Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(21)
“If you find her, do you think you’ll move back?”
“There’s nothing left for us there. No one who wants us. No one who ever did.”
She spoke so low, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. And he couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the rest of her family and how she had ended up with the cranky old photographer.
“When I find Daisy—not if,” she said, her voice growing louder and ringing with the passion he’d heard before. “When I find her, I’ll never let her go. And I’ll give her the kind of home she deserves—finally.”
He took a slurp of coffee, not quite sure how to answer her. If he did the math, he could come up with the slim percentage she had of finding her sister, especially alive. But he didn’t think she’d be too happy with the statistic.
“I’m old enough now that I’ll be able to get a job and find a place for the two of us,” she said, looking him directly in the eyes, as if somehow she could convince him. “I’ll take care of her. We’ll make it this time.”
He prayed she was right. But he had the gut feeling she was in for far more challenges than she expected.
But who was he to contradict her and discourage her plans? He hardly knew her. In a few short weeks, she’d move on with Oren to another town and Connell would likely never see her again.
And yet, down in the dark depths of her eyes, there was a spark that drew him in, a flicker of loneliness and longing, and it tugged on him, pulling him deeper. . . . And he was afraid now that he’d already stepped into her life, he might not be able to pull himself back out.
Chapter
6
Five taverns down, fifteen to go.
Lily bunched up her skirt and squelched through the thick oozing mud that covered Main Street. The past several days of melting snow had turned the ground into a slimy marsh. But she didn’t mind having to walk through it, as long as the sun continued to shine.
“Do you have time to visit one more this morning?” she asked Stuart, who stomped along next to her, not seeming to mind that his boots and trousers were caked with mud.
“I’m sure I have plenty of time.” The newspaper editor didn’t bother pulling out his pocket watch and instead grinned at her. “And if I don’t, I’ll make it.”
She tried to form her lips into a smile. But she couldn’t quite get them as generous as she wanted. Over the past several days he’d gone out of his way to help her visit taverns and was being awfully nice to her—almost too nice. She didn’t want to encourage him into thinking there was anything more between them than a plain and simple friendship.
“Besides,” he said, “I’ll take any opportunity to get out of the office and enjoy the sunshine and the warm spell we’re having.”
“Well, at least there are two of us enjoying it.” She slid a glance at Connell McCormick, who was standing outside the butcher shop at the end of the street. He was leaning against a post and talking with the butcher, likely working out a delivery of meat to his camps. “There are some people around here who think sunshine is the tool of the devil.”
Stuart followed her gaze.
It hadn’t taken her long to learn that Connell was boss man of not just one camp in the area, but three. He’d proven himself to be a courteous and kind man. But she was disappointed to think that such a decent man would willingly participate in the mass destruction of the timberland. And not only participate, but orchestrate the mindless ruination.
Stuart grinned at Connell and waved.
She flipped her attention away, but not before Connell caught her staring.
“Connell McCormick sees everything in one of two ways,” Stuart explained. “He either looks through the lens of dollar signs or the lens of mathematical symbols.”
“Too bad he can’t wipe off the greed and see things from a better perspective.”
“You mean your perspective?” Stuart’s voice was tinged with laughter.
“I’m only doing what any godly person would—taking a stand against the evil and fighting for what’s right.”
“Speaking of evil.” Stuart touched her elbow, motioning for her to stop. “Here comes Maggie Carr.”
A woman wrapped in a thin lacy shawl was making her way through the muck and heading in the direction of the train depot. The screech of steel brakes and a sharp whistle indicated the Pere Marquette was arriving right on schedule.
“She’s the wife of James Carr, the biggest piece of scum that’s taken up residence in Harrison.”
The woman wore a scarf around her neck and had wrapped it so that it covered her mouth and nose.
“Carr keeps a pack of vicious bloodhounds up at the Stockade.” Stuart inclined his head toward the edge of town. There on a rocky hill stood a wide two-story tavern surrounded by a tall log fence, the ends shaved to frightening points.
Lily stifled a shudder. She’d heard some of the shanty boys talking about the Stockade and boasting that James Carr had the best drinks and girls in all of Michigan. They’d also joked that a night didn’t go by in which an unlucky shanty boy was tossed down the hill beaten and bruised—or worse. They’d called it Dead Man’s Hill and had laughed about it, but she’d decided the Stockade would be the last tavern on her list to visit.