Carolyn Davidson (19 page)

“Now, let’s haul that miserable cayuse out of his cell and tend to business.”

“May we leave, Your Honor?” Quinn asked, taking Erin’s hand and edging toward the door.

“Yeah, might as well. We’ve got this rascal dead to rights, seeing as how the sheriff is testifying against him. You better take that wife of yours home, young man. Let her look after that head wound of yours.” He waved at the door. “Now go on, get out of here.”

“I sure hope you like this place, honey,” Quinn said, inserting the key into the front door of the small house
that sat three doors down from the sheriff’s home. He’d opened the white gate with a flourish and led Erin to the porch, pointing out the ice on the steps, lest she slip and fall.

“It’s not very big,” he warned her, ushering her into the hallway.

“A whole lot bigger than the cabin,” Erin told him with a nervous laugh. She felt like a brand new bride, she decided. As if this were her wedding day, almost. For unless she was reading him wrong, Quinn expected to move into this house before the day was over.

She followed him through a wide archway into the parlor, noting the fireplace and the meager furnishings. A sofa, a chair, two tables with lamps in place and a library table in front of the window took only a few seconds to inventory.

“I thought we could make do here for a while. If you want to, we can order some furniture from Andy Wescott over at the general store. He can get it in from Denver for us.”

Erin smiled at Quinn’s concern. “It’s fine just the way it is, Quinn. Let’s see the rest of the house.” She followed as he left the parlor and showed her the kitchen, complete with a built-in flour sifter in the dresser, and a small pantry with walls of shelves lining the windowless area.

Upstairs, two bedrooms snuggled beneath the eaves, with sloping ceilings and open grates on the floor that would allow the heat to rise from the rooms below when the stove was lit. A double bed, dresser and a wooden chair occupied one bedroom, while the other contained a single bed and a wide chest of drawers.

“Not much to brag about, is it?” Quinn asked, hands
shoved deep in his pockets as he watched Erin’s reactions.

Her smile was bittersweet as she turned to face him. “I couldn’t help but compare it to the house I lived in in New York.”

He’d lay money it was a mansion, Quinn thought, complete with butler and maid. “Quite a comedown, I’ll bet, having to live in a place like this,” he muttered, turning from her.

“Oh, no!” Her denial was vehement and she wrapped her arms around him, her face against his back. “This will be a happy house, Quinn. I don’t care about fancy things like china and crystal and fine rugs on the floor.”

But she’d had them, probably all of them purchased by Ted Wentworth, Quinn decided, for their darling only son and his bride. “You had a maid, didn’t you?” he asked, aware of her hands pressed against his coat, feeling her warmth even through the heavy fabric.

“Two of them,” she admitted with a sigh. “They kept cleaning up behind me, until I was afraid to touch anything, for fear I’d make them more work.”

Quinn turned in her embrace and framed her face in his big hands. “This is nothing like the bedroom you slept in there, is it?” His gaze touched the meager furnishings, stopping finally on the double bed.

She shivered, closing her eyes. “No, thank God. I never want to think about my room there again, Quinn. I have nothing but bad memories of that place.”

“Even when you were a new bride?” Why he pushed her for information was beyond him. It was as if he must know all the details of her life with Damian Wentworth in New York before he could decide how to continue with the marriage he and Erin had set into being here in Colorado.

She lifted her lashes, shaking her head sadly. “It didn’t take long to discover what a dreadful mistake I’d made, Quinn. Damian had a cruel streak. He delighted in keeping me under his thumb. Our honeymoon didn’t even last as long as the wedding night.” Her cheeks flushed as she made the confession, and Quinn was shamed by her words. He’d pushed her to admitting her unhappiness, making her relive it in her mind. And all for the sake of his selfish satisfaction in knowing she was better off here, with him.

“You didn’t even have a wedding night with me,” he reminded her with a chuckle, hoping to lighten her mood.

It worked. Her grin was playful as she tilted her head, lifting one hand to touch his mouth. He slid his arms around her, tugging her against him. She relaxed, allowing him to take her weight. He leaned back against the dresser, his feet on either side of hers, his hands smoothing down the length of her back. She shifted against him and he grinned at the awareness in her eyes as she felt his growing arousal.

“We had a wedding night. We just didn’t…you know,” she whispered, her gaze unwavering as she bit at her lip.

