Carolyn Davidson (6 page)

She pressed her index finger against her mouth and transferred the caress to her child’s forehead, then sat erect once more.

“I’ll not be long,” Quinn told her, easing the lid back over the still form. Four nails were in his pocket, the hammer on the table, and he snatched it up as he moved to the door.

“Quinn.” Her voice halted him and he turned back.

“Thank you.” Her lips barely moved as she spoke the words. Her eyes held immense sorrow, but no tears, and he nodded, closing the door behind him.

Strangely, he’d feel better about the whole thing if she’d weep, he thought, trudging across the small clearing. But from the looks of her, she’d shed tears enough, at least for today.

The snow fell heavily for two days, and then the sun came out, rising like a pale golden ball in the east. Quinn peered from the window, still tousled from sleep, his bare feet-feeling half-frozen. His gaze turned to the small mound, covered with snow, just across the clearing. And behind him he heard the rustle of bedcoverings as Erin roused from sleep.

“Quinn?” She spoke his name with a distinct lack of emotion in her voice, and his eyes closed as his head bowed, forehead touching the damp window glass.

“You’re awake.” He turned, his gaze seeking hers, scanning her wan features. She hadn’t eaten enough in the past two days to keep her alive. He’d vowed to him-self
that today would be the turning point. Today he’d sit beside her until she finished breakfast, or at least made a good attempt.

There wasn’t enough flesh on her bones to draw from. Either she began to gain back some strength or he would fear for her health.

“Are you hungry? We’ve got eggs up the gump stump, honey. I thought we could scramble up a panful for breakfast.”

Erin watched him, her mouth pinched as if she held back words that bore a tart taste in her mouth. And then she smiled, a wan little grimace, but better than the solemn look he’d dealt with for two long days. “I’ll try, Quinn. I don’t want you to worry about me. Except.”

He stirred, reaching for his heavy shirt, and buttoned it as he walked toward the bed. “Except what, Erin? What’s wrong?”

She flushed, the pink tinge of her skin changing the look of her, and her gaze dropped from his face to where her fingers tangled in her lap. “I think there’s something wrong with me,” she said finally. “My chest.” Her hands rose to spread across the fullness of her breasts and she hesitated, biting at her lip.

“Do you feel congested, like a bad cold or pneumonia, maybe?” Quinn asked harshly. God above knew he wasn’t ready for this fragile woman to fall sick on him.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t mean inside my chest, Quinn. I mean here.” She touched her breasts and winced as she pressed gently against her gown. “I feel swollen and hot. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

He wanted to unbutton the front of that sedate flannel gown. He ached with the urge to lay his hands on the fevered flesh beneath it, and his heartbeat increased as he considered that thought.

It was not a good idea. Even for a valid reason such as this, Erin’s bosom was out-of-bounds for him. Even though her body had been exposed to his eyes, this was a different kettle of fish.

“Quinn? I wonder if. Do you think maybe it’s because I had the baby, and now I’m filling up with milk?”

Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that? The most natural thing in the world. He’d seen newborn calves and colts nurse and thought nothing of it. It only made sense that a woman would have the same function, the same milk forming in her body as any other creature.

He’d just never had access to a nursing mother, or any other mother, for that matter.

“I’d say you hit the nail on the head,” he told her. “The problem is, I’m not sure what to do about it.”

She shrugged. “Maybe if we just wait, it’ll be all right. Maybe, since I’m not.” Her hands reached out in mute appeal. “You know what I mean. I don’t have a baby to nurse, so maybe it will go away.”

She sounded so hopeful, he could scarcely bear it. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that, Erin. But I have to admit I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe.” His mind searched for an answer.

“How about putting cold cloths on you, maybe make you feel better?” It was a very poor solution, to his way of thinking, but taking care of a new mother was a far cry from his usual line of work.

She looked doubtful. “If you think it will help, I’ll do it, Quinn.”

“It sure can’t hurt anything,” he said quickly. “Let me get some snow in here and I’ll pack a towel with it.”

It was cold, that was for sure, Erin decided a few
minutes later. She held the makeshift compress to her breasts, welcoming the numbing chill against her skin.

