Carolyn Davidson (11 page)

“It’s not going to be that way, Erin.” His teeth gritting, he took a deep breath, damning his own forbearance. “I’m willing to wait.” His eyes closed as he uttered the lie. He was far from willing, hovering on the edge of desire, but not for the world would he take on the guise of the husband she had feared.

Beside the bed the baby stirred, whimpered once, then was silent again. “He’ll be waking up soon,” Quinn predicted. “You need to get some sleep.”

Erin turned from him to peer over the side of the bed. “I think he’s sucking his thumb. Can you believe that?” Her whisper was filled with humor as she settled down against her pillow once more.

Beneath his breath Quinn grunted words that eluded
her ear and she turned her head in his direction. “Quinn?”

His hand reached to pat her shoulder. “Go to sleep,” he muttered.

She hesitated for only a moment, then turned her back to him and tugged the blanket over her shoulder. “Good night.”

His mouth twisted wryly. Not likely. Not damn likely.

“
I
t’s going to be nice out this morning,” Quinn announced.

“Really?” Erin stepped to his side, peering out the window at the fragile winter sunlight. “You don’t think it’ll snow today?”

“Sure doesn’t look like it to me. I’d say we’re going to have a break in the weather.” Quinn sat to pull on his boots, then shrugged his heavy coat into place. “I’ll do the chores and see if I can scrape some of the snow aside so the horses can graze. They need to get out of the barn.”

“Will you tether them?” Erin asked, wishing for a moment she could join in the proceedings. The snow glittered, an unbroken expanse in the small meadow, reminding her of girlhood memories.

“Want to help?” Quinn asked, his hand on the latch, his gaze watchful, as if he had ascertained her yearning.

She shook her head. “I can’t leave the baby.”

“Sure you can. You just fed him a while ago and he’s sound asleep.”

“Do you need help?” Even to her own ears Erin sounded hopeful.

“Tell you what,” Quinn bargained with a grin. “You come out and give me a hand and I’ll do my share of cooking breakfast when we come back inside.”

She nodded, already heading for the corner where her clothing was stashed. “Go on ahead. I’ll pull on my britches first.” On her knees, she dug for the pants she’d not worn for weeks. Quinn was gone when she looked up. In moments Erin was ready, a flannel shirt tucked into the denim trousers, her belt pulled tightly around her waist to hold them up.

The sun, fully over the slope of the mountain, greeted her as she closed the door behind her. She’d left the coffeepot filled with water on the stove to brew. They’d be more than ready for a cup after tending to the stock.

Erin’s legs stretched to full length as she attempted to follow in Quinn’s footsteps, and she laughed aloud, teetering on one foot. Then, up to her knees in fresh snow, she made her own path, slogging along contentedly.

Standing in the doorway of the shed, Quinn watched her, the horses close behind him, nosing his back. She waved as he stepped out, leading the animals behind him toward the edge of the meadow. “Sure hope the frost isn’t too deep, so I won’t have trouble driving these spikes into the ground,” he called to her, halting to pound with firm, ringing blows on the first tether. He looked up with a grin as he stood erect. “No trouble with that one.”

Standing stock-still, Erin watched him, absorbed with the picture he presented, invigorated by the fresh air and the warmth of the wintry sun. She would still have been beating on that iron stake, she thought as he moved thirty feet or so farther with the other horses. There was something to be said about having a man in residence.

He straightened, flashing her a wide grin, and she responded,
aware of a quivering in her depths. So easily he could bring forth a response. Those dark eyes and his warm smile penetrated her defenses with hardly any effort on his part.

He’s my husband.
The thought burst from her and she gave it voice. “He’s my husband.” It whispered in the still air, and she watched him continue his task. His wide shoulders flexed as he hefted the heavy hammer the final time, and she noted the taut line of his coat across his muscled back.

He was strong, capable and kind. With a grateful heart she lifted her gaze beyond the treetops, where surely God dwelt. Her lips barely moving, Erin spoke words of thanksgiving.

It had been months since her feet had crossed the threshold of a church. Even her marriage vows had been spoken without the benefit of an altar or any of the ceremony usually associated with such a sacrament. But now, for the naming of her child. for this event, she needed the comfort of tradition.

“Robert. She tasted the word, allowing it to roll over her tongue, as Quinn had done. It was right for the boy. That they name him within the walls of their home was just cause for celebration. She agreed with Quinn on that point. But sometime soon they would take the child to town, place him in the hands of the young minister and observe the ancient ritual of the church.

