Carolyn Davidson (8 page)

“The long haul?” Erin repeated the words as if testing their meaning.

“Married folks, ma’am,” Doc Fisher said, his face flushing as he glanced back and forth from Erin to the man near the window.

“He thinks we’re living in sin, Erin.” Quinn’s words were hard-edged, his hands rising to rest against his hips. The soft gaze he’d favored her with became a look of chilled anger, and Erin winced as the meaning of his words penetrated.

Her pale cheeks were flooded with color as she bit at her lip. “I’ve only just borne a child. Surely you don’t think.”

As though she could not speak the words, her voice faltered and she cast a pleading look at Quinn.

Brother Stephen’s cheeks bore a crimson stain of their own. His mouth pursed as he cleared his throat. “No one is accusing you of improper behavior, ma’am. It’s just that, as time goes by, things change. Pretty soon, folks will be wondering about your situation here.”

“A single woman is always open to gossip, ma’am,” the doctor added quietly. “That’s the way of the world, like it or not.”

Erin’s gaze swept over the three men who watched her. Quinn’s hip rested against the window ledge, his arms crossed over the expanse of his chest. He glanced at the preacher and Doc Fisher, both of whom looked decidedly uncomfortable. Lifting one brow in silent
query, he watched Erin, as if he asked her permission for his action, and then, at her nod, he stood erect, drawing all eyes in his direction.

‘I think we can solve the problem to everyone’s satisfaction, Doc.” His easy drawl set a new mood, and the two men turned to him anxiously, as if ready to dump the load of concern on his broad shoulders.

“I’m pretty open to suggestion, Mr. Yarborough.” Brother Stephen’s tone was eager.

“Let’s have it.” Doc Fisher’s face relaxed.

Quinn shot another glance at Erin, his dark eyes scanning her quickly, holding her gaze as he spoke. This was the moment of truth. He’d weighed his feelings, considered his choices, and for the first time in his life he felt a sense of rightness, a sense of belonging, fill him with satisfaction that knew no bounds.

“I’m thinking we’ve got the solution right in front of us, Doc. The preacher’s here already, almost like Providence had a hand in it, sending him up the mountain today. Erin’s looking like a new mother needing a husband to tend to her and her child, and I’m a likely candidate for the job.”

Erin opened her mouth, whether to protest or not she never knew. Quinn’s quick, almost imperceptible movement of his head kept her silent, and his mouth curved in a faint smile of approval. Her thoughts spun rapidly, a tangled mass of confusion. She was a widow, not really a single woman, yet the child she held was not her own. Quinn was offering to marry her, allowing her to keep the baby she cradled.

Within her arms, he was a warm, compact bundle, and her hold on him tightened. He squirmed, protesting her grip, and she glanced down. Piercing blue eyes met her gaze and a small bubble formed between his rosy lips.
A single sound, a cooing whisper of satisfaction, burst the moisture as his mouth opened. Erin bent low, consumed by a spasm of emotion almost painful in its intensity.

This child needed her. Already he’d become her own, easing the pain of her loss, filling her arms with his blessed presence.

She needed him, this small gift from heaven. And more than that, she needed the man who had brought him to her. In order to appease the restraints placed on a woman alone by the society she lived in, she needed Quinn Yarborough.

“Ma’am?” It was the preacher’s eager query that gained her attention.

Erin lifted her head, facing the three men who had the ability to decide her destiny, and her mouth quivered as she opened it to speak. As if he’d spotted the telltale, trembling movement, Quinn stepped to her side, then crouched with one knee on the floor beside the rocking chair.

His hand covered hers, fingers spreading wide to encompass her grip on the baby’s rounded form. He squeezed gently, bending forward to hide her from the other two men.

“Trust me.” The words were soft, whispered against her cheek, his mouth brushing her skin in a movement that might have been a caress. Whatever its intent, his gesture took her breath, and she turned instinctively, her face against his broad chest.

“Yes.” Her acquiescence breathed against his shirtfront and he tightened his grip on her hand.

She inhaled sharply, then repeated the single word as she lifted her head from the haven he’d offered.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” The preacher prodded her, his voice eager as he tilted his head, as if to better hear her reply.

