefully relish.



“Won’t you join me?” Carl asked as he sat down in the only chair at the wobbly table Hans had hewn.