A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(36)

He dragged in a deep, contented breath. He’d broken through the stiff reserve she’d built around herself, much like the thick wall surrounding his father’s schloss.



She rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her trembling ceased. And although she didn’t wrap her arms around him in return the way he wanted, at least she was beginning to trust him—or at least he hoped she was.

“Mama?” Gretchen’s heartbroken call came from the bed.

With a gasp Annalisa pulled back.

He released her and helped her to her feet.

They’d both forgotten about the girl. Had Ward hurt her too?

Carl’s fingers tightened into hard fists with the need to punch the man’s flabby stomach.

Annalisa stumbled across the room to the bed. Gretchen was still in the corner, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She hugged Snowdrop to her chest, but the normally squirmy puppy didn’t move.

“Is Snowdrop hurt?” the girl asked through a broken sob.

Annalisa sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered Gretchen into her arms. The puppy flopped like a rag doll. Annalisa put a hand to the pup’s nose and rubbed his head. But he gave no sign of life.

Carl approached the bed and scanned the girl for any signs of injury. Seeing none, he uncurled his fist and took a deep breath. If Ward had hurt Gretchen, he would have had no other option than to chase the man down and teach him a lesson.

“Make Snowdrop wake up, Mama,” Gretchen pleaded. “Bitte, Mama. Bitte.”

Annalisa shook her head and then glanced up at him. Desperation flashed across her face. “The dog was barking at Ward and snapping at his heels. . . .”

Carl could just picture the scene—the puppy sensing Gretchen and Annalisa’s fear and doing all he could to protect them from the intruder.

“Before I could put Snowdrop outside, Ward kicked him. In the head.” Annalisa scratched the curly black fur on the dog’s head.

Gretchen’s sobs tore at Carl’s chest. “Guess I should have put a bullet in that miserable man after all.” He lowered himself to his knees, forgetting all the aches in his weary body.

He didn’t know the first thing about doctoring animals. But he couldn’t sit back and do nothing for the pup, not with Gretchen’s tears and not with Annalisa’s eyes pleading with him.

Lord, please don’t let the dog die, he silently prayed. Then he took the puppy, stretched him out on the bed, and bent his ear to the animal’s chest. At the faint thump of a heartbeat Carl lifted his head. “He’s still alive.”

Gretchen gulped down a sob and sat forward, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Will he live?” Annalisa asked.

Carl rubbed his hand up and down the dog’s torso. “I’m praying he will.”

“Pray too, Mama?” Gretchen climbed off the bed and kneeled next to Carl. Her face barely reached the edge of the bed.

“Yes, you and your mama pray too.”

“Pray, Mama?” She patted the spot next to her.

Doubt flickered across Annalisa’s face, almost as if she didn’t believe that prayer would make much of a difference.

“Remember,” he said softly, “if God clothes every blade of grass—every one of the millions of sprouts that come up in the spring—then I think He’ll show some concern for this puppy’s life.”

She hesitated.

“He tells us that we can bring every kind of request before Him, no matter how insignificant it might seem.” Carl rubbed the puppy’s belly, feeling for damage to any organs or bones. He’d learned that God might not always answer his prayers the way he wanted. But the telling of his concerns usually brought a peace and a perspective that were better than a direct answer and perhaps part of the real reason for praying.

From the way Annalisa arched her brow, he wasn’t sure if his platitudes cut through her doubt, but she slid off the bed and knelt next to Gretchen anyway.

“Let’s pray.” Her words were soft and unconvincing. But she folded her hands and bowed her head. Gretchen did the same.

At the sight of the two blond heads bent in prayer, Carl’s heart tumbled. What would it be like to have his own wife and daughter? To kneel next to them every morning and evening and lead them in prayer?

He’d never given marriage much consideration. After being wounded in the war, his father had helped him run away to England so that he wouldn’t have to fight again. And during his years studying and tutoring, he’d never given much thought to settling down and having a family. He’d enjoyed the attention of women friends, had flirted and had fun with them, but that was about as far as his commitment had gone. Then when he’d had to run away from Lord Faust and England, he’d been in too much danger to consider bringing a family into his troubles.

Of course after his return, his father had wanted to arrange a marriage for him, and he didn’t blame his father for trying. At thirty-one Carl knew he was well past the age most men started their families. Being an only child, his father had made it clear he expected him to continue the family business and name.

Carl shifted his gaze away from the two heads bent in prayer and willed his heart to stop its strange flopping. He couldn’t think about marriage and children now—not when he was wanted for murder, not when he didn’t own anything but the lice-infested clothes on his back, and not when all he had to offer was trouble.