Carolyn Davidson (3 page)

And if she knew anything about it, they were probably scouring the country for her, even now.

Men! It would be forever before she was ready to allow another one to run her life. The memory of harsh hands and cruel words was too fresh to be forgotten, and she had determined to put the past behind her and form a new life for herself and her child.

The sight of Quinn Yarborough’s long legs jumping over the worst of the low spots in the yard brought her to herself, and Erin opened the door for him. He paused at her side on the porch, glaring at her damp cheeks, where an occasional raindrop had blown beneath her shelter.

“I told you to go inside.” He stripped off the soaking wet shirt he wore and shed his boots, picking them up to carry them within. Then he waited for her to step through the doorway ahead of him.

“So you did. I don’t take orders well.”

His look was shot with wry humor. “I noticed.” He moved to the stove, pulling a length of twine from his pocket. A line from one wall to the other was quickly strung and he laid his shirt over it. His boots stood in front of the oven door, and he looked at Erin with the first trace of uncertainty she’d seen on his face.

“I want to strip off my pants to dry. Do you mind?”

She shook her head and walked to the window, giving him the privacy he’d asked for. She’d lit the kerosene
lamp earlier, and now its glow permeated corners of the small room.

It wasn’t until she’d gazed for several moments out into the rain that she realized the window was acting much like a mirror, and his every move was apparent to her view.

Quinn was stripping her quilt from the bed to wrap around himself, and she caught a glimpse of his tall frame and an abundance of pale flesh as he did so.

Her cheeks flaming, she closed her eyes, bending her head forward to rest against the glass pane. “Oh, dear!” The whisper was soft but fervent, barely discernible.

“Mrs. Peterson? Erin? Are you all right?” His murmur was low, the warmth of his big body directly behind her, and she drew in a deep breath.

How had she gotten into this mess?

S
he watched his approach in the windowpane, as he moved behind her in the room. Then warm hands gripped her shoulders and Erin stifled the urge to relax beneath their weight. For too long she had been building her courage to remain isolated from the world. She could not allow the presence of this man to make her soften, dependent once more on others.

“Erin?” He repeated her name and his fingers shifted, turning her to face him.

She shrugged, a gesture meant to rid herself of his touch, but to no avail. Her feet moved at his bidding and she looked up into eyes that searched hers.

“I’m fine, just worrying about the animals, I suppose.”

He laughed, a muted chuckle, and shook his head. “They’re about as well off as we are. The shed’s pretty weathertight. You’d do better to worry about yourself. That wind’s blowin’ rain under the eaves. It’s my guess our feet’ll be getting wet before we know it.”

She glanced down to where the door met the floor. A thin line of water had formed along the crack and begun to invade the room. Even as she watched, it widened and
seeped forward, the boards darkening from the dampness.

“I’ll get a towel,” she said quickly, tugging herself from his grip.

“Hold on! Tell me where to look. I’ll take care of it.”

He pulled a chair from the table and lowered her onto it, allowing no excuse. His hands were firm, and Erin subsided quietly. She’d not had anyone show this degree of concern for her well-being in longer than she could remember, save for the storekeeper in the town below.

“In the box beside the bed,” she directed. Probably one towel wouldn’t do the trick, she decided, watching as the water crept into the room. “You might have to use more than one.”

“You got that many to spare?” he asked, bending to locate the designated box.

“Four, but I’d rather keep at least one of them dry.”

“There were some burlap bags in the shed. Too bad you didn’t store them in here.”

“They were here to start with,” she said with a downturning of her mouth. “In fact, this whole place was cluttered with more junk.” She shook her head as the memory filled her mind. “The former owner was something of a pack rat, I found. I cleared his trash out the first day I arrived.”

One hand held the quilt high off the floor as he pushed the towel against the threshold with the other. Then he turned to face her. “How long have you owned this place?”

She hesitated, wary at his interest. “Three months,” she said reluctantly.

“I’m curious. You’re a beautiful woman, living on the edge of nowhere all alone. Why.”

“You’re old enough to know how to contain your curiosity. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it isn’t polite to ask personal questions?” She attempted to insert a note of humor, but the words sounded stark and ungiving to her ears.

He nodded. “Yes, and she probably would be ashamed of my manners right now. I beg your pardon, ma’am. There are more of us, people like you and me, than I could begin to count, living in the present and trying to forget the past. The West is full of folks looking for a new life.”

“I’d rather not speak of the past,” Erin told him, more gently, since he’d deigned to apologize.

“Your choice.” His nod was almost genteel, and she answered it with a like gesture.