“No matter. It wasn’t time, then. And when it happened it was.” There were no words to describe the happiness she’d brought him that night. He could only drink in the fragile beauty of the woman he held and yearn for more of the joy he’d found in her embrace.

As if she sought reassurance, she prodded him. “Was it all right? Did you.”

He nodded. “It was more than all right. I only wish I’d been able to give you the pleasure you deserved. I
know you didn’t.” This was not the time, he decided abruptly.

Erin’s forehead furrowed and she shook her head, her expression puzzled. “I didn’t…what?”

She truly didn’t know. His bride, for all her years of marriage, was unaware of what she’d missed in the bed she’d shared with Damian Wentworth. Quinn’s heart soared with gladness, his mouth twisted in a grin he had no hope of concealing, and his hands drew her even closer.

“Are you laughing at me?” Erin’s words were slow, dubious, and she shrank back from his nearness, her cheeks crimson.

Quinn shook his head, rocking back and forth with her. “Not on your life, lady. I’m just pleased as punch that you’re in for a surprise, and I’m the one who’s gonna give it to you.”

“Quinn?” She looked confused and he took pity, bending to touch her lips with his own. It was a mere kiss of promise, for he knew that to loose his pent-up passion on her now would be a mistake.

“We need to get back to the sheriffs place, Erin,” he said, his mouth still brushing against hers. “We’ll pack up our things and bring them over here. I wonder if Alice would lend us some sheets and pillows until we can go to the emporium and pick up some supplies.”

Her eyes widened at his words. “I never thought of all that. We have bedding at the cabin, and my quilts and.” Her words halted as if she were overwhelmed by the chore of moving into a different house.

“We’ll take care of all that in the next few days,” Quinn promised her. “For now, let’s just locate a lamp and some candles and get the baby’s things together.”

Erin’s glance shot to the bed once more. “We’re going to sleep here tonight?”

“If you don’t mind making do for a day or so,” he told her, his smile urging her to comply.

“As long as it’s warm enough for Robert, and we’ve got water, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll check out the wood supply, but I think we’re all right there. Sheriff said the woodshed out back was in good shape. We’ll have to prime the pump, and I’m afraid everything in the kitchen needs a good scrubbing.”

“After the cabin, this is like a palace, Quinn,” she told him with a laugh. “You should have seen the mess there. It took me three days to make it fit to live in.”

“I still can’t figure why you—”

“1 was desperate. I thought no one would ever look for me there.” Her laughter had evaporated, and sadness touched her eyes. “I wasn’t even thinking straight, Quinn. I just knew I had to hide, and when I heard that there was an empty cabin and that the old miner wanted almost nothing for the deed, I bought it.”

“It was a lucky day when I heard about the woman whose hair was darker than midnight, living halfway up the mountain from Pine Creek.”

“Darker than midnight?” Erin’s brow rose in disbelief.

Quinn nodded. “That’s what the man said. It cost me a five-dollar gold piece to hear those words.”

“How did he know?”

“He was passing through on his way to Denver. He’d left Big Bertha and was heading east. I asked about you in the hotel, and he was waiting to get a room.”

“Then it was just chance that you found me, wasn’t it?”

“I had a man in Denver working on it before I got there,” Quinn said slowly, strangely reluctant to reveal the details of his search. “That miner just saved me a couple of days.”

“And I thought I’d covered my tracks so well,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“This is what I do for a living, honey,” he told her. “A woman who looks like you pretty much stands out in a crowd, you know. I’d have found you, one way or another.”

Her gaze meshed with his. “I’m glad you did. With all that’s happened, I couldn’t have made it on my own.” Her eyes shone with tears, and she lifted a hand to touch his face, her fingers brushing at the dark beard that covered his jaw.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said quickly, turning his head to press his lips against her palm. Her hand was cold and he frowned. “Let’s get downstairs, so I can build a fire. I want this house warmed up before we bring Robert from Alice’s.”

She nodded, drawing her hand from his grasp to delve within her pocket for a hankie. Her tears were dried in a moment and she followed him down the stairs.

“I can’t ask Alice to give up her laundry basket, Quinn. Can we get one from the store for Robert to sleep in?”

