Читать книгу The Tender Stranger - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 9

She 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.

“All right.” Her words were slow, as if she considered the matter even as she agreed to his plan.

“You want to feed the chickens tonight?” he asked.

“I’ll do it first thing in the morning. They’ve gone to roost already.” She leaned her forehead on the cow’s flank, almost as if she communicated somehow with the animal. A soft lowing met his ears as he watched the two of them, the woman and the animal she tended.

“She’s talking to you,” he said softly.

Her look was distracted, surprised, and she grinned, the first real humor he’d seen. “Of course. We understand each other.”

The hay was tossed to the horses and Daisy, the hens were ignored, and the lantern turned off within minutes. Quinn carried the pail of milk, closing the shed door with one hand, then reaching to grasp Erin’s arm as they headed to the cabin.

The trip to town hung in abeyance for two days. The trail was too wet to travel in safety, Quinn decided, and Erin had to agree.

“I didn’t plan on going down the mountain for at least another week,” she told him after three days of watching him take over her chores, with the exception of milking. He’d shot a pair of rabbits and skinned them out, gutting them at the edge of the woods, then washing them in the creek.

She’d been pleased, frying the small pieces in the skillet and cooking rice atop the stove. “They sure don’t carry a lot of meat on their bones, do they?” she’d said over supper.

“Run it off, probably.”

“Do you think it will snow before long?” she asked, her thoughts darting ahead to the long winter months.

“I’m surprised it hasn’t- already.” He licked his fingers and reached for another piece of meat. “We’re pushing it, waiting till tomorrow to head out.”

“I’ll be ready early,” she told him. “I got out my heavy cloak and a pair of britches I bought to ride in.”

“You’re sure you’ll be all right? Riding, I mean?” His look was dubious.

She glanced up. “Of course I will. I’m healthy.” She forced from her mind the harsh pains she’d suffered through twice since he’d arrived.

“We’ll leave as soon as we take care of the animals.”

She gave him a nod, rising to clear the table and clean up the dishes.

The sky was cloudy, but the mud had dried considerably. Leaves covered parts of the trail and Quinn rode slowly, keeping Erin behind him, lest the mare lose her footing and send her rider tumbling.

“It’s going to take all day to get there if we don’t move faster,” she complained behind him.

“Then we’ll stay there overnight if we have to,” he said patiently. “There’s no way to hurry when you don’t know what’s under the leaves, and the ground is still mushy in spots.”

She subsided, aware of his greater knowledge, and tried for good humor. The jolting when the mare broke into a trot jarred her back and made her bite her lip, but there was no way she would snivel. The least she could do was ride along without complaining.

They gained the edge of town well after noon and spent an hour in the general store. The storekeeper wanted to talk, and Quinn was hard-pressed to be polite. Only the advent of the sheriff bursting in the door to haul the merchant away to help fight a fire on the outskirts of town halted the man’s stream of conversation.

“Do we need to stay and help?” Erin asked, looking over her shoulder at the red blaze in the sky. They rode in the opposite direction, and she felt somehow guilty for leaving while others might be in peril.

“The sheriff said the woman was safe, and it was too late to do anything for her husband. We need to be out of the trees before it gets full dark, Erin. I don’t want to be straggling around looking for the trail at midnight.” His words sounded sensible to her, but the urge to remain and offer aid was strong within her breast.

She subsided, following him down the rutted road, the trail climbing quickly once they passed the last of a long string of houses. “The farther from the middle of town we go, the shabbier the houses get, Quinn. Did you notice?” she asked.

“Folks out here can’t afford much,” he said. “They need room for a garden. Most of them can’t get everything store-bought.”

Just beyond the last dwelling, a woman dug determinedly beside her home, and Erin slowed down. “Do you think she’d have any extra potatoes? I’ll bet that’s what she’s digging.”

Quinn pulled his horse up, the packhorse halting behind him. “Could be. You want some?”

She nodded. “I’m almost out. I’ve been pretty stingy with them. They weigh too much to carry.”

“My horse can handle them,” Quinn offered, riding to the side of the fenced-in area that held a small house where several children played near the doorway.

He paid rather more than Erin thought the potatoes were worth, but the woman looked surprised and pleased at her good fortune as she provided a sack to contain them, and Erin didn’t have the heart to scold Quinn for his generosity. She smiled a last time at the bedraggled creature, waving at the children, before she turned forward to follow his lead.

The trees enclosed them in a cocoon of stillness, the wind muted by the tall trees and dense undergrowth. They rode for hours, mostly in silence, Quinn holding up a hand once as Erin would have spoken to him.

