Carolyn Davidson

by The Tender Stranger

  He reached for her, the few inches between them disappearing in a second as he molded her to his masculine form. She was pliable in his arms, soft and curving against his lean strength, and he caressed the line of her waist and hip with a firm touch. She was rounded nicely, he decided, her bottom fitting against him, cushioning the proof of his desire.

  “Now, just close your eyes for tonight,” he whispered against the top of her head. “We’ll sort everything out after I ride up to Big Bertha tomorrow with the sheriff.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So that’s where he is!” The owner of Big Bertha lived up to the image of his mine; he was a big man, and his voice boomed out in anger. Wayne Tucker ran a tight ship, as he had a reputation for saying, and the news that one of his men was residing in jail had put a ruddy hue on his broad face.

  “Damn piker barely earns his way as it is. Forever whining and carrying on. I’d say jail’s the place for him.” His small eyes were narrowed as he considered the sheriff and Quinn. “What’d he do?”

  Sheriff Mason glanced around the small community of mining shacks. “You got any extra horses around here you can’t account for?”

  Wayne Tucker hesitated. “You’re telling me Jones brought stolen horseflesh into my camp?” If possible, his face grew even more florid.

  “I’m missing a packhorse, a bay with a wide blaze, and a stud, chestnut with a pale mane and tail. Someone took a shot at me the other day and left me for dead. Took my horses.”

  “Say, ain’t you the fella brought Russ Hogan’s body back last week? I caught sight of you when you was riding out.”

  Quinn nodded. “He and Toby Jones threatened my wife, and Hogan got shot for his trouble.”

  The mine owner shook his head. “I thought Jones’s story sounded kinda fishy when he came back without Hogan last week. Jones said there was a gunfight, and he couldn’t get close enough to tote Hogan back here.”

  “Well, Mr. Yarborough here says he thinks Toby Jones was the man that shot him from ambush,” the sheriff said. “If those two animals are here, it backs up his story, I’d say.”

  The mine boss nodded slowly. “Poor pickin’s these days hereabouts. I’m down to a dozen miners now. Since the mother lode played out, we’re just cleanin’ up what’s left, and a man can’t be choosy about what he hires.” He rose from his chair in the cookhouse, leaving his half-eaten meal behind. “Let’s go out to the shed and take a look. There’s a dozen or so horses out there. Most of these men brought their own with ‘em, and I’ve got a couple of mules.”

  The door slammed behind them, leaving the cook to his chores, and Quinn followed the sheriff and Wayne Tucker across the small clearing. It was cold this morning, with snow clouds gathering, and he pulled his collar high to keep out the bitter gusts of wind that swirled across the side of the mountain.

  The memory of the woman he’d left behind nudged him, and he was warmed by it. Her face flushed in slumber, she’d answered his goodbye kiss with the soft pressure of her lips, opening her eyes in surprise as he knelt by the bed.

  “You leaving already?” she’d asked in that whispery, early-morning voice of hers.

  “Yeah, we need to get an early start. You take care of yourself and Robert, hear?” He’d wanted nothing more than to crawl back in that warm bed and. Well, that didn’t bear thinking about, he decided, reaching up to jam his hat down tighter over his forehead.

  The first thing he wanted to do was find a place to put his family for the next couple of months. A house with furniture in it, namely a nice, comfortable bed, one that would hold two people, without a man’s feet sticking out over the end. Quinn’s grin was subdued as he assessed that thought. He was a married man, sure enough, thinking about sleeping with the same woman for the rest of his life.

  The shed was shabby but weatherproof, and Quinn eyed the line of standing stalls with interest. Most horses looked pretty much alike from the rear end, except for color, but his stallion was seventeen hands Ought to stick out like a sore thumb in this row of ordinarylooking mounts.

  Wide chestnut haunches caught his eye, along with a pale tail that was swishing as the big horse bent to snatch a bit of hay. Quinn stepped up closer. “Hey, there, boy. They feedin’ you all right?” His tone was quiet, but the horse turned his head as far as his halter rope would allow. A low nicker answered Quinn’s query, and Boss Tucker strode to his side.

