Carolyn Davidson (16 page)

He slept then, deeply and quietly, only stirring when the baby squawked his need in the middle of the afternoon.

She watched from the rocking chair as she nursed Robert. Quinn’s eyes opened just enough for her to see the dark gleam beneath his lashes.

“Is he all right?” His voice was husky with sleep, but the words came easily past his lips.

“Yes, he’s fine, just hungry again.” She spread her hand across the top of her breast, aware that Quinn’s eyes were intent on her. His dark gaze warmed her flesh from across the room, and she lifted her head to meet it with her own.

“Don’t do that. Don’t cover yourself from me.”

She felt her eyes widen at his words, was conscious of the flush of color that painted her cheeks, and knew a quickening deep inside her body as she responded to the words he spoke. Her fingers withdrew from the rise of her breast, and she cupped them beneath Robert’s round bottom.

She’d never felt this degree of intimacy in her life. Not once during the years of her marriage to Damian, not during the hours when she’d given birth, when Quinn had delivered her child. Not even during the night she’d been warmed by Quinn’s loving had she known the heat of his appraisal. That had been a surcease of
sorrow, a panacea for her grief, a coming together that had held comfort for her.

This was different, this deliberate baring of herself to his view. As if she were offering herself to him, and he were accepting the gift, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of her.

“Beautiful…” His mouth rose at one corner in a faint smile. And then his eyes closed and he relaxed. She watched as his breathing changed, slowing, deepening as he slept.

The baby released his suction and she tilted him, smiling as a burp escaped his rosy lips. He snuffled against his tiny hand and sighed, a bubble forming in the center of his mouth. Her heart swelled within her as she watched him, then looked again at the man who slept in her bed. Quinn was better for now, it seemed.

And this was no time to dawdle, with butter to churn and diapers to wash out. She rose and put the baby down, moving quickly to do her chores before either of these male creatures needed her again.

It had been two days. Two days and nights of fever alternating with chills. Quinn roused from the tangled dreams and moved his head. The anvil had stopped clanging, but had been replaced by a hammer. No, that wasn’t right. It was something outside that thumped loudly.

He moved cautiously beneath the covers, easing to the edge of the mattress. Robert was just inches away, his tiny body swaddled in a blanket and covered by Erin’s shawl. Only the small dark head was exposed to view, and Quinn reached one hand to brush his fingers across that precious downy spot.

The thumping from outdoors sounded again, and
Quinn’s feet touched the floor. What on earth could she be doing out there? And then he knew. She was chopping wood, the sound vibrating in time with the faint throbbing of his head wound.

She’d be lucky if she didn’t cut her foot off. Fool woman ought to know better. He slid from the side of the bed, his knees unsteady, holding to the footboard for balance. His legs were properly covered, at least. He faintly remembered Erin struggling to slide drawers up his legs yesterday. Or was it this morning?

He’d been flat in that bed for three days, maybe, with Erin tending him like an infant, waiting on him hand and foot. And now, to beat all, she was out there swinging an ax. Quinn staggered, reaching for the table to steady himself, and then headed for the window.

Two horses were tied to the shed door, and Erin was sitting on a chunk of log near them. In the middle of the yard two men were busy making a fresh woodpile. One, the biggest of the pair, swung the long ax as if he knew what he was doing. The other, keeping him supplied with chunks of wood to split, was stacking them in a neat pile near the porch.

Quinn watched, leaning against the wall, squinting against sunlight that glittered on the snow, his head swimming. Damned if that didn’t look like the sheriff out there, and the other one, with a shiny star pinned on his coat, was almost certain to be the deputy.

“What the hell?” He shook his head, peering through the glass, shoving the curtain to one side, the better to see.

As if his movement had caught her eye, Erin looked up, her gaze meshing with his, and she rose, hurrying to the cabin. “Quinn! What are you doing out of bed?”
She brought a draft of cold air in with her, her face rosy, her hair hanging in a long braid down her back.

“Tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on out there,” he muttered, easing his way to sit on a chair at the table.

