Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(5)
A breeze of relief blew over her hot face. She was safe now—not that she’d been all that worried before. But she counted her blessings that Oren was on her side.
His heavy boots slapped the floor until he stood over her. With a growl, he lowered the barrel of his rifle and pushed it against Connell’s temple. “Mister, you’re a dead man.”
Chapter
2
The steel pressed hard and cold against Connell’s head. He’d been in plenty of dangerous situations, but this was the first time anyone had ever threatened to blow out his brains.
The twenty-four-inch-long rifle with its octagon barrel chambered fifteen ready-to-fire cartridges. But at this range, all it would take was one shot and he’d be a dead man.
“No one touches Lily”— the man jabbed the tip into Connell’s temple, grinding it into his throbbing pulse—“and lives to tell about it.”
The old man grabbed the rope that entangled them. He grunted and twisted it before finally pulling it free. Then he extended a hand to the woman and hoisted her to her feet. All the while, neither his Winchester nor his murderous eyes shifted so much as a thousandth of an inch from Connell.
Finally, in all of the shifting, the dirty socks fell away from his head and gave him a clear glimpse of the woman.
She untangled her skirt and smoothed down the folds of flowery calico, but not before he caught sight of her long knit socks, which strangely enough were striped in parallel rows of bright yellow and orange and green and purple.
“Now, Oren, there’s no need to kill him.” She patted the man’s arm. “At least not tonight.”
He muttered under the big mustache that hung over his upper lip but didn’t move the gun.
“I agree,” Connell said. “And really, I don’t see that there’s ever going to be a need to kill me.”
“I decide who to kill and when.” Oren jabbed the barrel again, and his finger on the trigger twitched. “And right now I’m in the mood to make someone eat lead.”
Connell’s mouth went dry. So this was it. He was going to die.
He’d already calculated the amount of time he spent in the woods and had given himself a twenty-five percent chance of dying from a lumber-related accident—being crushed by a falling tree or being buried by rolling logs. But a dining room brawl? Over a girl he didn’t know? That had never entered any of his equations.
The fact was, he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. Not in the middle of the busiest time of the lumber season. Not when he had so much work to do.
“I wasn’t doing anything indecent,” he said. “In fact, I was just trying to help her—”
“And I suppose that’s why your hands were stuck to her like a coon holding a coin.”
“That’s not true. She fell against me and we toppled into the socks. That’s all.” His focus darted to Vera Heller, still armed with her eighteen-inch-long wooden spoon. “Right, Mrs. Heller?”
The woman nodded. “Connell McCormick is one of my best boarders and one of the nicest boys in this town. If you wanna shoot somebody, then you take aim at Jimmy Neil over there. That boy is full of trouble.”
Jimmy had already backed up to the stairway, and at Vera’s words, he spun and took the steps two at a time, disappearing like he usually did whenever it was time to take responsibility for his actions.
Oren’s finger stroked the trigger.
Connell swallowed hard. Did he dare make a move for his knife? The hard leather of the scabbard rested underneath his shirt against his ribs, so close and yet so far away.
“I think you’ve taught him his lesson, Oren.” The young lady pushed the barrel away from Connell’s face. “I don’t think he’ll manhandle me again.”
When she gave him a “so-there” look and then raised her chin, a spark of self-pride flamed to life in his gut. His mam had always made sure he knew how to treat a girl, but this was obviously no ordinary girl.
“If anyone was doing the manhandling, it was you.” Connell rubbed the sore spot on his forehead. “I didn’t ask you to sit on my lap.”
Her eyes widened, revealing a woodsy brown that was as dark and rich as fine-grained walnut. The color matched the thick curls that had come loose from the knitted hat covering her head.
Oren stood back, tucked his gun under his arm, and tapped his black derby up. His eyebrows followed suit.
The girl opened her mouth to speak but then clamped it shut, apparently at a loss for words.
A wisp of satisfaction curled through Connell. After the way she’d let the old man humiliate him, he didn’t mind letting her squirm for a minute.
But only for a minute.
Mam’s training was ingrained too deeply to wish the girl ill will for more than that. He shoved himself out of the chair and straightened his aching back.
“Look,” he said, plucking a last dirty sock from his shoulder. “Can we start over? I’m Connell McCormick.”
She hesitated and then tilted her head at him. “And I’m Miss Young.”
“I sure hope you’ll forgive me if I’ve caused you any . . . discomfort.”
Surprise flitted across her elegant, doelike features. “Well now. With that polite apology, how could I refuse to forgive you?”
He gave her a smile and waited. The polite thing for her to do was offer her own apology and perhaps even a thank-you for his attempts to save her from Jimmy Neil.