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The house was small, the windows covered with shutters, but the back porch held a collection of scattered footprints in the snow that covered its surface. Connor drew his horse to a halt and slid from his saddle. The reins were wound around a hitching rail quickly and he stepped onto the porch.
Loris was dozing again, curled into her quilt on the floor, her stomach having found relief from its empty state, the skillet in the sink, soaking in the basin. She’d given in to the sleepy warmth of the stove and found her place on the floor once more, settling down to sleep, knowing that it would do her more good than tramping around in the snow, trying to discover her surroundings.
The sound of the door opening penetrated her slumber and she caught her breath, lying as quietly as possible as she heard the footsteps enter the kitchen. Then the sound of the heavy portal closing told her she was trapped in the room with an intruder.
“Loris?” His voice was low, his tone tentative, and she sat up warily.
It had sounded like Connor, the voice deep and soft, the syllables of her name rolling from his tongue in a sound that reminded her of the breeze rustling though the trees in springtime.
But it wouldn’t be Connor, she reminded herself. He’d left her on her own, just yesterday, and he was a stubborn man, not given to changing his mind, especially not overnight, and particularly not about such an important issue.
She’d betrayed Connor. He would hold his hurt pride like a shield before him, should they meet, and the thought of ever seeing him smile at her again was beyond hope.
“Loris.” This time her name was spoken in a commanding tone, and she felt the bidding of the man behind her. She turned in her quilt, her gaze seeking the intruder, and found the face of the man she’d loved for three years of her life.
“Connor?” She whispered the familiar, beloved name of the man she’d planned to marry, and noted the look of relief that washed over his handsome features. Taller than his brother, but not as muscular, Connor had a shock of black hair and the same blue Irish eyes as James. Yet, on this man, they were soft and appealing, and Loris wondered how she’d ever thought James to be the handsomer of the two, how she’d ever been fool enough to hurt Connor so badly.
He stepped closer and squatted beside her. His hands were big, his flesh cold, as he lifted her from the floor, but she did not flinch from him, welcoming his touch instead.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head. “Mama gave me some food to take along,” she told him. “I’ve eaten this morning.”
“Are you cold?” He seemed intent on her revealing each small bit of information he could drag from her.
“No,” she said softly, shivering as the cooler air in the room penetrated her clothing. Curled by the stove, she’d indeed been warm. Now, uncovered and sitting erect, she felt the chill. Her coat was tossed aside, having been used for cover as she slept, and now she reached for it.
“You’re shaking with the cold,” Connor said firmly, lifting her to her feet, looking down at the coat she held by one sleeve. “Let me help you put that on.”
“Just pull the quilt around me,” she told him. “And then put some more wood in the stove.” She watched him as he released her and did as she asked, adding four large chunks of wood to her fire, and wrapping her securely in her quilt.
He watched her, his gaze hooded, his mouth firm and straight, with no sign of softening on his harsh features. Connor was handsome, she’d long ago decided. He was not a beautiful man, as was James. Connor had features that were knife-sharp, his nose a blade, his cheekbones high and seemingly carved from granite. If not for the blue eyes, she might have feared him, had she not known the man.
But she knew the soft heart beneath the broad chest, the tenderness he could call forth at will, enveloping her in his arms and holding her as he might a treasured creature he claimed as his own.
She’d turned her back on all of that, she realized, the day she’d given in to James’s coaxing and offered herself to him. And loved him desperately with a love that had turned to ashes at his betrayal of her.
Now she faced the man who had planned a future for them, who had placed his ring on her finger and offered her his love. Connor. The man she had hurt beyond forgiveness. Who had offered her his help, should she want to leave town, who had apparently spent his morning looking for her when she came up missing today.
He watched her closely and she knew he was evaluating her, gauging her condition, allowing her to gather herself before he spoke again.
She bent her head, so that she no longer needed to see his harsh face hovering above hers. “I’m sorry you’ve gone to so much trouble, Connor,” she said. “I didn’t think you might be looking for me.”
“I never intended for you to be frozen by the side of the road or left on your own, the way you were last night,” he said.
“What did you think would happen?” she asked, lifting her gaze to his, venturing bravely to watch his expression.
