Carolyn Davidson (15 page)

His hands were warming, she decided as she spread her palms over their backs again, rubbing gently at the skin. And then he slid them upward, his movements ungainly, as if his arms could not support the effort. She lifted herself beneath his elbows and he enclosed her in a desperate embrace, using her warmth as a blanket.

“Quinn?” She lifted her head from his chest and edged one hand to his face, her fingers sensing a change in the temperature of his cheek. “Quinn?” She repeated his name and he moved his head. It was a barely felt shifting against the pillow, accompanied by a groan of pain and a murmur that might have been her name.

“Shh.” Her whisper was automatic. “I’m here, Quinn.”

The whisper came again. “Erin…my head.”

She rose over him, just enough to make out the dark slits of his eyes. “I washed the wound, Quinn. It’s pretty shallow, I think. There’s a bandage on it to help stop the bleeding.”

“Took my horse.” His eyelids closed as he groaned the words, and Erin was seized with anger. Someone had taken his horse? In freezing weather had doomed him? Leaving him to the elements with a head wound? An anger she could scarcely contain rose within her, and she clenched her teeth against the rage.

He’d been left to die. The taking of his horse was the ultimate crime in this part of the country. As a child, she’d heard what happened to horse thieves, reading the pulp novels that were passed among the children at her school. Even then, in her early years, she had yearned for the life of adventure depicted in their pages.

Now she was more than immersed in that existence,
struggling to save the life of the man who had married her and had gifted her with the knowledge of the possibilities inherent in such a union. In so doing, Quinn had brought her to this, Erin reflected as she snuggled against him, aware finally of the cessation of his shivering as she warmed his flesh. She felt the flexing of his muscles, the movement of his legs beneath hers. Finally the desperate clasp of his embrace eased and his hands moved against her back.

“Erin.” Unutterably weary, his voice brought pain by its very tone, and yet also joy. Joy that he had returned to her. Exultation that pushed her anger into abeyance. Sweet, piercing delight in the sound of his voice, calling her name.

A recognition of her love for this man, love that astounded her with its fierce possession of her soul, that filled Erin to brimming, and overflowed in a soft cascade of tears.

“Yes, Quinn. Hush, now. As soon as you’re warm enough, I’ll get you into bed.” She fought against the sob she feared would alert him, and breathed deeply to allay its sound.

His arms tightened again, a momentary message, and he relaxed beneath her. “Yes.” It was a weary sigh, but she felt the renewed strength of his body beneath her and was satisfied.

Erin closed her eyes, suddenly weary, almost dozing. And then she stiffened. From the crib, came a snuffling, squeaking sound, as Robert began to stir. She’d lost track of time. Perhaps it had been minutes, perhaps hours. She could not be certain how long it had been since Quinn had stumbled and crawled to the porch. But no matter. Robert would not be appeased until she satisfied his needs.

“I think we’ll have to move you now, Quinn,” she said quietly, and was relieved by his grunt of assent.

She rolled from him, her arms clinging, reluctant to leave the intimacy she’d formed in the time since he’d come back to her. Rising to her knees beside him, she bent to lift his shoulders.

“Help me. Can you lift your head?”

He groaned, and she felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders clench as he attempted to rise. She crept behind him, supporting his back as she levered him to a sitting position. Her arms enclosed him, lest he fall sideways, and she felt the deep, convulsive breaths he took as he struggled to stay erect.

“All right. I’ll get up now,” he muttered, rolling from her grasp to his hands and knees. His head hung heavily and she bit at her lip, mourning his pain. With slow movements he knelt, finally, and she got to her feet beside him.

“Push the table over here,” he told her, and she recognized his objective immediately. In seconds the table was within his reach, and Erin slid beneath his far shoulder as he eased himself up with one hand flat against the tabletop. Quinn swayed, groaning aloud as she turned him toward the bed, and stumbled almost to his knees again as several steps took him to his goal.

He slid from her grasp with a sigh and his body slumped to the mattress, falling full-length across the bed. He lay from corner to corner, and she lifted his feet, bending his knees and urging him to turn a bit.

Her head swam with the effort expended and she gulped deep breaths of air as she hurried to snatch up the quilts, hastening to cover him before he became chilled once more. His legs and bottom were cool, feeling like smooth marble to her touch, and she hesitated,
wondering if she should find underwear to cover him. But Robert’s impatient cries chased that thought from her mind.

