Carolyn Davidson (7 page)

He was gone, the door latching behind him. Erin leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

That such a miracle could come to be was beyond her wildest imaginings. That such a gift as this could be hers was more than she’d ever hoped. That the tiny mite buried beneath the trees across the clearing was still alive in her heart was a certainty, but the welcome weight of a child in her arms was easing the crushing hurt she’d borne.

For all of that, and for the man who even now was making his way to the shed, and from there back into her presence, she was filled with gratitude. Her mouth whispered the words and her heart echoed the syllables with each measured beat within her breast.

“Thank you, God. Thank you.”

“You’re crying again.” Exasperation lined his words as Quinn tilted Erin’s chin up, his mouth set in a straight line. “Didn’t the camphorated oil help?” Male frustration made his voice harsh and he watched as twin trickles made their way down her face, the tears dampening the front of her gown.

“I’m fine, Quinn, really.” Erin blinked, as if attempting to halt the tears that overflowed, but to no avail. That single fingertip beneath her chin was unrelenting, and she lifted her hand to clasp his fingers. “Don’t look at
me like that-like you’d like to shake the stuffing out of me!”

His grunt of aggravation was softened by her words. “I’ve done everything I can think of, girl. Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.”

She shook her head, releasing her grip on his hand. “No one can fix what’s already happened. That poor woman in town is dead, Quinn, and this baby will never know his mama.”

“That poor baby’s been given the best shot any child could ask for, Erin. We don’t have a lot of choices when it comes to life and death. But we can make the best of what comes along, and that’s what you’re doing.” He sat on the edge of the bed, one big hand reaching to curve against the nape of her neck. His fingers slid beneath the heavy fall of hair, seeking the warmth of her skin, relishing the intimacy she allowed.

They were strangers who had been thrust into the roles generally assumed by husband and wife. Indeed, he’d played a part in her life that most husbands were never allowed, a role he’d taken on with reluctance. Tending her, delivering her child and sharing her grief had been the most intimate of all his experiences with the female sex.

In only a few short days they’d formed a marriage of sorts, a blending of lives that allowed him an access to her he might have taken months to gain in other circumstances.

The simple pleasure of touching the nape of her neck, the sensation of silken tresses against the back of his hand, the pulse beating beneath her ear radiating to his fingertips…all blended to form an arousal that had nothing to do with the act of love. For now, it was enough
to watch, to touch, to inhale the sweet scent of mother and newborn child.

He bent to press his lips against her brow and she squeezed his fingers within her own, offering a smile that trembled on her mouth.

He returned it, his eyes moving from the tenderness of her smile to the small bundle she cradled in her arm. “You know, if that woman knew where her baby was right now, she’d be tickled pink, knowing he’s warm and his belly’s full to overflowing.”

“Maybe she does know,” Erin whispered.

“You really believe in heaven, don’t you?” he asked, knowing already the answer she would give.

And then was surprised at her brittle laugh as she glanced at him quickly.

“Living in hell gives a woman reason to hope for some sort of heaven,” she said quietly. “My mother used to say we make our own heaven or hell, here on earth. She was right.”

“Maybe someone else made it for you, Erin.” If she spoke of her life with Damian Wentworth, he needed to hear it all, Quinn decided. “Was your marriage so bad?”

“I had everything a woman could want,” she told him. “Beautiful gowns, jewelry, a lovely home. everything but.”

“But what?”

She shook her head, as if dismissing old memories, and her hand moved against the baby she held. “I can only tell you that I’m happier here, with all that’s happened to me, than I was in New York City.”

He’d pushed her enough, Quinn decided, and he rose from the bed, strangely unsettled by the words she spoke.

“We need to decide where to put the baby to sleep,”
he said decisively, hoping to rouse her from the memories he’d brought to her mind.

“I thought I’d put him at the back of the bed, for now, anyway.”

He nodded. “I’ll see if there’s enough loose wood in the shed to put together a bed of sorts for him tomorrow.”

She brightened. “Yes, and I’ll need that big pan the grain is kept in,” Erin told him. “And a rope to string across behind the stove to hang wet things on.”

“Is he wet again?” Diapers had become important items in the past few hours, and it seemed the care of a baby involved a tremendous amount of wrapping and unwrapping, pinning and unpinning.

