MB01 - Unending Devotion (8 page)

She smiled and took a deep breath. The trees were glorious. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to destroy this natural wonder.

At the snap of a twig behind her, her smile froze and fear shimmied up her backbone.

Her mind clamored for her to scream, to run, to get away from whatever—or whoever—was attempting to sneak up on her.

But before she could turn or make her getaway, a hand slid around her face and covered her mouth, cutting off the scream that clawed its way up her throat.

Chapter
5

L
ily fought like a lynx caught in a steel trap. She scratched and bit and kicked with a force that took Connell by surprise. Her teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of his palm and forced him to let go.

“Calm down, Lily. It’s just me, Connell.”

The beginning of her scream died away, and she spun on him, her eyes flashing with fury. “Why did you sneak up on me like that?”

“I didn’t mean to.” He brought his smarting hand to his mouth and sucked at the blood she’d drawn. “When you didn’t hear me approach, I thought I might startle you. And I didn’t want you to scream—a sure way to get every shanty boy in the camp to come running.”

The tempest in her eyes turned into a low gale.

He glanced at the teeth marks she’d left in his hand. “You sure know how to greet a fellow.”

“And you sure know how to scare a girl half to death.”

“Why exactly were you so scared?”

“Because I thought you were someone else.”

“And what if I had been
someone else
?”

She paused, her pretty lips stalled around the shape of her next word.

“Any number of the rough men from this camp could have followed you out here.” He’d seen the way the men were looking at her, how they hadn’t been able to take their eyes off her from the moment she’d arrived. “What would you have done then?”

When she’d run off into the woods after the stupid cat, he’d had to yell at several of the men to stop them from chasing after her.

“I would have screamed.” She pulled herself up to her full height, which he estimated to be five feet six inches. “Since apparently I’d get lots of attention that way.”

“I’m serious,” he started. But then at the glimpse of the twinkle in her eyes, his ready lecture stalled.

He stuck his aching hand into his pocket and pressed his wound against the scratchy wool.

“I appreciate your concern,” she offered with the hint of a smile. “But I’m a much stronger woman than you realize.”

She’d be no match for any of his strong shanty boys.

“You were reckless to wander off by yourself.” He tried to soften his accusation, but he wanted her to realize the constant danger she was in simply by being an attractive woman in a place populated by lusty men. “I strongly suggest you refrain from doing so again—especially if you hope to avoid any further run-ins.”

He could see from the shadows that flashed across her face she was remembering the encounter with Jimmy Neil.

What would have happened to her if he hadn’t seen Jimmy come back into the hotel? What if he hadn’t gotten up to make sure she made it up to her room without trouble?

He hadn’t been able to shake the gut-twisting fear at how close she’d come to being dragged off by Jimmy Neil and assaulted. He’d never trusted the scoundrel. Especially because the man was on James Carr’s payroll.

Although Jimmy wouldn’t be lurking in the hallways of the Northern Hotel anymore, Connell couldn’t loosen the knot in his gut—the one that warned him Lily was going to get into big trouble sooner or later.

When she’d ridden into his camp that morning, bringing the sunshine with her, he’d told himself even if she wasn’t any of his business, he could do nothing less than make sure she was safe.

So he’d spent the better part of the morning keeping her in his line of vision, all the while trying to work.

“Besides,” she said, shaking her head as if to toss off any gloomy thoughts, “I always take a few minutes by myself to admire the majesty of some of God’s finest creations.”

She turned her attention back to the white pine next to her, and as her gaze traveled up the length of the trunk, her eyes widened with awe.

He had to admit,
she
was one of God’s finest creations. After watching her all morning—and all week, for that matter—he couldn’t keep from admiring the quickness of her smile, the sparkle in her eyes, and the pertness of her steps.

His focus lingered on the loose curls dangling against her ear. With her head tilted back, the long expanse of her neck taunted him. The rich shade of her complexion and the smoothness of her skin reminded him he’d gone too long without the affection of a woman.