She felt the heat of his gaze as he faced her, his eyes skimming her face before his mouth twitched in an admiring grin. “Is there any coffee left in the pot?” he asked, turning to the stove. “Let me get you some.”

Erin rose, needing respite from those eyes that regarded her so freely. She shook her head, denying his offer. “I’ll get it. You need to hang your britches over that line. They’ll never get dry, there on the floor. Either that or drape them over the chair in front of the oven door.”

“You’re right. My other things are in the shed, and I don’t think the weather is going to break for a while. I’m reduced to the quilt, it seems, for now.” He bent, picking up the pants he’d shed, and spread them across the back of the second chair. The underwear he draped on the line, which by now was drooping precariously close to the stove.

“I’ll add some wood,” Erin said. “I need to put my soup on to cook for dinner.” She poured a cup of steaming
coffee for Quinn and motioned to the cream. “There’s plenty if you’d like some to lighten up the flavor. It’s pretty strong.”

He nodded and splashed a dollop into his cup, watching her as she dug potatoes from a sack she’d hung from the rafters. “Don’t you think we sound pretty formal for a pair of refugees from a storm, sharing your cabin, me wearing your quilt?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re the refugee. As soon as the storm is over, you’ll be gone.”

He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. “I’ve been thinking about that. You know, I’d feel a lot better if you agreed to let me stay on at least long enough to help you with the supplies, like I mentioned before.”

She turned back to the potatoes, considering his offer. To all appearances, he seemed to be a gentleman, though what such a creature was doing roaming the mountains of Colorado was another puzzle. Perhaps he was a miner. Perhaps.

“Did you work the mines for a long time?” she asked, depositing three potatoes on the table. Knife in hand, she began peeling them, awaiting his reply.

“Long enough to know it wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.” His tone was dry, his mouth twisted in a grin. Leaning back in his chair, he allowed the quilt to slide from his shoulders, freeing both arms. “How about you? Were you born in Denver?”

She shook her head. “No, back east.”

“St. Louis?” he prodded.

The man was downright irritating, she decided. Him with all his talk about good manners. “No.” Her reply was a single syllable, firm and to the point.

He ducked his head, hiding a grin, almost.

“I’m a widow. I’m going to have a child, and I like living alone. Does that answer all your questions?”

“No, ma’am, it sure doesn’t. But I suspect that’s all I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

“If I wanted to be neighborly I’d have found a place with houses on either side of me,” she said quietly. “I came here to be alone, Quinn.”

“Just one more question, Erin? Please?”

She looked up at him. He was about as persistent a man as she’d ever met up with. “Just one,” she said finally.

“Who’s going to help you when the baby comes?” His playful look was gone. Even the admiring light was dimmed as his eyes darkened with concern.

Her heart thudded heavily within her breast. The bottom line, the end of the road she traveled, and he’d nailed her right where she was most vulnerable. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided what I’ll do when the time comes.”

His brow rose. “Seems like that would have been the first thing you thought of.”

No, the first thing had been escape. Finding a place to hide, where no one could seek her out. A sanctuary for herself and her child. And of all the godforsaken spots she could have come up with, she’d ended up on the side of a mountain west of Denver. How ironic.

She laughed, a strained sound that made him wince.

“Erin?” Quinn tasted her name, relishing the breathless sound of it. His gaze appreciated the look of her, his mind wondered at the unexpected appeal to his senses. He hadn’t looked for this attraction, and yet it could not be denied. She was the quarry, he the hunter; her capture the goal.

Yet for the life of him, for whatever reason, he’d lost
any incentive he had to cart her back to New York. For the first time in years he found himself willing to put his own needs and concerns on the back burner. All in the interests of a pregnant woman who had a past—but not much of a future, from what he could see.

Erin moved quickly, rinsing the potatoes at the pump, then slicing them into a pan, ignoring the sound of his voice speaking her name. The last of the bacon was cut into small pieces, then dropped into the skillet to fry up. An onion, chopped with rapid slashes of her knife, joined the bacon and sizzled in the grease.

“Erin? I have an idea. Why don’t you hear me out?” So quickly his thoughts had spun out of control. Watching her, listening to her, he’d already juggled his plans twice. Now Quinn was about to commit himself in a new measure, perhaps allow a time of grace in which to consider the woman.

She stirred the bacon in the skillet, her back straight, only the proud tilt of her head making him aware that she listened to his words.

“I’ll take you to town and help you get supplies, then bring you back here. That’ll give you a bit of space to maneuver, not having to do it on your own.”

“You’ve already made that offer,” she said crisply.

“But you never gave me an answer,” he reminded her.

“Let me think about it.”