“What does it look like?” Erin unbuttoned her coat and went to the stove. She poured coffee into a mug, then placed it before him.

“Looks like you’ve turned the sheriff into your chore boy,” he told her, picking up the steaming cup and breathing deeply of the steam. “How long since I’ve had a cup of coffee?”

“Since before you got yourself shot,” she answered, her tone brisk as she filled two more cups and headed to the door. “Don’t you get up until I come back in, you hear me? I’m going to take these out to the sheriff and young Tater.”

“What are they doing here?” Quinn asked, carefully turning his head to follow her as she paraded past him.

“I haven’t found out yet,” she said. “They saw me scouting up firewood and getting ready to split some big chunks, and Sheriff Mason took the ax from me and set Tater to work.”

“Tell him he’s done enough. I’ll be able to use an ax in a day or so.” Quinn knew his tone was beyond grumpy, but watching some other man splitting firewood for his wife was not setting too well.

“Please, Quinn. Get back in bed as soon as you’ve finished that coffee. I’ll make you some dinner right away.” Erin scooted outside, her attention on the full cups she carried, then she reached back in to pull the heavy door shut behind her.

Quinn bent over the table, propping his head in his hands, leaning on his elbows. He’d never felt so useless in his life, with legs like wet noodles and his head all
in an upheaval. The coffee was strong, and his stomach growled as he swallowed the first of it. Food was what he needed—not the soup he’d been getting lately, but a good piece of roast venison or some fried steak.

The thought of the two men in the yard finding him in his drawers lent him strength, and he headed for the corner where Erin kept his clothes. Clean trousers were the first order of business, and by the time he managed to get them buttoned up and his belt in place, he was about out of breath.

His coffee was cool enough to drink down, and he swallowed it quickly. The bandage on his head had come loose and he snatched it away, impatient with the infirmity that had turned him into a man too weak to tend to his own chores. The pad was smeared with a residue of salve, but he found no trace of pus on it. He lifted a stove lid and tossed it within, just as the door opened again.

“Well, you sure don’t look like you’re about to take on the world,” Sheriff Mason said, heading for the wood box, his arms full of freshly split logs. Depositing his load, he turned to Quinn and tugged off his gloves. He stepped closer to the table and offered his hand.

“I’m Henry Mason, and this here’s Tater, my deputy.” Erin and the younger man stood just inside the door, and Quinn cast her a quick glance before he shook hands with the lawman. “Your wife tells me you’re nursin’ a head wound, Mr. Yarborough. Want to fill me in?”

“You here on business, Sheriff?” Quinn asked curtly. “Or just out visiting?” He doubted the latter, and had a strong hunch that the trek up the mountain trail had had a purpose behind it.

“Actually, I came to see your wife, but it sounds like there’s more here than what meets the eye.”

“What did you come to see Erin about?”

“Had a report that there’d been a shooting up here the other day. Seems your wife was involved.”

Quinn nodded. “Just what did you hear, Sheriff?”

“Heard tell she shot a man without provocation.”

At his words, Quinn heard Erin draw in a quick breath from close behind him. Within seconds her hand was on his shoulder, fingers pressing against him. He reached up to clasp them in his palm.

“Do you believe that?” Quinn drawled the query, one eyebrow rising as if to signify his own doubt. “Have you asked Mrs. Yarborough what happened?”

Sheriff Mason shook his head. “Haven’t had a chance yet, to tell the truth. We saw her rollin’ a chunk of wood across the yard, gettin’ ready to split it, and me and Tater here just set to and gave her a hand.”

“I appreciate your concern, Sheriff.” He squeezed Erin’s hand. “How about some more coffee for our visitors, Erin?”

“I’ll get their cups from the porch,” she said quickly, turning to the door. “I have stew cooking. Would you like some?”

“You might not be so friendly once I tell you what I’m here for, ma’am,” Sheriff Mason said quietly.

Erin opened the door and snatched the cups from the porch. Her steps were brisk as she walked back inside and across the floor to the sink. “I’ll just get these washed up first.” Her face was flushed by more than cold air, Quinn thought, watching her work. Her hands trembled as she placed the cups on the table.