At the stove, Quinn broke eggs into her iron skillet and stirred them as they cooked, intent on fixing breakfast. He opened the oven, stabbing the toasted bread with her long fork and dropping it onto a plate. His expertise was not in the kitchen, she decided, her mouth curling in the barest trace of a smile.

For this man she would do most anything right now, Erin thought, straightening in the rocking chair. Even if it meant gulping down eggs and gnawing on a piece of stale bread turned to dry toast. And from the looks of things, that was about all they were going to have for breakfast. She hadn’t baked in three days and she doubted Quinn Yarborough was handy with bread dough.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, casting a quick look at her. “Maybe I should go down to town and talk to the doctor, see if there’s something you should be doing to help with your.” His hand waved at her, as if he hesitated to name the cause of her problem.

Again Erin came close to smiling, her eyes catching sight of the faint color that rode his cheekbones. Bless his heart, the man was embarrassed. After all he’d done for her.

“What do you think, honey?” he asked, lifting the skillet to turn a mound of eggs out onto her plate.

“Yes, all right,” she answered, agreeable to anything that would relieve the tight throbbing in her breasts.

Quinn carried her plate to where she sat in the rocking chair. “Here, I’ll trade you,” he said, reaching for her wet towel. “Eat first, then we’ll try this some more.”

She nodded, willing herself to eat every bit of the food he offered. She’d lost any appetite she’d ever had, but
if Quinn was good enough to cook for her, eating was the least she could do.

His gaze was hopeful as he crouched beside her chair. “If you eat every bite I’ll feel better about leaving you for the day,” he told her. “If I set out now, I stand a good chance of making it back by nightfall.”

She placed the fork carefully on her plate. “I hate for you to put yourself in danger for my sake, Quinn. But I know I need to get back on my feet. Maybe if I feel better while you’re gone I can set a batch of bread to rise.”

His hand covered hers and he squeezed, getting her attention. “Not on your life, girl. I don’t want to have visions of you falling against that stove while I’m riding down the mountain. You just rest until the fire gets low. You’ll have to put in a chunk of that firewood, but other than that, you park your little carcass on that bed and stay warm. You hear?”

She nodded, a bit reluctantly, aware that he deserved her obedience in this, yet unwilling to give up her independence. “I’ll mind, this time,” she said with a smile.

“Promise?”

“Yes…promise.” Her gaze was held by the determination she read in his face, his eyes dark and piercing as he watched her. Then he nodded, as if to underscore her words.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, honey. I’ll build up the fire before I go and get you tucked into bed.”

His head tilted and he leaned forward, his mouth finding hers in a quick kiss. His lips were warm against hers, his breath fresh, and she inhaled his scent as he drew back. A prayer of thanksgiving arose within her, that this
man should have come to her, that his greater strength had been hers to draw on. It would be so easy to.

“Come on.” He held out his hand and she accepted it, rising, making her way to the bed. She took comfort in his touch, allowing him to tuck the quilt around her, grasping his hand in hers as he stood beside her. And then she faced the truth of the matter.

Whether it was gratitude or passion, something about Quinn Yarborough made her heartbeat quicken, made her breath catch in her throat. Her fingers tightened on his and she lifted her head, pressing her lips against the back of his hand.

“God go with you, Quinn Yarborough. God keep you safe.”

“
I
f this ain’t a stroke of luck, I don’t know what is.” The jovial storekeeper slapped the counter with the flat of his hand and grinned widely. “That baby’s been the worry of half the women in town for four days now. They can’t make him eat no matter what. They tried sugar tits and milk in a bottle and he just claps his mouth tight shut and bawls some more.”

His hand waved in the air and he wagged his head as if delighted with the events he related. “And now.” He drew out the word. “Now you come in here and tell me that nice Mrs. Peterson of yours is needin’ a baby real bad.”

Quinn felt as if a miracle had just been dropped in his lap. Of all the colossal pieces of good luck, this had to be at the top of the list.

