Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(92)

She fell back against him, and this time his arm slid around her neck, pinning her body to his.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” His voice rasped against her ear as he leaned forward and slammed the door closed.

“I’m leaving.” She fought to free herself from his grasp. “And you can’t stop me.”

“Oh, yes I can. Watch me.” His arm around her neck tightened, cutting off her breath. He reached for the rag again and brought it to her face.

She tried to lean away from the filthy, streaked rag, but he pinned her harder. A rotten odor assaulted her, and she could only gasp for breath, sucking in the fumes that saturated the damp rag.

He shoved it against her nose and mouth, cupping it over her so that she had no choice but to breath in the mind-numbing chemical.

She flailed her arms, as if she were sinking underwater and trying to reach the surface, where she could finally gasp for air.

But Jimmy’s hand pressed harder.

Her vision grew blurry and her head dizzy.

She pounded at Jimmy but felt like she was beating against a pillow.

God, help me! her heart cried.

Then the world turned black.





Chapter

27



Twenty men and three women. That was thirteen more than the last Red Ribbon Society meeting. Connell jotted the number onto the open ledger on the table in front of him and then pulled out his watch.

Seven thirty-two.

In his usual neat print, he added the time to the meeting minutes.

He’d agreed to act as treasurer and secretary. But he’d deferred the hands-on leadership to Stuart.

Besides, most of the newcomers were there because of Stuart’s article about Frankie’s murder. His friend had stayed up all night getting the jobber back into working order. By midmorning, he’d had the paper ready to go, citing all the details of Carr’s kidnapping Frankie, forcing her into prostitution, and then beating her to death when she didn’t cooperate.

Connell had helped him with the delivery, riding the country roads to get the news out and announce another Red Ribbon Society meeting.

And now, the dining room of the Northern Hotel was fuller than it’d been in a long time. The air was charged with angry conversations about Carr—exactly the reaction they’d hoped the newspaper article would generate. Stuart had invited the bosses and foremen from some of the other lumber camps. Surprisingly, several had shown up, including Herb Nolan from his own Camp 1.

Vera maneuvered past him, a coffeepot in each hand. She stopped and poured more into his cup, adding to the grainy lukewarm liquid that remained. Some sloshed onto the tablecloth, reminding him of the first morning after Lily had arrived at the Northern and how they’d shared a smile over Vera’s awful coffee. Her smile had soaked into him like bright rays of sunshine on the first warm day of spring.

What he wouldn’t give to turn back the clock and see her sitting across the room from him again.

“Looks like you could use the whole pot,” Vera said, moving past him. “Are you getting any sleep these days?”

He shook his head. Exhaustion made every bone in his body ache. It had been at least two weeks since he’d slept more than an hour or two at a time.

“I wish you’d let me give you some of my motherwort tonic to help you sleep better.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I insist,” she called over her shoulder as she refilled another man’s cup. “Now, be a good boy and don’t go to your room tonight without it.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he went to bed every night wondering if it would be his last. Now that he’d made an enemy of Carr, he doubted he’d ever get a good night’s sleep again.

He glanced at his watch. Two more minutes had elapsed. Through the mingling crowd, Connell caught Stuart’s eye and tapped his watch. They were now four minutes behind schedule.

Stuart nodded and called the meeting to order. “There is a glimmer of good news amidst all the bad,” Stuart said once the room had quieted.

For a moment, the only sounds were the blowing and drawing of the men slurping coffee. The yeasty fragrance of the doughnuts Vera had made for the morning couldn’t compete with the thick heavy aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Oren rested in a chair near the fireplace, his stockinged feet propped on a crate that sat near the glowing white coals. He puffed on his corncob pipe, his eyebrows scrunched together in a perpetual scowl.

Even though Connell had reassured Oren that Lily was completely safe at his family home in Bay City, the man hadn’t stopped worrying.

Connell’s heart begged him to take the next Saturday off and ride home to visit her, to hold her in his arms again. But what had changed between them? How could they ever hope to make things work? If he went to her, she’d probably just push him away. Especially when he gave her the news of Frankie’s death.

Besides, his head told him he couldn’t leave again, not when the whole business was a chaotic mess.

He’d spent hours lately adding up the numbers, trying to figure out a way to get McCormick Lumber back into the black. But he couldn’t see any way to bring in a profit after losing logs all winter to a thief and after losing ten percent of his work force to Carr’s intimidation.

Stuart cleared his throat and continued. “The good news is that D. E. Alward of Clare Press is going to run the story about Frankie. And the editor of the Farwell paper might run it too.”