Erin laughed, a welcome sound to Quinn’s ears. “I don’t think so. I just changed him a while ago. But I’ll need to wash out his things in the morning.”

“I thought Doc Fisher sent along enough stuff to keep him going for a while,” Quinn said.

“He did, but I don’t have much room to hang wet things.”

Quinn shook his head in mock dismay. “I sure enough didn’t know what I was getting into, did I? My hauling that baby back up this mountain is making a whole lot of work for you.” As if she cared, he thought, watching as a smile tilted her mouth at the corners.

“I don’t mind.” Erin bent her head, her gaze resting on the sleeping child she held. “I don’t mind at all.”

T
he tiny bed was constructed of a mishmash of wood scavenged from the shed and the rafters of the cabin. It was enough to bring tears to the eyes of any selfrespecting carpenter, Quinn decided, pounding a final nail into it. It had taken him long enough to get to the project, first one thing, then another taking his time.

Yet, so far, Erin had found no fault with his handiwork. She felt better with the baby in the bed beside her at night. There was plenty of time to settle him in his own bed.

Now she sat in the rocking chair, her lap full of soft flannel, sewing a fine line of stitches in the doubled-over fabric she held. He’d felt her gaze on him as he worked, heard the soft rustle of her clothing as she fed the baby, then placed him on pillows next to where she sat.

Humming beneath her breath, her fingers plying the needle, she glanced up, and he was warmed by her gaze, yet wary of the smile that curved her lips. Perhaps she was amused by his efforts at carpentry, and he watched her closely, ready to defend his poor showing should she do less than admire his accomplishment.

A faint tilting of her head met his look and her hands
stilled. “I doubt the finest baby bed to be found in New York City was made with such care,” she said in a low voice.

“Probably with a hell of a lot more skill, though, and some decent wood, I’d venture to say.” He leaned back to view his project. “Wish I had some paint to slap on it.”

“It’ll be just fine. Better than I could have provided him with. And once I put the mattress in, you won’t be able to see the wood anyway.” She smiled again, and he was lost for a moment in the depths of summer blue eyes.

The winter sunlight from the window was pale within the room, and as Erin bent her head once more to her sewing, her face was cast in shadow. Her lashes dropped to rest against the curve of her cheek, and she flexed her fingers, her hands slender and well formed. She put him in mind of the Madonna in his mother’s Bible, the picture a copy of some famous artist’s work.

Such purity was not to be believed. Not from a woman who had borne a child, who had come more than a thousand miles by herself, who had holed up in a miner’s shack and faced the elements alone. Surely she must bear the scars of her past. Certainly her soul must be shriveled by the sadness she’d endured in her marriage.

And what of the men who had looked upon her as she traveled? Could she have ignored their advances and blunt appeals for her favors? How had she survived hauling her meager possessions up the mountain to this place, and then set about making a home for herself?

She was an enigma, a puzzle Quinn was determined to solve. Even more than that, she was under his defenses already, her fresh appeal and the beauty of her face and form bringing him to startling arousal more
often than he wanted to admit. And yet, beneath that masculine need was a protective instinct that kept her safe from the urgent demands of his body.

“Where did you get the down for this mattress?” she asked, her fingers once more weaving her needle through the flannel.

“I gathered some up from the chicken’s nests,” he told her.

“All this?” Erin held up the bag that held sweet hay and several handfuls of pale down. It fluffed nicely, he thought.

“No. I plucked a little from their undersides,” he admitted. “Thought the baby needed it worse than they did.”

Her laughter was indulgent, first a chuckle, then a full-blown giggle, and Quinn reveled in it. He’d tickled her funny bone, and that fact gave him a sense of accomplishment.

Her merriment trailed off as she watched him, her fingers slowing their pace, and then on an indrawn breath she glanced toward the window. “Are we in for another snowstorm?” she asked idly, as though the thought lent little concern to her well-being.

He shook his head. “I doubt it. Not for a day or so at least. The sky looks pretty clear for now. But then, you never know what’s coming over the mountains next.”

He sat the small crib upright and cocked his head. “Guess I need to trim off one leg. It looks a little tipsy, doesn’t it?”

“It looks wonderful.” Erin’s words of reassurance were quick as she leaned forward in the rocking chair. Lifting the makeshift mattress to her mouth, she bit
firmly at the thread, severing it neatly behind her final stitch. “Let’s see if it fits.”