His brow twitched as he considered her query. And then he breathed deeply, as if his words were hard to come by. “I didn’t think your father would throw you out. I thought your mother would defend you. I went to your house this morning to make certain you were all right, and I couldn’t believe my ears when your mother said you’d left last evening.”
His eyes were icy, the chill of anger gripping him.
“Well, I’m all right, as you can see,” she said, fearful of his anger being turned against her. But it seemed there was little chance of that, for he only shook his head in disbelief.
“You’re far from all right,” he said sharply. “You’re alone and about three hours from freezing to death, should that stove not be fed on a regular basis.”
“There’s some food here in the pantry,” she said defensively. “And wood outside. I won’t freeze.”
“And what happens when that pitiful pile of wood runs out?” he asked. “And when the food in the pantry is eaten?”
“There’s enough wood for a couple of days, and I’ll look for an ax to cut more.”
“You’re going to chop wood?” he asked. “You’d be more likely to cut your toes off or swing wrong and slice your leg open. And then what would you do?”
“I won’t do that,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll be careful.”
“You’re a woman,” Connor said with a stern look that stripped her of her bravado.
“What’s wrong with being a woman?” she asked sharply. “I can take care of myself.”
He was silent, his eyes holding hers, his mouth a straight line, giving her no clue as to his thoughts.
“I’ll be fine here,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about me, Connor. I’m strong and able to tend to things.”
“You’re strong?” he asked, and with one smooth movement, he gathered her against himself and held her tightly, one arm around her waist, the other banding her shoulders.
She was trapped in his embrace, and even though she feared him not, she knew her position was that of a woman who could not move without the consent of the man who held her immobile. “Don’t try to frighten me, Connor,” she said softly.
“Are you frightened?” he asked harshly, as though his mood had turned to anger.
She hesitated, unwilling to admit the wash of alarm that had indeed sped through her veins. And then she looked up into his face and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you,” she told him. “You’re angry with me, but you won’t hurt me.”
“I want to,” he admitted. “I want to shake you and knock you to the floor for betraying me. I loved you, Loris. I’d planned on a life with you, and you turned your back on all that to seek out my brother. And then you let him make love to you.” His nostrils flared as if he could barely contain the pain and rage that coursed through him.
His big hands clutched her shoulders and she braced herself for his harsh touch on her slender form. But he only drew her closer to himself and his mouth claimed hers with a passion she could not refute.
She submitted to his kiss, feeling the bruising of her mouth, the crush of his embrace, the strength of his hands as he held her. His tongue claimed her, sweeping into her mouth, the invasion one he’d never instigated before. Always his kisses had been gentle, tender and welcomed.
That this claiming of her mouth was none of those mattered little. She only stood before him and endured. There was no tenderness in his caresses, for his hands were harsh, clutching at her softness, his fingers biting into her hips, his mouth hard against hers. She tasted blood and knew it came from her lips. She felt the hard ridge of his arousal against her belly, through several layers of clothing, and braced herself for his taking.
It was not to be, for he lifted his head and looked down at her. One long index finger lifted to rub at her lip and she winced at the pain of it.
“Your lip is bleeding, Loris,” he said softly.
“I know,” she told him. “I can taste it.” That the inside of her lips were bruised and cut by the force of her teeth against them was of little matter. Her pain was small in comparison to what he felt, and she would not complain.
But Connor seemed to sense more than she had expected of him, for he touched her mouth with his own again, and this time the kiss was tender, a silent plea for her forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, his voice hoarse as if the words were those of a man who had drunk his share, and more, of whiskey and was speaking past the aching throat muscles of one who had had reason to regret his overindulgence.
She shook her head, offering him forgiveness, for she could do no less. He could have knocked her to the floor. And yet, he’d only spent his anger on her in passion. Even now, she felt his arousal prodding at her, and she backed away from the reminder of his desire.
“I won’t hurt you again,” Connor said harshly. “Don’t be afraid of me, Loris.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not.”
“I’ll chop some wood for you,” he told her. “And then I’ll go into town and get you some supplies.”
“You needn’t do that,” she told him. “Just leave me, Connor. I’m not worth your concern.”
“Ah, but you are,” he muttered. “James left some money for you, and I’m going to spend it on the things you’ll need for the next little while. And then we’ll figure out what to do.”
