Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(88)

Connell didn’t know if he had the energy to think of a plan to catch the thieves. He’d obviously have to hire some men to guard the loads coming out of his camps on the narrow-gauge trains. But at the moment, he didn’t know if he even cared.

All week he’d slept poorly, waiting for Carr’s men to strike again when he least expected. So far they’d stayed away. But he knew his days were numbered. It was just a matter of time before they caught him unaware and alone.

And with the way he was stirring up the hornet’s nest lately with Stuart’s help, he knew a fight was coming. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was a matter of when.

Under the guise of Lily’s Red Ribbon Society, they’d held their first meeting two days ago. Even though the turnout had been small—only nine men and one woman, Vera—he’d begun to see that more people were tired of Carr and his lawlessness than he’d expected.

At the racing clomp of horse hooves and the shout of his name, Connell straightened his sagging shoulders and wiped a hand across his eyes, fighting off the weariness.

Stuart came charging toward him, one arm in a sling and the other gripping reins. His face was still a patchwork of yellowish-green and purple bruises and cuts.

Connell stepped away from the group of men now arguing about who was to blame for the thieving. “Thought you were working on our project in Merryville today,” he said as Stuart reined next to him.

“I was.” Stuart’s face was grim.

Although the thought of riding up to Merryville in the black of night and breaking into the Devil’s Ranch was one of the last things he wanted to do, he figured if Lily could rescue Daisy, he and Stuart could get Frankie.

It was past time.

Besides, since he’d already made an enemy of Carr, what difference did it make if he stirred up more strife?

Stuart had decided to ride up to Merryville for the day to get word to her that they would come after her in two nights.

Connell pulled his watch from his coat pocket. It read two-thirty. “You’re back early.”

Stuart slipped from his horse, wincing as his feet touched the ground. “We won’t need to rescue the girl,” he said softly so that none of the men could hear their conversation. His eyes brimmed with a sadness that set Connell on edge.

“What happened?”

“From what I could gather from various witnesses, Carr beat her up about a week ago. With his brass knuckles. Because she refused to get out on the dance floor and strip for the men.”

Connell shook his head. He’d heard the tales of the pails Carr put out on the dance floor. The men tossed coins into the tin containers to entice the girls to perform. As the pails began to fill, the girls would expose more flesh and the dances would turn more lurid.

He couldn’t imagine a sweet young girl like Frankie dancing in front of a roomful of drunken shanty boys. Why had Carr demanded it of her of all his girls? He could have made one of his other women do it—one of the women there by choice.

Stuart’s brow furrowed into deep lines. “Dr. Scott said he examined her and tried to help her. But she was so severely beaten and covered with bruises that she would’ve had a hard time surviving. If she’d had a will to live, which apparently she didn’t.”

The news hit Connell’s gut as painfully as if a log had come loose from the top of a banked pile and crushed his middle. “Then she’s dead?”

“She died yesterday.”

Sick guilt added to the weight that pressed against Connell’s gut. They’d waited too long.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. The accusing shouts of the men behind them punctuated the air. The discovery of the sawed-off log ends would only add dissension during a time when they all needed to unite against Carr.

“And what’s worse,” Stuart said, as if things could get any worse, “is that nobody is doing anything about her death. Nobody cares. In their minds, she’s just another worthless prostitute.”

Connell knew what the majority of townspeople thought—it was the same thing he’d always told himself: What was one more dead prostitute in a community where fighting and beatings and death were a daily occurrence? Why bother trying to change anything when the problems looked insurmountable?

God was obviously whacking him across the head in His efforts to show him how apathetic and uncaring and fearful he’d been. I get it now, God. He lifted his eyes heavenward. You can stop the lesson anytime.

If only they could get a little help . . .

They wouldn’t get any sympathy from the Clare County sheriff, not when the man operated off Carr’s payroll, like most of the county.

“What about the Midland County sheriff?” Connell asked, trying to renew his quickly fading desire to fight. “What if we were to ask him for help?”

“He can’t do anything. This isn’t his jurisdiction,” Stuart said. “What we need to do is to elect a new sheriff and a new county prosecutor who will support reform.”

“I agree. We’ve got to have men who aren’t being paid off by Carr to do his bidding.” But county elections were largely a sham, especially when no one dared to run or vote against Carr’s approved men.

Even as Connell spoke, Stuart’s face reflected the hopelessness wedged in Connell’s heart. “The only thing I can do is finish fixing up my jobber, write up this story, print it, and get it out to as many people as possible.”