Carolyn Davidson - Oklahoma Sweetheart

The fact that her father had turned her out of the house didn’t surprise Connor. Alger Peterson was a harsh man, a man dedicated to all that was right and proper, and the idea of his daughter bearing a child out of wedlock must have struck him a heavy blow.

Connor wondered why the man hadn’t tried to understand his daughter’s dilemma, at least long enough to provide her with a place to live, and someone to look after her. Instead he’d booted her out.

The footprints Connor followed wove back and forth a bit, as if their owner were uncertain as to the path she took, and well she might have been. Walking away from town would not have offered her much choice as to the shelter she sought.

He passed by the Benson place, saw Joe himself outside, walking toward the barn, and thought for a moment that it would have been a good place for Loris to seek a resting place. But the footprints beside the road told a different story.

She’d bypassed Benson’s barn and walked on. Farther than he’d thought she would, for the next two places had been bypassed too, and after that point, hers were the only tracks to be seen in the sparse covering of snow.

Connor blessed that snow, for without it, he’d never have seen her trail. He needed to find Loris. She’d been betrayed by parents who should have given her love and affection, setting aside the disgrace she might have brought to them. And he, himself, had turned his back on her.

He cursed himself for being so harsh with her, for denying her his aid. He’d offered her money, his help should she want to leave town, but not the helping hand she’d needed. But he’d been so angry at her betrayal, he hadn’t been thinking straight.

If he found her by the side of the road, it would be on his head, for he’d been the logical one she could have counted on to give her help. And he’d turned her away. Sleep had evaded him during the night, his memory bringing her desperate plight before him when he would have slept. While he’d been tucked into his bed, she’d been walking through the night, and he felt the pangs of regret strike his soul with harsh lashes of the whip of remorse. Upon awakening, he’d left home to find her.

A wisp of smoke rose from an abandoned house to the south and he touched his horse’s barrel with his heels, his heart lifting as he considered the possibility of Loris having found shelter there. The owners, a couple named Stewart, had left town months ago, taking little with them. But the house was still livable, to his knowledge.

His horse trotted up the lane and to his relief, he noted the footprints that went before him. She was here. He’d lay money on it. Somehow, she’d gotten into the house and lit a fire. The prospect of finding her at the side of the road had daunted his spirits, but now he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving as he realized his fears might have been in vain.

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.”