Carolyn Davidson

by The Tender Stranger

  One of her arms stretched across to hold him close, the other hand moving to brush against his hair, checking again the position of the bandage. He was here, he was safe, he was going to be all right. She would see to it.

  The sound of Robert crying woke him, and Quinn’s eyes squinted, the lamplight shattering into prisms as he focused on it. Erin was by the crib, bending low to lift the squalling baby in her arms, murmuring softly to hush his cries.

  “Is he all right?” Quinn growled, his voice dark with pain. He closed his eyes against the light and turned away from its glow.

  “I’m sorry he woke you,” Erin said quietly. “I thought I could catch him before he let loose at full strength.”

  “Good lungs,” Quinn said, each word an effort as he reached to prod at the bandage on his head. It hurt more than being kicked in the head by his father’s mule, back on the farm.

  “I’ll tend to your head as soon as I feed him.” Erin’s voice came from the other side of the room, and then he heard the rocking chair creak as she settled down to nurse the baby. The sound of it moving against the floor was loud in his ears, and yet it was a comfort to him as he envisioned the woman and child.

  “Is it morning?” If it was, if the sun was ready to come up, he’d need to think about milking the cow. There was only one horse to feed, but even the thought of measuring out a handful of oats and a bit of hay made his head pound. Whether or not he could make it to the shed was a question he’d just as soon not have to consider right now.

  “Pretty soon. The sky’s kinda gray around the edges.” The chair creaked in a steady rhythm, and her voice hummed softly as she crooned to the child in her arms.

  Quinn stretched out one foot, aiming toward the edge of the mattress. His other leg edged to join the first, and he shoved the covers from him. Maybe coffee would help.

  “You just pull that quilt back up and lay yourself back down in that bed!” The rocker squeaked in protest, and the soft shuffle of Erin’s shoes marked her movements. Quinn opened his eyes and watched as she neared the bed. Still holding the baby against her breast, she resembled nothing more than an avenging angel.

  Her face was a bit out of focus and he narrowed his eyes, the better to make out her features. Sure enough, she looked like an angel, with that dark, shimmering cloud of hair and the blue eyes that had the ability to look deep within his soul.

  “You’re not getting up, Quinn, and that’s that!” she told him briskly. “If you want anything, I’ll get it for you.” And then she halted, an indecisive look settling over her features. “Do you have to. you know.”

  He shook his head, and an anvil somewhere inside shifted. A groan he could not repress slid past his lips and he slumped back against the pillow. With his feet hanging over the edge of the bed and his body shivering as a chill possessed him, he felt about as helpless as the baby Erin was holding.

  “Damn!” As curses went, it was not up to his usual standards, but he was too weak to come up with anything better. His heart was chugging away, double time, and he’d barely reached down to tug the quilt back in place when he felt Erin’s hands doing it for him.

  “The baby.” he muttered, not wanting her to neglect the child on his behalf.

  “He’s fine.” Her words were soft, whispered against his ear as she tucked the sheet and quilt over his shoulder. Her hands were cool against his face as she managed to touch him, smoothing the coverings against his back, then allowing her hand to brush his hair from his forehead.

  Her hand paused, then slid down his face, resting for a moment against his cheek. She leaned over and he caught a whiff of her, that womanly, milky aroma, mixed with the other scent he couldn’t put his finger on right now. If he could just persuade her to stay right where she was and hold her hand just so for the rest of the day, he’d feel a heap better.

  “Don’t go.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. But he couldn’t resist that soft, small hand, and he turned his pounding head to press his mouth against it. Her fingers were cool and he snagged one of them between his lips, holding it for a moment.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice strangely hushed, almost as if she were holding back tears, he thought, frowning as he considered the idea.

  “Don’t cry.”

  “I won’t,” she whispered. She withdrew her finger from his mouth and traced the line of his lip with its tip. “I won’t.”

  The clanging in his head grew louder, almost beyond bearing, and he gritted his teeth against the noise. “I don’t think I can milk the cow this morning,” he managed to mutter.