And then she understood as he slid his rifle from the scabbard and motioned again with a finger against his lips. Just ahead, a buck deer stood in the middle of the trail, its spike horn antlers proudly angled. She almost called out, dreading the sight of the elegant creature lying on the ground, its life’s blood draining.

Her good sense prevailed and she only winced as Quinn’s shot went home, downing the buck without any flurry. He keeled over as if he’d been struck on the head, and Quinn was off his horse in an instant, looping his reins over a branch.

“This won’t take long,” he assured her. “I’ll just gut it out and hang it. I can come back in the morning and haul it to the cabin.” Taking off his coat, he hooked it on the saddle horn and drew his knife.

She watched in awe and with more than a trace of reluctance as he cleaned the deer, finally tying its back feet together and throwing the rope over a branch. He hauled the carcass high, with what looked like a minimum of effort to her, yet his muscles strained against the gray fabric of his shirt. The end of the rope was tied to a second tree, and they were on their way once more.

The rest of the ride was a blur in her mind, her body weary, her eyes yearning for slumber. Finally, the cabin a shadowed haven before them, Quinn came to her, lifting her from the mare and holding her shoulders while she gained her balance.

“Thank you.” She looked up at him, savoring the warm touch of his hands, which penetrated the heavy coat. Then, as if she could not meet his gaze any longer, looked over his shoulder where the moon chased the last of the twilight from the sky. “I can’t thank you enough for your help,” she said softly, moving from his touch to reach for her saddlebags.

His big hands halted her attempt, and he shook his head. “You go on in the house and get washed up for bed,” he told her. “I’ll be done in no time. I’m going to try milking Daisy. If I can’t get the job done, you can come out and finish. Is that a deal?”

She nodded, too tired to argue, too weary to be prideful. “I’ll cut some cheese from the round I bought and slice some bread.”

“Put the coffeepot on the front burner. There should be enough left from this morning to heat up,” he told her. He watched as she made her way to the porch, then up the two steps to the door.

She lit the lantern, fed the ever-hungry stove and found warm water in the big kettle. The cloth was rough, but the warm, clean water was refreshing, and she closed her eyes at the pleasure.

She was asleep when he came in, the lantern over the table flickering at its lowest level. The simple food was ready for him and he ate it, washing it down with coffee.

He eyed her for a moment, curled in the center of the bed, boots off, but still clothed. Her body weighed less than he expected, he thought as he lifted her and pulled the quilts down. He placed her back in the spot she’d already warmed with her body heat and covered her with care.

So easily, he’d come to appreciate the quiet strength of the woman, her ability to cope with circumstances, even the long ride today. With not a moment’s complaint.

She’d been foolish to come to this place, this deserted cabin, where her existence was riding a fine edge. And yet he couldn’t help but admire the courage of her choice; even as he wondered why she had shunned the help offered by the Wentworths.

He wasn’t surprised that Ted and Estelle Wentworth wanted her back in their home. She was a daughter to be proud of. Perhaps not their daughter, he amended silently, but the next thing to it. And the chances were good that the child she carried would be equally as fine.

But how Damian had ever wooed and won this prize was beyond him. From all he’d heard, the boy Quinn had known had come to be something of a scoundrel, chasing women as if it were more important than his studies, back at university. He’d been handy at gambling, and whiskey had been his downfall, so the stories went. Strange that this fine-featured woman, with so much to offer a man, should have settled for Damian Wentworth. And even stranger that her beauty and strength of character had not been enough to keep him faithful.

Perhaps it was the money that had wooed her to his cause. No…not likely, he decided. If hard, cold cashand what it could buy for her benefit-was her priority in life, it wasn’t readily apparent now. Although she wasn’t hurting for money. Somewhere she’d gotten a nest egg.

He’d looked the other way as she unearthed the box from beneath the floorboards of the cabin earlier. But his glance had encompassed a pile of money before he’d turned aside.

It was a problem he stood no chance of solving tonight, he decided, catching a yawn with his open palm. And leaving the warm cabin now for another night in the cold shed was less than appealing. He cast another glance at her, there beneath the covers, her hair tangled around her face, her eyes deeply circled with weariness.

She would never know if he stayed inside. He could be back out in the shed before she woke. He lifted a quilt from atop her, replacing it with her heavy cloak. Another yawn made him shake his head in weariness.

He’d leave early to bring the deer back. He’d rise before dawn and be gone before she stirred.