His head dipped, his mouth touching hers with a gentle kiss, and she found herself responding, her lips moving against his. He inhaled, and his hands pressed her shoulders, pulling her against him. Soft kisses turned to a firm possession and Erin leaned submissively against Quinn’s solid length, supported by the masculine strength of his body.
Lifting his head slowly, he opened his eyes, allowing her to see the desire he made no attempt to hide. “Will you be all right?”
She nodded, aware of the flush ridging his cheekbones, the flare of his nostrils and the heat of his appraisal.
“I’ll fix dinner while you’re gone. You’ll be hungry.”
His nod was quick, and he put her aside to take his rifle from the corner. With a mighty blast of cold air, the wind made its presence known as he opened the door, and he stepped out at once, closing it behind himself.
Erin moved to the window and watched as Quinn drew on leather gloves, then made his way to the shed. In a few minutes he led the horses out, the packhorse carrying an ominous burden wrapped in a piece of canvas. He mounted quickly, then cast a glance at the house and lifted his hand in a salute. She raised her own, spreading her fingers against the window glass, watching until he disappeared into the trees.
The snow began to drift across the front of the cabin before noon, the wind increasing in volume, whistling beneath the eaves and groaning down the chimney. Erin added wood to the fire, walking from stove to window and back as she tended her kettle of soup. Before long, the cabin was filled with the scent of baking bread, and a custard cooled on the porch.
And still Quinn did not come home.
She brought in the cold custard and settled down to nurse the baby for the third time, keeping track of the hours by the hunger of the infant. “He’s been gone a long time, Robert. Over seven hours,” she crooned, her fingers brushing back the dark hair as blue eyes watched her closely. She’d stopped singing an hour ago, having run through all the music she could remember.
Then she waited, pacing to stir the soup, covering the bread with a towel, then finally slicing a piece when her hunger nudged her to take action. Robert slept against her shoulder, and she was comforted by the warmth of his breath against her neck. But her arms ached from holding him and, with a sigh, she placed him in his bed to sleep.
Quinn would be ready for hot coffee when he came in, and the pot on the stove had been keeping warm all day. Fresh grounds were in order. Erin dumped the thick residue off the porch, clutching her shawl around her shoulders as she searched the edge of the clearing for movement. The cold was bitter and she scurried back inside, pausing only to cut free a skinned rabbit from its moorings.
Quinn had hung three from the edge of the porch roof, handy for her use. It would thaw quickly inside and she could fry it up for supper. Soup would not satisfy a man who’d gone so long without food.
It gave her something to do. She washed the frozen carcass at the sink, then chopped it into pieces with her big knife.
“Erin.” From the porch she heard her name, a faint voice calling to her, and she paused, knife in the air as she aimed for the leg joint of the rabbit.
“Erin!” It sounded louder, stronger this time, and she went to the window, leaning to the side to search out the source. Across the step, lifting himself on one knee, arm outstretched toward the upright support, a man struggled to rise. Snow covered his coat, as if he had rolled in it, and his head was bent as he strained to get his feet beneath himself.
He turned his head to face her, and a gasp of horror escaped her lips. Quinn! Even in the twilight of early evening she could see blood staining his cheek and forehead.
“Quinn!” She whispered his name, the knife clattering to the floor as she turned to the door. It had never seemed so heavy in her hand as she pulled it open. Her feet had never moved so slowly as she stumbled across the narrow porch.
“Erin…” His voice was a whisper and he reached for her, his arm a deadweight on her shoulder. She braced herself and gave him her support, staggering as he leaned heavily.
“Cold…so cold,” he muttered, and she was hard put to stay erect as she half supported, half dragged him into the cabin. Once they cleared the portal, she eased him to the floor, then shut the heavy wooden door, still shivering although she was surrounded by the warmth of the stove.