  She bent low, and he felt her presence even before she pressed her lips against his forehead. “It’s all right. It’s my turn, anyway. Please don’t try to get up, Quinn. I think you’re feverish. I’m going to put a cold cloth on your head and I want you to be still and leave it there. Hear me?”

  He managed a sound that seemed to satisfy her and she left him for a moment, returning to place a cold towel across his forehead. It felt wonderful, covering his eyes and allowing him to blank out the lamplight.

  He heard her movements in the room, heard the door scrape across the floor once, and then again. He drifted, the bed changing form beneath him, cushioning his body like the salt water he’d floated in at Newport one longago summer. He could feel the sun on him as the water shifted beneath him, and he moved restlessly beneath the hot rays. He’d have a sunburn at this rate, and his mother would have to mop his skin with vinegar. If only he weren’t so tired, he’d turn over and swim toward the shore and escape the sun within the cool walls of…

  “Quinn, you must stay covered.” His mother’s voice was softer today, as if she’d shed that old-world accent and found a newer, gentler form of speech. Even her hands felt different, smaller against his, as she peeled his fingers from the quilts.

  Quilts? No wonder he was so hot. Someone had wrapped him like a mummy. Quinn pushed at the suffocating weight that threatened his breathing, and heard a protesting voice. She was scolding him again.

  “Please, Quinn. Let me put this towel on your head. I’ve taken the rest of the covers off, but you must have the sheet over you or you’ll take a chill.”

  The cloth was cool, and he subsided, allowing the hands to capture his in a firm grip, the mouth to press against his lips in a kiss of comfort. Then the towel was lifted and his eyes squinted against the sun. No, that wasn’t right. He was in a bed, and the light was from a lamp. And Erin had taken his mother’s place.

  For a moment Quinn grieved for the absence of the woman who had loved him better than anyone else could have. Who had forgiven all his childhood sins and given him her approval, even when he didn’t deserve it.

  “Mother?” He heard the word pass his lips and knew even as he breathed aloud that it had been a dream, a delusion.

  “It’s Erin.” Her whisper was accompanied by the return of the cool towel and he tried to nod his understanding, but the pain would not allow it.

  “Don’t move, Quinn. You’ve been feverish for the whole morning, but you’re cooling down now. You’ve been dreaming.”

  He tried to answer, but the effort was too great. Only a muffled sound that might have been a moan left his lips, and she shushed it with a soft whisper and the pressure of her fingertips.

  “I’m here. Don’t try to talk.”

  Erin…it was Erin. The cloth was lifted again and Quinn slitted his eyes to watch as she crossed the room, dipping the towel into a bucket by the door. Snow…she’d brought in snow to cool him. The windows were bright with noonday sun, and he closed his eyes against the brilliance.

  “Erin.” He tasted her name on his tongue, and then repeated it. “Erin.”

  He was cooler now, she was sure of it. The terrible heat of his fever had eased, and Erin sensed that he was aware of her presence. A cup of water in her hand, she settled on the mattress beside him.

  “Quinn, I want you to drink now. You need water, do you hear me?” Her arm behind his head, s
he lifted him and pressed the cup to his lips. He sipped and swallowed, then breathed deeply as if the effort were too much to bear.

  “Again,” she told him firmly, offering the fluid his body needed.

  He growled, but his mouth accepted the rim of the cup and she tilted it, nodding her approval as he swallowed once, twice, and then held the third mouthful for a moment before he swallowed it. His head shifted, a barely perceptible movement, but she lifted the cup.

  “All right. That’s enough for now, but we’ll try again in a bit. Right now I’m going to change your bandage.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to do, but necessary, nevertheless. Erin untied the knot she’d formed at the side of his head, undoing the long strip of diaper. The pad was stained with blood, but not as much as she’d expected. She bent to the basin on the floor beside the bed and wrung out a clean cloth.

  His wound was shallow but angry looking, the edges puffy. She washed it with soap, cleaning the dark hair that surrounded it, then rinsed it thoroughly and inspected it, leaning close to see if it showed signs of infection. Should he get blood poisoning…the thought made her shiver, and she bit at her lip.

