The Tender Stranger

“I’ll help.” She turned away from the sight of lightning, and winced as the thunder clapped overhead.

“You stay indoors.” There was no sense in her trotting to the meadow and back, hauling animals around. The dumb Chickens would no doubt be glad of the chance to get inside once he opened the door. The rest he could handle in ten minutes.

She didn’t argue, and he left with a last glance in her direction. She was pale, biting her lip, and if he was any judge at all, he’d say she was hurting.

The pain was back, this time a little harder, spreading from her front to the back, where it gripped with a tenacious hold on her spine. She’d had it several times lately, but this was the worst, and without any reason she could see. No bending, stretching or lifting to bring it on. Just a sudden hot flash of pain that took her breath.

She sat down carefully and leaned her head forward, cradling it with her arms against the hard table. The baby hadn’t moved much lately, and it worried her. Her eyes were damp with tears, and she held them back ruthlessly. She would not cry, not now, not with that man here to see.

She stood, the pain easing a bit. The dishes were a small matter, barely taking up space in the dishpan. Her utensils were sparse—only a skillet, a stew pot and a tin for pone. They soaked in warm water from the stove, her big kettle always heating. She’d had to pack lightly, coming here, but fortunately, old Mr. Gleason had left behind everything he owned.

None of his belongings had been clean, but she knew how to scrub and scour, and the place was as tidy as she could make it. She’d bought lye to make soap and followed the directions from the storekeeper’s mother.

Quite a pioneer she’d become, she thought with a smile. There, the pain was gone. Just a random hitch in her back, she decided, relieved as she bent and twisted a bit, only to find it vanished.

Another flash of lightning lit the inside of the cabin, and she shivered as the thunder cracked ominously on its heels. From outside a sharp whinny sounded, and she caught sight of Quinn Yarborough striding across the meadow with two horses in tow. They were cavorting, their ears back as they reared against the restraint of the lines he held.

He drew them in, and within seconds had them close to the shed. As he opened the door, the hens fluttered and squawked, fighting to get inside. He followed them in, the horses eager to be out of the weather.

Erin moved to the porch, looking anxiously to where her cow was staked. Quinn’s big stallion tugged at his tether just beyond Daisy, and in no time at all Quinn had run across the yard and onto the meadow to snatch their lead ropes from the stakes he’d driven into the ground.

The stallion pranced sideways and Daisy lowed piteously, both of them apparently fearful of the coming storm. The sky opened and a cloudburst hit the man and beasts without warning. One moment it was windy and dark, bulging clouds scudding across a lowering sky. The next, they had opened and poured out their burden.

Within a minute, Quinn had hightailed his charges inside the shed and the door had slid shut. And just that quickly, the rainstorm changed, turning to a steady but softly falling shower.

Quinn opened the shed door and looked across the yard at her. She’d backed up against the house, only the shallow porch roof sheltering her, and he frowned, waving his hand.

“Go on in the cabin,” he called. “I’ll be right in.”

“Bossy!” She sniffed her irritation at the man. They were all alike, wanting to tell the women around them what to do. Almost as bad as Damian Wentworth had been. Certainly as bad as his father.

Just stay here, with us. It’s what Damian would havewanted. We’ll take care of you, he’d said, his arrogance matching that of his late son.

And take care of her they would have. But all they wanted was the baby, of that she was certain. She’d have been out in the cold once the baby was born, had she stayed.

And if she knew anything about it, they were probably scouring the country for her, even now.

Men! It would be forever before she was ready to allow another one to run her life. The memory of harsh hands and cruel words was too fresh to be forgotten, and she had determined to put the past behind her and form a new life for herself and her child.

The sight of Quinn Yarborough’s long legs jumping over the worst of the low spots in the yard brought her to herself, and Erin opened the door for him. He paused at her side on the porch, glaring at her damp cheeks, where an occasional raindrop had blown beneath her shelter.

“I told you to go inside.” He stripped off the soaking wet shirt he wore and shed his boots, picking them up to carry them within. Then he waited for her to step through the doorway ahead of him.

“So you did. I don’t take orders well.”

His look was shot with wry humor. “I noticed.” He moved to the stove, pulling a length of twine from his pocket. A line from one wall to the other was quickly strung and he laid his shirt over it. His boots stood in front of the oven door, and he looked at Erin with the first trace of uncertainty she’d seen on his face.

“I want to strip off my pants to dry. Do you mind?”

She shook her head and walked to the window, giving him the privacy he’d asked for. She’d lit the kerosene lamp earlier, and now its glow permeated corners of the small room.

It wasn’t until she’d gazed for several moments out into the rain that she realized the window was acting much like a mirror, and his every move was apparent to her view.

Quinn was stripping her quilt from the bed to wrap around himself, and she caught a glimpse of his tall frame and an abundance of pale flesh as he did so.

Her cheeks flaming, 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 (#ulink_540da1d5-78e3-52d1-a926-4af1dd567326)

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.