“You’re deep in thought.” Quinn stood before her and she blinked, looking up at him, the sun a halo around his head. He’d snatched the wide-brimmed hat from its place, and his dark hair molded his scalp, etching the strong lines of his face into sharp detail. His eyes were bold, assessing her openly, scanning the length of her body, then coming to rest on her uplifted face.

“You’re lovely, Mrs. Yarborough. You look good in the sunshine. Makes your hair shimmer like moonbeams are caught up in it, just glistening beneath the surface.”

Erin felt the blush rise from her throat and looked away from his dark gaze. “You sound like a poet,” she said. “I’m sure I resemble nothing more than a walking ragbag.” She looked down at her baggy trousers, the oversize boots, and then, clutching the front of her bulky coat, she held it together across her breasts.

“I know what I see.” His words were a gentle rebuke, and one big hand lifted to touch a lock of hair that curled against the side of her face.

She flinched, just for a second caught off guard by the movement of his hand. His fingers tangled in the soft skein and his breath caught for a moment, then he released it in an audible sigh.

“You thought I was going to.”

“No!” She shook her head. “You startled me, that’s all.”

“You’ll learn,” he said quietly. “You’ll find that my hands will never bring you pain, Erin.”

The sun lost its brilliance for a moment as a cloud scudded across its face, and Erin felt the loss of its warmth. So quickly, the memories of Damian returned, dampening the pleasure she’d found in this moment. She lifted her chin defiantly. She’d not allow it. Remnants of the past could not be given space in such a glorious day.

“I trust you, Quinn,” she told him, meeting his gaze, her mouth trembling only a bit as she smiled. Her hand rose to touch the side of his face, her fingers smoothing the beard he’d allowed to cover his jaw.

He turned his head, his mouth brushing her palm quickly. “Do you?”

Her gaze faltered and she relinquished the comfort of his touch, plunging her hands into the depths of her pockets. “I’ll take care of the chickens. I’m sure there are eggs to be gathered.”

“I brought the milk pail out and left it in the shed,” he told her. “If you want to tend to the cow, I’ll shovel a path for us and get some of the snow off the roof.”

Another chore she’d never have been able to take care of on her own, she admitted silently. That the snow should be scraped from the roof was a certainty. Alone, she’d never have thought of the necessity of such a task. She’d been more than foolish to think she could survive here in the dead of winter on her own.

The hens were happy to see her, their greedy squawking noisy in the shed as she spread feed on the ground for them. Quickly she gathered the eggs, setting them aside to take to the house, then broke the layer of ice on the watering dish so the noisy hens could drink their fill.

The cow was next, and Erin welcomed the warmth of the Jersey’s udder against her hands. The pail sang with twin sprays of milk, and she watched as the level rose, foaming and frothing.

The chickens pecked and drank, tossing their heads back to swallow, lifting their feet high as they picked and chose what they would eat from the bounty she had provided them. It was a homely task, one she’d performed often, but not of late. She spoke to her animals, becoming acquainted with them anew.

“I could be starving to death, and you’d still be out here talkin’ to a bunch of hens,” Quinn said accusingly from the half-open door. His grin belied his words, and she answered it in kind.

“It pays to be nice to the cow. Look at all the milk she gave,” Erin said, lifting the pail.

Quinn took it from her hand, his leather glove brushing against her fingers. It was cold and wet from the snow and she brushed her damp fingers against her coat. “I could have carried it,” she told him, following him out, the basket of eggs swinging from one hand.

He shut the door with his free hand and cast her a glance of approval. “I know that. You can do about anything you set your mind to. But while I’m around, you don’t have to be lifting or carrying the heavy stuff.”

He was doing his best to make her comfortable with him. Erin recognized his method, and smiled as she followed him to the cabin, stepping easily on the narrow path he’d shoveled. Quinn Yarborough took his duties as husband seriously, and if she was half as smart as she thought she was, she’d do well to allow him full sway.

Quinn held the cabin door open and nodded his head, motioning her to step inside. It was warm, the scent of coffee filling her nostrils. The sound of the baby nuzzling and snuffling caught her attention. She stripped from boots and coat rapidly, then rubbed her hands together to warm them before she touched the tightly wrapped bundle that awaited her attention.

Blue eyes blinked, lids squeezing together, then focused on her face, and she felt a thrill that brought tears to her eyes as she gathered him to her breast. His small noises spoke to a part of her she hadn’t known existed, and she whispered nonsense words in return as she carried him to where Quinn was taking the coffeepot from the stove.