He drained the coffee cup and rose, walking to the window. “It’s not going to let up much. I think we’re stuck inside for a while.”

“Do you like rice pudding?”

“My mother used to make it for a special treat when I was a boy,” he said, his memory of that time fresh in his mind as he spoke the words.

“I’ve got a lot of milk and eggs to use up. We’ll have some for dinner.”

“I hope the rain lets up in time for you to milk Daisy tonight. She won’t be happy if she has to wait till morning.”

Erin turned from the stove. “I’11 have to go out there, rainy or not. 1 couldn’t do that to the poor thing. I can’t imagine anything more cruel.”

Which was what he’d had in mind earlier, he reminded himself. Leaving the cow to fend for herself while he hustled her owner down the mountain and back to the big city. He traced a circle on the steamy glass of the window. It seemed that this issue was going to be more complicated than he’d thought at first.

Even if he went through with his original plan, there would be no carrying her off from here without a bit more forethought involved. She wasn’t in any shape for him to instigate a battle. In fact, fighting with the girl was not what he had in mind. That image brought a sense of shame to the surface.

If he were to follow his baser instincts, Quinn’s hands would touch more than her shoulders. His eyes would do more than take in the beauty of her profile, the soft, tempting fall of hair that caught shimmering highlights from the lantern.

How he could so easily overlook the rounding evidence of her impending motherhood was beyond him. He’d never thought to find a woman in her condition so all-fired appealing. And yet she was. More so, in fact, than any other female he’d come across in years.

If Ted Wentworth could only see him today, within arm’s reach of his quarry and unable to commit himself to her capture. Forty-eight hours ago, two short days
past, he had been hot on her trail and ready to roll back to Denver, Erin Wentworth in hand.

Quinn’s common sense told him he’d had no concept of a woman in Erin’s condition. He could no more sling her on a horse and head down the mountain than he could flap his arms and fly. There didn’t seem to be any way out of it. He’d have to let Ted Wentworth know what was going on, and then make plans to winter here. At least until Erin had the baby and they were both ready to travel.

Would he be ready to earn money at her expense then? Or ever, for that matter?

The rain let up just before dark. His clothes were as dry as they were going to get, Quinn decided. He hurried to put them on as soon as Erin left the house to go to the shed, wearing boots that came almost to her knees. They’d been a legacy of the old man who lived here before her, and although she scuffled along to keep them on, they served the purpose, she’d told him.

His trousers were still damp, but usable, and his boots were hot on the inside, curling his toes with the storedup heat from the woodstove. He slapped his hat on with haste and headed out the door, dodging raindrops as he ran for the shelter.

Erin had made a detour to the outhouse, and he met her halfway between the cabin and the shed. His hand took her arm and he held her steady as they trekked through the mud.

The cow was making anxious noises when Quinn pushed the door open, and the horses nickered softly in greeting. The hens were settling in for the night and looked impatiently at the intruders as they entered.

Quinn found the lantern and lit the wick. Erin had
already settled herself to milking, obviously able to find the cow without benefit of light. He smiled as he watched her work, grinned as he listened to her softly crooning assurances to the pretty little Jersey.

“For a city girl, you sure caught on fast to taking care of stock, didn’t you?”

She laughed softly. “When it’s a matter of food, you learn or go hungry. I depend on the animals for transportation, eggs, and milk and butter. In turn, I feed and tend to them. Works out pretty well, I’d say.”

“You got your list made up for the general store in town?”

“Pretty much. Flour, sugar, lard and cornmeal are the heavy items. I can’t carry much canned goods, so I’m limited there. A farmer down below will be bringing up feed for my chickens. The young man at the store said he’d try to get up here during the bad months and bring supplies once in a while. I’ll shoot some game for myself.”

“You? Shoot a deer? What would you do with it then?”

She made an impatient noise. “Probably not a deer. Maybe rabbits. There are traps overhead in the cabin, too. One way or another, I’ll survive.”

The thought of her setting a trap sickened him, the image of it closing on her fingers as she struggled to pry the cruel jaws open a harsh picture in his mind. He set it from his thoughts.

“You know how to gut a rabbit?”

“I’ll manage. I watched the cook clean chickens when I was a child. It can’t be much different with a rabbit.”

His admiration for this fragile woman increased. She was not what he had expected while heading across the
country with one goal in mind. And now, in one short day, she’d managed to turn his life in another direction.

“Let’s plan on going down to town tomorrow,” Quinn told her. A door at the back of the shed provided a place to pitch the badly soiled wood chips from the stalls and he opened it wide. The pitchfork he found on the wall had a tine missing, but it would do for now, and he bent to with a will.