Carolyn Davidson

by The Tender Stranger

  “He didn’t touch you, did he?” He didn’t believe so, but something in him needed to hear her assurance.

  “No, I shot him as he was coming up to the porch. The other one was getting ready to come at me, and I told him to come ahead, that I still had one shell left in the gun. But he must have thought better of it. He rode off. And then I had to go out and put the horse away and tie the cow in her stall.”

  Quinn’s hand patted at her back in an awkward fashion and he closed his eyes, shaking his head at her despair. “I’ll take care of the body, Erin. He must have come from over the mountain. My guess is that they were a pair of miners from Big Bertha, just lookin’ for trouble.”

  “Don’t leave me now. Stay with me, please.” Her grip on him tightened and he dropped his head to bury his face in her hair.

  “I’ll only be outside for a few minutes, honey. Then I’ll get a bite to eat before we talk.” She shivered and levered herself away from him. “I’ll find you something.”

  With precise movements she unloaded the supplies, dragging out the process while Quinn headed out the door. She wielded her big knife carefully, slicing bread and cutting chunks from a piece of cheese the grocer had wrapped in cloth. It was crumbly and rich smelling, and she ate a piece that fell from the knife. For the first time in hours, she felt hungry.

  Quinn was true to his word, back within five minutes. “Eat something, Erin,” he told her, washing his hands at the sink, splashing water over his face and smoothing his hair back with damp fingers.

  “I will. I can’t take a chance on losing my milk.” She poured hot water from a pan into her cup and added a small sifting of tea leaves. “The cook always used to say that tea makes milk.” She looked up at Quinn with a startled glance. “Isn’t it strange that I should remember that now? It’s been so many years.” Her voice faltered and trailed off into silence as she stirred the cup, then left it to steep.

  He placed cheese on his bread and took a mouthful. It was good, the bread still fresh, the cheese strong and ripe-flavored. He watched as Erin tore her bread into bites, chewing slowly, waiting for her tea to be strong enough to drink.

  She sipped the tea while he put the food away, his gaze ever watchful as she pushed at bread crumbs on the table, hovering over her as she drained the last of the tea.

  Then Quinn took her arm and led her to the bed. His big hands felt clumsy as he undid the buttons on her dress. His fingers brushed it from her shoulders, and she watched as it slid down the length of her arms. Beneath it, her petticoat and chemise tempted him, and Quinn bit at his lip as he undid the small buttons and untied the ribbon that held the muslin fabric over her breasts.

  “My gown,” she whispered, one hand rising to halt him.

  He cleared his throat and lifted her pillow, exposing the neatly folded garment. It enveloped her as he drew it over her head. Beneath it she shed the rest of her underwear. In moments she was tucked into bed, Quinn drawing the crib close to her side.

  In short order he’d banked the fire, blown out the lamp and made his way to where she waited. He undressed slowly, almost reluctantly. She tempted him in a mighty way, his body more aware of her tonight than ever. But if she wanted comfort, he was ready to give it without measure.

  The smooth rise of her breasts above the chemise had brought him to arousal, and he fought now against the urge that rode him. He closed his eyes, her presence in the bed an enticement he fought to resist. She was warm and softly scented, all that was womanly, tempting his hungry heart.

  Yet if she should be overwrought still by the events of the day, she might well shun his touch. The thought that she would be fearful of his man’s body was a possibility, and he held himself separate from her beneath the quilt. If ever he must fight the fierce need that held him in its grip, that time was now.

  Erin felt the bed move, heard the ropes groan their protest as Quinn settled against the mattress. Her heart was slow, heavy within her breast, empty and bereft, with a need she could not explain abiding in the depths of her soul.

  “Quinn?” She spoke his name with diffidence. “Quinn…I.”

  He hesitated for only a moment, then rolled to face her, reaching out to brush the hair from her face as if it were a temptation he could not resist. Beneath his hand her flesh warmed. She embraced that heat, leaning to his touch. His face was in shadow, the moon sulking behind wispy clouds and refusing to lend its light, yet she felt the piercing scrutiny of his gaze. Her body eased closer to his.