Her fingers worked at the buttons on his coat, then flew to his head, tugging his hat from its place, brushing snow as she went, noting the dark bloodstains it bore. He was silent now, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. His gloves were stiff as she drew them from his hands, and she tossed them to the floor near the stove to thaw.
“Your boots! I have to get your boots off, Quinn. You need to have your feet warmed,” she murmured, unsure if she’d seen his eyelids flicker or not. “Let me help you roll over, so I can get your coat off. Please, Quinn! Help me.”
She worked quickly, impatient with the snowy boots, yet tugging at them as gently as she could, lest his legs should be injured and she cause more harm than good. The coat sleeves slid from his arms as she rolled him from side to side, and she unwound the scarf from his neck.
Blood stained his face, and she searched for its source. Then, with a muffled growl of exasperation, she dipped her dish towel into the pan of water she kept on the back of the stove, wringing it out quickly. Back at Quinn’s side, she washed the dried blood, working gently at his skin, moving finally to the side of his head, where, several inches above his ear, she found its source.
A shallow groove creased through his hair, its length still oozing a crimson stain, and she washed it with care. It didn’t appear to be deep. With a sigh of relief she gathered up two of the baby’s diapers. She folded one into a thick pad and tore the other into strips to bind his head, holding the bandage in place.
Quinn had begun to shiver as she worked, and Erin dragged her heaviest quilt from the bed, arranging it nearer the stove. Then she rolled him across the floor, her hands careful to protect his head, until his big body was almost centered on the warm blanket. Trembling from her efforts, she stripped him hastily of the wet trousers he wore and, finally, of his long underwear, grunting -from the effort of lifting him. His legs, long and muscled, were strangely pale in the lamplight and she covered them quickly, averting her eyes as she dragged the second quilt past his male parts.
His shivering had become almost violent as she worked, and she brought the third quilt from the bed, tucking it around him, reaching beneath to rub gently at his feet. They were like chunks of ice in her hands, and she found clean stockings in his pile of clothing and pulled them into place. Finally, she wrapped them in her warm shawl before she pulled the quilts over them again.
Still he shivered, his teeth clenched together and chattering. “Cold, so cold.” The words reached her as she returned to him again, this time with a pillow in hand. Kneeling by his head, Erin lifted him with one arm beneath his neck, to push the pillow beneath his head. Quinn’s eyes fluttered open and he looked at her, blinking as if he did not recognize the face above him.
“Cold.” The single word reached her ears, and then his eyelids closed again. Erin took off her shoes, then pulled back the quilts she had tucked so neatly around him and slid beneath. With a growl of frustration she recognized that she could warm only one side of him at a time. She murmured a word of assurance, shifting about beneath the quilt, and inched her way atop his form, her head on his chest, her feet reaching almost to his toes. Moving carefully, she tugged the quilts in place, leaving only her head exposed. For a moment she willed herself to relax, to soften, molding her trembling body to his as her flesh absorbed the icy chill that invaded his flesh.
Then she began moving against him, using her arms and legs, her hands rubbing his sides and down the length of his long arms, her feet against the sides of his legs. Quinn stirred a bit beneath her now, his constant trembling turning to shudders that had her clinging to her perch.
He was so cold, so chilled to his very core that Er
in trembled within as she finally considered the thought that he might not live through this ordeal. His breathing was shallow, and she found herself listening to the sound of his heart, her ear pressed to his chest. It had become more regular, pounding with a steadier beat; yet still he retained that deathlike chill.
His hands were warming, she decided as she spread her palms over their backs again, rubbing gently at the skin. And then he slid them upward, his movements ungainly, as if his arms could not support the effort. She lifted herself beneath his elbows and he enclosed her in a desperate embrace, using her warmth as a blanket.
“Quinn?” She lifted her head from his chest and edged one hand to his face, her fingers sensing a change in the temperature of his cheek. “Quinn?” She repeated his name and he moved his head. It was a barely felt shifting against the pillow, accompanied by a groan of pain and a murmur that might have been her name.