“James left me money?” Her mind latched on that bit of information and she felt a surge of anger. “I don’t want his money,” she said bitterly. “I’d rather starve.”
“Well, as long as I’m alive and breathing, you aren’t in any danger of starving,” Connor told her. He helped her onto a chair at the table and turned away. “I’m going out to chop wood, and I’ll be back in a bit. There should be enough in that stove to keep you warm for a couple of hours.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, unwilling to meet his gaze, lest she begin crying and be unable to halt the deluge. Her tears would not be only for herself, but for the pain she had brought to Connor and his brother. For her own weakness that had forever caused a rift between two men who had been as close as any brothers could be. And for her loss of the man with her now. Connor could never forgive her or love her again, and her heart ached at the knowledge of what she had lost.
Chapter Three
Connor’s generosity was surprising—and almost overwhelming. The woodbox had been replenished before he left her alone. He’d gone to town, bought supplies for her and chopped more wood on his return, for over an hour, piling an impressive amount of kindling and good-sized logs on the back porch.
And then he’d left, mounting his horse and riding away without another word, only a casual wave of his hand. Would he return? She doubted it, but then she’d have laid odds that he wouldn’t have shown up the first time. But Connor was a kind, gentle man, feeling a sense of responsibility to a woman in need, even if that woman was his former fiancée.
Loris found a fresh loaf of bread in the supplies Connor had carried into the kitchen. He must have stopped at the bread lady’s house, a small cottage at the edge of town, where lived an elderly soul, Hilda Kane, who existed on the pitiful amount of money her baking brought to her. She baked daily, and Loris had been sent there almost that often to pick up a loaf or two for her mother.
“I could bake my own,” her mother had said more than once, “but she needs the money and I can’t make it any better than Hilda’s.”
Fresh bread was almost enough to make a meal from, Loris decided. She ate the last of the cheese and the few bits of beef left from the morning, and settled before the stove again. The sun had sunk into the western sky and dark clouds hid the moon and stars, promising snow by morning.
But the kitchen was warm, and by tomorrow perhaps she’d feel like venturing into the other rooms, try to settle in a little better. After all, she couldn’t sleep on the kitchen floor for the rest of her life. But for tonight, it would do just fine.
The woman was crazy. There was no way she could survive alone in that deserted house. Connor frowned, finishing up the evening chores. He handled twice as many now, with James gone, but they were done automatically, without thought, as if his body was created to perform the familiar duties of a farmer.
For that was what he was. A farmer. Like his father before him, and his grandfather before that, the Webster men lived off the land. He’d been milking these cows and feeding the stock ever since he could remember.
Connor doubted if his life would be any different than those who’d gone before. He’d always thought to find a nice girl, get married and work the homestead, taking care of his parents until they were gone from this world, leaving the property equally divided between the brothers. His children would follow suit, working and living off the land, and there was a solid feel of security there.
The land would never let you down, his grandpa had said. If you tended your soil and fertilized and weeded your crops, you stood to reap a fine harvest. Unless the summer was dry and the rains refused to fall. Like last year, when the dry spell had chased several families from town, unable to cope with the poverty they faced without a harvest.
Now Loris had claimed the right to squat in one of those places left deserted. And a squatter is what she is, Connor thought bleakly, living on property that didn’t belong to her, yet was unwanted by anyone else. It could probably be purchased for taxes, Connor thought, but Loris didn’t have any money to speak of.
He felt the wad of bills in his pocket, touched the bulk with his palm and recognized that he’d barely made a dent in the cash James left behind for Loris. Maybe Loris would accept the cash more readily if he spent it on back taxes and she could live where she was, legally and aboveboard.
The manure pile was heaped, the fresh bedding spread and the cow milked, all while Connor debated the options left to him. He brought the horses in from the pasture; indeed, they were more than willing to enter the warm barn and find their stalls. The cold was bitter, the wind biting through Connor’s coat as he headed back toward his parents’ house, a place in which he no longer felt the warmth of home.
“You finished?” his mother asked, dishing up a bowl of stew for him. “Your pa ate already. He’s not in a good mood,” she said glumly.