The quilt would have to do for now, she decided, tucking it around him, easing his head to the pillow. She spread the other two quilts over the top to insure his warmth.

The baby was wet through and Erin washed him quickly, changing him from top to bottom before she nursed him. He was indignant at the wait, and only the scent of her milk as it answered his call eased his displeasure. He latched on to her with vigor, and she could not suppress the chuckle that met his hunger.

Love, overwhelming and all-encompassing, filled her as she curled her arms around his warm body.

Her head tilted back and she was struck by the resemblance between this moment and those just past. When she had given of herself to the man she had married. When she had used her body as the remedy for his need, covering him, taking his trembling and making it her own. When her body heat had supplied the fuel that nourished his flesh and warmed his very blood.

When she had, for the first time, felt the overwhelming outpouring of love that marked him as the man she would gladly spend her life with.

I
n the dark silence of the night Erin curled against Quinn’s side. She’d done all she could. Had coaxed him to drink water, urged him to eat soup from a spoon, mostly to no avail. She’d finally pushed the kettle to the back of the stove and left the rabbit to cook overnight in a small pan. It would fall off the bones by morning, a fit addition to the soup kettle.

Her hand caressed Quinn’s chest beneath the quilts, and she traced the lines of his body, as if she must reassure herself of his presence beside her. Along the path of his bearded jaw to the strong cords of his neck, her fingers moved gently. His shoulders were wide and strong, his chest full and well muscled above the spare line of his waist. Below that her hands followed the narrow line of hair that ran down to his navel, her fingertips marking its route.

She slid her index finger into the small indentation, enjoying the texture of his skin, discovering the small knot of flesh at its base. He shifted as she explored, his hand moving to cover hers, and he muttered her name again.

“Erin?”

“I’m here, Quinn.” With haste she moved her fingers from beneath his hand, and rose on her elbow beside him. “Are you awake? Do you need a drink of water?”

“Umm…yeah, I’m dry,” he answered. “Damn, my head hurts!”

Erin rolled from the bed and groped through the dark room to the table, where she’d left the cup of water he’d only sipped at earlier. Returning to his side, she crawled next to him, rousing him again.

“Let me help you to sit up a little, Quinn.” Her arm was beneath his neck again and she lifted his head. He drank, long swallows that told her of his thirst, and she wiped at the dampness that overflowed either side of his mouth. She leaned to place the cup on the floor beside the bed and then pulled up the quilts again.

“Thanks,” he murmured, settling back down on the pillow with a muffled groan. “Got bushwhacked. damn miner took my horse and left me for dead.”

“I was so worried,” Erin whispered as she hovered over him. His face was barely discernible in the darkness, and she peered at him, trying to make out his features. Her hand formed to the curve of his cheek and she bit at her lip, moving her palm to touch his forehead.

“I think you may have a fever,” she said. “You’re warmer than you were earlier.”

“Wouldn’t take much,” he grumbled. “I was half-frozen when I finally saw the lighted windows in the clearing.”

“Does your head feel any better?”

“Hurts when I move it. Aches like a son of a pup.”

She felt for the bandage, adjusting it where it had slipped high above his ear. Her fingers moved across the padding and she was relieved to feel no sign of bleeding, the torn, folded diaper dry to her touch.

“I’ll wash your wound out better in the morning,” she told him. Relaxing, she rested against his chest, her ear once more echoing with the resonance of his heartbeat. It was a bit more rapid than before, but strong and regular, and she breathed a sigh.

“Did you take him…Russell…back to the miner’s camp?”

“Yeah. Left him there.” His voice sounded weary, his words heavy, as if they were too great a burden for his tongue to utter. “Someone followed me. Thought I heard a horse behind.” He paused, catching a deep breath. “Damn head…hurts like—”

“Hush. You can talk about it in the morning,” Erin whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she thought of the hours he must have spent stumbling through the forest, searching for the cabin.

One of her arms stretched across to hold him close, the other hand moving to brush against his hair, checking again the position of the bandage. He was here, he was safe, he was going to be all right. She would see to it.

The sound of Robert crying woke him, and Quinn’s eyes squinted, the lamplight shattering into prisms as he focused on it. Erin was by the crib, bending low to lift the squalling baby in her arms, murmuring softly to hush his cries.

“Is he all right?” Quinn growled, his voice dark with pain. He closed his eyes against the light and turned away from its glow.