She fluffed the flannel, shifting the hay and feathers within to suit her, and then placed it with careful touches inside the bed he’d put together. A tiny quilt provided covering and she tucked it in place, her fingers deft and quick.

“There!” With satisfaction aglow on her face, she smiled at him, and Quinn felt a warmth deep inside that threatened to melt what little resistance he had left. So easily he’d put aside all responsibility to the man who had hired him for this job. So swiftly he had forgotten the life he’d forged from his own talents and abilities back in New York City. All for the chance to be a part of Erin Wentworth’s life.

She’d bewitched him, this small, silken-haired woman whose eyes drew him like a beacon in the night. He’d already set aside his obligation to Ted Wentworth in favor of Erin’s needs. His conscience was pierced by fangs of guilt. He’d bargained to do a job, and then in a few short days had turned his back on it.

Instead he’d become downright enamored with the woman he’d come here to retrieve. Her strength as she faced the perils of childbirth, and the bits and pieces of her past she’d revealed to him, had given him a new perception of the woman he’d pursued.

Now, after only two weeks or so of watching Erin with the child, he’d formed a new attachment. The babe he’d carried up the mountain in his arms had imbued him with a need to protect and cherish that was utterly foreign to him. Almost as if in the bringing of the boy to this place, he had accepted what must follow, whatever path opened before him.

“You’re so solemn.” Erin’s words stole into his thoughts and he lifted his head to meet her gaze.

“Just thinking. I’ve never been this close to a child before, let alone a baby. They kinda take over your life, don’t they?”

Her eyes sought his face, as if she would read his mind. “Are you regretting bringing him here?”

“No.” Quinn’s word of denial was quick. “He deserved a chance to live, and from what they told me in town, he wasn’t going to get it there.” He rose in a lithe movement and stepped to the window. “It feels as if we’re in a world of our own, doesn’t it, Erin? As if New York City is so far removed it no longer influences our lives.”

“You’re thinking of the Wentworths, aren’t you? You’re thinking you should have taken me back there instead of settling in here.” Her words held no trace of censure, only quiet acceptance.

He shook his head. “That wasn’t a choice for me. I couldn’t have taken you anywhere, not in the shape you were in when I got here. Certainly not since you’ve had the baby. You’re barely on your feet, honey.”

“You took money from Ted Wentworth to find me, didn’t you?”

Quinn nodded, his uplifted hand dismissing the fact. “Yeah, he paid me, and I put the money in the bank. But there was never any guarantee, Erin. There never is. A bounty hunter usually doesn’t get his reward until after the fact. I was hired to search you out. Ted paid me for my time. There’s no price on your head.”

“I’m not going back,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing there for me.”

“Not even to lay to rest some ghosts?”

“No. There’s only one ghost in my life, and I refuse
to feel any guilt for his death. Ted and Estelle didn’t have any love to waste on me. They wanted their grandchild, and that’s out of the question now. I have no reason to return to New York.”

“So be it.” A movement beyond the edge of the clearing caught his eye, then a pair of dark forms took shape and Quinn saw a flash of color between the bare tree branches.

He turned back to face her. “Right now we’ve got something else to think about. There’s a couple of horses coming up the trail, and I have an idea they’re on their way here. Can’t imagine anywhere else they’d be going, can you?”

Erin’s hands clenched tightly in her lap, and her startled gaze flew to the sleeping form on the pillow beside her. “The baby! Is someone coming for the baby, Quinn?”

“Doesn’t seem likely to me.” He turned from the window and took his heavy coat from a nail next to the door, donning it quickly. Then he eased his hat into place, tilting it over his brow.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was fearful and she moved from the chair to pick up the sleeping baby. Holding him closely to her breasts, she cast an anxious look at the door.

“Take it easy, honey. There’s no place to hide, and probably no need anyway,” Quinn told her, his hand on the latch. “I’m going out on the porch to see what they want. Just stay over by the bed.”

The door opened and closed quickly, Quinn moving through the gap like a dark shadow. The sun hovered just past the treetops to the west, casting its glow on the two men who were making their way across the clearing.
One lifted his hand in greeting, and Quinn’s breath escaped in an audible sigh of relief.

