Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(34)

“Thank you for coming after me,” she said softly, her mind beginning to comprehend the magnitude of what he’d done and the risks he’d taken—even putting his own life in jeopardy—to find her. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

“You’re welcome.” A slow smile worked its way up his lips. The flames from the fire reflected on his face, highlighting his pleasure at her words. “After all the times I’ve had to bail you out of trouble, I have to admit, it’s kind of nice to hear you finally admit you needed my help.”

“All the times?”

“Yes, all the times.” His grinned widened. “Starting from the first night you stepped into the Northern Hotel.”

“If I remember right, I didn’t do such a bad job taking care of myself.” A smile twitched her lips. “But I suppose if it makes you feel like a knight in shining armor, I’ll let you take the credit for saving me from doom.”

“Oh, come on, admit it.” His voice was low and edged with laughter. “You know for a fact I’m your knight in shining armor.”

Her heart swelled. “Since you’re forcing a confession out of me,” she bantered, “then yes, I admit you’re my hero.” Little did he know just how much he was winning her heart.

“Well, then that’s settled.”

A gust of wind blew at the shack, rattling the walls and threatening to tear the roof away. A shower of snow blew in between several cracks, sending a dusting over them.

He glanced at the roof, and worried lines quickly replaced all humor.

“Sounds like it’s still storming,” she said. How many hours had elapsed since she’d left the hotel? “When I left I never expected it to start snowing or for it to get so cold so fast.”

“Last time I went out we had ten and a quarter inches on the ground.”

He was so matter-of-fact and precise she couldn’t keep from teasing. “Are you sure it wasn’t more like ten and a half?”

His eyebrow quirked.

She smiled. “I don’t suppose you had a ruler to measure it now, did you?”

He ducked his head, but not before she caught sight of his grin. “I don’t need one. I have one built into my brain.”

“Built in?” This time her brow shot up.

“I’m good with figures.”

The wind rattled again, whistling through the many crevices in the walls and down the narrow pipe that served as the chimney for the small dugout fireplace.

He stood, bumping his head against the ceiling. With a frown, he shrugged into his plaid mackinaw and then reached for his heavy coat.

“Is it time to go?” she asked, propping herself onto her elbow.

He tugged up the collar of his coat and slipped his feet into his boots. Then he looked at her with a seriousness that sent a jolt of fear through her. “We can’t leave.”

“Sure we can.” She pushed herself up but was immediately overcome by a wave of dizziness.

“Even if you were up to leaving, which you’re not”—he nodded at her weak attempt at sitting up—“I let the horse go last night. It was her only chance of surviving. Hopefully she made her way back to the stable.”

“We could walk—”

“Not without snowshoes. The snow’s too deep and the wind too harsh.”

She leaned back again, suddenly weary and cold. “Then we’re stuck here?”

“Until a rescue party comes for us.” He pulled on his gloves. “Or until spring. Whichever comes first.” He gave a halfhearted grin at his attempt at a joke.

But the shadows in his eyes gave testimony to the seriousness of their situation. “I’m going out to get more firewood.”

When he opened the door, the overcast daylight streamed in, along with a swirl of snow and wind. All it took was one glimpse of the blizzard that was still raging for her to realize he was right. They’d be foolish to attempt to go anywhere—as foolish as she’d been to set out in the first place.

He was gone longer than she’d hoped. And all the while the wind raged harder, squeezing between every crevice and slithering over her. She tried to sit up, then to kneel, knowing she couldn’t lie helplessly while he did all the work.

She reached for her dress, and her body shook with the effort. As her fingers made contact with the damp material, she knew she wouldn’t be able to put it back on yet, not while it was still cold and wet. She tried to spread it out to help with the drying but fell back against the ground, exhausted.

“Please don’t let us die, God.” Her heart cried out, just as it had when she’d fallen into the snow, unable to go another step forward. She couldn’t die now. Not yet. Not when Daisy and Frankie still needed her so desperately.



Hunger gnawed at Connell’s stomach. He handed Lily another slice of dried apple. “Come on now, one more piece.”

She pushed his hand away. “I’m too tired to eat any more.”

He’d managed to stuff half a loaf of bread, a few dried apples, and a wedge of cheese into his sack, enough to tide them over for one missed meal, but certainly not enough to sustain them long term. And now, after just one day, their supply of food was low, even though he’d rationed himself to the barest minimum.