  “What is it, honey?” Once more, his voice offered comfort.

  A comfort that beckoned, one she could not deny. She reached for him blindly, driven by an urgency she could only obey. His arms enclosed her and his hands spread to cover her back, brushing against her gown as he enclosed her in his embrace.

  The horror of death rose before her and she winced from it, choking on the words that fell from her lips. “Please, Quinn. Help me. When I close my eyes…I see him.” Her flesh was chilled, her body trembling, and she welcomed the soothing strength of his hands.

  “I’ve got you, honey. It’s all over,” he whispered, drawing her nearer, forming her against the length of his body.

  But it was not enough. A haze of crimson blurred her vision and she cringed from it, tears finally holding sway as she gasped out her pain. “I saw it…the blood ran down his chest when he fell. The snow…all around him.”

  Silently Quinn cursed as the pressure of his manhood rose, answering the movement of her body against his, making itself known, its firm length rising against her stomach. Her indrawn breath was a reaction she could not contain, and he jerked back, his big body shifting away from her.

  She would not allow it, though, and her hands tightened their hold. She whimpered his name, refusing his retreat, her murmur almost smothered against his chest.

  It was a plea of anguish, and he gritted his teeth, determined to banish the evidence of his need. He was washed with shame, fighting to overcome the urgency that begged for relief.

  In vain he eased from her, for she followed, edging closer than before, her legs twining with his, her feet squeezing between his calves.

  “Quinn!” It was a harsh sound, followed by a sob that sounded as if it were wrenched from the very depths of her.

  “Shh. hush now,” he whispered, giving up the struggle for distance and shifting with her to the middle of the bed. She pressed against him, her sobs shaking her body with cruel strength, and he gave himself over to stroking her back, brushing countless kisses against her forehead and cheek.

  Tasting her tears, he silently cursed the men who had caused the turmoil that wrenched her soul. “Hold me closer,” she begged, the whispered words adding fuel to the flame he sought to suppress.

  He would live with guilt, that was a certainty. He shouldn’t have left her alone. That was the crux of the matter. No matter what excuse he used, no matter how urgent the trip to town had seemed, he’d been wrong to leave her, when her senses had told her to be fearful. And he’d ignored his own instincts, that last moment upon leaving when he’d almost turned back.

  “Hold me closer, Quinn!” He answered her frantic plea in the only way he knew. Easing her to her back, he spread his body atop her slender frame, holding himself from crushing her as best he could.

  “Yes.” She whispered the single word, closing her eyes, relishing the weight of him, clinging without restraint to the man who made himself a shield in her behalf. That he gave without care for his own comfort brought a measure of peace to her heart and Erin brushed her face against the skin of his throat, there, where his shirt was open.

  Gripping him tightly, burying her pain in the solace of his embrace, she edged her arms beneath his, her fingers spreading over his back and shoulders. Yet, still, within her an emptiness yearned for another comfort, a need that cried out for what this man could give her.

  With an innate knowledge that overcame the fears of her past, she recognized the craving of her flesh, and with a gasping cry she
parted her legs, enclosing him in an embrace that brought a groan of protest from his lips. She shook her head against his denial.

  “Please, Quinn.” His manhood surged against her and he bowed his head, his muscles taut as he rose above her, searching in the dim light for her face.

  “Erin…no. You don’t know—”

  “I need you.” Her whisper was muffled, a call from her heart. In that moment she allowed the birth of a trust that went beyond the surface, that extended to the inherent need of a woman for her man. Her knees rose, tightening against his hips, and she trembled, her thighs enclosing him in that most intimate embrace.

  Quinn was lost, his body almost beyond control as she moved against him. I need you. Her words echoed inside his head, a symphony he’d not thought to hear.

  His hands slid down her sides, drawing up her gown on the return trip, then shifting to slide his own clothing from place.

  I need you. The trust implicit in those simple words humbled him, yet filled him with a pride he could barely contain. She was the essence of all that was good in his life, this small, strong woman.