  “That your animal?” He eyed the stallion. “Can’t say I’ve seen him before. I don’t get in here every day, and we haven’t turned these horses out since the weather got bad.” He walked on down the line of stalls. “Here’s another stranger. Come take a look.”

  The bay was broad backed and stocky, and Quinn sidled into the stall beside him. He grasped the halter, turning the horse’s head so that the other two men could see the wide white blaze that almost covered the animal’s face.

  “This is my wife’s packhorse, sure enough.” He released the halter and rubbed the wide forehead with his knuckles. “How you doin’, boy?”

  The relief that flooded him kept Quinn stationary for a moment. He could barely restrain the shout that begged to be let loose on the cold air. Finding these horses was vindication enough for any fool, and Sheriff Mason had a head full of common sense, as far as Quinn could tell. Toby Jones might as well start packing for that Denver prison. Unless Quinn missed his guess, he was headed there in a hurry.

  “I’m sure enough sorry I didn’t notice I was feedin’ a couple of strays, Sheriff,” Wayne Tucker said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “My men are allowed feed for their animals, and they take turns muckin’ out the place and feedin’, a week at a time.”

  Sheriff Mason nodded, accepting the mine owner’s explanation. “Well, I don’t think you’ll be seeing much of Toby Jones anymore, Mr. Tucker. You’ve got yourself a new horse for your trouble, I’m thinking. He won’t have much use for it where he’s headin’. A man takes another man’s mount, he’s just about committed murder in these parts. Especially in the middle of winter.”

  “Especially when he’s taken a potshot at the fella,” Quinn added.

  “Get your horses together, Quinn. It looks like you’re pretty near in the clear.”

  “Pretty near?” Quinn looked back at Sheriff Mason as he untied the packhorse.

  “You’re still in hot water for leavin’ my deputy up there all alone.” Sheriff Mason shook his head in a mocking gesture. “Poor old Tater had to lead that cow of your wife’s all the way to town the next day. Said he heard catcalls from half the folks in Pine Creek, wonderin’ what the cow’d done to get taken into custody thataway.”

  Quinn grinned, too relieved at the outcome of this trip to worry about Tater Folsom’s feelings. “I’ll ride my stud and lead the other two back, Sheriff.” He turned to the mine boss. “Where’s the tack room, Tucker? I need to find my saddle.”

  The livery stable had room for extra horses. Jeremy Tobin was always eager for business, the sheriff said, and Jeremy’s wide grin was proof of that prediction. He settled on a price with Quinn, then turned the stallion into a box stall at the back of his big barn.

  “Nice-lookin’ piece of horseflesh,” Jeremy said. “Wouldn’t be interested in sellin’ him, I suppose?” His voice was wistful, an incongruous sound from such a giant of a man, and Quinn smiled, shaking his head in reply.

  “No, we’ve come a long way together.” That his stud had ridden a lot of miles in a boxcar over the past couple of years was only the half of it.

  “I’ll pay you by the week,” Quinn told the stable owner. “We may be in town for the rest of the winter.”

  Sheriff Mason lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not headin’ back up to the cabin?”

  Quinn shook his head. “I’m going to look for a place in town for a while. You know of anything empty that’d work out for us?”

  “Matter of fact, I might. Let’s take a walk down the street here.”

  “It’s got two bedrooms, Erin. A real house, w
ith a lean-to for doing the wash and a big fireplace in the parlor. There’s water in the house, and the outhouse is clean.”

  Erin’s eyes sparkled as she heard the news. She’d run to Quinn as he came in the kitchen door, her arms winding around his neck as she stood on tiptoe to hug him in welcome, only to flush and duck her head when Alice Mason chortled a teasing remark.

  “Did you find the horses?”

  Quinn nodded. “Don’t know what he thought he was going to do with them. The man who was feeding the stock and cleaning the barn said he thought Toby was planning on selling the packhorse and his own gelding and keeping my stud. But I guess we’ll never know for sure now. Doesn’t matter, anyway. Where he’s going, he won’t have need of a horse for a while.”