“Ma’am, I’ve got to ask you some questions.” The sheriff sat down across from Quinn and watched Erin
closely. “I heard tell you had a couple of visitors the other day and when they asked for a bite to eat, you got all uppity and aimed your shotgun at one of them. Shot him without warning.”

The coffeepot she held suddenly appeared too heavy for her to handle and it tilted precariously in her grip. Quinn reached across the table and balanced it, scorching his hand on the hot metal.

“Oh, Quinn!” Erin snatched a towel from the sink and dampened it in her pan of water, covering his fingers with the cool cloth.

“It’s all right, honey. I doubt if it’ll even blister,” he said quietly, holding her against his side, one arm around her waist.

“Ma’am? You want to tell me about it?” the sheriff prodded.

“Two men were here, that’s the truth. They asked for something to eat, that’s the truth, too. I came out on the porch with my shotgun, just like you said. But I doubt you were told that they threatened to kill my cow and horse. And that they said vile things to me. And when they heard the baby cry, they told me if I didn’t let them.” Her voice broke, as if she had gone as far as she was able, and Quinn’s grip on her tightened.

“I think the sheriff knows what you’re trying to say, Erin.”

“Did you shoot the man, Mrs. Yarborough?” Sheriff Mason’s eyes were kind, but his face wore a somber cast as he asked his question.

Erin nodded. “Yes, I shot him. He had his gun drawn and he was coming up to the porch, and he said it would be terrible if something happened to the baby, but he didn’t mean it. And then he said it would be too bad if something happened to me, and the baby was left here
all alone.” She drew in a deep breath, and her voice was stronger as she continued. “I couldn’t let that happen. When he got almost up to the porch and I knew he wasn’t going to stop, I just lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.”

“Well now, the miner, Toby Jones, I think his name was, said you just got real mean with them and didn’t give them a chance to leave. Said you just shot his partner without cause.”

Erin shook her head, and her denial was a whisper that mirrored the horror of her memories. “I wouldn’t do that. He was going to hurt me or the baby, or maybe both, and I couldn’t let him.”

“Did he have his gun aimed at you, ma’am?”

“No, it was in his hand, but pointed at the ground.”

Quinn cleared his throat. “Don’t you suppose he could have aimed it pretty quick, if he’d a mind to?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Maybe he was defending himself.”

Quinn’s voice was incredulous. “Against a little bit of a woman like my wife?”

“Anybody looks pretty big when they’re pointin’ a gun in your direction, Mr. Yarborough.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Erin asked.

The sheriff levered himself up from his chair. “I didn’t say that. The fact is, I have to get to the bottom of the matter, ma’am. The judge will be comin’ to town next week, and we need to let him hear everybody’s story, I think. In the meantime, I’m gonna have to take you back to town with me.”

“You’re going to put me in jail?” Her words were bleak and she stiffened, drawing away from Quinn’s touch. “I have a baby to care for, Sheriff.”

“I know that, ma’am. We’ll have to take him along,
I reckon. But don’t worry, I’m not putting you in jail. We’ll find somewhere for you to stay.”

He turned to look at Quinn. “Now, how about telling me who shot you.”

H
e’d never felt so damned helpless in his life. Erin was on her way down the mountain with the baby, escorted by the sheriff, and the man who should have been taking care of her was left behind.

Quinn groaned in frustration, too weary to make his way back to the bed, his head aching too badly to sit at the table.

The door opened and closed, Tater Folsom filling the room with his presence. “Sure is a cold one today, Mr. Yarborough. I shut the shed up good and brought the milk in with me. You want to tell me what I’m s’posed to do with it?”

Quinn lifted his head, glaring at the hapless young man. “You can dump it in the snow for all I care.”

Tater had the grace to look abashed. “Looky here, I didn’t plan on stayin’ up here and gettin’ in your way, mister. I’m sure sorry you lost your horse, and I’m sorry as hell you got shot, but the best I can do is stay here for a couple of days till you get on your feet, so’s I can milk the cow and keep an eye on you.”