And wasn’t that the truth. The man had been deserted by his favorite son, had been left with one less pair of hands to keep the place up. He’d no doubt have to hire a man to help out. And that would involve finding a place for that man to sleep. Probably a small room could be made habitable in the barn, or else Pa might just hire someone who lived nearby, close enough to come in by the day.
“All done?” his mother asked again. She’d been crying, her eyes swollen and reddened, her skin shiny as if it had been washed by a multitude of tears.
“Yes, I’m not very hungry,” Connor said, rising from the table. Things were different with James gone. He’d always been the joker, the one with a ready wit and a tall tale to tell over the supper table. Now they were reduced to eating separately, for he’d guarantee his mother had eaten standing at the stove. Nothing was the same.
“Did you go see Loris?” his mother asked. “Did she know that James was gone?”
“She knew,” Connor said quietly. And then decided he might as well fill her in on the mess James had left behind. “Loris is going to have a baby, Ma. And James is the father.”
Peggy Webster’s mouth dropped open, but no words came forth. She wiped her hands on the front of her apron, then stuffed them in the voluminous pockets, still silent.
“And before you ask, James knew when he left that Loris was bound to be abandoned by her folks. They kicked her out last night.”
“Where is she?”
“In a deserted farmhouse. I followed her tracks and found her this morning. Got her some supplies and chopped a bit of wood for her.”
“James wouldn’t marry her?” Her voice was dull, her eyes hopeless, as if she couldn’t imagine her son ignoring his responsibilities so casually. “He got her in the family way and just ran off? I can’t believe your brother would do that.”
“He gave me some money for her, but she doesn’t want to accept it,” Connor said, deliberately concealing his planned use of the cash.
“And Minnie threw her out? It was bitter cold last night.”
“Minnie Peterson doesn’t act like she gives a good gol-dern about her daughter, Ma. I saw her this morning, and she was as cold as any woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind. After all, that’s her grandchild Loris is carrying.”
“It’s your grandchild, too,” Connor said softly, and watched as that fact sank into his mother’s conscious mind.
“So it is,” she said idly, smoothing her apron with a practiced touch. “Would she come here, do you suppose?”
“Loris?” And at his mother’s nod, Connor shook his head. “I doubt she wants much to do with any of us right now. She’s got pride aplenty, and she’s bound and determined to make it on her own.”
His mother stood silent a moment, then spoke words that sounded almost spiteful, he thought. “James must have had good reason not to stick up for her. Maybe she’s just bad news.” She paused and then sighed, rather dramatically, he thought. “But you’re going to help her, aren’t you, Connor?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll help her, Ma. As much as she’ll let me.”
He’d go to town tomorrow and check at the tax office, see what was owed on the place where Loris had camped out. Find out if he could pay the taxes and take over the farm.
In the meantime, he’d do well to ride out there and be sure she was all right, staying on her own in a deserted house, with no gun or even a dog to keep her safe. In ten minutes, he’d saddled his horse and donned his heaviest coat. A warm scarf circled his throat and heavy gloves warmed his fingers. From the kitchen, his mother watched as he rode away and he offered her a wave of his hand, causing her to lift her own palm to press against the window. It was a gesture he’d seen many times before, whenever one of her menfolk had left home and she couldn’t bear to wave goodbye.
The Webster place was on the opposite end of town from Loris’s haven, and Connor made his way past the business establishments. Everyone was gone home for the night, only the saloon still being lit, with voices sounding loudly within.
He passed the home Loris had lived in all of her life, noting the lights glowing in the front parlor and in a bedroom window upstairs. How they could rest, not knowing where their daughter was, was beyond him. Didn’t they care? Or did their hurt run so deeply they couldn’t allow themselves to yearn for their girl?
He rode on, past the lighted houses where folks were readying for bed. And then he spotted the farmhouse where Loris was keeping warm. He rode to the back yard, tied his horse to an upright post and climbed the three steps to the wide porch. Through the window, he caught sight of a shadowed figure, passing between himself and the lamp glow.
His knuckles rapped twice on the door and he called her name. “Loris? It’s Connor. Can I come in?”
She opened the door, just a few inches, as though loath to allow him entrance. “It’s late, Connor,” she said softly. “I’m about to blow out the lamp and go to sleep.”