“He can bed down in a dresser drawer for tonight. We’ll figure out something else tomorrow,” he told her. “You go on back and get our things together while I tend to the fire and make sure we have water.”

He pulled her collar up and buttoned the top button on her coat. “Where’s your hat?”

“I’ll use my scarf,” she said, lifting it to cover her hair, then tossing the long ends over her shoulder.

His hands lingered on her, touching her face, his fingers brushing at her cheek. “I’ll only be a few minutes here. Be sure to ask Alice if we can borrow a lamp for tonight, all right?”

“And candles,” she added, as if she mentally made a list.

He nodded. “And candles.”

S
he’d expected Quinn to be waiting for her in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. What she hadn’t anticipated was the setting he’d arranged for her benefit. Candles glowed softly from the dresser, a pair of them, reflecting her vision in the wavy glass of the mirror. Another taper on a small table next to the bed illuminated the quilt she’d borrowed from Alice, beneath which Quinn waited.

Erin hesitated in the doorway, Robert in her arms, her heart expanding in her chest, its rapid beat sending the blood rushing to her throat. The warmth spread throughout her body, except where her feet touched the bare wooden floor. There her toes curled, and she watched in silence as his hooded gaze touched that small, involuntary gesture.

“You’re cold,” he said. For a moment she felt vulnerable, her flannel gown no defense against the look he offered her-his nostrils flaring, a ruddy hue invading the dark skin that covered his cheekbones. She was a woman full grown, almost twenty-four years old. She was married to Quinn Yarborough, but he had touched her with a husband’s hands only once, and then in comfort.
That he had found release in her body was a fact, and she had gloried in his possession.

Now he watched her from the bed, his narrowed eyes gleaming beneath dark brows. His hair was black against the pristine pillowcase, and her fingers yearned to twine themselves in that silky length. Erin shivered, as if her body craved the heat of his flesh against hers, and she thought, for just a moment, that the air held an aroma that was uniquely his.

Quinn was past thirty years old, experienced, perhaps cynical at times when it came to the women who had found a place in his bed. Not that there had been a countless number parading through his life. He’d chosen to live circumspectly, as if he awaited that one female who would strike a spark within him. And, it had seemed, he’d waited in vain.

Then he’d found her, there on the side of a mountain, this faerie creature who had allowed him a glimpse of her soul. Who had shared her memories, her grief and her capacity for love with him in a hideaway where nothing was concealed between them. Where two people, for a time, took refuge together.

In his memory those days still wore a patina of perfection he could not explain, given the events they had survived. They had battled pain and injury, and fought the horror of death. Only to come together in a blending of body and spirit that bore no resemblance to anything he’d ever experienced in his life.

It had been a time of bonding, days and weeks of living closer to a woman than he’d ever imagined. She had taken his strength and made it her own, taken his infirmities and spent her energy on his wounded body.

And now she stood before him, carrying against her
breast the child they had claimed. Her slender form was bathed in the glow of the candles he had set in place, one on a small table by the bed, two on the dresser.

Flowing over her shoulders to her waist, her hair was a sable cloak glistening in the light of the flickering tapers. Her gown was nondescript, a pale covering that hid from him the tender flesh beneath, and there, below its hem, her toes curled against the wooden floor.

“You’re cold,” he said again, lifting the covers to sweep them aside. He’d propped the pillows behind his bare back, wondering if he expected too much of the woman he’d married. Would she hesitate at the sight of his body so exposed to her view? Perhaps he should have retained the covering of his smallclothes, or waited for her fully dressed.

It was too late to question his actions now. Erin watched him from the doorway, Robert in her arms. Her eyes shone in the candle glow, her face radiant, luminous with a pale light of its own. And then she moved toward the bed, to where he’d arranged a sleeping place for the child.

A pillow provided the mattress, and she laid the babe within the dresser drawer, tucking her shawl over his blanket-wrapped form. He nuzzled his fist and sighed, a drop of milk showing evidence of his recent feeding.

“I should have worn my house shoes,” Erin whispered, her fingers lingering on Robert’s soft, dark hair. She glanced up, her gaze warm as it rested on Quinn’s face. “Will you get me warm?”

It was far from what he had expected her to say. It was an offer he had not dared hope for. An overture he could only accept with open arms, his body already forming a welcome of its own. His hand met hers as she
lifted one knee to the mattress, guiding, balancing her as she moved to where he waited.