“I’m sorry he woke you,” Erin said quietly. “I thought I could catch him before he let loose at full strength.”

“Good lungs,” Quinn said, each word an effort as he
reached to prod at the bandage on his head. It hurt more than being kicked in the head by his father’s mule, back on the farm.

“I’ll tend to your head as soon as I feed him.” Erin’s voice came from the other side of the room, and then he heard the rocking chair creak as she settled down to nurse the baby. The sound of it moving against the floor was loud in his ears, and yet it was a comfort to him as he envisioned the woman and child.

“Is it morning?” If it was, if the sun was ready to come up, he’d need to think about milking the cow. There was only one horse to feed, but even the thought of measuring out a handful of oats and a bit of hay made his head pound. Whether or not he could make it to the shed was a question he’d just as soon not have to consider right now.

“Pretty soon. The sky’s kinda gray around the edges.” The chair creaked in a steady rhythm, and her voice hummed softly as she crooned to the child in her arms.

Quinn stretched out one foot, aiming toward the edge of the mattress. His other leg edged to join the first, and he shoved the covers from him. Maybe coffee would help.

“You just pull that quilt back up and lay yourself back down in that bed!” The rocker squeaked in protest, and the soft shuffle of Erin’s shoes marked her movements. Quinn opened his eyes and watched as she neared the bed. Still holding the baby against her breast, she resembled nothing more than an avenging angel.

Her face was a bit out of focus and he narrowed his eyes, the better to make out her features. Sure enough, she looked like an angel, with that dark, shimmering
cloud of hair and the blue eyes that had the ability to look deep within his soul.

“You’re not getting up, Quinn, and that’s that!” she told him briskly. “If you want anything, I’ll get it for you.” And then she halted, an indecisive look settling over her features. “Do you have to. you know.”

He shook his head, and an anvil somewhere inside shifted. A groan he could not repress slid past his lips and he slumped back against the pillow. With his feet hanging over the edge of the bed and his body shivering as a chill possessed him, he felt about as helpless as the baby Erin was holding.

“Damn!” As curses went, it was not up to his usual standards, but he was too weak to come up with anything better. His heart was chugging away, double time, and he’d barely reached down to tug the quilt back in place when he felt Erin’s hands doing it for him.

“The baby.” he muttered, not wanting her to neglect the child on his behalf.

“He’s fine.” Her words were soft, whispered against his ear as she tucked the sheet and quilt over his shoulder. Her hands were cool against his face as she managed to touch him, smoothing the coverings against his back, then allowing her hand to brush his hair from his forehead.

Her hand paused, then slid down his face, resting for a moment against his cheek. She leaned over and he caught a whiff of her, that womanly, milky aroma, mixed with the other scent he couldn’t put his finger on right now. If he could just persuade her to stay right where she was and hold her hand just so for the rest of the day, he’d feel a heap better.

“Don’t go.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. But he couldn’t resist that soft, small hand, and he turned his
pounding head to press his mouth against it. Her fingers were cool and he snagged one of them between his lips, holding it for a moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice strangely hushed, almost as if she were holding back tears, he thought, frowning as he considered the idea.

“Don’t cry.”

“I won’t,” she whispered. She withdrew her finger from his mouth and traced the line of his lip with its tip. “I won’t.”

The clanging in his head grew louder, almost beyond bearing, and he gritted his teeth against the noise. “I don’t think I can milk the cow this morning,” he managed to mutter.

She bent low, and he felt her presence even before she pressed her lips against his forehead. “It’s all right. It’s my turn, anyway. Please don’t try to get up, Quinn. I think you’re feverish. I’m going to put a cold cloth on your head and I want you to be still and leave it there. Hear me?”

He managed a sound that seemed to satisfy her and she left him for a moment, returning to place a cold towel across his forehead. It felt wonderful, covering his eyes and allowing him to blank out the lamplight.

He heard her movements in the room, heard the door scrape across the floor once, and then again. He drifted, the bed changing form beneath him, cushioning his body like the salt water he’d floated in at Newport one longago summer. He could feel the sun on him as the water shifted beneath him, and he moved restlessly beneath the hot rays. He’d have a sunburn at this rate, and his mother would have to mop his skin with vinegar. If only he weren’t so tired, he’d turn over and swim toward the shore and escape the sun within the cool walls of…

“Quinn, you must stay covered.” His mother’s voice was softer today, as if she’d shed that old-world accent and found a newer, gentler form of speech. Even her hands felt different, smaller against his, as she peeled his fingers from the quilts.

