Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(12)
Connell couldn’t make his feet work either.
Lily stepped into the street and headed in the direction of the next closest tavern.
“You big chicken,” Stuart said under his breath. Then he took off at a jog. “Miss Young,” he called. “I’m Stuart Golden. Chief editor and owner of the Harrison Herald.”
She stopped. She grabbed her flapping skirt and angled her head at Stuart.
He gave her a wide smile, one that froze Connell’s insides like a lump of gravy on a cold tin plate. “And I’m a friend of Connell McCormick.” Stuart tossed a nod his way.
She glanced at Connell for less than a second, but it was long enough for him to see that she was still holding him in disdain for the conversation they’d had earlier about the problems in town.
“Just wanted to introduce myself,” Stuart continued, “and let you know that if you need any help—with anything at all—I’m the man for the job.”
Her rich brown eyes were framed by lashes that were long and thick enough to sweep a man off his feet. And when she turned her attention upon Stuart, she seemed to do just that—sweep him off his feet and up into the air.
“Well now, that’s mighty nice of you, Mr. Golden—”
“Stu.” He regarded her like a puppy its master.
Connell wished he were standing next to Stuart and could sock him in the arm. Of course, he couldn’t begrudge Stuart the attention of a woman, not after having lost his wife during the diphtheria epidemic that had ravaged Michigan back in ’80. Stuart had lost his son too, and for all practical purposes had given up on the baby daughter he’d handed to the care of his parents who lived down in Saginaw.
If anyone deserved the company of a good woman, it was Stuart.
Why, then, did the sight of him going soft over Lily irritate him?
In a matter of seconds, Stuart had convinced Lily to accompany him into his office building. “I can tell you anything you want to know about any of the taverns in town,” he said, ushering her through the door.
She stumbled but caught herself and raised her eyebrows at Stuart. “Why, Mr. Golden—”
“Don’t go thinking I know from personal experience.” He grinned and covered his chest as though wounded. “I’m an investigative reporter. It’s my job to know everything and anything that goes on in this town.”
Connell trudged behind them and kicked the door closed none too lightly.
“Besides,” Stuart said, leading the way into his first-floor office that also sufficed as his printing room, “I get the inside scoop from Bass, my part-time assistant. He takes care of frequenting the taverns well enough for the both of us.”
“Well in that case, how can I refuse your kind offer of help?” She gave him a smile, pointedly ignoring Connell. “Especially when it would seem that there are some in this town who are perfectly content to do nothing about the terrible problems that exist here.”
Connell leaned against the doorframe of the newspaper office and bit back his response. What did Lily Young know anyway? Sure, she was just trying to find her sister. But she was also an overly idealistic young woman who knew nothing about the stark realities of lumber-town life.
He wasn’t necessarily turning a blind eye to the problems—was he? He was merely allowing others who were more passionate and capable—like her—to deal with social ills. She obviously felt a strong calling from God to right all the wrongs. If she and others like her were doing the work, then God wouldn’t need his meager help too—would He?
Besides, he’d already told her that some evils were there to stay. There was a zero percent chance of eradicating them.
But it wouldn’t do any good to get into another spat with her.
Stuart lifted a twelve-inch stack of papers from his desk chair and plopped them onto the mounds of papers already strewn across his desk. Then he dragged the chair out and with a wave of his hand offered it to Lily, as if he were showing a queen her throne.
She sat and tugged off her mittens, not seeming to mind in the least that the room was a cluttered disaster. The job cases and accompanying metal letters were strewn over a three-foot-square table used for setting the type. Ink drums, sheaves of paper, and crumpled wads littered the floor. The Gordon platen jobber Stuart used for printing the weekly paper sat in the middle of the room, and it was a blackened, ink-stained mess, just like the floorboards around it.
Even though the jobber was operated by a foot treadle and fed by hand, it was still a sturdy machine that had served Stuart well not only for the weekly paper but for other printing jobs—pamphlets, posters, cards, and announcements—for local shops and businesses.
Yes. There were plenty of good businesses around town. But that didn’t mean Lily was safe.
“You shouldn’t be visiting the saloons by yourself,” Connell said.
She pulled off her knit cap. “I didn’t hear you volunteering to come with me earlier.”
“If I’d known you were going to march around to all the saloons, I would have offered to tag along.”
Her curly hair tumbled down around her face and framed eyes that widened. “I have a hard time believing you’d tag along with anyone.”
“Next time try me.”
She hesitated and her eyes flickered as if she wanted to believe him but couldn’t. “For your information, I’ve been searching the dregs all winter, and I’ve been taking care of myself just fine.”