A new tension pulled in his chest. Stay? With all these Coulters? Jonah would probably rather see him freeze to death in a blizzard than lodge on the ranch, so close to Naomi and Mary Ellen.
He couldn't help a quick glance at his daughter. She slept so peacefully, completely unaware of the tempest swirling between those she loved. As it should be.
Naomi seemed to be waiting for his permission to ask. With all that worry clouding her eyes, how could he say no? And in truth, he had no desire to die in the snow today. He'd much rather stay in a warm cabin with his daughter and the woman he... Well, with his daughter's mother.
So he nodded. "If it won't cause trouble."
"Good." Naomi turned and swept quietly toward the door. He allowed a final look at their sleeping princess before following.
Most of the family had gathered near the fireplace, drawing chairs in closer to form several rows around the warmth. The howling of the wind outside could just be heard above the hum of voices.
Jonah stood by the window, his gaze focused on the pair at the door—Naomi and Jericho. Did Jonah guess what she was asking? What did he think about the situation? That glare must mean he surelydidn’t like it.
Eric moved his focus to Jericho, who was listening intently to Naomi, his expression hard to read. He answered her, though Eric couldn’t hear his words, then pulled the latch.
A cold gust swept in, scattering powdered snow like spilled milk. The drift on the stoop rose up as high as Jericho's knees.
He slammed the door against the relentless wind, his face set as he brushed powder from his shirt. “No one is leaving.” His voice held a finality that brooked no argument. “The storm’s settled in. It could be hours, or it could be days.”
He turned to Eric. "You can stay in the bunkhouse with the men. There’s plenty of room there.” It was an offer voiced like a command, one Eric wouldn’t argue.
Jonah turned then, eyes locking with Eric’s before he gave a curt nod. The message was clear...though the offer of shelter was begrudging, Jonah wouldn’t turn him out into the storm.
Eric dipped his chin. "Thank you."
Before Jericho could respond, Sean's young voice rose above the rest. "Hey, Angela. Today's the kind of day you said for the chess... What’d you call it?"
All eyes turned to the dark-haired woman. Her cheeks tinged with color, but she smiled at the boy, a gleam entering her dark eyes. "A chess tournament. And you're exactly right." She addressed the rest of the group. "Who's in? If you don't already know how to play, now is the perfect time to learn."
It seemed everyone agreed to participate, even those who’d never played the game. At least they would have something to occupy them during the long day in the cabin.
No matter what, Eric wouldn't let himself be drawn into another fight, regardless of how long he was forced to try to ignore Jonah Coulter’s glares.
CHAPTER 12
Eric opened his eyes in the darkness but kept himself still as he took in his surroundings. The bunkhouse at the Coulter ranch. He lay on one of the top bunks, not close to the fireplace, but warm enough. He'd rather be here than outside, where the wind never ceased.
Was that what awakened him? He doubted it, considering the constant howl had lulled him to sleep, the unending whoosh and wail of the mountain gusts. A treacherous country, this land.
Another sound melded with the gusts, and he strained to hear. Was it simply a different wind, varying the pitch?
No. A baby.
His baby, crying. Mary Ellen. It had to be.
He raised up on an elbow and glanced toward the fire. The flames had died to a bare flicker among the glowing coals, which meant it must be a little after midnight. Did she still wake to eat at night? He would have thought she'd slept through the night for a while now. Hadn’t Naomi said so? They’d talked about her schedule a little. Maybe he’d misunderstood.
The cry surged again. That was pain, not hunger. Something was wrong.
He eased down from the bunk, taking every precaution not to wake the others. Especially Jonah. The last thing he needed was the man barging in when it was Eric’s right to help.Hisdaughter was hurting. Not Jonah's. Not yet, anyway. And that man would never truly be her father.
Eric pulled on his boots and coat, then tiptoed to the door. He couldn't remember if the hinges squeaked. He'd need to slip out quickly, just in case someone awoke.
He accomplished the feat as far as he could tell, though the cold that seeped in might’ve pulled someone from slumber.
The wind... He tucked his chin in his collar and his hands into his coat pockets as he trudged through the snow. The stuff came up mid-thigh, so each step was more like a march. He still couldn’t lift his feet above the top layer, which was turning hard with ice that cut into his thighs.
The way his face and hands burned, it seemed possible they’d be frostbitten by the time he reached the cabin.
