Carolyn Davidson (13 page)

Leaning against the barred door, she drew a deep breath, faced with the prosaic lines of laundry crisscrossing the room. Quinn’s shirt lay across the scrub board where she’d left it only minutes before, and on the bed
the baby moved within his cocoon of blankets. As if nothing had happened, her world inside this building awaited her return.

As if nothing had happened.

I
t was done. He’d backed out of the deal, wired Joel Guinan with explicit instructions for handling Ted Wentworth. His business was safe in Guinan’s hands for now. And Ted and Estelle had no hold on him, once the retainer was returned.

On top of that, Erin was waiting for him. He smiled and urged his horse ahead.

The cabin was dark, as he approached, only a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. Just in front of the porch a body lay, dark against the white snow beneath it. With a muffled exclamation, Quinn swung from his horse, dropping his reins to the ground. Heart pounding at an unmerciful rate, he bent beside the still form, knowing even as he did that it was not Erin, but a man.

Quickly his gaze swept the clearing, taking in the hoofprints, dark in the moonlight. Then, swiveling, he headed for the porch. The door was latched and he listened, holding his breath as he pressed his ear to the rough wood.

“Erin!” It was hushed, more than a whisper, yet contained. “Erin!” He spoke again, listening lest he miss any sound from within.

A tiny whimper caught his ear and his heart leapt. “Open the door, sweetheart. Let me in. I don’t want to break it down.”

“Quinn!” It was a pleading sound, his name spoken as he’d never heard it uttered, and his heart clenched within his chest.

“Open the door, Erin.” It was an order now, as if he sensed he must gain her attention in this way. From inside, he heard the creak of the rocking chair, then the soft shuffle of footsteps across the floor. Finally the door moved beneath his hand as she lifted the latch, and he pushed it open.

She was there, a slender figure in the dark, visible only because her dress was washed in the moonlight from behind him. Quinn brushed past her, his relief alive in his throat. First he had to light the lamp. Then he could look at her, assess the damage.

As he lit a match, the bundle she held in her arms stirred, and the whimper of a waking baby relieved one of his worries. He raised the lamp’s wick, lighting it quickly before he replaced the globe. From the corner of his eye he saw Erin lift the child and pat his back, the lamp glow etching her in its halo of light.

“Are you all right?” He walked back to close the door and then stripped off his coat. His hands felt like blocks of ice, and he hesitated, not wanting to touch her with cold fingers, yet feeling an urgent need to hold her against himself.

She took the choice from him, her stumbling steps gaining her his embrace as she flung herself into his arms. With the baby between them, Quinn held Erin, his hands running up and down her back, around to her sides. Then he cradled her head in his big palms.

“You’re all right?” He knew she was safe, unhurt, yet the assurance must come from her lips.

She nodded, her head pressed against his chest. “Yes.”

From outside, his horse neighed, a protest against being left alone in the clearing. And close behind, another nicker added its complaint.

“I must put the horses in the shed,” he told her, even as his arms slid to hold her closely. “I’ll be right back. Do you hear me? I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

“I haven’t milked,” she whispered. “The cow will be in misery by morning.”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Will you be all right for a little while?”

“Yes.” She stepped back, relinquishing the warmth of his body, and stumbled to the rocking chair. “I’ll feed the baby.” She looked up at him and her eyes were wide. “I called him Robert today.”

Quinn shivered at her tone and her mannerisms. As if she were oblivious to the carnage in the yard, she settled herself to nurse the child. He pulled his coat back on, with a last glance assuring himself of her physical wellbeing.

She was still in the chair when he came back in, a bucket of milk in his hand, a heavy bundle across his back. “I brought in some of the supplies, Erin. The rest can wait till morning.”

She rocked, humming beneath her breath, and he hurried with his task, placing the milk pail on the sinkboard and leaving the supplies near the door. The fire had burned down, and he loaded the stove with four chunks of wood before he hung his coat and removed his boots.

Still she rocked, and Quinn rubbed his hands together
as he neared the chair. “Let me take the boy, Erin. He’s asleep.”

She handed him the warm bundle and Quinn’s hands enclosed the child, lifting the baby to his face to press his mouth against the fair skin at the fragile temple. Robert smelled clean and milky and his eyes squinted tightly closed. With a shushing sound, Quinn placed him in his crib and drew Erin’s shawl over him.