  Her meager medical supplies offered little, and she settled on a tin of carbolic salve, smearing a generous amount on the new bandage she’d fashioned. In moments she’d tied it in place and settled his head on the pillow.

  “Thank you.” Quinn’s dry lips barely moved as he breathed the words, and she was touched by the automatic response. The mother he’d called for in his delirium earlier had taught her son well. Quinn Yarborough was a gentleman. He was a man any woman would be lucky to call husband. And by some providential quirk of fate, she’d been given that right.

  Erin smoothed back his hair, noting the lack of fever as her fingers touched his forehead. “Do you think you could eat some soup?” she asked. “You need nourishment, Quinn. I cooked up a rabbit and made a big kettle full for you.”

  “Umm.”

  He might not have intended it as assent, but she took it as such and rose quickly. In moments she was back by his side, tucking a clean towel beneath his chin, offering a scant spoonful of broth against his closed mouth. He opened his lips and she tipped the spoon, watching as he swallowed.

  “Good.” His mouth opened again and she repeated the small ritual, easing tiny bits of vegetable and meat past his teeth, watching as he chewed slowly and swallowed with effort.

  “Enough.” He turned his head, frowning as he moved against the pillow, and she brushed the towel across his mouth.

  “You did well.” He did look a little better, she decided, his color more normal, his cheeks losing the hectic flush they had worn all morning.

  He slept then, deeply and quietly, only stirring when the baby squawked his need in the middle of the afternoon.

  She watched from the rocking chair as she nursed Robert. Quinn’s eyes opened just enough for her to see the dark gleam beneath his lashes.

  “Is he all right?” His voice was husky with sleep, but the words came easily past his lips.

  “Yes, he’s fine, just hungry again.” She spread her hand across the top of her breast, aware that Quinn’s eyes were intent on her. His dark gaze warmed her flesh from across the room, and she lifted her head to meet it with her own.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t cover yourself from me.”

  She felt her eyes widen at his words, was conscious of the flush of color that painted her cheeks, and knew a quickening deep inside her body as she responded to the words he spoke. Her fingers withdrew from the rise of her breast, and she cupped them beneath Robert’s round bottom.

  She’d never felt this degree of intimacy in her life. Not once during the years of her marriage to Damian, not during the hours when she’d given birth, when Quinn had delivered her child. Not even during the night she’d been warmed by Quinn’s loving had she known the heat of his appraisal. That had been a surcease of sorrow, a panacea for her grief, a coming together that had held comfort for her.

  This was different, this deliberate baring of herself to his view. As if she were offering herself to him, and he were accepting the gift, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of her.

  “Beautiful…” His mouth rose at one corner in a faint smile. And then his eyes closed and he relaxed. She watched as his breathing changed, slowing, deepening as he slept.

  The baby released his suction and she tilted him, smiling as a burp escaped his rosy lips. He snuffled against his tiny hand and sighed, a bubble forming in the center of his mouth. Her heart swelled within her as she watched him, then looked again at the man who slept in her bed. Quinn was better for now, it seemed.

  And this was no time to dawdle, with butter to churn and diapers to wash out. She rose and put the baby down, moving quickly to do her chores before either of these male creatures needed her again.

  It had been two days. Two days and nights of fever alternating with chills. Quinn roused from the tangled dreams and moved his head. The anvil had stopped clanging, but had been replaced by a hammer. No, that wasn’t right. It was something outside that thumped loudly.

  He moved cautiously beneath the covers, easing to the edge of the mattress. Robert was just inches away, his tiny body swaddled in a blanket and covered by Erin’s shawl. Only the small dark head was exposed to view, and Quinn reached one hand to brush his fingers across that precious downy spot.

  The thumping from outdoors sounded again, and Quinn’s feet touched the floor. What on earth could she be doing out there? And then he knew. She was chopping wood, the sound vibrating in time with the faint throbbing of his head wound.

