Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(39)

“I’m guessing that happened to him?”

“Twice. Before he left Ireland.”

She protested when Connell went out into the black night to attempt to patch the holes in the roof. He filled the biggest spot as best he could, and all the while she couldn’t help worrying that the wolves would return and attack him before he could get back into the shelter.

When he closed the door and shoved the weight of the dead wolf against it along with the branch he’d used before, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, relieved but too exhausted to say anything.

She slept where she sat in the corner, waking whenever he shot the gun, realizing through a haze the wolves were attacking again. Off and on throughout the long night, the crack of the gun would startle her out of a fitful sleep.

Once he woke her, offering her a tin cup of water from melted snow. His tired bloodshot eyes were round with concern. He laid his palm across her forehead, the coolness of his touch soothing her.

She wanted to grasp his hand and hold it there. But she was too weak to move. She wanted to tell him how much she admired him, but she could only manage a small smile that she hoped conveyed her gratitude.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed—it could have been hours—when something roused her.

With a start she opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realize Connell was sitting next to her and that he’d tucked her into the crook of his arm with her head against his chest.

The steady thud of his heartbeat echoed against her ear.

His face was haggard with weariness, a testimony to the sleeplessness and danger he’d endured all night. She had no doubt it was well into the morning and that the threat of wolves was over for at least the time being; otherwise he wouldn’t have allowed himself the luxury of breaking his vigilance.

Her parched tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her body ached with feverish chills.

She was sick.

The peril of their predicament returned with a fresh wave of fear.

One glance across the shack to the door, to the dead wolf, to the blood now crusted brown, and the terror of the night crashed back through her.

How could they survive another day? Or another night?

“Please, God,” she whispered through cracked lips. All those years growing up in orphanages, she’d learned to say her prayers, to honor God, and to follow the Ten Commandments. But it hadn’t been until she’d met Betty, Oren’s wife, that she’d ever heard anyone pray to God as though He was a real person and really cared about what happened.

Betty’s prayers had always filled her with the whisper of hope that God wasn’t so far off after all. That maybe He hadn’t deserted her, as everyone else in her life had.

Lily closed her eyes and let the steady rhythm of Connell’s heartbeat soothe her. She curled closer to him and dared to lay her hand on his.

Suddenly something shoved against the door.

Connell woke with a start, and his knife was out and positioned to throw before she could move.

She strained to sit up, but his arm tightened around her, pulling her closer.

Another shove against the door pried it open a crack.

“Don’t move,” he said in a voice slurred with leftover sleep.

She didn’t know if she could move even if she tried. She was content to lean against him, into the safety of his arm, and know he would protect her, just as he had all night long.

Maybe her defenses had fallen away because she was sick. Maybe they’d crumbled because she’d come to realize that Connell was one of the most decent men she’d ever met. Whatever the case, she relinquished her need to always be the strong one, the one doing the protecting. For once, she could let someone else be strong enough for both of them.

A slam on the door, this one harder than the last, ripped the door from its tenuous hold on the rusting hinges. It crashed down on the dead wolf and tree branch, letting in a blinding stream of sunlight and a rush of frigid air.

“They’re here!” someone shouted.

She blinked hard, her eyes watering from the glare.

There was more shouting, and before she knew it, a man bundled in a buffalo-skin coat shoved his way past the broken door.

Through the fog that weighed down her head, she glimpsed the anxious face of Stuart Golden. In one sweeping glance, he took in her position within the confines of Connell’s arms and his eyes narrowed. She almost thought she caught a glimpse of jealousy in them before he forced a grin.

“What do you think you’re doing out here slacking off, McCormick, you big lazybones?”

Connell’s knife disappeared, and a tired smile hovered over his lips. “Oh, you know me. I’m always trying to get out of my work. Figured this was a good way.”

“Yeah.” Stuart peered at the gap in the roof and then at the paw of a dead wolf dangling through the hole. “I’d probably have more fun out here fighting off wolves too.”

“Yep. You don’t know the rip-roaring good time you missed.”

Stuart glanced again at her and then at Connell’s arm that was wrapped around her. He shifted his gaze away and swallowed hard.

“Is she alive?” Oren’s voice boomed from the doorway.

“Doesn’t look like the wolves had a chance,” Stuart said over his shoulder. “Not against Connell’s knife.”

Oren elbowed his way past Stuart. “Thank the good Lord.”