Erin mel his gaze over Quinn’s shoulder. “Yes, I’ll marry Mr. Yarborough.”

The doctor’s chuckle was rich, relief blending with his obvious pleasure in her decision. “Well, that certainly solves things nicely, I’d say. You’re a lucky man, and that’s a fact, Mr. Yarborough. Not every day a man gets a prize like this young woman handed to him.”

Erin didn’t hear Quinn’s reply, nor did she hear the hum of conversation that rushed to fill the silence, for her ears throbbed as she listened to the beating of her own heart, its pace rapid against her breastbone.

Then she blinked, watching as Doc Fisher and Quinn shook hands and discussed the legalities of the situation. Near the table Brother Stephen fished through his pockets, finding a veritable treasure trove therein, including a small Bible and another book. His satisfaction was apparent as he held both volumes within long, slender fingers.

“We don’t have a ring.” Erin murmured the words in a small voice. Her announcement silenced the room, as if uttered with the sound of trumpets.

Quinn straightened, his quick gaze slanting in her direction. With only a moment’s hesitation, his hand slid into his pocket and he brought forth a slim leather purse. Two long fingers slid inside, withdrawing a narrow gold band that glittered in the rays of pale sunlight coming through the window.

“It was my mother’s.” It circled the tip of his index finger and he held it in Erin’s direction. “Will this do?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes.” Swiftly her eyes met his, and she felt them fill with unwanted tears. “Would she mind, do you think?”

Whether it was the evidence of emotion that drew him or only the urge to offer the symbol into her keeping he didn’t know. He simply stepped to her side, drawing her from the chair with a hand beneath her elbow.

“Let’s see if it fits,” Quinn murmured, taking the baby from her arms to hand him to the doctor.

Erin gave up possession with only a moment’s hesitation, her gaze fastened on the movement of Quinn’s hands as he slipped the narrow band into place. It was almost a perfect fit, needing only a tiny nudge to ease it over her knuckle. She bit at her lip as she blinked back the tears that begged to fall.

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice rough, as if her emotion had spilled in his direction.

“I’d be proud to wear it, as long as you’re sure.”

Quinn cleared his throat “I’m sure.” He turned his head to where the doctor watched and waited. “You want to hold the baby while we do this?”

“Guess I can handle this little fella for a few minutes.” Doc’s big hands cradled the small bundle in one arm, and he nodded at the preacher.

“Well, I don’t see any reason why we can’t make this a legal situation,” Brother Stephen announced, his wide smile laced with relief. His fingers slid between the pages as he ruffled through the book he held, then halted as he smoothed it open to the place he sought. He stepped to the window to catch the available light.

“It was handy that I brought along my book of sacraments,” he said, eyeing Erin with smug delight

He planned this,
she thought, amazed that no censure marred her judgment only a certainty of what was right and fitting.

“Let’s use the long version of the ceremony,” the young clergyman said quietly. “I believe presiding at
weddings is about the most important thing I do as a minister, Miss Erin. God willing, this will be a union for life, and it merits taking the time to do it right. It doesn’t matter that there’s only a few of us here, so long as God is invited to join in the proceedings.”

A rush of gratitude filled Erin’s heart, and she nodded her agreement, unwilling to trust her voice. Quinn’s hand tightened on her arm and she cast a glance upward, gaining strength from the curve of his mouth and the approval of his gaze.

They stood before the young preacher and heard his words, Erin answering in soft murmurs, Quinn in firm tones that left no doubt as to his intentions.

And then it was over. In less than an hour her life had changed. The door closed behind the three men, Quinn following them outside into the afternoon light.

“You’ll need to hustle to get back down to town before dark,” Quinn said warningly.

“I’ve been riding these mountains for years,” Doc Fisher told him with a satisfied grin. “We’ll be just fine.”

The two men mounted their horses, and Quinn watched as they turned to ride away.

“Take good care of that young’un,” Doc called back, his hand lifting in a wave.

The preacher’s mouth was set, as if he faced taking a dose of bitter medicine, hunching his shoulders against the cold.

“Yeah.” Quinn’s single word of response was uttered quietly as he watched them go.

He looked upward at the sky, noting the gathering clouds. It looked like snow by morning, probably a good storm. He’d better feed the stock well tonight and wait
till late to milk the cow, just in case he had to dig out in the morning.

