She scurried toward the kitchen to retrieve more food for the hungry throng, not glancing back at Derek.
Cookie met her near the big woodstove, a plate of flapjacks in his hand. “Sure you don’t want me to deliver these sweat pads for you? Don’t want Owens giving you more trouble.”
She took the dish from the slight man with only wisps of white hair left on his head. His huge gray apron hung past his knees.
“I can handle him.” She smiled, loving this man who looked out for her.
Cookie wielded his spatula. “You let me know. I can give him whatnot, and he won’t bother you.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She chuckled as she pushed the swinging café doors open with her shoulder.
She paid better attention to where Derek was when she stepped into the dining room this time. She walked a wide arc around him and set the plate of pancakes on the far side of the table, not bothering to push them his way.
Derek winked at her, sending a shiver down her spine. “Hey, Adie, I sure could use some of what you got down there.”
Her hands shook, and she wiped them on her white apron, hoping to conceal their trembling. “Boys, please pass Mr. Owens some pancakes and maple syrup.”
Derek sneered. “Why don’t you bring it down here yourself?”
One of the jacks pounded his fist on the table. “Enough, Owens. Treat Miss O’Connell like a lady, and leave her alone.”
Adie recognized the tall, lean man with eyes the color of the syrup. Everyone called him “Preacher Man” because he didn’t cuss, didn’t carouse, didn’t womanize, and wanted to go to seminary. The moniker stuck. In fact, in the two weeks he’d been in the logging camp, she couldn’t recall hearing his given name.
Derek hefted his bulk from the long bench and stood, leaning on his knuckles on the table. “What you going to do to make me?”
She feared Preacher Man’s interference would make matters worse. She had enough experience following her father to the camps in the past seven years to know men like Derek Owens didn’t cater to being told what to do. He might escalate his advances to spite the man.
Preacher Man rose to his feet, a head taller than Derek. “I’m asking you to be a gentleman and mind your manners. Remember what your mama taught you.”
Wrong answer.
“I’ll teach you what I do to a mongrel like you.”
Adie knew fisticuffs would ensue, so she retreated to the safety of the kitchen, desiring not to land in the middle of the melee. If only Preacher Man had kept his mouth shut.
Noah Mitchell steeled himself for the blow to come. He’d heightened Derek’s wrath by opening his mouth to protect Adie and diffuse the situation. In the end, he’d made a mess of things.
He wouldn’t fight back, but he’d turn the other cheek as the Lord commanded. He came here to earn money to go to seminary. Several winters of work might pass before he saved enough, but he would go. In the meantime, he wanted to be a Christian example to the rough, heathen men in the camp.
Around him, the lumberjacks cheered on Derek, their champion. Hoots and hollers echoed off the mess hall’s log walls. Roars of approval swelled around Noah as Derek faced him. He swallowed hard, wishing the bully would get it over with. He closed his eyes. He could smell Derek’s fetid breath. He locked his knees and braced himself for the pain.
Why had he made an enemy of such a man?
All at once the room fell silent. Men muttered, and he heard them shuffle to their seats.
Someone clapped him on the back in greeting. “Morning, Preacher Man.”
Noah dared to open one eye.
Quinn O’Connell stood beside him, his jade-green eyes sparkling, a grin spreading across his face. Old enough to have fathered most of these men, nevertheless he was as broad as any jack and as strong.
Quinn’s wild, unkempt hair made him appear a bit rough around the edges, but Noah hadn’t been fooled. Quinn held a fierce love for his daughter and all that concerned her. The man had a soft heart.
Quinn commanded respect too, as evidenced by the scurrying of the men around them.
“What’s going on? When I came in, Owens looked about to kill you.” Quinn spoke softly as he and Noah took their seats next to each other on the rough benches.
“He may have if you hadn’t arrived.” He sat down, his knees suddenly weak.
“Did he bother my daughter again?”
Noah shrugged, not wanting to see a fight break out between Owens and Quinn. The older man wouldn’t stand a chance. “I took care of it. He’ll leave her be from now on.”
Adie’s father growled. “I’ll make sure he keeps his distance.”
“Please, don’t.”
“I won’t hurt him. Not now, anyway.” Quinn spun around in his seat and clomped to the other end of the long table.
Noah could do nothing more than watch the older man confront the burly lumberjack. Owens spat then nodded. He may have acquiesced for now, but Noah didn’t miss the fire burning in his dark eyes.
Quinn made it halfway back to his place at the table when Adie appeared from the kitchen, a steaming coffeepot in her slender hand. Noah watched, entranced, as she sashayed over to her father, stood on her tiptoes, and planted a peck on his hairy cheek.
The seasoned woodsman squeezed her and whispered in her ear. The wayshe gazed at him caused Noah’s heart to beat faster than two jacks’ sawing.
He’d better watch out. If Quinn knew how Adie affected him, Quinn would send him to the floor instead of Derek Owens. Make no mistake—the man was possessive of his daughter. He tolerated no coarse talk about her and shot dangerous looks at anyone who dared to come within ten feet of her.