First things first, he decided, glancing around the store, hoping for a glimpse of one of those women the man behind the counter spoke of. Someone who might steer him in the right direction. Probably everybody in town knew where the babe was, he’d be willing to bet, and the sooner he drew a bead on the location, the better.

Better yet.

“Where’s the doctor at?” he asked abruptly, his hopes soaring as he thought of the bereaved woman he’d left in the mountain cabin. This could be the saving of her.

“Who’d you say you were, mister?” the man asked, peering at Quinn over his glasses. “Weren’t you in here the day of the fire?”

Quinn nodded. “You were running to help out. The sheriff said a young man was dead already and his wife was safe. He didn’t say she was in the family way.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Quinn Yarborough.”

“Andy Wescott,” the merchant offered, clasping and shaking Quinn’s hand with vigor. “Who’d have thought that poor soul wouldn’t make it through the birthing? She just got plumb wore out. Mrs. Tobin said she took a deep breath and was gone. Didn’t even hold the little tyke.”

“Where’s the baby? Where’s the doctor?” he repeated. Quinn’s heart was pumping with anticipation as his mind worked rapidly. Maybe, just maybe, if no one else was able to feed the child. maybe Erin could. Even if it was just for a while, till the woman’s family was located and the baby was claimed.

“Doc’s housekeeper is watchin’ him.” Andy Wescott pulled his watch from his pocket and glanced at it. “Doc might be home for dinner about now. Just take a ride past the saloon and beyond the barbershop. There’s a tall white house off to the left. Got a fancy picket fence across the front of the yard. That’ll be where Doc Fisher lives.”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll ride by there. If you’ll bundle up what I need, I’ll be back by to pick it up.”

The storekeeper nodded. “Glad to, Mr. Yarborough.”

He shook his head, grinning widely. “Who’d have thought it? Yessir! Old Doc’ll be happy to see you.”

Old Doc had been happy, speaking above the wails of a hungry baby. From the looks of him, the child was healthy and well formed, Quinn observed. The milk from Jeremy Tobin’s cow down at the livery stable just wasn’t agreeing with the boy, Doc said, shaking his head. Finding a wet nurse was a real stroke of luck. Yessir!

Quinn set off a half hour later, the sun tilting toward the west as he rode out of town. His pack balanced behind him and tied in place, he rode with the wellwrapped bundle tucked inside his heavy coat. Whether the movement of Quinn’s horse or the soft whistling of a tuneless ditty accomplished the deed, the tiny package Quinn carried settled down and slept away the first part of the journey.

Erin lit the lamp before dark, dreading the moment when the twilight faded to nightfall and the wind moaned through the tall pine trees at the edge of the clearing. Each night since the small grave had come to be, she’d dreaded the sound whispering in her ears, almost as if it were the cries of her child carried on the wind.

Throughout the day she’d taken the towel to the door, placing it in the snow, then folding it up to hold the chill before she hugged it to her bare breasts. It seemed to help a little, but her flesh was hard and aching, warm to the touch, once the towel was removed.

She’d added big chunks of wood to the stove twice during the day, then, contrary to Quinn’s instructions, she had put on a pot of stew to cook. She’d decided against making bread, aware of her own limitations, but
cutting up an onion and washing potatoes and carrots and setting them aside had not been beyond her strength.

Outside the door, Quinn had hung a haunch of venison on a pole. She’d wrapped up warmly before she stepped outdoors to cut a good piece from the meat, then ended up chopping at it with her hatchet.

Quinn would probably have a fit, Erin thought, but for some reason, the cold air was refreshing and she found herself feeling stronger, for all that she’d barely been able to string the venison back up the pole once she was done.

Her kettle was half-full by the time the meat was tender and the vegetables were done. The smell was tempting, she was pleased to note, and for the first time in three days Erin was anxious for the meal to be ready. She’d only just lifted the lid to stir the stew a final time when she heard a horse, its whinny a welcome sound in the clearing.

“Quinn!” With a blend of relief and anticipation, Erin faced the door. He might put the horse away first, she thought, then shook her head. No, he’d probably bring in supplies, then take care of his animal.