“Doc! What are you doing here?” he asked; stepping down from the low porch. Two quick strides found him facing the visitors, and he tilted back the brim of his hat with one finger, looking up at their friendly grins, his glance then traveling to the bulky canvas bundles each horse carried behind its saddle.

“Came up to check on the baby. He doin’ all right?” Doc Fisher leaned over the saddle horn and cast a glance at the cabin.

“Fine as frog hai’s,” Quinn said with a grin.

“This here’s the preacher from town, comin’ to talk to the young lady,” Doc Fisher said, waving a gloved hand at the man beside him. “We brought some hay and a couple bags of oats along. Thought you could use a fresh supply.”

Quinn nodded in appreciation, eyeing the bulging, tightly packed feed. He’d been feeding sparely for the past couple of days, stretching out the hay. His gaze moved to the second visitor.

Garbed in a dark coat, the slender man looked as if he would like to be anywhere else but perched atop a horse on a mountainside. His eyes moved longingly to the cabin as he offered his greeting.

“Don’t suppose you might have a pot of coffee on the stove in there?” His voice was so out-and-out hopeful,.Quinn could barely suppress the smile he felt tugging at his lips.

“I think we could rustle up a cup for you, preacher.”

Doc Fisher swung a long leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. “Now, that sounds like a mighty nice gesture. The reverend and me got kinda chilled on the trail.”

With more haste than grace, the young minister reached the ground and rubbed his hands together. “Where can we tie the horses, sir?”

“My name’s Quinn Yarborough, Reverend. I’ll just loop your reins over the railing here.”

“I’m known as Brother Stephen to my parishioners, Mr. Yarborough.” As if his legs were stiff from the long ride, the younger man walked with a stilted gait, and Quinn reached for his reins, leading the placid horse to the porch.

“We’ve come to have a chat with the young woman,” Brother Stephen confided, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “There’s been an interesting development.”

Quinn’s first inclination was to send both men back down the mountain without delay, but his better instincts took over and he lifted his head, tilting his brow in silent query. There was no way on God’s green earth he would allow this man to upset Erin.

“That little boy’s settled in real good here with Erin,” Quinn told the visitors as he opened the cabin door. The warmth within issued its own welcome, and Brother Stephen headed for the stove with outstretched hands to seize the glowing heat it offered.

His head tilted in greeting as Erin rose from the bed. “Ma’am? You’re looking well.”

“I’m just fine, thank you.” Her voice was thin, her face pale, and Quinn walked to her side.

One big hand gripped her elbow and he led her to the rocking chair, glancing with warning at the doctor.

“We’re just here to see that things are going well for the boy, ma’am,” Doc Fisher announced, stepping inside and closing the door.

“He’s growing, I think,” Erin said, hugging the small
bundle to her breasts. She rocked slowly, her apprehensive gaze darting from one visitor to the other.

Brother Stephen rocked on his heels, his face beaming. “We’ve found a family for him. Mr. and Mrs. Bates have three of their own, but they’re willing to take in an orphan. They have a little place the other side of town. They’re right anxious to see the boy.”

Erin’s arms tightened and the chair rocked harder. “He’s doing well with my milk. I’d think this was a good place for him.”

“This is a chance for him to have a real family, ma’am.”

Although softly spoken, the preacher’s words contained a degree of censure. Erin flinched, dropping her eyes to the warmly wrapped bundle she held.

How could another woman ever feel the bond that had been formed? Spun from the depths of her despair and the fount of love she’d held in abeyance since the death of her child, a veritable avalanche of emotion had overwhelmed her during the past days.

Now this preacher man wanted to take the child who had, with his very presence, begun to mend her broken heart. Her arms tightened and the babe squirmed within her embrace. She bent her head and shushed him with soft words, holding him against her breasts.

“He’s doing fine right here,” she said after a moment.

“I can see that,” Brother Stephen agreed. “But the opportunity to have a real family must be seized, don’t you agree?”

“We’re pretty near a real family already,” Quinn interjected from his place by the window. And that idea was looking better all the time, he decided. His gaze was warm as it rested on her, and Erin smiled as if reassured by his approval.

“We’re taking good care of him,” she said, her voice stronger with the knowledge of Quinn’s backing.

Doc Fisher cleared his throat. “Brother Stephen isn’t tryin’ to shed any doubt on that, ma’am. He just feels it would be better for the boy to be taken by folks who could be his parents for the long haul.”