  She’d be lucky if she didn’t cut her foot off. Fool woman ought to know better. He slid from the side of the bed, his knees unsteady, holding to the footboard for balance. His legs were properly covered, at least. He faintly remembered Erin struggling to slide drawers up his legs yesterday. Or was it this morning?

  He’d been flat in that bed for three days, maybe, with Erin tending him like an infant, waiting on him hand and foot. And now, to beat all, she was out there swinging an ax. Quinn staggered, reaching for the table to steady himself, and then headed for the window.

  Two horses were tied to the shed door, and Erin was sitting on a chunk of log near them. In the middle of the yard two men were busy making a fresh woodpile. One, the biggest of the pair, swung the long ax as if he knew what he was doing. The other, keeping him supplied with chunks of wood to split, was stacking them in a neat pile near the porch.

  Quinn watched, leaning against the wall, squinting against sunlight that glittered on the snow, his head swimming. Damned if that didn’t look like the sheriff out there, and the other one, with a shiny star pinned on his coat, was almost certain to be the deputy.

  “What the hell?” He shook his head, peering through the glass, shoving the curtain to one side, the better to see.

  As if his movement had caught her eye, Erin looked up, her gaze meshing with his, and she rose, hurrying to the cabin. “Quinn! What are you doing out of bed?” She brought a draft of cold air in with her, her face rosy, her hair hanging in a long braid down her back.

  “Tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on out there,” he muttered, easing his way to sit on a chair at the table.

  “What does it look like?” Erin unbuttoned her coat and went to the stove. She poured coffee into a mug, then placed it before him.

  “Looks like you’ve turned the sheriff into your chore boy,” he told her, picking up the steaming cup and breathing deeply of the steam. “How long since I’ve had a cup of coffee?”

  “Since before you got yourself shot,” she answered, her tone brisk as she filled two more cups and headed to the door. “Don’t you get up until I come back in, you hear me? I’m going to take these out to the sheriff and young Tater.”

  “What are they doing here?” Quinn asked, carefully turning his head to follow her as she paraded past him.

  “I haven’t found out yet,” she said. “They saw me scou
ting up firewood and getting ready to split some big chunks, and Sheriff Mason took the ax from me and set Tater to work.”

  “Tell him he’s done enough. I’ll be able to use an ax in a day or so.” Quinn knew his tone was beyond grumpy, but watching some other man splitting firewood for his wife was not setting too well.

  “Please, Quinn. Get back in bed as soon as you’ve finished that coffee. I’ll make you some dinner right away.” Erin scooted outside, her attention on the full cups she carried, then she reached back in to pull the heavy door shut behind her.

  Quinn bent over the table, propping his head in his hands, leaning on his elbows. He’d never felt so useless in his life, with legs like wet noodles and his head all in an upheaval. The coffee was strong, and his stomach growled as he swallowed the first of it. Food was what he needed—not the soup he’d been getting lately, but a good piece of roast venison or some fried steak.

  The thought of the two men in the yard finding him in his drawers lent him strength, and he headed for the corner where Erin kept his clothes. Clean trousers were the first order of business, and by the time he managed to get them buttoned up and his belt in place, he was about out of breath.

  His coffee was cool enough to drink down, and he swallowed it quickly. The bandage on his head had come loose and he snatched it away, impatient with the infirmity that had turned him into a man too weak to tend to his own chores. The pad was smeared with a residue of salve, but he found no trace of pus on it. He lifted a stove lid and tossed it within, just as the door opened again.

  “Well, you sure don’t look like you’re about to take on the world,” Sheriff Mason said, heading for the wood box, his arms full of freshly split logs. Depositing his load, he turned to Quinn and tugged off his gloves. He stepped closer to the table and offered his hand.

  “I’m Henry Mason, and this here’s Tater, my deputy.” Erin and the younger man stood just inside the door, and Quinn cast her a quick glance before he shook hands with the lawman. “Your wife tells me you’re nursin’ a head wound, Mr. Yarborough. Want to fill me in?”