She wrapped her arms across her breasts as they. throbbed anew. Maybe the doctor had sent some medicine or salve or something that would help.

And then, from outside the door, the wail of a baby reached her ears. Hands trembling, she reached for the latch. Heart thumping at an unmerciful rate, she tugged at the heavy door. It opened, ushering in a blast of cold air, accompanied by Quinn Yarborough, his face halfcovered by a woolen scarf, snow frosting his eyebrows and glistening in the lantern glow.

His arms supported a bundle beneath his coat, and his eyes sought the woman within the snug cabin. With a
gloved hand he tugged at the scarf covering his mouth, revealing a grin of immense proportions. Then white teeth bit at the fingertips of the leather glove, and he flung it to the floor.

“We have us a problem, Erin, my girl!” His grip was cautious, his hands careful as he undid his coat, then lifted the wrapped, wiggling bundle and placed it on the table. One large palm held it in place as he unfolded the blanket, and his eyes were intent on the contents as he swept the outer covering from its place.

“This is just what the doctor ordered,” he announced, scooping the wide-eyed occupant into his hands. The slate blue eyes blinked in the glow of the lantern, and the tiny mouth opened to let forth another howl. “Did you ever hear such a pair of lungs in your life?” Quinn asked, as proudly as if he had had some share in producing such a miracle.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Erin’s heart fluttered within her breast as her arms reached for the infant. “Where…what. Oh, my!” Her fingers trembled as she touched the rosy cheek.

“Let me tell you, this is one hungry little boy,” Quinn said with a chuckle. “He’s turned down everything the ladies of Upper Pine Creek had to offer. He doesn’t like the milk from Jeremy Tobin’s cow, kept tossing it back up, barely holding enough down to keep him going. And sugar tits don’t interest him a bit.”

He looked his fill at the woman before him. “Do you suppose you could take a turn at trying to make the little fella happy, Erin?”

Her breasts filled again with painful urgency as Erin’s hands finally grasped the bundle, turning it so the downy, dark head snuggled into the bend of her left elbow. She felt Quinn’s hand on her arm as he guided
her to the rocking chair, sensed his touch as he lowered her to the seat.

And then she was lost. Lost in the lusty yells of a hungry babe. Lost in the unfocused gaze of squinted blue eyes that managed to peer into her soul. Lost in the wonder of a mite of humanity that filled her arms, even as it filled the empty space in her heart.

Her fingers moved rapidly, undoing the buttons that closed her robe, then the gown beneath. From her breasts flowed a steady drip of milk.

With shaking hands she guided the tiny mouth to her breast. With teeth pressing into her lower lip, she anticipated the feel of those miniature lips surrounding her nipple. And with a joy beyond all belief, she knew the touch of a baby’s tongue, lapping at the abundance of nourishment she offered it.

He latched on to her flesh, sucked twice and released his hold, choking as the milk rushed down his throat. He coughed, nuzzling her; then, finding the swollen nipple, he sought once more to suckle from it

It overflowed his mouth and his eyes opened, widening with his efforts as he swallowed the bounty she offered.

Quinn thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Not just the firm, curving loveliness of a woman’s breast-although that sight more than brought pleasure to his gaze-but the purity of woman and child, bonded in a moment of giving and taking. A moment so keenly felt, so deeply engraved on his sight, he thought he might never recover from the joy of it.

“He was hungry.” Probably the understatement of the year, he thought, grinning as Erin’s head tilted back, allowing their eyes to mesh in an instant of pleasure.

“Tell me, Quinn. Where did you find him?” Her
words were whispered, soft as moonlight, as if she were so filled with awe, she could scarcely speak aloud.

“His mama died, Erin. Remember the fire in town, as we were leaving the other day? His daddy didn’t live through the fire, and his mama just didn’t make it when he was born.”

Erin’s eyes filled with tears, as if she grieved for the woman whose child she held. “There was no one to care for him?”

Quinn shook his head. “He didn’t want what they had to offer. Doc Fisher’s housekeeper was trying to feed him when I got there, and when I told her about you, she just snatched up a couple of blankets and wrapped him like a length of sausage and handed him to me.”