Noah couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful young woman. Locks of curly red hair fell about her face as she poured coffee. Her eyes, described by her father as the color of the hills of Ireland, danced in delight as Quinn teased her. Noah would give every penny of his seminary savings if she would smile at him with those full, red lips.
No, he needed a long walk in the crisp November predawn. He jumped from his spot at the table, ashamed of himself. He had no right to be thinking about Adie O’Connell in such a way.
“Thank you.”
He turned and stared into her amazing green eyes.
She smiled her smile at him. “I appreciate the way you stepped in with Derek, but you didn’t need to. He’s not a problem for me.”
“You’re, uh, welcome.” A smattering a red freckles crossed the bridge of her upturned nose. He couldn’t bear the thought of Owens laying a hand on her. “But don’t underestimate him.”
Quinn stepped beside his daughter. “He won’t hurt her.”
Noah peered at Owens from the corner of his eye. The man scowled, and he didn’t need to step into the Wisconsin winter to notice a chill in the air.
Noah and Quinn pulled the crosscut saw between them in an easy rhythm. Around them the music of other saws rang, punctuated by the staccato hammering of axes. The towering white pine they worked to fell had already been notched by an axe on one side. Now they labored at sawing it on the opposite side, a little above the gash. Wedges were inserted from time to time to cause the tree to fall.
“I appreciate the way you took care of Adie.” Quinn wiped the back of his arm across his forehead. Temperatures may be below freezing, but the men worked up a sweat.
“My pleasure.” And Noah meant it.
“I hate what this life is doing to her. I’ve dragged her from camp to camp in the winter and from odd job to odd job in the summer for the past seven years. It’s not been easy. She’s done her share of man’s work without complaining, but I know she’s not fond of it. She’d like to settle down, live in one spot again, but I can’t. Since Claire passed, I can’t stay in one place. She held our familytogether and helped me be a good father. Without her, I’ve been lost.” He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair.
“Adie loves you. I can see it in the way she looks at you. She doesn’t hold any of
this against you.”
The lines around Quinn’s green eyes softened. “Adie’s a good girl, especially to put up with the likes of me.”
“She does more than put up with you.”
Quinn shrugged. “We’d best get back to work. If I rest these old bones too long, I’ll never get going again.”
The men put their hands to the crosscut saw once more, working in silence. In a short amount of time they had almost completed their chore. The pine would soon fall.
Then a loud crack split the air.
A long, vertical fracture appeared, traversing the trunk and ruining the lumber. Worse, it destabilized the tree. If the jacks couldn’t wedge it hastily, it would fall. And no one could predict where.
Quinn and Noah, along with other men, worked frantically, driving in wedges. The tree groaned.
“She’s going, boys!” Quinn shouted.
Men scattered.
The tree leaned.
Noah watched it descend to earth.
“Quinn!”
Chapter 2
Adie plunged her hands into the hot dishwater. She hated this part of her job. Stacks of tin plates and cups surrounded her, topped by a load of greasy pans. When she completed this chore, a mound of potatoes waited to be peeled. The loggers called them murphies, which made no sense whatsoever. Over the years she had come to understand the jacks’ lingo but refused to speak it.
Her hands stilled in the water as she wondered about the big, tall man who came to her defense. No doubt, he was a gentleman with perfect manners. They called him Preacher Man. Daddy told her he wanted to go to seminary someday. She didn’t know his name. No one called him anything else, not even her father.
He sure was handsome—broad and strong, with brown eyes that made you think of things that caused Adie to blush. He talked like a preacher. Where did he come from?
She sighed. Her pile of dishes had not grown one inch smaller. The cup in her hand went into the rinse water.
She longed for a view of the majestic pines just beyond the log walls of the camp kitchen. Having something beautiful to look at would make her work seem to go faster. She could stand here and gaze at the snow sparkling in the sunlight.
A commotion clamored in the dining hall, jarring her back to reality.
A shout came from outside the swinging doors. “Bring him in here. Lay him on the table. Be careful. He’s bad off.”
Men yelled back and forth to each other.
Adie’s heart rolled over.
An accident. There had been an accident.
Please, Daddy, be all right. Be safe.
She swiped her shaking hands on her apron as she hustled to see who had been injured. With every breath, she prayed she wouldn’t find her father on the table.
A large crowd gathered around the wounded lumberjack. The flannel-covered backs of tall, brawny men blocked her view. Adie couldn’t see who they’d brought in. She searched the sea of hats, the various sizes, shapes, and colors making it possible to distinguish the wearer. She spied Preacher Man and Derek Owens. Where was her father’s dark-blue felt cap? He would be in here with the men, wouldn’t he?
It doesn’t mean anything that I can’t find Daddy. Maybe he stayed outside with the horses. Maybe he had run to fetch the camp boss, who acted as physician. Willing her stomach to cease its jumping, she stepped into the crowd.
The noise around her ceased.
The men parted.
Her father lay, unmoving, on the table.
Everything around her became hazy. Through a narrow tunnel of light, she spied her father’s pale face. Blood coursed from his temple, but his chest still rose and fell. She rushed to his side.
“Daddy.”
His eyes remained closed. He lay still. So still.
Too still.
“Daddy?”
She rubbed his cold hand.