And then he held her, enfolding her warm, willing body against himself, breathing in the sweet scent of her flesh, his mouth seeking the tender skin of her throat. She curled in his lap, his thighs cushioning the curve of her bottom. Her legs drew up beneath her gown, and he felt the chill presence of her feet against the side of his thigh.

Quinn laughed softly, possessed suddenly with a happiness he had thought never to attain. He’d bargained to warm her, and the anticipation of what that might involve brought him to a state of readiness.

Warm her he would. But the knowledge that her woman’s flesh was not prepared, that she knew little of the pleasures to be found in the marriage bed, was a deterrent he could not ignore.

Cradling her in his embrace, he reached one hand down to caress the small feet that were beginning to take on the heat of his body. “Feeling better?” he asked, his words rasping against her ear.

Erin nodded, her voice hushed as if in deference to the sleeping baby. “You radiate heat like the woodstove downstairs.” Her hand slid up his arm, fingers tensing against the firm muscle. An almost silent sigh signaled her contentment as those wandering fingertips continued across his shoulder until they laced through his hair.

The pressure of her touch turned his head, and Quinn allowed it, willing her to do as she pleased, watching through slitted eyes as she tilted her chin and shuttered her gaze from his view. Her mouth touched his, her lips soft, her breath warm as he inhaled its sweetness. His name was a hushed sound that barely reached his ears,
and she repeated it, her lips moving as the single syllable issued forth.

His hunger could not be denied. His body tensed and hardened beneath her fragile weight, and he cradled her closely as he turned in the bed, levering her beneath him. The fabric of her gown twisted around her body and he groaned his frustration, even as he grasped folds of material and eased it from her.

She lifted her arms as the flannel sleeves were pulled over her hands, and she caught her breath, a quick blush turning her ivory flesh to a rosy hue. The fullness of her breasts drew him, and he laced her fingers with his, holding her hands to either side of her shoulders. Warm lips met cool skin and the dark crests puckered at his touch.

Erin smothered a gasp, her body surging upward in reaction, and Quinn was hard put to cover his delight as her hands escaped his grip to clasp behind his head. He smiled, aware of each fingertip that clutched his scalp. His mouth pressed the underside of her breast, feeling the tender bit of flesh against his cheek, even as a drop of liquid traced a path across his skin.

He lifted his head, his tongue touching the pale drops of milk, tasting the life-giving nectar her body contained. “It’s sweet.” His words held an element of surprise, and he smiled up at her, entranced by the look of confusion she wore.

“I didn’t know.” she whispered, her eyes widening as she watched him flick his tongue once more against another drop of her milk.

He lifted himself above her and touched his tongue to her mouth. “Taste it.” The droplet moistened her lip and her tongue darted out to snatch it.

A smile twitched reluctantly at one corner of her
mouth and she blushed anew. “I’m not sure that was proper of you.”

“What we do in our bed is always proper, Erin,” he said quietly, suddenly solemn, as if this moment were of exceeding importance. “Your body is wonderfully made, sweetheart, and when you married me, you gave me permission to claim it as my own. You belong to me now. And I belong to you.”

Her mouth trembled and then stilled, her lips pressing together for a moment. “I want to belong to you, Quinn. I thought for so long that…well, that’s not important now.”

Her eyes had darkened, just for a moment, and he wondered at the shadows of the past that had visited their memories on her. He yearned to forever banish the thoughts of Damian Wentworth from her mind, to flood her being with so much joy and pleasure that the past would be buried for all time.

“Nothing is important but this,” he-said, tasting her, touching her, taking her mouth with his in a caress that was welcomed with a sigh of acquiescence. She opened to his seeking, needing no urging as she allowed his kisses full sway. His tongue found hers, and he felt the minute hesitation, then the restrained movement as she allowed his exploration.

She was virgin flesh to his touch and Quinn was exalted by the knowledge. Whatever her marriage had done to her, it had not damaged the innocence of her response, the eagerness with which she returned his caress. Her hands left his hair-her fingertips seeming reluctant to release the grip they had taken-and then moved to his shoulders and she tugged at him.