  And for tonight, for this moment, she was willing to accept his strength and make it her own.

  She surrounded him, the scent of her body, the touch of her skin, soft and supple beneath his hands, bringing him to a new knowledge of her beauty. And beneath the surging power of his loins, the warm depth of her woman’s flesh was open to his masculine need.

  Quinn moved carefully, easing his way lest he cause a moment’s pain, fighting the urge to thrust. Erin whispered her plea once more, moving beneath him, as if she were made for his taking. He pressed within, his breathing ragged, his eyes tightly shut, his teeth gritted against the awesome, wonderful clenching of her flesh as she claimed him.

  It was a taste of paradise, one he’d yearned for. Yet it was with a sense of foreboding that he took what she offered, surging against her, in only moments spilling his seed within her.

  “Erin.” He breathed her name, dropping his head to bury his face in her pillow. “Oh, Erin.”

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, holding him with an urgency he could only be thankful for.

  “Did I hurt you, sweetheart?” Torn between the need for her body and the guilt of his actions, he rocked with her in the bed, unwilling to ease from her, reluctant to free her from his touch.

  She shook her head, only a trace of the sobs that had racked her frame just minutes past remaining. “You’ve never hurt me, Quinn. You’ve only brought me comfort.”

  If comfort was what she had gained, he could not regret what had passed between them. He could only be grateful that his own urgent need had been given ease. That he had not brought any degree of pleasure to her was a regret he would live with. An issue he would face in its season. A debt he would delight in paying when the time was right.

  She moved beneath him, as if she had only just become aware that their bodies were still joined. She shifted, and he groaned, chagrined by the resurgence of his arousal.

  He rose above her, gritting his teeth at the renewed desire that stirred him. It had not been enough. He’d been long without the comfort of a woman’s flesh, and his desire had been spent too rapidly, leaving him yearning for a longer, slower loving that would assuage his hunger. With reluctance, he withdrew from her, regretting the loss.

  She was delicate in his hands, for this moment appearing smaller, more fragile somehow, as he turned to his side, bringing her to rest against his shoulder. Pliant in his hands, Erin melded her body to his, her fingers resting on his chest. Quinn eased the covers over her shoulder and nudged her chin upward with his index finger, watching her as he lowered his head.

  His kiss was fierce; his lips opening to capture hers in a taking she allowed, as if she sensed his need to possess her in this way. She was his, his woman, his wife, and he reveled in the pleasure that thought produced. She’d given herself to him, perhaps not with forethought, but with a sweet generosity he had not expected. That her feelings were in upheaval was a certainty, but that did not negate her actions.

  A deep sense of satisfaction rose within him. The marriage had been well consummated, no matter the circumstances, and no power on earth would take this woman from him. Whether he was ready for a declaration of love, or only willing to admit a terrible need for her, it mattered little. The end result would be the same.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What will we do now?”

  Quinn swallowed the coffee he’d been sipping at, wincing as it burned the length of his throat. “About what?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  Erin turned from the stove, her cheeks flushed from the heat, her eyes dark pools of uncertainty. “About the man I killed.” It was a stark statement, delivered in a flat tone that told Quinn little about her frame of mind.

  Whether she merely accepted the fact that she had been forced to defend herself and the babe, or whether she was holding herself aloof from the shock of her actions, he could not tell. He sipped again at his coffee, watching her, his eyes focused on her unsmiling mouth.

  “I’ll take care of him, Erin. There’s a choice to be made, but either way, I’ll tend to it.”

  “The other man, Toby…I’m sure he’s raising all sorts of Cain. I imagine the sheriff will be on his way to put me in jail before long.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I doubt it. The question will arise as to what they were doing here. I can’t imagine the law will dispute your right to defend yourself.”

  She breathed deeply and carried the skillet to the table, her skirt brushing against Quinn’s trousers as she spooned gravy over his biscuits. He relished the sensation, enjoying the faint scent of soap and the warmth of her body as she leaned closer to serve him.

  “What are the choices?” she asked, straightening and looking down at him. Her gaze, as it had been all morning, was aimed at his shoulder.