No, God, You can’t do this to me again. You can’t take him from me, too. Do You hear me?
She turned and found herself staring into Preacher Man’s warm, brown eyes. They filled with unshed tears.
“The tree split and fell. The trunk clipped him. I yelled, but he couldn’t get out of the way quickly enough. I’m so sorry.”
He reached out to her, but she shoved his hands aside. “He’s not dead. Look, he’s still breathing. Why are you standing there? Run and get Mr. Larsen. Help my father.” Why was no one doing anything?
“Someone went for him, but there’s not much anyone can do.”
Adie stamped her foot in frustration. “Don’t say that. Nothing is going to happen to him. Now do something. Anything! Boil water, or tear sheets for bandages or whatever you can think to do.”
A moan sounded from beside her. She turned back. Her father’s eyelids flickered.
She leaned over the man who had always been there for her and stroked his whiskered cheek. “Shh, everything’s going to be all right. You’ll be fine.”
He parted his lips, but no sound escaped.
“Don’t try to talk. Save your energy. You’re going to need it when you get back to work in a few days.”
Her father’s mouth moved again, and this time he croaked out a word. “Noah.”
Preacher Man leaned in. So his name was Noah.
“I’m right here, but Adie’s right. Conserve your strength. Whatever you have to tell me can wait.”
Daddy moved his head from side to side, wincing. “No.” He took a shallow breath. “Take care of her.”
Noah’s big hand covered her father’s. “I will. I promise.”
She didn’t like the direction of the conversation. Everyone talked like her father was dying. “Why would you say that, Daddy? You’re not going anywhere. We’ll be together like we always have been. Come spring you’ll hire on and help someone with their planting. But it will be the two of us, looking out for each other, like you said it would be, forever.”
Daddy gave her hand a small squeeze. “I love you, Adie.”
The lines in her father’s face softened, and his hand went limp. His eyes stared blankly.
“No! Daddy, no!”
Strong arms enveloped her and kept her from falling to the floor. Noah whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
She was utterly alone.
Little light filtered through the cracks in the chinking of the cabin. A frigid wind blew, and ice built up on the inside of the walls.
But nothing compared to the chill in Adie’s heart. When Mama had died seven years ago, she hadn’t thought anything worse could happen. Well, it had. Both her parents were gone. She closed her eyes to shut out the reality of her father dying. Maybe, just maybe, when she opened them she would find this had been an awful nightmare. She would wake up, and everything would be the way it should be.
But when she did, nothing had changed. Outside, men continued to chisel her father’s grave from the frozen earth. Sawing and hammering came from the blacksmith’s shop next door as the jack-of-all-trades smithy constructed the coffin.
Her father’s smiling eyes looked down on her from a photograph in a wood frame. Adie took the daguerreotype from the crude shelf above the stone fireplace. His hair was slicked back. She ran her finger over the glass above his image. Her mother sat beside him, prim and proper, a cameo at her delicate throat. Every chance he got, Daddy reminded Adie what a wonderful person her mother had been. He’d never stopped loving her. His grief over her death caused him to sell their farm. They became nomads, working wherever work could be had.
She couldn’t blame him for wanting to escape the memories inhabiting their little log cabin. Right now she wanted to run as far from this place as her legs could carry her and never look back. Of course, it was impossible. Winter had settled into the Wisconsin Northwoods. No one would come or go for a long time.
And Adie had nowhere to go anyway. What could one woman do alone?
She sighed and replaced the picture on the sh
elf. Her numb mind couldn’t make such decisions now. At this moment she needed to focus on getting through the next few minutes and hours. She’d worry about the future when it happened.
The cold of the room seeped into her bones, and she shivered. Without kicking off her high-button shoes, she slid under her brightly colored patchwork quilt. With frozen fingers, she traced the stitching. Her mother had sewn this quilt for her bed under the eaves in the attic. She had allowed Adie to do some of the work. Together they had chatted away the hours.
Her memories took her to the day she and her father had packed their belongings and moved from their home. They’d left so much behind, but Adie had insisted she take the quilt. Since that day it had traveled with them from place to place. Some nights it covered her in cabins such as this one, some nights in haylofts, some nights on a blanket of pine needles beneath the stars.
Always her father had been nearby. Not tonight.
Tonight she would be alone.
At last she permitted herself to grieve for all she had lost. She cried and cried until her pillow was soaked and her body exhausted.
Work stopped for only a brief time after the accident. Trees needed to be harvested, after all. The lumber company didn’t want work to slack off, even because of a tragedy.
Noah sawed trees with Butch, his new partner, pulled from the swamper crew cutting limbs from trunks. Usually, the steady back-and-forth motion of the two-man crosscut saw soothed him. Now he couldn’t keep his attention on his task. Despite the danger it posed for him, his thoughts returned time and again to Adie. His heart ached for her. Quinn had told him they had no other living kin, and Noah imagined how alone she must feel. He wanted to comfort her.
She’d felt so good, so right in his arms when he’d caught her. A wren weighed more than she did. But she was soft and warm and curved in the right places. He longed to hold her forever, to shield her from more pain.
A Log Cabin Christmas Collection Page 28