Erin laughed softly, and then as if the vision he etched pleased her enormously, she giggled, dipping her head to drop a kiss on the wispy dark hair that crowned the baby in her arms.

“Did he cry all the way here?” Her toe touched the floor, and she rocked in time with the patting of her palm against the blanketed form.

“No. Slept the first part of the way, in fact. Poor little mite has been barely getting enough nourishment to keep him going, I guess.” He bent to peer at the tightly closed eyes and the cheeks that suctioned milk from Erin’s breast.

“You’re crying.” His hand reached to brush at tears that trickled down her cheek and he squatted beside the rocker, his gaze focusing on her face. Her teeth were gnawing on her lip and she shook her head, as if to deny his claim.

“It’s all right, but it hurts, Quinn. I think I’m just so full and the skin is stretched so tight and he’s sucking
so hard.” She bit at her lip again, rocking harder, as if the movement would alleviate the pain.

“What can I do?”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Really I am. I think it’ll be better, after the swelling has gone down.”

“I almost forgot!” Quinn rose quickly, reaching into the pockets of his coat, fishing out a small bottle between his fingers. “Doc sent some camphorated oil. Said it would take out the soreness. But you’ll want to be careful not to get it in the baby’s mouth.”

She nodded. “I’ll use it after he’s done.” As if in reply to her words, the babe released his hold and Quinn watched as a trickle of milk flowed from the corner of the tiny mouth.

Blue eyes opened, and a soft release of air from the infant brought laughter into being. “He burped! All by himself.” She lifted the baby, easing her gown into place, holding the child against her shoulder.

The small mouth pursed, the brow furrowed and the downy head turned from one side to the other, as if he sought the warmth he’d been deprived of.

“Do you think he’s still hungry?” Quinn asked, reaching to touch the soft, dark hair.

“Maybe so.” Erin nodded, turning the infant to her other arm, arranging her clothing and nudging the tiny mouth against her breast.

He was not nearly so greedy now, his hunger pangs numbed by the milk he’d gulped down. But the overflowing supply he was offered was tempting and he began suckling with enthusiasm. His splayed fingers were the size of matchsticks against Erin’s breast and he snuffled and snorted as he nursed.

Quinn took off his coat, hanging it by the door, and
headed for the stove. The baby had taken his attention for several hours. Now his hunger demanded relief, and the scent of food cooking reached his nostrils.

“Will you eat with me?” he asked, lifting the lid to peer within the kettle. His sigh of appreciation was heartfelt. He settled the lid into place, heading to the washbasin quickly to make ready for supper.

“Yes.” Her appetite was back, her stomach ready for nourishment, as if she must be fed in order to satisfy the child she held. The child she’d been sent by the Fates that decreed such things.

“Will there be someone coming up here looking for him?” she asked. “Does he have any family anywhere?”

Quinn looked up, his hands busy with dishing up the stew into two crockery bowls. “Doc said they were trying to locate family, but most everything got burned up in the fire. I guess they don’t know where to look.”

Erin’s arms tightened protectively. “I’ll keep him.” Her words were taut with emotion. “He’s not my own, but I can’t help but think that he’s like an answer to my prayers. I wouldn’t have wished for his mama to die, Quinn.” Her gaze was frightened as she looked at him. “You know better than that. It’s just that…he needs me, and God knows I need him.”

Quinn nodded. “I wouldn’t think that, honey. I know you well enough, even in just the short time I’ve been here. I’d never think that of you, that you’d wish suffering on another. I’d like to think his mama knows somehow that her child is being cared for.” He grinned, a mere lifting of one side of his mouth. “Sound kinda sappy, don’t I?”

Erin shook her head. And then stiffened as a whinny from outside sounded loudly.

“I forgot my horse!” Quinn’s movements were hasty as he dumped the stew back into the kettle. He snatched up his coat and pulled his hat on. “I’ll only be a few minutes, honey. I’ll milk after we eat. There’s a whole satchel of stuff Doc’s housekeeper sent for the baby. I’ll bring it in with me.”