  Quinn’s long arm snaked around her waist, holding her in place, not only to keep her where she stood, but because he had an urgent need to touch the woman he’d married. His fingers spread against her, and he stifled the impulse to bring her to his lap. At his touch, she’d lowered the skillet to the table, then looked at him with startled eyes.

  “Quinn?” It was a breathless whisper, her mouth forming a small O before her lips pressed together.

  “I don’t want to leave you here alone, Erin, but I think I need to take the body back to Big Bertha and get things sorted out. Either that, or bury him here and take you and the baby to town to see the sheriff.”

  She was motionless, as if his touch had fused her in place.

  “Which would you rather have me do? I know I said I’d take care of it, but if you’re afraid to be alone here, I won’t leave you.”

  Her eyes were grave as she finally turned them to meet his. “I’ll be all right alone, if you think delivering him to the mine is the right thing to do. I have baking to do, and I didn’t get the clothes folded yesterday.”

  She’d emptied the lines before breakfast, while he took care of the stock, and the bed was piled with the assortment of laundry.

  “Come eat now,” Quinn told her, releasing his hold on her. “There’s no hurry, either way.”

  Erin served herself from the skillet, then brought sausage from the stove and sat down across the table. She sawed at her biscuit and forked a bite to her mouth. “Last night…I didn’t mean to fall apart the way I.”

  Quinn reached to grasp her hand. “Don’t. Don’t ever apologize for being human, Erin. Don’t ever be sorry for turning to me. I’m your husband.” He felt a smile that would not be suppressed curve his lips. “I can’t tell you how pleased I was by your ‘falling apart,’ as you put it.”

  She flashed him a quick glance, drawing her hand from his grasp. “Well, I just wanted to say.” She inhaled as if drawing strength from within. “I guess thank you is sort of inadequate, but those are the only words I can think of. Not just for the comfort you gave me.” She shook her head, g
roping for words.

  “Because I didn’t hurt you?” His tone was solemn, and Quinn wished fervently that she had more to be thankful for than that meager blessing.

  Her eyelids fell and she concentrated on her plate. “That was no small thing, Quinn. You can’t know how…different.” Her voice failed her and he waited, watching as she took a bite of food.

  She was chewing slowly, and he’d be willing to bet she had no notion of what she had put in her mouth. “Different, Erin? Because I didn’t cause you pain?”

  At her murmur of assent, his jaw tensed. Damn, Damian Wentworth had a lot to answer for. “I want you to.” How to say it? “Look, I can only promise it will be better another time.”

  She looked up, startled. “Better?”

  Quinn’s lips curved once more in the smile he could not restrain. “Yes, much. Not for me, honey. I’m not sure it could have.” He paused, choosing his words carefully, lest he embarrass her into silence. “I want you to need me the way I need you, Erin. One day you will, not just for comfort, but for the pleasure I can give you.”

  If he didn’t put a halt to this conversation, and right soon, he decided, he might not be able to walk away from her this morning. Already the urgency of his arousal was keeping him in place, fearful that he might frighten her with its prominence should he stand.

  She nodded slowly, but with a look that clearly told him she did not comprehend his meaning.

  “I’d like some more gravy,” he said. “I have biscuit left over, it looks like.”

  “Yes, of course.” She rose quickly, served him, then scraped her own plate into a pan in the sink.

  “When will you leave?”

  “Right away. I don’t know how long I’ll be, probably not more than four or five hours to head over the mountain and get back. I’ll use your packhorse.” He made quick work of his second helping and rose. The sooner he left, the sooner he’d be back, and that thought hurried his footsteps.

  Erin watched as Quinn readied himself—his scarf covering his throat, his coat in place and his hat tugged over his forehead. He looked somber now, his smile in abeyance, as if the solemn task before him had drained his moment of good humor. Hand outstretched, he beckoned, and she stepped to where he waited by the door. His fingers were warm against hers and she fought the urge to cling to him, the need for reassurance had come to the forefront now that he was on the verge of leaving.