Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(37)

For a long moment he stared into the fire and didn’t say anything.

“And now,” he finally said, “nothing is more important to my dad than working hard and being successful.”

“Is that what you believe too?”

“I guess.”

“But you don’t have to let his definition of success be yours.” She tugged the blankets under her chin, but then felt a rush of cold air over her feet as the blanket slid off. Even though her dress had finally dried, she’d collapsed with weakness trying to don it on one of the occasions when he’d gone out. She’d had to give up and covered herself with her coat and blankets instead.

He leaned forward and tucked a blanket back around her feet. “When are you going to tell me about your striped socks?”

“Why, Connell McCormick.” She gave a mock gasp. “Have you been peeking at my feet?”

“I haven’t meant to. But there’ve been a few times—”

“Few!” Again she pretended shock, but her smile gave away her playfulness. “So not only have you been peeking, you’ve made it a regular practice to glimpse under my hem.”

“It’s hard to miss those bright colors—”

“Come on. Admit it. You like seeing my ankles.”

He poked at the fire and ducked his head.

She gave a soft laugh. Pleasure from his obvious attraction wove through her like a sweet summer breeze. She shifted her legs and let the blanket slide from her feet again, revealing them once more.

He glanced sideways for only an instant before focusing his full attention on the fire, prodding the logs and sending the flames higher—almost as if their lives depended upon how hot he could get them.

She laughed again.

A slow grin made its way up his lips.

“Well, if you must know,” she said, “Oren’s wife, Betty, made them for me.”

“I didn’t know Oren was married.”

“He’s not anymore. Betty died last summer.”

He sat back on his heels and gave her his full attention.

Keen wistfulness washed over her. Even though she’d lived with Oren and Betty for only a year, the woman had become as dear to her as Oren had.

“How’d she die?”

“She was already sick when I went to live with them. Their only son went west back in the ’60s, and they didn’t have any other family around. Oren needed someone to help take care of Betty so he could do his work without worrying about her.”

The distant howl of a wolf echoed through the night, which had finally grown calm.

“Betty was as sweet as honey. But I quickly realized Oren is just as sweet, once you peel back all those gruff layers.”

Connell nodded. “Believe it or not, I actually like Oren. Even though he’s threatened to blow my head off twice now.”

“Twice?”

“When he realized you were gone, he came to my door—”

“He probably just wanted your help and didn’t know how to ask.”

“It’s obvious the guy thinks the world of you.”

She smiled. She thought the world of him too. “I was worried after Betty died that he might make me leave. I don’t think he knew what he was going to do with me—especially once he left for his winter picture taking among the camps. But after I got Daisy’s letter and begged him to take me along, he hasn’t said another word about my leaving.”

Another long howl carried through the windless night—this one closer.

She’d been too old to be sent back to the orphanage. If Oren had decided he didn’t want her anymore, she would have had to make it on her own somehow.

She had no doubt she would. And when she found Daisy, they’d make a way together this time.

Something scratched against the door, and Connell sat to his knees.

A pattering of footsteps tramped across the roof, and a sprinkling of snow drifted down through the cracks.

Connell stared at the ceiling, and his eyes followed the trail of footsteps. Another scratch at the door was followed by a low whine.

She propped herself up on her elbow.

“Wolves.” His voice was low.

Her heart skittered to a halt. She pushed herself to a sitting position. Her long hair swirled around her face in an unruly tangle. “Are we safe in here?”

His focus darted back and forth across the roof as if he were mentally following the path of each wolf. “I think there are at least six of them.”

She shuddered.

The pawing at the door became more insistent. Suddenly, the old slab of rotting wood creaked inward, a long gray snout poked through, and a black tipped nose sniffed the air.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Connell sprang to his feet and was against the door in an instant, ramming it closed with his shoulder.

A long chilling howl reverberated directly overhead, followed by several more.

“What do they want?” she asked, pulling a blanket around her as if she could ward off the frightening noise.

“Us.” He shoved the tree limb back against the door to wedge it tighter. “For a meal.”

“But they can’t get in, can they?”

A shower of snow from the roof rained down on them.

He glanced back at the ceiling and reached for Oren’s Winchester.