Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(103)

Truth be told, Lily was too.

He hadn’t walked away from the problems like she’d wanted him too. Instead, he’d done something even more courageous. He’d stayed and was fighting to make things better. He was discovering where God wanted to use him.

Lily dropped her rag into the bucket and walked over to the wicker chair in front of the plain gray backdrop they used for most of the portraits.

With a heavy heart, she plopped into the chair, drying her hands on the folds of her skirt.

She rested her elbows on her knees and lowered her face into her hands. She was ashamed to think of how judgmental she’d been, of the accusations she’d leveled at Connell.

If only she could rewind time and take back the things she’d told him.

A painful ache lodged in her throat.

She’d been wrong to suggest that he leave his family business for her.

And now because of her foolishness, she’d lost him.

As much as she’d tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that she’d make a life for herself without him, she knew losing him would hurt until the day she died.

If only she hadn’t been so proud. She wasn’t as pure and righteous as she’d thought. Except by the grace of God, she too could have fallen into a sinful life like Daisy. Perhaps the first step in battling temptation was humility—recognizing that she wasn’t infallible and needed God’s help.

The bell on the door jingled, and a breath of the cool spring air rushed inside the studio.

Lily pushed herself up from the chair. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.” She quickly turned her head and tucked stray hairs back into the knot she’d only loosely tied.

“I don’t think I can wait another minute.”

At the sound of Connell’s voice, her heart sputtered to a stop. Slowly she pivoted until she faced him.

She almost didn’t recognize him. Gone were the shanty-boy clothes—the plaid mackinaw, the heavy trousers, and the dirty caulk boots. In their place was the apparel of a gentleman—an open frock coat that went down to his knees, revealing an embossed brocade vest, bow tie, and pin-striped trousers.

He took a step away from the door and lifted his hat off his head, revealing his clean-shaven face. He looked more like a banker than a backwoodsman.

Under one arm he carried a box.

But it wasn’t his clothes, or his freshly groomed face, or his parcel that caught her attention. Rather, it was his eyes—the warmth of the pine green—that took her breath away.

“I’ve waited thirty-one days to see you.” He pulled his watch out of the front pocket of his vest and examined it. “That’s exactly 44,640 minutes.”

Her stomach did a flip.

“I’m hoping I gave you long enough to sort out your life.” He hesitated, almost as if he were restraining himself from charging across the room to her, as if he didn’t quite know if she’d welcome him or send him away.

She wanted to tell him he’d given her too long, that she didn’t expect she’d ever have her life sorted out, that maybe she wouldn’t see the pattern God was putting together but she’d trust Him with the bigger design anyway. But the words stuck in her throat.

He took several steps toward her. In the empty studio, his footsteps echoed with determination. “If I didn’t give you long enough, I’m sorry. But I really couldn’t wait another sixty seconds.”

“Are you telling me you’re an impatient man, Connell McCormick?” Warmth spread through her middle, and she couldn’t contain the teasing smile that tugged at her lips.

“I’m the prince of patience.” He smiled back, his face visibly relaxing. “In fact, I think I deserve to be crowned king for all the restraint I’ve had when it comes to you.”

There was something in the depths of his eyes that made the warmth in her stomach curl like ribbons. She couldn’t help thinking back to the last time she’d kissed him, at the Stockade, when she’d sat on his lap and pressed her lips against his like a hussy.

Of course she’d only been trying to keep them out of trouble. Hadn’t she? Even as she asked herself the question, the truth nudged her. She needed to learn more restraint.

She dropped her gaze, reminded once again of how weak she was.

“I was planning on giving myself more time to . . . to get my own plans squared away.” He tapped the box under his arm. “But then I found this and thought of you.”

“Should I be flattered that a wooden box made you think of me?”

His grin widened. He lowered the box to the floor and kneeled in front of it. “I found something that needs saving. And since you’re the queen of rescues—I figured you might want to take a shot at another rescue.”

“So now I’m the queen of rescues?” She kneeled onto the polished wood floor across the box from him.

“No one can pull off a rescue like you.” The teasing glimmer in his eyes pulled the ribbon in her stomach tighter. “Although I won’t ask you to promise that you’ll refrain from any more middle-of-the-night rescues.”

She smiled.

“Because I think we both know you won’t be able to keep that promise.”

She laughed softly. “Well, if you’re the king of patience and I’m the queen of rescues, I guess that means we’re both royalty.”