“I want to touch you, Quinn.” Erin’s whisper was breathless and he felt the damp movement of her lips
against his as she spoke. Again his flesh surged, thrusting against her, and she shifted beneath him, her hips rising from the mattress.

He lifted himself over her, resting on his forearms, mesmerized by her beauty. Her hands spread wide on his shoulders, then moved slowly to his chest where her fingers tugged at the dark hair that curled in a wide triangle. She brushed inquisitive fingertips across his nipples and he shivered, closing his eyes as he savored the sensation she brought him.

“Quinn?” He thought he would never tire of her voice whispering his name, and he smiled as she repeated the single syllable. “Quinn?”

“I don’t know how long I can wait, Erin.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears as he offered his words of apology. “I don’t think you’d better do that anymore.”

“This?” she asked, her hands sweeping slowly over his chest again.

He shivered. “Yeah, that.”

Her mouth curled in a satisfied smile and he growled, deep within his throat, his need overcoming his patience as she teased him once more, her fingertips taking new liberties.

His kiss captured the curl of her lip, ventured beyond and traced the edge of her teeth, delving even deeper to discover the secrets of her mouth. Her moan of pleasure was accompanied by the slide of her arms around his back, and her hands clutched at his waist, as if she anchored herself against the tide of pleasure he brought to her.

He rolled with her, his arms urging her body to meld with his, one hand sliding to cup her bottom, relishing the firm curve of her hip and thigh beneath his fingers.
His mouth left hers and he tasted the tender skin of her throat, her shoulder and breast, his tongue and teeth testing the resilience of her flesh.

Erin moaned, her fingers kneading his back, and he gloried in the sound of her passion. His touch slowed, gentling as he sought the hidden secrets of her woman’s flesh, and then he swallowed a sound of exultation as his touch gave proof of her desire.

He had vowed to bring her joy, had promised himself the gift of her pleasure. Now his own needs were put aside, almost forgotten as he worshiped the woman he’d taken as his wife. He wooed her, praising her for the beauty of her form, whispering words of encouragement as he brought her to the edge of completion. His hands caressed her, his fingers sought her pleasure in a hundred ways, and his kisses pressed her ever closer to fulfillment.

She cried out, a muffled sound that pierced his heart, and he opened his eyes, rising above her as she met his gaze with eyes that reflected his. “Quinn!” Her cry was frantic, as if she sought a goal she could not attain, and he covered her mouth with his own, his manhood urgent against her. She trembled in his arms, then opened to him, urging him to seek the haven he’d denied himself for too long.

She clung, as if her very life depended on the warmth of his flesh, the movement of his body against her. “Quinn!” The entreaty was whispered again and she lifted herself, offering entrance, entwining her limbs with his, straining to capture that part of him that promised a pleasure beyond bearing.

And then he was there, stretching her, filling her, bringing her once more to a knowledge of her own womanhood.

Erin groaned aloud. She’d known the touch of a man’s hands, the weight of a man’s body on hers. Yet never had she known this purity of love, the joyful acceptance that made two bodies into one flesh.

She could only whisper his name, her whole being alive with his presence, his arms enclosing her as his manhood claimed her depths with a sweet invasion. Gone was the terror of the past. Forgotten were the harsh reminders of another’s hands. Only the fresh, pure knowledge of Quinn Yarborough’s possession filled her mind and heart as she knew the primitive exaltation of belonging to the man she loved.

The letter came on the stagecoach from Denver, and was hand delivered by Tater Folsom just before noon. Erin scanned the envelope, her curiosity on edge as she read the return address.

Louis Hardiman, Special Investigator. What a special investigator in Denver wanted with Quinn was a mystery she stood no chance of solving, she decided. She stifled the urge to hold the envelope up to the light. Even if she could see through the heavy paper, whatever was written within was none of her business.

Or was it?

It was because of her that Quinn had come to Denver and made inquiries of people there. And it made sense to think that one of those persons who had led him to Pine Creek might have been Louis Hardiman.

Reluctantly she placed the envelope on the kitchen table, leaning it on its edge against the sugar bowl. From there it drew her eyes like a magnet, and it was with a sense of heartfelt relief that she heard Quinn at the back door.

“Dinner’s about ready,” she sang out, careful to ignore
the envelope that had demanded her attention for almost an hour. “Wash up and I’ll fix our plates, Quinn.”