The hay and sacks of oats bundled by the porch awaited his care and he lifted their heavy weight, making two trips to the shed to stow them within. And then, with nothing else to keep him from her, he turned to the cabin to join his wife.

I
n the lantern light the gold ring set off sparks that caught Erin’s eye, and she turned from the stove, the better to examine the twisted design of the ring Quinn had placed on her finger. It looked to be made of two separate pieces of metal, bound together to make an intricate pattern, with delicate carvings and small bits of glistening stone forming a part.

This was no simple, everyday wedding band, of that she was certain. Whether Quinn’s mother had worn it or not, its original acquisition had not been haphazard, but rather a planned, perhaps custom-designed purchase.

Another puzzling part of the man she had agreed to marry. Was it only moments ago she had spoken with such certainty? Yes. One word, her promise given. And now she was legally bound to Quinn Yarborough.

Suddenly he loomed large in her mind. Muscular, strong, his hands capable of both healing and harm. She’d been the recipient of his soothing touch, the focus of his knowledgeable skills. And she knew with a certainty she had no way of proving that those same hands could deal out harsh punishment should the occasion arise.

His shoulders were wide, his chest deep with the power of a mature man, his body well formed. No lightweight piker was Quinn Yarborough. Somewhere he’d worked long and hard to earn the muscular frame he carried.

And then there was the part of him that remained hidden to the casual observer. The tenderness within, the gentleness of his touch, the easy acceptance of chores that would be anathema to another man. Even now he was probably milking her cow, or perhaps gathering up the eggs that had been ignored for the past day or so.

She turned from the lantern glow and reached for the’ kettle she kept on a shelf. It was time to stop daydreaming and put together something for supper. The slab of bacon she’d hung in one corner caught her eye and she climbed atop a low stool, the better to reach it, her arms upstretched to grasp it from the hook suspending it.

“I’ll get it for you.” From the doorway, Quinn’s voice caught her unaware, and she looked back over her shoulder. Somehow he’d opened the door and come inside without her hearing him. Probably because she’d been.

His hands were on her waist, lifting her to the floor. Caught off guard, she gasped. His grip tightened and her skin felt the chill of his cold fingers through the layers of cotton she wore.

“You don’t need to be reaching like that,” he scolded, setting her aside, then extending his arm with an easy movement to swing the bacon slab to the table.

She looked up at him, doubly aware of the man she faced, her mind still awash with the multitude of thoughts she’d had. This was her
husband,
she reminded herself. This tall, rugged, whiskery man who watched her every move, who knew her more intimately than any
other human being, who had been privy to the depths of her despair.

This man who had married her so that her child would not be taken from her.

“I owe you my life.” Without thought she uttered the words, her chin rising, her eyes meeting his.

He grimaced, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.”

“I do,” she insisted. “You didn’t have to marry me. You gave me your name and this ring.” She held up her hand, watching as the carving caught the light and shone richly against her slender finger. “You’ve tied yourself to me, Quinn Yarborough, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“I don’t do anything without thinking it over pretty well.” His gaze was somber, his eyes shadowed as he looked down at her. He lifted his hand and touched the gold band with his index finger, then curled that same finger around her knuckle and drew her hand to his mouth. His lips caressed her flesh, cool against her skin, and then his mouth opened and the tip of his tongue flicked against the metal, turning it warm, touching her with the heat of his inner fire.

She inhaled sharply, gripping his hand in a reflexive movement. Her eyes were captured by his gaze, those dark brows lowering as he watched her. His lips were closed now, brushing against her fingers, the back of her hand, his eyes darkening, narrowing, glowing, as if he peered within her soul.

Her denial was breathless, her words a whisper. “You didn’t have time to think it over, Quinn. You made up your mind, and mine, too, in the space of a few minutes.”

“Some things don’t take as much consideration as others,” he told her, his mouth lifting at one corner, as
if a smile lurked there. “When the opportunity arose, I snatched it.”

“You don’t feel…trapped?”

He shook his head. “Do you?”

Erin considered the thought. Her hand was well and truly captured, held prisoner within his grasp. She was alone in a mountain cabin with a man she’d known for less than a month, a man with only his word to recommend him. She had just promised to honor and obey him.

