Erin shook her head. “I don’t want to see them, Quinn.”
“I expect you’re going to have to, like it or not, honey. We’ll have to get the doctor to sign a legal paper stating that Robert is not the Wentworths’ grandson, and that should be the end of it.”
“That’s about what the sheriff said,” Erin whispered, nodding in agreement. “Will it be that simple?”
“Don’t know why not. Estelle isn’t going to give up easy. We know that. But once she sees the baby, she ought to be able to tell that he doesn’t resemble Damian in any way, shape or form, except that he’s a boy.” If he’d thought to gain a smile from her with that last remark, he was disappointed. “Ah, shoot, sweetheart! It’ll all work out, and in a couple of months we’ll start looking for a home somewhere away from all the bad memories.”
“I wish I were as sure of that as you are.” She sighed, settled her head against his shoulder and slid her arms around him. “I love you, Quinn.”
His arms tightened their grip and he brushed his mouth against her forehead. “You don’t know how happy that makes me, honey. It just about makes it all worthwhile.”
“I fixed supper for you,” she whispered. “Are you hungry?”
He chuckled. “Does a bear sleep all winter? Yeah, I’m hungry. Those crackers and the cheese lasted till the sun was high in the sky. Not near long enough.”
Erin rose from his lap to stand between his thighs, her fingers lingering in his hair. “I’ll be all right now. I think just knowing you’re here with me was what I needed.”
“I’m here. I’ll always be here. We’ll scout up the sheriff after supper and get things rolling.”
“He said the judge won’t be back in town till next week. I was hoping we could get some paperwork together for adopting Robert before all this happened.”
Quinn went to the sink and rolled up his sleeves, then scrubbed at his hands in the washbasin. “Let’s eat. I can think better on a full stomach.”
Erin’s dreams were chaotic, involving Estelle and a shotgun that refused to fire, a madman intent on wrenching Robert from her arms and Quinn looking the other way. She awoke to find herself locked in Quinn’s embrace, sobbing her fears aloud.
“I’d have killed her. And after I shot Russ Hogan I’d have sworn I’d never pick up a gun again.” Erin shivered convulsively. “I was going to shoot her!” she whispered loudly, aghast at the hatred she’d felt so vividly. “I never thought I was capable of so much anger, Quinn. Even when Damian…even then, I couldn’t have deliberately hurt him.”
He rocked her in his arms, his big hands soothing her, his words a salve to her fears. “A woman defending her child is like a mama bear protecting a cub, Erin. All teeth and claws, willing to fight to the death.”
She trembled in reaction as the dreams washed over her mind, opening her eyes in the darkness to banish the tendrils of horror. “I want it all over with,” she sobbed, her hands fisting against Quinn’s chest.
“Soon, sweet. Soon.”
“I’m going over to see the sheriff, honey,” Quinn said quietly, tugging his hat into place.
Erin watched from the doorway, the baby asleep in her arms. His crib was near the stove and she placed him there, tucking him in with gentle touches before she responded to Quinn’s announcement.
“You won’t be far from home, will you?” She hated the trace of fear her words conveyed, and bit at her lip.
“No. I’m only going to talk to him about getting Judge Beal here before Monday. I think we need to have this over and done with.” He eyed her, taking her measure in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. “I don’t think you’re going to stand up under much more pressure, Erin.”
Her chin tilted and she gritted her teeth against the fear she had allowed to surface. “I’m stronger than I look, Quinn. I’ll be fine. And I won’t even load the shotgun,” she said smartly, lifting an eyebrow as she spoke.
He relaxed visibly. “You won’t have to. Ted Wentworth’s a sensible man, for the most part. I have a notion that Estelle has pushed this whole matter all along. I’m going to talk to him right after I see Henry Mason.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Young lady,” Judge Beal intoned, his gaze focused on Erin. “I hadn’t thought to see you in my court again so soon.” He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the group of people seated before him. “This had better be worth my inconvenience, folks,” he announced. “I wasn’t due here for some time and I’ve had to rearrange my schedule accordingly. The trip was not pleasant.”