“What you can do is help me to the bed. I’ve been up long enough,” Quinn said gruffly. He rose gingerly,
aware of the tendency of his legs to tremble beneath his weight. Tater’s shoulder was more than enough support, and Quinn was in the bed in moments.

He tugged the quilts over himself and closed his eyes. A vision of Erin assailed him: atop her mare, Robert bound to her bosom with her shawl, her coat covering him from the elements. He gritted his teeth. Damn fool sheriff had no business hauling her away like that.

One way or another, he’d get to her. Somehow, he’d make his way down the mountain to town and find her. If he had to walk, he’d figure out a way to be with Erin, if it was the last thing he ever did.

The trail was well marked with hoofprints. Not only those of the sheriff and Tater it seemed, but others who had managed to plow a path that was easy to follow. Erin clung to the pommel of her saddle and held the reins loosely. Ahead of her the sheriff rode at a steady pace, looking over his shoulder regularly to check on her.

“You doin’ all right back there, ma’am? Am I goin’ too fast for you?” He twisted to one side and watched her for a moment. “You want me to take that young’un for a while? It’d give you some rest.”

Erin’s arm tightened under the precious bundle she carried. “No, I’ve got him. He’s fine.” How she would fare should Robert awaken and be hungry she hadn’t figured out yet, but manage it she would.

Only the thought of Quinn battling the sheriff and his deputy had allowed her to agree to this trip so readily. He would have fought to defend her until he dropped, that was a certainty. She could not allow it to happen. He’d barely begun to recover from his head wound. He
needed at least another day or two to regain strength before he ventured far from the bed.

“It won’t be long, ma’am. We’re on the last leg,” Sheriff Mason called back to her. “We’re pret’near on level ground now.”

Her mare picked up her feet a bit more quickly, as if she scented a barn or a haymow ahead, and Erin shifted in the saddle. The baby had begun to move around, yawning and stretching within his blankets. She could hear him snuffling at his hands, and she feared it would be only minutes until he expressed his displeasure at the close quarters he’d endured for the past hours.

The town loomed before them, twilight settling in quickly. The sheriff led her past the hotel, between the jail and the emporium, to where a cluster of houses lined a second street. Smoke trailed from their chimneys, and the scent of wood burning caught Erin’s attention.

Wherever he took her, she surely hoped they were about to serve supper. She was in dire need of a cup of tea, a clean diaper for Robert and the use of an outhouse for herself.

“Here we are, ma’am.” Her mare came to a halt and bent her head, blowing and snorting. “Hand me down that baby and I’ll give you a hand off your horse,” the sheriff said kindly, reaching up with both hands.

Erin shook her head. “I don’t want to unwrap him. If you’ll just let me lean on your shoulder, I’ll make it.”

He shrugged. “I can do better than that, I reckon.” His big hands gripped her waist and he lifted her, easing her from the saddle and to the ground. She clutched at Robert and held her breath, then staggered as her legs trembled beneath her.

“Thank you.” She inhaled deeply and looked around. The largest of the small assortment of homes was in
front of her, and Sheriff Mason was opening the gate to usher her up the path.

“My wife will take good care of you and the child,” he told Erin. “I’ll just get you inside and then put these horses up. They need to be tended to. Tell Alice I’ll be in shortly.”

“Alice?” Erin plodded up the path, her feet feeling like chunks of ice inside her boots.

“My wife, Alice.” He pushed open the door, and the aroma of baking bread assailed Erin’s nostrils. “Alice! Come see what I brought you.”

His shout was enough to raise the roof, Erin decided. But it certainly got results. A buxom lady with graying hair bustled into the kitchen, her front well covered with a white starched apron, and her hair wrapped around her head in fat braids.

“My, my! What have we got here?” she exclaimed, her face beaming. “Is this the little girl from up the mountain who’s been nursing that poor little orphan child?”

Erin heard the door close behind her. “I’m Erin Yarborough.” Her arms had begun to tremble with the strain of clasping the baby to her breast, and she looked around for a chair, fearful of remaining erect much longer.