She’d risen from the chair and watched him from empty eyes. “I shot a man, Quinn. You told me I could if I had to.”

His mouth opened, then closed. There was no comfort to be offered, no pat phrases to be spoken. She’d taken a life, and the pain of it was eating away at her.

“He would have hurt me, and maybe the baby, too. I couldn’t let him, could I?”

“No, you couldn’t let him, honey. You did the right thing.” Quinn held out his arms and she came to him. Enclosed in his embrace, she shuddered, her body trembling against him.

“Will God forgive me, do you think?”

Anger at the loss of her innocence swept through him. Never should a woman need to defend herself in such a way. The taking up of a weapon Was man’s business, had been since the beginning of time. A woman should be kept safe, secure within the walls of her home.

And today he had left her to fend for herself, had taken the trip down the mountain, leaving her a prize for the taking. Only the courage contained within that slim body had kept her and the babe from harm. Guilt tightened his grip, and he bent over her as if his body could shield her from her own pain.

“You did what you had to, Erin. Defending yourself
is never wrong. You committed no sin against man or God.”

“I pulled the trigger, Quinn. He wasn’t even aiming his gun at me. I didn’t give him a chance. I just lifted the shotgun and pulled the trigger.”

“He took his chances when he came here looking for trouble.” His mind swept back to the flurry of tracks by the shed. “Was he alone?”

She shook her head. “No, a man named Toby was with him. They were going to shoot the cow and my horse if I didn’t let them in the house. He said they wanted something to eat.” Erin lifted her head and her eyes were disbelieving. “I knew he was lying. I knew what he wanted.”

“He didn’t touch you, did he?” He didn’t believe so, but something in him needed to hear her assurance.

“No, I shot him as he was coming up to the porch. The other one was getting ready to come at me, and I told him to come ahead, that I still had one shell left in the gun. But he must have thought better of it. He rode off. And then I had to go out and put the horse away and tie the cow in her stall.”

Quinn’s hand patted at her back in an awkward fashion and he closed his eyes, shaking his head at her despair. “I’ll take care of the body, Erin. He must have come from over the mountain. My guess is that they were a pair of miners from Big Bertha, just lookin’ for trouble.”

“Don’t leave me now. Stay with me, please.” Her grip on him tightened and he dropped his head to bury his face in her hair.

“I’ll only be outside for a few minutes, honey. Then I’ll get a bite to eat before we talk.”
She shivered and levered herself away from him. “I’ll find you something.”

With precise movements she unloaded the supplies, dragging out the process while Quinn headed out the door. She wielded her big knife carefully, slicing bread and cutting chunks from a piece of cheese the grocer had wrapped in cloth. It was crumbly and rich smelling, and she ate a piece that fell from the knife. For the first time in hours, she felt hungry.

Quinn was true to his word, back within five minutes. “Eat something, Erin,” he told her, washing his hands at the sink, splashing water over his face and smoothing his hair back with damp fingers.

“I will. I can’t take a chance on losing my milk.” She poured hot water from a pan into her cup and added a small sifting of tea leaves. “The cook always used to say that tea makes milk.” She looked up at Quinn with a startled glance. “Isn’t it strange that I should remember that now? It’s been so many years.” Her voice faltered and trailed off into silence as she stirred the cup, then left it to steep.

He placed cheese on his bread and took a mouthful. It was good, the bread still fresh, the cheese strong and ripe-flavored. He watched as Erin tore her bread into bites, chewing slowly, waiting for her tea to be strong enough to drink.

She sipped the tea while he put the food away, his gaze ever watchful as she pushed at bread crumbs on the table, hovering over her as she drained the last of the tea.

Then Quinn took her arm and led her to the bed. His big hands felt clumsy as he undid the buttons on her dress. His fingers brushed it from her shoulders, and she watched as it slid down the length of her arms. Beneath
it, her petticoat and chemise tempted him, and Quinn bit at his lip as he undid the small buttons and untied the ribbon that held the muslin fabric over her breasts.

“My gown,” she whispered, one hand rising to halt him.

He cleared his throat and lifted her pillow, exposing the neatly folded garment. It enveloped her as he drew it over her head. Beneath it she shed the rest of her underwear. In moments she was tucked into bed, Quinn drawing the crib close to her side.