  “Horse stealing’s a hanging offense,” Alice said bluntly.

  Quinn laughed. “Damn horses are worth more than my scalp.”

  “Not to me,” Erin retorted, and then looked away, as if she had given voice to a hidden thought.

  “You’re pretty fond of me, lady. Don’t try to deny it,” Quinn said with a chuckle, squeezing her tightly. If they were alone, he’d be tempted to trundle her off to the bedroom and see if he couldn’t get her to admit more than that. Fond wasn’t what he was after from Erin Yarborough. He suspected she was pretty taken with him, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until she said the words right up front.

  “I’ll be more fond of you when you get us moved into that house you’ve been bragging about,” Erin said smartly, pushing at Quinn’s chest, freeing herself.

  He released Erin reluctantly, good manners prevailing. It wasn’t quite the thing to be hugging in front of the sheriffs wife, even if Alice did have a big grin on her face. “We’ve got to wait until we go before the judge in the morning, honey. We’re still technically prisoners, you know.”

  Erin’s face sobered. “Is there any chance we won’t be free tomorrow?”

  Quinn shook his head. “I doubt it. In fact, the sheriff said I could plan on staying here. He’s over at the jail, giving Toby Jones the bad news now.”

  “I think we’re gonna celebrate tonight,” Alice said cheerfully. “Reckon I’ll bake us a big cream cake, and put a roast in the oven for supper.”

  “Ma’am, you may have me for a star boarder, if you keep that up,” Quinn teased. Not likely, though, he thought. The idea of privacy was looking better and better.

  New York City

  “He’s giving you back the retainer? What does that mean?” Estelle Wentworth asked icily. She stood in front of the bay window, facing her husband.

  “Just what I said,” Ted replied. “Joel Guinan came by my office today and gave me a draft for the full amount of Quinn’s retainer. Said he was off the case. He’s going to send me a full report of what he found.”

  “Where is he? Did he find her? Has she had the child yet?” Estelle’s eyes were narrowed and dark with anger as she fired questions at her husband.

  “Guinan didn’t say. All he told me was that I’d be getting a report from Quinn in a couple of weeks.” “And you’re going to sit around and wait for that crook to.”

  “He’s not a crook, Estelle.” His tone was firm as Ted’s temper flared. “What would you like me to do? Chase him down?”

  “Are you willing to give up claim to your grandchild that easily, Mr. Wentworth? It’s Damian’s child that Irish creature was carrying when she left here. Somewhere, she’s hiding the last surviving trace of our son. If she isn’t living in a shack someplace, I’ll eat my hat. And that baby is probably. Well, it makes my heart hurt just to think of Damian’s child being raised by that woman.”

  “That woman, as you put it, was married to our son, Estelle. She certainly isn’t going to neglect her child.”

  Estelle’s eyes glittered with blind hatred. “You said you thought there might be reason to think Damian’s death wasn’t an accident, Ted. What if she pushed him down those stairs? Is that the kind of mother our grandchild should have?”

  “I’ll talk to Guinan again. See if I can find out anything at all.” Ted Wentworth’s shoulders were bent as he turned from his wife, as if the burden he bore weighed him down.

  Colorado

  “I find no reason to hold you, Mrs. Yarborough. That jackass Jones has lied about everything else. No reason I should take his word against yours. We’ll call it justifiable homicide and close the case.” Judge Herbert Beal’s gavel struck the table with a resounding crack, and Erin drew a deep breath.

  She turned to Quinn, fearful that one sympathetic look from him would set loose a geyser of tears, hoping he would simply take her hand and lead her out of this place. Quinn’s eyes were alight with satisfaction, and his smile was wide as he nodded at her.

  “Nothing to it, ma’am. That judge knows an honest woman when he sees one.” He grasped Erin’s outstretched hand and drew her to his side.

  “Just a minute, young man,” Judge Beal said soberly. “There’s a matter of tying up a sheriff’s deputy and taking his horse that needs to be settled before I can clear this docket.”

  “Damn!” Quinn’s exclamation was whispered, but heartfelt nonetheless. He released Erin’s hand and walked to the table where the judge presided.