“Let me help you, child! Here, just unbutton that coat of yours and let me give you a hand.” Mrs. Mason hauled a chair from the table, and in moments Erin had been divested of her coat and hat, and Robert was squalling to beat the band. Mrs. Mason plopped him on the table, beaming at him, clucking her tongue and, in general, expressing her approval of his beauty.

“Isn’t he just the sweetest thing? And hungry as a bear, I’ll warrant. I’d say he’s needing a good feed.”
She stripped him down quickly and turned to Erin. “Where’s his diapers, honey?”

Erin looked around helplessly. “I brought a bundle tied to the back of my saddle.”

Mrs. Mason laughed heartily. “I’ll bet that man of mine hauled it off to the stable with him. Never you mind, we’ll just use something else for now.” So saying, she snatched a clean towel from the kitchen dresser behind her and folded it with ease. Robert’s eyes were screwed shut, and his cries…were becoming lustier by the second when the last pin was in place.

“Here you go, mama. Just give this child a little nourishment and see if that don’t put a stop to his caterwauling.”

Erin reached gladly for her child and opened her dress. She smiled as he searched for nourishment and then settled down to fill his stomach. Before she’d had a chance to toss her shawl over her shoulder to shield herself, a cup of tea was before her, the cream pitcher and sugar bowl within reach.

“Thank you so much,” she said gratefully.

“I surely don’t hold with you bein’ dragged down here to see the judge, I’ll tell you that,” her benefactress said stoutly. “I told my man he had no business huntin’ you down. But as long as he was determined to bring you to town, he could just bring you here and let me take care of you and the babe.”

As if she’d been delivered to the mother she barely remembered, Erin smiled at the woman, aware of the tears that slid in a steady fall down her cheeks. “I can’t thank you enough for your kindness,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t want to come and leave Quinn at the cabin, but the sheriff insisted. I told Quinn we really need to get this all cleared up.”

“And what did your Quinn say to that?”

Erin blushed as she remembered. “You don’t want to know, ma’am. He said some words I can’t repeat. Suffice to say, he wasn’t too happy with your husband, but with a gunshot wound alongside his head, he wasn’t in any shape to argue. The sheriff left Tater up there with him.”

Mrs. Mason huffed her way across the room to the big cookstove that took up one end of the kitchen. She tended to the pots that required her attention, lifting their lids, which sent forth a marvelous assortment of aromas. Three loaves of bread sat on top of the warming oven.

Only the need for privacy kept Erin awake in the warmth of the room, and she waited impatiently as she nursed the baby, until the food preparations were under control. Mrs. Mason turned to her guest. “I’ll warrant you’d like to get washed up, wouldn’t you?”

“I need to use the outhouse.” Erin felt a blush suffuse her cheeks once more as she whispered her distress.

“Land sakes, child. Give me that baby and go on upstairs. First room on the right. There’s a slop pail and a washstand you can use.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Erin headed for the stairs, buttoning her dress as she went, even in her distress giving thanks. She could have been stuck in jail, and well she knew it. Instead, she’d been given the welcome of a daughter in this house. Quinn was the one in jail, stewing away in the cabin halfway up the mountain.

“You think he put her in jail?” Quinn growled his query from the depths of the bed, where he’d managed to sleep for several hours. His head had left off throbbing and he lifted it cautiously from the pillow. Sure enough, it had ceased the
thump, thump, thump
that had plagued him for three days.

“There any hot food over there?” he asked Tater.

“Yup. That wife of yours ain’t only handy with a shotgun, mister. She’s a right good cook, too. And she might be in jail. Either that or Miz Mason’s lookin’ after her.” Tater rose to pour coffee into his cup. “You wanna come to the table? I’ll dish you up a bowl of whatever this is in this here pot.”

“Probably rabbit stew,” Quinn grumbled. “I’ve been eating it every meal for a week, it seems like.”

He made it to the table with barely a wobble, congratulating himself as he slid onto a chair. “Pour me some of that coffee, will you?” he asked, fishing in the spoon jar for a utensil.

“Tastes pretty good, don’t it?” Tater asked, watching as Quinn devoured a full bowl of stew.