In short order he’d banked the fire, blown out the lamp and made his way to where she waited. He undressed slowly, almost reluctantly. She tempted him in a mighty way, his body more aware of her tonight than ever. But if she wanted comfort, he was ready to give it without measure.

The smooth rise of her breasts above the chemise had brought him to arousal, and he fought now against the urge that rode him. He closed his eyes, her presence in the bed an enticement he fought to resist. She was warm and softly scented, all that was womanly, tempting his hungry heart.

Yet if she should be overwrought still by the events of the day, she might well shun his touch. The thought that she would be fearful of his man’s body was a possibility, and he held himself separate from her beneath the quilt. If ever he must fight the fierce need that held him in its grip, that time was now.

Erin felt the bed move, heard the ropes groan their protest as Quinn settled against the mattress. Her heart was slow, heavy within her breast, empty and bereft, with a need she could not explain abiding in the depths of her soul.

“Quinn?” She spoke his name with diffidence. “Quinn…I.”

He hesitated for only a moment, then rolled to face her, reaching out to brush the hair from her face as if it were a temptation he could not resist. Beneath his hand her flesh warmed. She embraced that heat, leaning to his touch. His face was in shadow, the moon sulking behind wispy clouds and refusing to lend its light, yet she felt the piercing scrutiny of his gaze. Her body eased closer to his.

“What is it, honey?” Once more, his voice offered comfort.

A comfort that beckoned, one she could not deny. She reached for him blindly, driven by an urgency she could only obey. His arms enclosed her and his hands spread to cover her back, brushing against her gown as he enclosed her in his embrace.

The horror of death rose before her and she winced from it, choking on the words that fell from her lips. “Please, Quinn. Help me. When I close my eyes…I see him.” Her flesh was chilled, her body trembling, and she welcomed the soothing strength of his hands.

“I’ve got you, honey. It’s all over,” he whispered, drawing her nearer, forming her against the length of his body.

But it was not enough. A haze of crimson blurred her vision and she cringed from it, tears finally holding sway as she gasped out her pain. “I saw it…the blood ran down his chest when he fell. The snow…all around him.”

Silently Quinn cursed as the pressure of his manhood rose, answering the movement of her body against his, making itself known, its firm length rising against her stomach. Her indrawn breath was a reaction she could
not contain, and he jerked back, his big body shifting away from her.

She would not allow it, though, and her hands tightened their hold. She whimpered his name, refusing his retreat, her murmur almost smothered against his chest.

It was a plea of anguish, and he gritted his teeth, determined to banish the evidence of his need. He was washed with shame, fighting to overcome the urgency that begged for relief.

In vain he eased from her, for she followed, edging closer than before, her legs twining with his, her feet squeezing between his calves.

“Quinn!” It was a harsh sound, followed by a sob that sounded as if it were wrenched from the very depths of her.

“Shh. hush now,” he whispered, giving up the struggle for distance and shifting with her to the middle of the bed. She pressed against him, her sobs shaking her body with cruel strength, and he gave himself over to stroking her back, brushing countless kisses against her forehead and cheek.

Tasting her tears, he silently cursed the men who had caused the turmoil that wrenched her soul. “Hold me closer,” she begged, the whispered words adding fuel to the flame he sought to suppress.

He would live with guilt, that was a certainty. He shouldn’t have left her alone. That was the crux of the matter. No matter what excuse he used, no matter how urgent the trip to town had seemed, he’d been wrong to leave her, when her senses had told her to be fearful. And he’d ignored his own instincts, that last moment upon leaving when he’d almost turned back.

“Hold me closer, Quinn!” He answered her frantic plea in the only way he knew. Easing her to her back,
he spread his body atop her slender frame, holding himself from crushing her as best he could.

“Yes.” She whispered the single word, closing her eyes, relishing the weight of him, clinging without restraint to the man who made himself a shield in her behalf. That he gave without care for his own comfort brought a measure of peace to her heart and Erin brushed her face against the skin of his throat, there, where his shirt was open.

Gripping him tightly, burying her pain in the solace of his embrace, she edged her arms beneath his, her fingers spreading over his back and shoulders. Yet, still, within her an emptiness yearned for another comfort, a need that cried out for what this man could give her.