Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(30)

Oren was a good man. She’d learned that in spite of all his grumbling, he would give his life to help others too. He’d put himself in danger for her already that winter.

But now—this time—if Connell was right, maybe the danger was too great. Maybe it was finally time to go alone, to do what needed to be done on her own. Over the months Oren had come to mean the world to her, and she couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to him because of her.

There was no need to jeopardize both of their lives. Was there?

Besides, how could she wait . . . when every minute could make a difference in saving Frankie’s innocence?



A rap on the door startled Connell awake. He jumped up from the corner chair and glanced toward his bed, still perfectly made.

He hadn’t planned on dozing. He’d only wanted to rest and be ready whenever he heard Oren and Lily start out. Everything inside him protested the thought of them attempting such a foolish rescue mission on their own. He knew he could do nothing less than follow at a safe distance to make sure they were safe.

Another knock sounded at the door, this one louder.

He strode across the room, and instinctively his hand slid to the knife sheathed at his rib cage. He cracked the door and peered into the hollow blackness of the hallway.

Instantly the cold tip of a rifle rammed into his temple. “Where’s Lily, you worthless piece of pond scum?” Oren growled at him.

“I haven’t seen her.” Connell shoved the rifle away and refrained from pulling out his knife. He wouldn’t. Not on Oren. “I thought she was going with you.”

Oren lowered his gun and muttered several oaths under his mustache.

“Isn’t she in her room?” Connell had been listening for the squeak of the floorboards, for the click of her door down the hall from his room. How had he missed the sounds?

Oren muttered again.

Cold fear jabbed into him like the sharp end of a pike pole. “She didn’t start off to Merryville on her own, did she?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Oren’s voice wavered, all bluster suddenly gone.

Connell’s fear exploded into near panic. Without stopping to think, he grabbed the blankets from his bed and rolled them into a tight bundle. “What time do you think she left?” he asked, stuffing the bundle into one of his bags and then cramming in a pair of socks, his ax, and anything else he could find in his hurry.

“I’m guessing she had no intention of letting me drive her,” Oren said. “She’s too impatient.”

“So she got a sizable head start?”

Oren didn’t say anything. But his silence spoke volumes.

Connell shouldered the bag. Then without waiting to see if Oren followed, he headed down to the kitchen. Through the darkness, he rummaged through the food stores, stuffing as much as he could into the sack.

“Lily’s gone.” He heard Oren explain to Vera, who’d appeared in her nightgown. She wasted no time lighting a lantern and helping fill Connell’s bag.

“There’s already an inch of fresh snow on the ground,” she said, bringing him his coat. “And with the way my foot’s been paining me all night, I’m guessing we’re in for a lot more.”

They all knew the urgency of the situation. Travel would have been dangerous enough for a woman alone in the wilds of the Michigan wilderness on a calm winter evening. Of course there was the cold and the possibility of getting lost in the darkness. But with a snowstorm brewing, the danger had quadrupled.

And then there were the wolves. In the dead of winter, they were more than a little hungry. Every winter a shanty boy or two disappeared. Sometimes in the spring after the thaw, they’d find a few scattered bones, all that remained after the pack’s meal.

“You can take my sleigh,” Oren said, his shoulders stooped at least three inches more than usual.

Connell pulled on his thick leather gloves. “I’ll be able to go faster on my horse.”

“Then take my rifle.” Oren shoved the Winchester at him, along with a leather bullet pouch. The man had aged twenty years in twenty minutes.

Connell tucked the gun under his arm, slung his pack across his back, and with lantern in hand, stepped into the snow. It was already blowing sideways and pelted him in the face. The sharpness of the wind took his breath away.

He met Oren’s gaze one last time. The thick furrowed brows drooped low. “I’ll find her,” Connell reassured him, praying he was right, that it wasn’t too late.

Within minutes, Mr. Heller had helped him saddle his horse, and he headed toward the Pere Marquette railroad line. He figured Lily was smart enough to follow the tracks as far as they would lead her. But the snow was blowing hard, and if she’d left any footprints, they were long gone.

He quickly calculated that if Lily had left the hotel shortly after midnight, when all the lights had finally been extinguished, she’d likely gotten a two-hour head start. If she’d walked swiftly, he’d have to do some hard riding before he’d get within distance of her.

His gut pinched with growing anxiety. Since the snowstorm had just started, he hoped he’d make it to her before she suffered from frostbite, hypothermia, or worse.

He pushed his mare as fast as he could against the gusts of wind and heavy snow, but they made slow progress. Within thirty minutes, his fingers were so stiff with cold that he could hardly maintain his grip on the lantern. After another thirty minutes, he couldn’t see through the swirling snow more than a foot in front of the horse.