“Shh.” Her whisper was automatic. “I’m here, Quinn.”
The whisper came again. “Erin…my head.”
She rose over him, just enough to make out the dark slits of his eyes. “I washed the wound, Quinn. It’s pretty shallow, I think. There’s a bandage on it to help stop the bleeding.”
“Took my horse.” His eyelids closed as he groaned the words, and Erin was seized with anger. Someone had taken his horse? In freezing weather had doomed him? Leaving him to the elements with a head wound? An anger she could scarcely contain rose within her, and she clenched her teeth against the rage.
He’d been left to die. The taking of his horse was the ultimate crime in this part of the country. As a child, she’d heard what happened to horse thieves, reading the pulp novels that were passed among the children at her school. Even then, in her early years, she had yearned for the life of adventure depicted in their pages.
Now she was more than immersed in that existence, struggling to save the life of the man who had married her and had gifted her with the knowledge of the possibilities inherent in such a union. In so doing, Quinn had brought her to this, Erin reflected as she snuggled against him, aware finally of the cessation of his shivering as she warmed his flesh. She felt the flexing of his muscles, the movement of his legs beneath hers. Finally the desperate clasp of his embrace eased and his hands moved against her back.
“Erin.” Unutterably weary, his voice brought pain by its very tone, and yet also joy. Joy that he had returned to her. Exultation that pushed her anger into abeyance. Sweet, piercing delight in the sound of his voice, calling her name.
A recognition of her love for this man, love that astounded her with its fierce possession of her soul, that filled Erin to brimming, and overflowed in a soft cascade of tears.
“Yes, Quinn. Hush, now. As soon as you’re warm enough, I’ll get you into bed.” She fought against the sob she feared would alert him, and breathed deeply to allay its sound.
His arms tightened again, a momentary message, and he relaxed beneath her. “Yes.” It was a weary sigh, but she felt the renewed strength of his body beneath her and was satisfied.
Erin closed her eyes, suddenly weary, almost dozing. And then she stiffened. From the crib, came a snuffling, squeaking sound, as Robert began to stir. She’d lost track of time. Perhaps it had been minutes, perhaps hours. She could not be certain how long it had been since Quinn had stumbled and crawled to the porch. But no matter. Robert would not be appeased until she satisfied his needs.
“I think we’ll have to move you now, Quinn,” she said quietly, and was relieved by his grunt of assent.
She rolled from him, her arms clinging, reluctant to leave the intimacy she’d formed in the time since he’d come back to her. Rising to her knees beside him, she bent to lift his shoulders.
“Help me. Can you lift your head?”
He groaned, and she felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders clench as he attempted to rise. She crept behind him, supporting his back as she levered him to a sitting position. Her arms enclosed him, lest he fall sideways, and she felt the deep, convulsive breaths he took as he struggled to stay erect.
“All right. I’ll get up now,” he muttered, rolling from her grasp to his hands and knees. His head hung heavily and she bit at her lip, mourning his pain. With slow movements he knelt, finally, and she got to her feet beside him.
“Push the table over here,” he told her, and she recognized his objective immediately. In seconds the table was within his reach, and Erin slid beneath his far shoulder as he eased himself up with one hand flat against the tabletop. Quinn swayed, groaning aloud as she turned him toward the bed, and stumbled almost to his knees again as several steps took him to his goal.
He slid from her grasp with a sigh and his body slumped to the mattress, falling full-length across the bed. He lay from corner to corner, and she lifted his feet, bending his knees and urging him to turn a bit.
Her head swam with the effort expended and she gulped deep breaths of air as she hurried to snatch up the quilts, hastening to cover him before he became chilled once more. His legs and bottom were cool, feeling like smooth marble to her touch, and she hesitated, wondering if she should find underwear to cover him. But Robert’s impatient cries chased that thought from her mind.