He banged his gavel with vigor. “This court will come to order.”
From a chair across the room a distinguished-looking gentleman rose, then approached the judge with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “I’d like to present this for your approval, Your Honor,” he announced. “It represents the interests of my clients, Mr. and Mrs. Ted Wentworth.”
Judge Beal looked up over the top of his glasses. “And who might you be, sir?”
“Attorney-at-law, Martin Morris, sir.”
“What’s all this?” Judge Beal asked tartly, motioning at the papers lying before him.
“A petition to the court for the custody of the Wentworths’ grandchild, who is now in the possession of his mother.”
Judge Beal’s eyebrows rose inquiringly. “And what is the purpose of this?”
The lawyer cleared his throat. “The court in Denver, after viewing the public records, decided that the notoriety of said mother and the conditions under which she has chosen to live are not conducive to the best interests of the child.”
“Is that so?” He peered at Erin, rested his gaze briefly on Quinn beside her, and then looked back to the papers at hand. “These folks here are your clients?” he asked, waving his hand at Ted and Estelle.
“Yes, sir.”
“Ma’am?” Judge Beal turned his attention to Erin again. “Where’s this baby these folks are wanting to take away from you?”
“They have no grandson, Your Honor,” Erin said quietly, silently battling the fluttering, rapid beat of her heart.
“That’s a lie!” Estelle blurted, rising to her feet, her face contorted with fierce emotion. “She has my grandchild, and she’s not fit to raise my son’s—”
Ted tugged at her arm, sheer force propelling her back into her chair, and bent to whisper loudly in her ear. Estelle subsided, but her complexion remained crimson, and Erin’s heart continued to beat at an astonishing rate.
“Where is the grandchild in question?”
Erin rose and walked to stand before the judge. “My baby died just minutes after he was born, five months ago, sir. He’s buried next to the cabin I was living in at the time.”
“Any proof of this?” he asked, his manner more kindly as he watched Erin.
“Quinn?” She looked over her shoulder, and Quinn rose to stand beside her. “Your Honor,” she continued, “my husband buried the baby.”
“He’s not her husband. He’s the man we hired to find her!” Estelle cried shrilly, struggling against the hold Ted had on her arm.
Judge Beal tilted his head to peer at Quinn. “You married to this girl? Seems to me we had this conversation before, didn’t we, young man?”
Quinn tried to suppress a grin and failed miserably. “Yessir, we did, when Erin was brought before you, and I left the deputy behind to follow her.”
The judge cleared his throat. “You prepared to swear that this girl’s baby died and was buried, young man?”
Quinn nodded, gripping Erin’s elbow as she swayed. She felt a surge of nausea well up within her as her knees weakened. Quinn’s hand left her arm to snake around her back, and she leaned against him with relief.
The Denver lawyer stepped forward again. “These people have in their possession a baby boy, according to my sources, Your Honor.”
“That true?” the judge asked, turning once more to Quinn and Erin.
She nodded. “The doctor was to be here, but he had an emerg
ency. He sent the baby to me when his mama died and no one could feed him. He can tell you, sir. We want to adopt him,” she said in a whisper.
“We require proof of that, Your Honor,” the lawyer announced.
“She’s lying! That’s my grandchild!” Estelle cried, her rage overcoming her best attempts to remain silent. She was livid and visibly trembling, and Ted was hard put to restrain her.
“My wife is suffering terribly from the loss of our son, Your Honor,” Ted said above Estelle’s tantrum. “She is not responsible for her behavior today.”
“Where’s the doctor?” Judge Beal asked loudly. “We need to get to the bottom of this whole mess, it seems to me.”
“I’ll fetch him,” Tater Folsom offered from the back of the room.
“Do that!” Judge Beal was rising now, and Quinn led Erin back to their seats. The gavel banged loudly and Judge Beal nodded firmly. “Y’all just stay right where you are while this court recesses for as long as it takes to get all the parties in one room.”
“Estelle will never get over this, will she?” Erin asked, leaning heavily on Quinn’s arm as they climbed the steps to the sheriff’s house. From within, the wails of a baby could be heard, and Erin’s breasts began tingling as her milk made its presence known.