But wasn’t that what he’d wanted? To get away from women—and the pain and heartache they brought? At least that was one of the reasons he’d agreed to take the supervisor position for the Harrison camps when his father had suggested it. He’d needed to get away from Rosemarie and his brother and their treachery.

He shook his head at his own weakness, and before Lily could catch him staring, he shifted his attention to the tree. His trained eye quickly measured the hundred-fifty-foot length, approximately three-and-a-half feet in diameter. No hint of ring rot. No insect damage. No punk knots. It was one of the smaller pines, but still a perfect specimen.

“It’s a beauty,” he admitted.

“It’s a natural temple,” she whispered reverently.

He watched the way the slight breeze swayed the top and knew it would fall to the south if his boys were to chop it. He eyed the path of its descent. First they’d have to cut down a number of saplings that were in the way, and then make sure they left nothing else that could inhibit its thundering tumble to the ground. He’d witnessed too many accidents when a falling tree glanced off another object and threw it off course onto an unsuspecting man. The towering giants weren’t called
widow-makers
for no reason.

“I’m guessing this one is about a hundred years old,” he said.

“Then it’s ancient.”

He nodded. “If I’m lucky, I’ll get twenty thousand feet of board out of it. Twelve feet long by an inch thick. Good solid board.”

She took a step away from him, her face a mask of shock.

“What’s the matter?”

“How could you even think about destroying this glorious, magnificent, beautiful tree?”

For a long moment he could only stare at her, baffled. “It’s my job. What did you think we’re doing out here? Digging for gold?”

“Oh, I know perfectly well what you’re doing. You’ll take all you can get from this land, and then you’ll leave behind a chaotic mess.”

“We parcel off the land and sell it to farmers.”

“You know that’s not happening.”

“Maybe not everywhere.”

She planted her fists on her hips. “I’ve traveled around enough of Michigan this winter to see what the land looks like after lumber companies pull out and head somewhere else.”

“Oh, come on, Lily.” Exasperation tugged at him. “What would our country do without the supply of lumber we’re providing? If we stop our operations, we’ll deprive the average family of affordable means for building homes.”

She arched her brow. “Affordable?”

“Compared to brick homes? Yes.” She obviously didn’t know anything about the industry. “As a matter of fact, hundreds of thousands of people in growing midwestern towns rely upon our boards and shingles for their homes. And on the other products that come from these trees.” He patted the pine.

“I don’t care.” She reached for the tree, caressing it almost as if it were a living being, trailing her fingers in the deep grooves of the bark. “These trees, this land—they don’t deserve to be ravaged.”

He sighed at her irrational thought process. He was tempted to keep arguing with her. Logically, if McCormick Lumber ever pulled out of the lumber business, there were a hundred other lumber barons who would continue to cut the trees until every last one was harvested.

The lumber companies were in Michigan to stay. And there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it, even if they wanted to—which he didn’t.

But he bit back his response.

“Listen.” The last thing he wanted to do was stand out in the forest and argue with her. Besides, he needed to get her back to the camp before his men started spreading rumors about them. “How about if we go get some coffee? Old Duff, the dough pounder here, makes the best coffee.”

Her eyes lit up.

“I’m well aware it can in no way compare to the coffee our dear Vera makes.”

Lily’s lips curved into a ready smile. “Yes, I really don’t know how anyone else can make anything quite like it.”

He grinned. “I thought you’d agree.”

She tromped behind him as he led the way back to the camp clearing. She stopped him once to admire several cardinals perched in a leafless shrub, pointing out how their flaming red contrasted with the dull gray branches among a backdrop of snow.

Another time she halted him so that she could watch a gray squirrel forage through a pile of dead leaves. She tossed it half a cookie and then laughed when it grabbed the piece in both front feet and began nibbling it. The tinkle of her laughter was like the warmth of a fire after a long cold day in the woods.

They crossed the cleared yard, still littered with stumps, and passed Duff’s pen of pet porkers next to the cookshack. Connell ignored the raised brows and hidden grins of the shanty boys but couldn’t prevent strands of embarrassed heat from weaving up his neck. No doubt he’d be the talk of the bunkhouse later—he
and
Lily.