Quilts? No wonder he was so hot. Someone had wrapped him like a mummy. Quinn pushed at the suffocating weight that threatened his breathing, and heard a protesting voice. She was scolding him again.

“Please, Quinn. Let me put this towel on your head. I’ve taken the rest of the covers off, but you must have the sheet over you or you’ll take a chill.”

The cloth was cool, and he subsided, allowing the hands to capture his in a firm grip, the mouth to press against his lips in a kiss of comfort. Then the towel was lifted and his eyes squinted against the sun. No, that wasn’t right. He was in a bed, and the light was from a lamp. And Erin had taken his mother’s place.

For a moment Quinn grieved for the absence of the woman who had loved him better than anyone else could have. Who had forgiven all his childhood sins and given him her approval, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“Mother?” He heard the word pass his lips and knew even as he breathed aloud that it had been a dream, a delusion.

“It’s Erin.” Her whisper was accompanied by the return of the cool towel and he tried to nod his understanding, but the pain would not allow it.

“Don’t move, Quinn. You’ve been feverish for the whole morning, but you’re cooling down now. You’ve been dreaming.”

He tried to answer, but the effort was too great. Only a muffled sound that might have been a moan left his
lips, and she shushed it with a soft whisper and the pressure of her fingertips.

“I’m here. Don’t try to talk.”

Erin…it was Erin. The cloth was lifted again and Quinn slitted his eyes to watch as she crossed the room, dipping the towel into a bucket by the door. Snow…she’d brought in snow to cool him. The windows were bright with noonday sun, and he closed his eyes against the brilliance.

“Erin.” He tasted her name on his tongue, and then repeated it. “Erin.”

He was cooler now, she was sure of it. The terrible heat of his fever had eased, and Erin sensed that he was aware of her presence. A cup of water in her hand, she settled on the mattress beside him.

“Quinn, I want you to drink now. You need water, do you hear me?” Her arm behind his head, she lifted him and pressed the cup to his lips. He sipped and swallowed, then breathed deeply as if the effort were too much to bear.

“Again,” she told him firmly, offering the fluid his body needed.

He growled, but his mouth accepted the rim of the cup and she tilted it, nodding her approval as he swallowed once, twice, and then held the third mouthful for a moment before he swallowed it. His head shifted, a barely perceptible movement, but she lifted the cup.

“All right. That’s enough for now, but we’ll try again in a bit. Right now I’m going to change your bandage.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to do, but necessary, nevertheless. Erin untied the knot she’d formed at the side of his head, undoing the long strip of diaper. The pad was stained with blood, but not as much as she’d expected.
She bent to the basin on the floor beside the bed and wrung out a clean cloth.

His wound was shallow but angry looking, the edges puffy. She washed it with soap, cleaning the dark hair that surrounded it, then rinsed it thoroughly and inspected it, leaning close to see if it showed signs of infection. Should he get blood poisoning…the thought made her shiver, and she bit at her lip.

Her meager medical supplies offered little, and she settled on a tin of carbolic salve, smearing a generous amount on the new bandage she’d fashioned. In moments she’d tied it in place and settled his head on the pillow.

“Thank you.” Quinn’s dry lips barely moved as he breathed the words, and she was touched by the automatic response. The mother he’d called for in his delirium earlier had taught her son well. Quinn Yarborough was a gentleman. He was a man any woman would be lucky to call husband. And by some providential quirk of fate, she’d been given that right.

Erin smoothed back his hair, noting the lack of fever as her fingers touched his forehead. “Do you think you could eat some soup?” she asked. “You need nourishment, Quinn. I cooked up a rabbit and made a big kettle full for you.”

“Umm.”

He might not have intended it as assent, but she took it as such and rose quickly. In moments she was back by his side, tucking a clean towel beneath his chin, offering a scant spoonful of broth against his closed mouth. He opened his lips and she tipped the spoon, watching as he swallowed.

“Good.” His mouth opened again and she repeated the small ritual, easing tiny bits of vegetable and meat
past his teeth, watching as he chewed slowly and swallowed with effort.

“Enough.” He turned his head, frowning as he moved against the pillow, and she brushed the towel across his mouth.

“You did well.” He did look a little better, she decided, his color more normal, his cheeks losing the hectic flush they had worn all morning.