“Estelle is a sick woman,” Quinn pronounced. “Ted Wentworth has his hands full. I don’t know what he’s going to do with her, but the trip back to New York tomorrow should be a dandy.”
Alice opened the door, one arm filled with a squirming, blanket-wrapped bundle, her smile wide and relieved as she welcomed them into her kitchen. “He’s been workin’ on pitchin’ a fit for almost ten minutes now, Erin. Hope you’re prepared for him.”
Erin made a face, feeling the pads she wore beneath her chemise dampen against her skin. “More than ready, Alice.”
“I’m going to leave you here, honey,” Quinn told her. “I want to talk to the sheriff for a few minutes, and then I need to make sure that Ted Wentworth understands why I had to return his money. He needs to know a few things that I don’t think he’s aware of.”
“All right.” Erin’s gaze turned to the buildings that ran the length of the main street of Pine Creek. “I’ll go on home with the baby after I feed him.”
“You’ll be fine.” Quinn’s smile was reassuring as he dropped a quick kiss against her forehead.
Robert’s cries were angry, his small face screwed up in a reddened mask of rage, and his arms and legs kicked, fighting free of the blanket. His plump legs pumped vigorously, exposed beneath the flannel gown he wore, and his fisted hands punched the air in time with his howls of frustration.
Erin took him in her arms and settled at the kitchen table, one hand unbuttoning her dress as she soothed him with phrases he ignored.
“There, there, sweetheart,” she whispered, guiding him to the source of his nourishment He hiccuped loudly, then his mouth enclosed her nipple with enthusiasm and he nursed, his hand clutching her index finger, his eyes closed tightly.
“Somethin’ about a baby that just nudges your heart, ain’t there?” Alice said softly. “That young’un sure is lucky to have you, honey.”
“Not nearly as lucky as I am to have him,” Erin said, looking up at her. “You know, I almost feel sorry for Estelle Wentworth. She really thought she would find her grandchild here, and now she has to go home emptyhanded.”
Alice sat down, after fetching her cup of coffee, and leaned both elbows on the table. “Tell me everything that happened. From start to finish. Here I sat, watching that blessed baby, and I missed all the excitement.”
“And the Wentworths will be leaving on the noon stage tomorrow for Denver,” Erin finished. “The doctor told the judge that Estelle is suffering from delusions brought on by grief and an inability to know the difference between reality and what she perceives to be the truth.”
“She sounds like a sick lady to me,” Alice said promptly. “I think I’ll be relieved when she’s gone, and you can get back to normal again.”
Erin buttoned her dress, the baby sleeping on the table before her. “I’m going home, Alice. Quinn should be home soon, and I’ve got supper to think about.”
“Is Quinn heading out with Henry in the morning?” Alice asked. “There’s something going on at Silver River Camp that needs looking into.”
Erin nodded. “He said Tater is going to make sure the Wentworths get on the stage.” She pulled on her coat and picked up the sleeping baby. “Thanks again for watching him, Alice.”
She should have locked the door. As soon as the knob turned, the moment the wooden panel moved inward across the kitchen floor, Erin gave voice to the thought.
“I knew I should have locked that door. I suppose I didn’t think you’d have the nerve to walk into my house uninvited, Estelle.” She faced the woman who had been her mother-in-law, and in a flash she recalled her dream.
“I dreamed about you,” Erin said slowly, moving to shield Robert from the other woman’s gaze.
“A nightmare, I would assume,” Estelle retorted, her eyes scanning the room, her demeanor filled with an unnatural calm.
“Yes,” Erin admitted, her fright surfacing as she wished desperately for Quinn’s presence. “You’ve caused me more than one bad dream, you know.”
“I certainly hope so. You made my son’s life one long horror, with your nagging and complaining all the time. And then driving him to drink there at the end. You weren’t happy until you killed him.” The vicious words poured forth in a shrill litany as Estelle’s control gave way, her hands waving in rhythm with her accusations.