And love,
her conscience prodded.

“Am I? Trapped?” She clenched her teeth. If he wanted to, he could claim his rights. If he felt so inclined, he could make her his wife in fact, as well as on paper.

A paper that resided in Quinn Yarborough’s pocket even now.

He released her hand, his fingers slow to relax their hold, as if reluctant to relinquish his possession. Stepping back, he offered a half salute, his mouth twisted with a cynical expression. “You’re as free as a bird, Miss Erin. I don’t trap innocent prey, only those wild things that know their way in the world.”

Her eyes widened. “Innocent?”

He nodded. “You’re wise in all the ways that count, but underneath you’re.” He hesitated. “I think the word is pure.” His words were a whisper as he bent closer. “And that sort of allure is the most dangerous kind, Miss Erin.”

Beneath his watchful gaze she’d cooked, folded small squares of flannel and tended the baby all afternoon. The everyday chores had become a part of her life in the past weeks, all things that kept her mind from the small grave
beneath the pine trees. Yesterday she hadn’t thought of the still, silent form of her child until bedtime.

Now, with supper behind them, she patted the baby’s back, pacing with him, waiting impatiently until Quinn headed for the shed, his mumbled words speaking of chores. Not until the air warmed once more, after the stove threw out a measure of heat behind the draft from the outdoors, did she prepare herself for nursing the child.

Her sigh of contentment was audible as she settled in the rocking chair. For this she willingly scrubbed out small dabs of flannel, gladly cleaned and cooked the meals. For these precious moments every few hours, when she could find joy beyond measure in the cradling of an infant in her arms, she willingly tended to the mundane chores that demanded her attention.

She unbuttoned her dress and opened her shift, chuckling aloud as the tiny mouth nuzzled at the front of her bodice, nudging her fingers. With eager cries the baby caught the scent of her milk, and his mouth opened wide as he searched with hasty movements for his prize.

Erin laughed aloud, her pleasure spilling over as she settled back in the rocker, lifting the baby closer to the breast that nurtured him.

After ten or fifteen minutes he released his hold, and his head rolled back against her arm. She shifted him to her shoulder and he grunted his displeasure, only to open his mouth after a moment, allowing a burp to escape.

His mouth was still eager as she offered her other breast and leaned her head back to relax. He’d barely latched on when the door opened, and Erin lifted startled eyes to see Quinn entering the cabin.

His gaze traveled with unerring aim to where she sat, his eyes blinking to rid his lashes of snowflakes. “It’s
coming down like blue blazes out there,” he announced, stamping his feet as he latched the door. His coat was hung quickly, his boots removed and placed close to the stove.

And still he watched her. From the corner of his eye, from beneath lowered brows, from the doorway to the stove and back, he kept her in sight.

Erin felt a flush creep from her chest to her throat and then to her face. His appearance had surprised her, and then confused her mightily. Her left hand tugged the blanket closer, covering the rise of her breast until only the smallest portion of the baby’s dark hair was exposed to view.

Quinn was watching her, and that fact should not have caused this sudden rush of heat that enveloped her. He’d been watching her for weeks, his gaze ever concerned, always kind. Now those same dark eyes held a new message, and its portent was confusing. Gone was the patient, caring man who’d done for her what no other person ever had.

In his place was a quiet, somber, watchful man whose gaze filled her with a sense of discomfort, whose eyes were intense with an emotion she could only guess at. She only knew that his mouth against her wedding ring had set off alarms within her that would not be silenced.

Everything was changed. Everything was different. In the space of a few minutes their lives together had been altered beyond belief. In moments, the ease in which they had conducted themselves was gone. The camaraderie was shattered, leaving only a strange, fragile thread to bind them together. No longer did she feel free to nurse the baby, exposing her bare skin to Quinn’s eyes, to that dark, shuttered gaze.

“Will he be warm enough in his bed? Or do we need
another blanket for him?” Quinn approached, and Erin tilted her head back.

“He’ll be fine with me in bed, Quinn. I’d rather keep him close by.”

Quinn shook his head. “You aren’t listening to me, honey. I think it’s time for him to be tucked into his own bed. We can put it closer to the fire if you like, but either way, he’ll do just fine.”