“Duff,” he called as he ducked into the shack.

Through the haze of the smoke rising from the fry pans, Connell nodded at the old cook already hard at work on the noon meal. With one hand wielding a long iron fork, Duff moved thick slices of sizzling salt pork around the fry pans. With his other hand he used a cake turner to flip the chopped potatoes he was browning. He nodded back at Connell without missing a move.

“Don’t let me bother you. I’ll just help myself to the coffee.” Connell sidled past a tub of lard, sacks of cornmeal, and crates of potatoes. He dodged the iron skillets and assortment of cooking utensils that dangled from hooks in the center ceiling beam. And he sidestepped the pork barrel, with its salt-encrusted meat hook hanging from the side. He attempted to avoid the puddle of slimy brine pooled around the base but stepped in it anyway.

He wanted to tell Duff to get his cookee to take better care at cleaning up and keeping the shack organized. But he clamped his mouth shut. He couldn’t afford to irritate Duff. Good camp cooks were in high demand. He’d had several over the past couple of years who had nearly caused mutiny among his men with their unappetizing meals.

And with the way things were going lately with the statistics, he couldn’t afford for his men to get upset about anything, including the camp fare.

A dozen dried-apple pies were cooling on the long worktable, and a half a bushel of cookies sat next to them. Spicy cinnamon lingered in air that was now thick with the scent of grease and pork.

“Last I looked, the thermometer read thirty-seven degrees,” Duff said as Connell neared the cast-iron stove with two big kettles on the back burners.

“Thirty-eight now.” Fresh discouragement slithered through Connell. He grabbed a couple of tin cups and a dish towel.

“Day or two more like this and the roads will turn to mud soup,” Duff added.

Holding the hot handle with the towel, Connell lifted the coffeepot and poured two cups. He didn’t need a reminder of the changing weather. He’d seen the sunshine and felt the growing warmth all morning. An early thaw was the last thing he needed now, when he was working hard to figure out a way to increase production.

Even with all the advances the narrow-gauge railroad had brought to their lumbering efforts, he still needed the frozen roads for the teams to drag the felled logs out of the forest to the railcars. It would be too early to pull out the big wheels they used for the summer lumber season. The ten-foot wheeled skidders would only get stuck in the mud.

“Well, let’s just hope the temps drop back down tonight and stay that way.” Connell glanced out the grimy window of the cookhouse. Melting snow dripped from the roof like spring rain. “And let’s pray the sun shrivels up and dies.”

“Oh, how can you say such a thing,” Lily cried behind him.

He spun, surprised she’d followed him through the cookshack instead of waiting by the door.

Her eyes widened with dismay.

At the sight of Lily, Duff’s ambidextrous flipping came to a halt. He stared at her as if she were the first woman who had ever stepped foot in his kitchen.

But she had fixed her big eyes on Connell. “With as little sun as we’ve had this winter, how can you possibly wish it away?”

“Because we depend upon the ice and snow for production.”

“You would begrudge us all the bright and beautiful sunshine so you can earn a bigger profit?”

Was he destined to clash with this woman on every issue—even something as insignificant as the sunshine? He sighed and handed her the hot cup of coffee.

She took it and wrapped both hands around it. “Not all of us are used to the dreary dark winter days of the north. New York winters weren’t a picnic either, but they were never quite as cold and dark.”

He took a swig of his coffee, savoring the dark roasted flavor.

She blew on hers and took a tiny sip. “Ahh. Now, that’s good coffee.” She gave Duff a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He beamed at her. But the blackened smoke rising from the skillets drew his attention back to the burning food, and he began flipping faster than before.

“If you dislike Michigan winters so much,” Connell said, “why did you move here? Why didn’t you stay in New York?” At least there she’d be away from wild lumber camps and towns.

The sunshine in her face disappeared. She took a longer drink of coffee before looking at him.

The heartache in her expression socked him in the stomach.

“I wish we could have stayed. Then maybe Daisy wouldn’t have gotten herself into this predicament.” Her voice was soft.