The Tender Stranger. Carolyn Davidson

she closed her eyes, bending her head forward to rest against the glass pane. “Oh, dear!” The whisper was soft but fervent, barely discernible.

      “Mrs. Peterson? Erin? Are you all right?” His murmur was low, the warmth of his big body directly behind her, and she drew in a deep breath.

      How had she gotten into this mess?

       Chapter Two

      She watched his approach in the windowpane, as he moved behind her in the room. Then warm hands gripped her shoulders and Erin stifled the urge to relax beneath their weight. For too long she had been building her courage to remain isolated from the world. She could not allow the presence of this man to make her soften, dependent once more on others.

      “Erin?” He repeated her name and his fingers shifted, turning her to face him.

      She shrugged, a gesture meant to rid herself of his touch, but to no avail. Her feet moved at his bidding and she looked up into eyes that searched hers.

      “I’m fine, just worrying about the animals, I suppose.”

      He laughed, a muted chuckle, and shook his head. “They’re about as well off as we are. The shed’s pretty weathertight. You’d do better to worry about yourself. That wind’s blowin’ rain under the eaves. It’s my guess our feet’ll be getting wet before we know it.”

      She glanced down to where the door met the floor. A thin line of water had formed along the crack and begun to invade the room. Even as she watched, it widened and seeped forward, the boards darkening from the dampness.

      “I’ll get a towel,” she said quickly, tugging herself from his grip.

      “Hold on! Tell me where to look. I’ll take care of it.”

      He pulled a chair from the table and lowered her onto it, allowing no excuse. His hands were firm, and Erin subsided quietly. She’d not had anyone show this degree of concern for her well-being in longer than she could remember, save for the storekeeper in the town below.

      “In the box beside the bed,” she directed. Probably one towel wouldn’t do the trick, she decided, watching as the water crept into the room. “You might have to use more than one.”

      “You got that many to spare?” he asked, bending to locate the designated box.

      “Four, but I’d rather keep at least one of them dry.”

      “There were some burlap bags in the shed. Too bad you didn’t store them in here.”

      “They were here to start with,” she said with a downturning of her mouth. “In fact, this whole place was cluttered with more junk.” She shook her head as the memory filled her mind. “The former owner was something of a pack rat, I found. I cleared his trash out the first day I arrived.”

      One hand held the quilt high off the floor as he pushed the towel against the threshold with the other. Then he turned to face her. “How long have you owned this place?”

      She hesitated, wary at his interest. “Three months,” she said reluctantly.

      “I’m curious. You’re a beautiful woman, living on the edge of nowhere all alone. Why.”

      “You’re old enough to know how to contain your curiosity. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it isn’t polite to ask personal questions?” She attempted to insert a note of humor, but the words sounded stark and ungiving to her ears.

      He nodded. “Yes, and she probably would be ashamed of my manners right now. I beg your pardon, ma’am. There are more of us, people like you and me, than I could begin to count, living in the present and trying to forget the past. The West is full of folks looking for a new life.”

      “I’d rather not speak of the past,” Erin told him, more gently, since he’d deigned to apologize.

      “Your choice.” His nod was almost genteel, and she answered it with a like gesture.

      She felt the heat of his gaze as he faced her, his eyes skimming her face before his mouth twitched in an admiring grin. “Is there any coffee left in the pot?” he asked, turning to the stove. “Let me get you some.”

      Erin rose, needing respite from those eyes that regarded her so freely. She shook her head, denying his offer. “I’ll get it. You need to hang your britches over that line. They’ll never get dry, there on the floor. Either that or drape them over the chair in front of the oven door.”

      “You’re right. My other things are in the shed, and I don’t think the weather is going to break for a while. I’m reduced to the quilt, it seems, for now.” He bent, picking up the pants he’d shed, and spread them across the back of the second chair. The underwear he draped on the line, which by now was drooping precariously close to the stove.

      “I’ll add some wood,” Erin said. “I need to put my soup on to cook for dinner.” She poured a cup of steaming coffee for Quinn and motioned to the cream. “There’s plenty if you’d like some to lighten up the flavor. It’s pretty strong.”

      He nodded and splashed a dollop into his cup, watching her as she dug potatoes from a sack she’d hung from the rafters. “Don’t you think we sound pretty formal for a pair of refugees from a storm, sharing your cabin, me wearing your quilt?”

      She looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re the refugee. As soon as the storm is over, you’ll be gone.”

      He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. “I’ve been thinking about that. You know, I’d feel a lot better if you agreed to let me stay on at least long enough to help you with the supplies, like I mentioned before.”

      She turned back to the potatoes, considering his offer. To all appearances, he seemed to be a gentleman, though what such a creature was doing roaming the mountains of Colorado was another puzzle. Perhaps he was a miner. Perhaps.

      “Did you work the mines for a long time?” she asked, depositing three potatoes on the table. Knife in hand, she began peeling them, awaiting his reply.

      “Long enough to know it wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.” His tone was dry, his mouth twisted in a grin. Leaning back in his chair, he allowed the quilt to slide from his shoulders, freeing both arms. “How about you? Were you born in Denver?”

      She shook her head. “No, back east.”

      “St. Louis?” he prodded.

      The man was downright irritating, she decided. Him with all his talk about good manners. “No.” Her reply was a single syllable, firm and to the point.

      He ducked his head, hiding a grin, almost.

      “I’m a widow. I’m going to have a child, and I like living alone. Does that answer all your questions?”

      “No, ma’am, it sure doesn’t. But I suspect that’s all I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

      “If I wanted to be neighborly I’d have found a place with houses on either side of me,” she said quietly. “I came here to be alone, Quinn.”

      “Just one more question, Erin? Please?”

      She looked up at him. He was about as persistent a man as she’d ever met up with. “Just one,” she said finally.

      “Who’s going to help you when the baby comes?” His playful look was gone. Even the admiring light was dimmed as his eyes darkened with concern.

      Her heart thudded heavily within her breast. The bottom line, the end of the road she traveled, and he’d nailed her right where she was most vulnerable. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided what I’ll do when the time comes.”

      His brow rose. “Seems like that would have been the first thing you thought of.”