She felt the warmth in her cheeks increase as she shook her head. “I’d feel better having him.”

Erin’s words faltered as Quinn shook his head again. “I’ve slept my last night on the floor, Erin.”

Her mouth was dry at the implication of his words. “You’re planning on sleeping in my bed?”

“It’s the only one in the place. Reckon that’s the one I meant.”

“I don’t think it’s proper.”

He rocked back on his heels. “We’re married, Erin. Sleeping in the same bed is what married people do.” His lips thinned as if he suppressed words that begged to be spoken.

Erin slipped her hand beneath the blanket and loosed the baby’s mouth from her flesh, tugging her dress into place quickly. A murmured protest was quickly hushed as she lifted the child to her shoulder and cuddled him.

“I’ve only just had a child, Quinn.” The words were spoken quietly, yet an unspoken plea echoed within them.

“Aw, hell!” His voice was rasping as he frowned at her. Then in two short steps he was kneeling by her side, pressing one hand against her shoulder, stilling the rocking of her chair. “I’m not going to make any demands on you, Erin. You ought to know better than that.”

She fought the tears that were close to being shed. “I
only know you’re planning to sleep with me tonight, and if I know anything at all about men, that won’t be the end of it.”

His fingers tightened their grip and his eyes glittered, narrowing in the glow of lamplight. “I think you’re tarring me with the wrong brush, Erin. Have I lied to you yet?”

Her eyes swept over his face, the firm line of his jaw, the unsmiling lips and the dark gaze that held a trace of pain. “No, you haven’t, not once,” she admitted. Her heart slowed and she was aware it had been thumping wildly at the base of her throat. “No,” she repeated. “You’ve never lied to me, Quinn.”

“Then don’t doubt me now, honey. I didn’t turn into an ogre when I promised to spend my life with you.”

Shame brushed its heat over her cheeks once more and she turned her head, resting her forehead against his arm. “I’m sorry, Quinn. Truly sorry.”

“He gave you a bad time, didn’t he?”

She didn’t pretend not to understand. She nodded her head. Speaking the words that would admit her unhappiness was too painful a task.

“I’m not Damian Wentworth, Erin. I’ve never been a man to force myself on a woman, no matter the circumstances, and I can’t imagine being a husband who would visit attention on his wife if it wasn’t wanted.”

Quinn spelled it out clearly, Erin realized. He would not demand his marriage rights, at least not now. At least not tonight.

Full dark fell early; and once the baby was settled, clean and dry within his small bed, Erin found herself with nothing more to do. The dishes were put away, the
coffeepot was ready for a hot fire in the morning and a kettle of water was set to warm atop the stove.

She’d pulled down the quilts and sat on the edge of the bed to take off her shoes. As if he attended the small signal, Quinn had excused himself, murmuring about the cow and taking a last look around outdoors. She’d taken the chance to slide into her gown, burrowing beneath the covers in the bed only moments before he came back inside.

They’d gone from friends of a sort to husband and wife. Too quickly, she thought. With reasons that had nothing to do with love, honor and all the rest of the vows she’d taken with barely a sense of misgiving. Stunned by the suddenness of the proceedings, she’d blithely assumed that it would be a marriage of convenience.

She shivered beneath the quilt as her foot moved from the small cocoon of warmth she inhabited. A bubble of nervous laughter pushed at her lips as she wondered at her own naivete. Quinn Yarborough would never be content with a pale imitation of marriage.

He was male, through and through. Even the energy that drove the man was masculine in its intensity. His steps were firm, his stride arrogant. His body spoke of muscular strength, of a man’s powerful need to be in control.

She should have known, should have recognized the need of a man for a woman that gleamed from the depths of his dark, hooded gaze.

And yet, she’d never met a man like Quinn Yarborough before. Never been treated as Quinn Yarborough had treated her. Never known the kindness and understanding of a man who was strong enough to be gentle.

Her eyes half-closed, she watched him from the bed.
He sat before the stove, his big body shading her from the lamplight, his hands busy with the ritual of cleaning his gun.

When would he come to bed, crawling into the side next to the wall, sharing her quilts, easing his presence onto the mattress beside her? Maybe he was waiting for her to go to sleep, so as not to embarrass her.