Erin watched her closely. Once more Estelle Wentworth’s facade of elegance was lost in an outpouring of vengeful anger. The woman who held a prominent place in society in New York City was clearly beyond reason.
“I didn’t kill Damian.” It seemed the most important accusation to answer. The rest of Estelle’s notions were, in part, true. Erin had, after the first flush of romance wore off, nagged at Damian when he went out gambling, coming home drunk. She had complained when the bill collectors came to the door, demanding money for the frivolities he bought for his women.
She had not, however, killed the man. And for that she would never take the blame.
Estelle’s eyes narrowed, and she faced Erin across the kitchen table, her long, carefully manicured nails stabbing the air as she gestured wildly. “You were there when he fell. You saw him roll down those stairs. You saw him hit the marble floor in the foyer, and you did nothing to save him. You never shed a tear.” She leaned across the table and her whisper was scathing.
“I’ll warrant it was your hand that made him lose his balance. I intend to prove that you killed my son.”
Erin shook her head. “You know the court deemed it an accidental death. He was drunk.”
Estelle ignored her denial. “I’ll file a suit against you. Once I take my grandson back to New York, I’ll have you put in jail.”
“Your grandson is dead, Estelle. We’ve already gone through this.” There was no pretty way to phrase it, Erin decided. “Do you hear me? My baby came too early and died, just minutes after he was born.”
Estelle smiled cunningly, and Erin shivered at the sight The woman’s eyes widened as she looked around the kitchen. “Where do you have him hidden? I know you have him here. There’s his blanket on the rocking chair, and his clothes drying on the rack.”
“I don’t have your grandson, Estelle. The baby here is an orphan that Quinn and I took in. His father died in a house fire, and his mama died birthing him.” Erin moved to head off Estelle’s advance as the woman walked around the table.
There was no stopping her. She shoved Erin from her path and hurried to the doorway that led to the rest of the house. Then she turned, catching sight of Erin as she moved to stand in front of the crib.
Estelle’s eyes lit again with that crazed look as she bent her head, peering past Erin’s skirts. “Ah…is that where you thought to hide him? How foolish
of you.” She marched forward, her arm outstretched and stiffened, pushing Erin from her path.
Erin staggered, hitting the table and overturning a chair. She righted herself, only to see Estelle pull a small gun from her pocket. A wave of dizziness engulfed her and she shook her head, unable to believe her eyes.
“Don’t make me shoot you, Erin,” she warned. “And don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t do it. You deserve to die, you know.” Her eyes were glazed, her mouth working with convulsive movements, and Erin was struck with the knowledge that Estelle Wentworth had truly begun to lose her mind.
“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly, amazed at her own sense of composure. Robert’s wellbeing was of the utmost importance. And that Estelle meant the baby no harm was obvious.
“Why, what does it look like?” Estelle asked archly. “I’m going to take my grandson home with me.” She bent over the crib, the gun still pointed in Erin’s direction. “Would you just look at him. The very picture of his father, with that beautiful dark hair. I’ll warrant his eyes are the same color as Damian’s, too, aren’t they?”
She shot Erin a look of scorn. “You really thought to fool me with your story, didn’t you? Maybe that smalltown judge believed you, but I’m smarter than that. Did you think I’d swallow such a foolish tale? Orphan child, indeed! This boy is a Wentworth, through and through.”
Awkwardly, intent on holding her weapon as she worked, Estelle picked up the baby, easing him into her left arm, pulling the blanket over his head. “I’ll just cover you up nice and warm, my darling,” she said, her words a crooning singsong. Passing the rocking chair, she snatched the second blanket, tossing it over the sleeping child, snagging it with the barrel of the gun she held.
She frowned, her concentration broken, and edged the gun free, tossing a triumphant look at Erin. “You thought I couldn’t do this, didn’t you? You probably thought you could fool me. Well, I’ll have the last laugh, young woman. You took my son from me. You won’t have the same chance with my grandson. That stagecoach will be here in a few minutes. Ted is carrying the baggage down to the hotel lobby right now, in fact. We’ll be gone before you know it.”
Carolyn Davidson Page 24