“I think he knows my voice,” she said softly, never taking her eyes from the miniature face.

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” Quinn agreed, his own gaze focused on the cups he’d snatched from the shelf and was filling with the hot brew. He glanced up
at Erin as he replaced the pot and his gaze softened, taken with the sheer wonder of her.

She glowed with the inner beauty of a mother, he decided. To have those blue eyes aim that much love in his direction would be something to strive toward. A week ago he’d have been satisfied with her passion.

Now he sought more, and it was a selfish seeking. That his own heart was ripe for the taking was not a certainty in his mind. He’d never loved a woman, not in the purest sense of the word. But he thought that this woman claiming his affections and causing him to pledge an undying promise of eternal love was beginning to be a possibility.

“Why don’t I hold him while you cook breakfast?” Quinn asked, extending his arms. “He’s just lookin’ for a little attention, don’t you think?”

Erin’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she relinquished the baby. “You’re just lookin’ to get out of cooking,” she said with a laugh, then watched as the wide palms curved to hold the small bundle. Quinn settled into the rocker and held the child upright before him so that they could look eye-to-eye. His mouth pursed as he tilted his head to one side and made soft clicking sounds with his tongue, then murmured softly as the tiny forehead creased and the blue-eyed boy peered at the man who held him.

“Can we arrange with the preacher to baptize him?” Erin asked. She placed the bacon neatly in her skillet as she spoke, and Quinn glanced her way.

“I’ve been thinking I need to go to town. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone. I need to let my partner know where I am. It’s been over three months since I wired him. He’ll be thinking I’ve disappeared from the face of the earth.”

“Haven’t you?” Erin lifted a brow as she set the iron frying pan at the front of the stove, then began breaking eggs into a bowl. “You’re about as far from civilization as can be. Where were you when you contacted
him
last?”

“Denver.” He leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on the baby’s cheek, and the small head bobbled forward. “Watch it there, boy!” Quinn leaned him back a bit, resting the wobbly neck against his palm.

“Won’t Ted and Estelle be wondering where you are?” Erin asked, studiously minding the stirring of her eggs.

Quinn shot a glance at her. “Could be. Guinan will tell them what they need to know.”

“Guinan?”

“My partner,” he said.

“Will you tell him you’re married?”

Quinn shook his head. “He doesn’t need to know that right now. I’ll wire him that I’ve located you, and that weather conditions prevent traveling.”

Erin bit at her lip. “When are you going?”

“Not today, that’s for sure. This is the day we name the baby and eat that big dinner you promised me. If the weather stays clear tonight, I’ll get up early and head down the mountain in the morning.”

“Can you send a wire from Pine Creek?”

“Don’t know why not. I’ll only be gone a day, Erin,” he said, finally noticing her hesitant manner. “Are you afraid to be left alone?” The rocking chair came to a halt, and he turned the baby to rest in the crook of his elbow.

“No, of course not.” She tossed her head and lifted a loaf of bread from the shelf. Her knife slashed quickly, felling slices to rest on the table. The bacon was sizzling
nicely and she turned it with deft movements of her fork, then lifted her coffee cup to drink.

“Erin? Are you sure?”

She nodded, still not looking at him, her attention focused on the bowl of eggs she stirred.

“I won’t leave if there’s something bothering you.” He rose from the chair, carrying the baby to his small crib and placing him carefully within.

“I just feel uneasy,” she admitted slowly. “And I don’t know why. I’ve been here alone before.” She turned the bacon again and lifted it out to drain on a piece of brown paper. She poured the grease from the pan into an empty tin, then dumped the eggs into the skillet, stirring them as they began to cook.

“I think I’m just being foolish.” If her smile…was meant to be reassuring, it missed the mark as far as Quinn was concerned. He took the butter from the shelf and placed it on the table, then carried the plates to where she stood at the stove.

“Here, dish those eggs up before you stir them to death,” he told her.

She complied and added bacon to both plates. Coffeepot in hand, she turned toward the table, filled both cups and sat down in her chair. “I’ll fix dinner early tonight,” she told him, buttering a piece of bread. “You’ll want to get the chores done and get to bed early if you’re going to get up before dawn.”

“You’re not a foolish woman, Erin.” Quinn took a bite of egg and broke a piece of bacon in half. “If you have any hesitation about me leaving you, I won’t go.”