It might be the same potful, but Erin had added more vegetables to the soup and thickened the gravy. Quinn relished each bite, his mind traveling the trail to town.

He couldn’t imagine where she was, and he yearned for the certain knowledge that she was safe and well. If he knew for sure that she was under a warm roof, with food in her stomach and the baby fed and dry, he wouldn’t have this anguish to deal with. But he didn’t know, and the thought of anything happening to his wife and child was setting up a frenzy in his heart.

He slept all night, rising at dawn when Tater left the cabin to answer nature’s call. For the first time in four days his head felt as if it was firmly attached to his neck and he found he could walk with no trace of dizziness.

“I’ll find you today, Erin,” he whispered, searching out the whereabouts of young Tater’s belongings. Success was not long in coming, the cabin holding few hiding places, and his eyes lit with triumph as his search panned out.

“Smells like fresh coffee,” Tater said enthusiastically as he came through the doorway a little later.

“Probably not as good as Erin makes,” Quinn answered, turning to face the door as he poured himself a cup from the blue speckled pot. He’d added chunks of wood to the stove before he dressed, and heat radiated from the cookstove. Now he exposed his backside to the warmth, nursing the coffee as his hands wrapped around the hot cup.

“I’ll take a chance on it,” Tater said with a grin. He shed his coat and found a clean cup on the shelf. “Looks like it’s gonna be another clear day. Maybe the sheriff will send someone up with a horse for you this morning. You feelin’ like takin’ a ride yet?” His smile was eager as he watched Quinn over the rim of his cup.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I had in mind, as a matter of fact,” Quinn said with an easy grin. “To tell the truth, I was thinking of taking a ride down the mountain and sending someone back for you myself.”

Tater looked stunned. For just a moment Quinn was tempted to laugh aloud, and then lost the urge as the young lawman reached for his gun. The effort was futile. His weapon and holster had been placed by his side of the bed during the night, and Quinn had confiscated itwhile the coffee brewed. He was conscious of it, tucked in the back of his denim trousers, and felt a twinge of pity for the man he’d so purposely betrayed.

Tater’s head tilted and his eyes narrowed. “I can’t let you do that, Mr. Yarborough. Sheriff Mason left me here to look after you. He’d be mighty upset with me if you ran off.” Carefully he placed his cup on the table and strode across the floor to the far side of the bed.

“It’s not there,” Quinn told him quietly. “I’m afraid I hold the winning hand, Tater. Hope you don’t hold
grudges. I’d rather not leave you here alone without a horse, but somebody’s got to tend to the cow, and I’ve got a wife and baby I need to be with.” “You can’t do that. You think I’m just gonna stand here and let you ride off and not do nothin’ about it? Not on your life, mister!” Tater blustered, his face red, his eyes glaring their wrath.

Quinn shook his head, and then thought better of it as he subdued a wave of dizziness. “Sorry to do this, but I’m going to tie you up till I get your horse saddled and I’m ready to be on my way.” He reached behind his waist and drew the gun he’d confiscated. “Just sit yourself down in that chair, Tater, and don’t give me a bad time of it I’m not too long on patience this morning.”

She’d spent a restless night, and morning had come none too early for Erin. The baby slept soundly beside her, tucked between two pillows, his cheeks pink, his fragile eyelids shut. Erin leaned on one elbow to watch him in the dim light coming in the window. Winter sunshine was never so bright as that of full summer, she thought. The sky was not nearly so blue, the trees were bare, and over a foot of snow covered the ground. The day matched her mood, barren and chill.

Quinn was miles away, up the mountain, with no one to care for him. No doubt Tater was a fine young man, but he didn’t know how Quinn liked his eggs cooked, with the yolks almost hard and the edges crispy.

She bit back the urge to succumb to tears and rose from the bed. That she should miss him so intensely after less than four months in his company didn’t seem possible. But the fact was, he’d found a place in her life, not to mention her heart. And that foolish organ felt as if it would burst this morning as she considered what
her life would be like should she not be able to spend it in the presence of Quinn Yarborough.