  “Now, I understand that Mr. Folsom is not wanting to press charges against you, but the law is the law, and you broke it.”

  Quinn nodded agreement. “I had to get to my wife, sir. I don’t have any other defense but that. I didn’t harm Tater in any way, and I made sure he could get loose in a matter of minutes. He was left in a warm cabin with food to spare, and I figured the sheriff would send someone up to get him in a day or so.”

  “That all sounds very nice and thoughtful of you, young man, but the fact remains that you took the man’s horse.”

  Quinn swallowed the impatience that threatened his good sense. “I know I did, sir, but the truth is, I didn’t steal it I brought it right here to town and left it at the livery stable for him.”

  The judge looked past Quinn to where the sheriff and Tater Folsom stood. “You got anything to say about this, Sheriff?”

  “Seems to me this is where those things called extenuating circumstances might come into play, Your Honor,” the sheriff said slowly. Tater grinned and nodded his agreement.

  “Hmm.” The judge glanced at Quinn again, then turned his attention to Erin, who had moved to stand beside her husband. “Young woman, you got anything to say about this?”

  “My husband came to me because he was worried about me being in jail. He rode down that mountain with a bullet wound in his head. Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Damn, Erin! I knew—”

  “That’s enough, young man!” the judge said firmly. “I think your wife might have something there.” He peered at the sheriff. “This might be that extenuating circumstance you were spouting about a minute ago, Sheriff. Mr. Yarborough obviously was acting irrationally because of his head wound. I reckon we can understand that. And since he already spent two nights in custody, we’ll just dismiss those charges, too.” With another bang of his gavel and a loud “Case dismissed,” he turned to the sheriff once more.

  “Now, let’s haul that miserable cayuse out of his cell and tend to business.”

  “May we leave, Your Honor?” Quinn asked, taking Erin’s hand and edging toward the door.

  “Yeah, might as well. We’ve got this rascal dead to rights, seeing as how the sheriff is testifying against him. You better take that wife of yours home, young man. Let her look after that head wound of yours.” He waved at the door. “Now go on, get out of here.”

  “I sure hope you like this place, honey,” Quinn said, inserting the key into the front door of the small house that sat three doors down from the sheriff’s home. He’d opened the white gate with a flourish and led Erin to the porch, pointing out the ice on the steps, lest she slip and fall.

  “It’s not very big,” he warned her, ushering her into the hallway.

  “A whole lot bigger than
the cabin,” Erin told him with a nervous laugh. She felt like a brand new bride, she decided. As if this were her wedding day, almost. For unless she was reading him wrong, Quinn expected to move into this house before the day was over.

  She followed him through a wide archway into the parlor, noting the fireplace and the meager furnishings. A sofa, a chair, two tables with lamps in place and a library table in front of the window took only a few seconds to inventory.

  “I thought we could make do here for a while. If you want to, we can order some furniture from Andy Wescott over at the general store. He can get it in from Denver for us.”

  Erin smiled at Quinn’s concern. “It’s fine just the way it is, Quinn. Let’s see the rest of the house.” She followed as he left the parlor and showed her the kitchen, complete with a built-in flour sifter in the dresser, and a small pantry with walls of shelves lining the windowless area.

  Upstairs, two bedrooms snuggled beneath the eaves, with sloping ceilings and open grates on the floor that would allow the heat to rise from the rooms below when the stove was lit. A double bed, dresser and a wooden chair occupied one bedroom, while the other contained a single bed and a wide chest of drawers.

  “Not much to brag about, is it?” Quinn asked, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he watched Erin’s reactions.

  Her smile was bittersweet as she turned to face him. “I couldn’t help but compare it to the house I lived in in New York.”

  He’d lay money it was a mansion, Quinn thought, complete with butler and maid. “Quite a comedown, I’ll bet, having to live in a place like this,” he muttered, turning from her.

  “Oh, no!” Her denial was vehement and she wrapped her arms around him, her face against his back. “This will be a happy house, Quinn. I don’t care about fancy things like china and crystal and fine rugs on the floor.”