The quilt would have to do for now, she decided, tucking it around him, easing his head to the pillow. She spread the other two quilts over the top to insure his warmth.
The baby was wet through and Erin washed him quickly, changing him from top to bottom before she nursed him. He was indignant at the wait, and only the scent of her milk as it answered his call eased his displeasure. He latched on to her with vigor, and she could not suppress the chuckle that met his hunger.
Love, overwhelming and all-encompassing, filled her as she curled her arms around his warm body.
Her head tilted back and she was struck by the resemblance between this moment and those just past. When she had given of herself to the man she had married. When she had used her body as the remedy for his need, covering him, taking his trembling and making it her own. When her body heat had supplied the fuel that nourished his flesh and warmed his very blood.
When she had, for the first time, felt the overwhelming outpouring of love that marked him as the man she would gladly spend her life with.
Chapter Twelve
In the dark silence of the night Erin curled against Quinn’s side. She’d done all she could. Had coaxed him to drink water, urged him to eat soup from a spoon, mostly to no avail. She’d finally pushed the kettle to the back of the stove and left the rabbit to cook overnight in a small pan. It would fall off the bones by morning, a fit addition to the soup kettle.
Her hand caressed Quinn’s chest beneath the quilts, and she traced the lines of his body, as if she must reassure herself of his presence beside her. Along the path of his bearded jaw to the strong cords of his neck, her fingers moved gently. His shoulders were wide and strong, his chest full and well muscled above the spare line of his waist. Below that her hands followed the narrow line of hair that ran down to his navel, her fingertips marking its route.
She slid her index finger into the small indentation, enjoying the texture of his skin, discovering the small knot of flesh at its base. He shifted as she explored, his hand moving to cover hers, and he muttered her name again.
“Erin?”
“I’m here, Quinn.” With haste she moved her fingers from beneath his hand, and rose on her elbow beside him. “Are you awake? Do you need a drink of water?”
“Umm…yeah, I’m dry,” he answered. “Damn, my head hurts!”
Erin rolled from the bed and groped through the dark room to the table, where she’d left the cup of water he’d only sipped at earlier. Returning to his side, she crawled next to him, rousing him again.
“Let me help you to sit up a little, Quinn.” Her arm was beneath his neck again and she lifted his head. He drank, long swallows that told her of his thirst, and she wiped at the dampness that overflowed either side of his mouth. She leaned to place the cup
on the floor beside the bed and then pulled up the quilts again.
“Thanks,” he murmured, settling back down on the pillow with a muffled groan. “Got bushwhacked. damn miner took my horse and left me for dead.”
“I was so worried,” Erin whispered as she hovered over him. His face was barely discernible in the darkness, and she peered at him, trying to make out his features. Her hand formed to the curve of his cheek and she bit at her lip, moving her palm to touch his forehead.
“I think you may have a fever,” she said. “You’re warmer than you were earlier.”
“Wouldn’t take much,” he grumbled. “I was half-frozen when I finally saw the lighted windows in the clearing.”
“Does your head feel any better?”
“Hurts when I move it. Aches like a son of a pup.”
She felt for the bandage, adjusting it where it had slipped high above his ear. Her fingers moved across the padding and she was relieved to feel no sign of bleeding, the torn, folded diaper dry to her touch.
“I’ll wash your wound out better in the morning,” she told him. Relaxing, she rested against his chest, her ear once more echoing with the resonance of his heartbeat. It was a bit more rapid than before, but strong and regular, and she breathed a sigh.
“Did you take him…Russell…back to the miner’s camp?”
“Yeah. Left him there.” His voice sounded weary, his words heavy, as if they were too great a burden for his tongue to utter. “Someone followed me. Thought I heard a horse behind.” He paused, catching a deep breath. “Damn head…hurts like—”
“Hush. You can talk about it in the morning,” Erin whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she thought of the hours he must have spent stumbling through the forest, searching for the cabin.
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