The Tender Stranger. Carolyn Davidson

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СКАЧАТЬ that might not be a bad idea. She’d have chicken for dinner three days in a row should that happen.

      She climbed the two steps to the shallow porch and opened the door, inhaling the scent of baking cornbread. Carrying the milk pail to the farthest corner from the stove, she covered it with a clean cloth and headed back to latch the door for the night.

      From the shed a whinny pierced the air. An answering call resounded from beyond the clearing, and Erin held the door in place, only a crack allowing her to peer outside.

      “Hello, the house!”

      It was a deeply masculine voice, rough and forceful, and she drew in a quick breath, sensing danger there in the twilight. Beneath the trees edging her property she could barely make out the horseman, silent now, mounted upon a horse so dark it almost blended into the dusk.

      “May I come closer?” the man called.

      Erin’s heart was pounding at a rapid pace, and she felt a moment’s dizziness as she leaned against the barely opened door. Then with a deep breath she forced strength into her words.

      “What do you want? I have a gun.”

      “I’d be surprised if you didn’t, ma’am.” The horse stepped from the trees and walked toward the cabin, the man a shadowed figure, hat drawn down, shoulders wide, seemingly at one with the animal he rode.

      Erin reached for the shotgun she kept in the corner, then pushed the door open a bit farther.

      He’d almost reached the porch, and she shivered at the unknown danger he represented. It might be more sensible to shoot first and ask questions later, she supposed. Still, if he were set on harming her, he probably wouldn’t have ridden up so openly. Besides, it would be a mess she’d rather not clean up if she didn’t have to.

      “Ma’am? I’d like to talk to you. Can I come in?” His rough tones were more like a west wind in the pines, not rasping as she’d first thought. It was as if he hadn’t spoken in a long while and his words had grown rusty in the meantime.

      “Stay where you are, stranger,” she said forcefully, the gun barrel in full view. “Speak your piece.”

      “I need a place to harbor for the night. It’s settin’ to storm out there and my horse is averse to getting wet. Can I use your shed for shelter?”

      Erin squinted in the twilight, unable to see his features. “Take off your hat, mister.”

      He obeyed, his fingers long against the wide brim. The other hand rose to sweep through his hair, combing it back with a casual movement.

      Her gaze swept over him, the long length of his body apparent even astride the big horse. He was deeply tanned from what she could tell, dark hair hanging to his collar, a somber look about his features. A long gun in a scabbard alongside his saddle was the only visible weapon, though she doubted if it was the only one he carried.

      “Get down, mister. I’ll leave a plate of cornbread on the porch for you. You can stay the night, but I don’t have an empty stall. Your horse will have to be tied to the wall.”

      He nodded. “Much obliged, ma’am. I’ll appreciate the meal. It’s been a long time since noon.”

      “You come up the mountain from Pine Creek?” she asked, suspicion rife in her tone.

      He shook his head. “No, across from Big Bertha on the other side.”

      The mine was about played out, but there were still men working it. Maybe he’d been let go, like so many others, once the mother lode had ceased to produce in any measure. The clerk in the store at Pine Creek had filled her in on the surrounding territory when she arrived, and Erin had listened avidly. It paid to know her surroundings.

      “All right, you can stay the night,” she repeated abruptly, closing the door as he turned toward the shed.

      Drawing the pan of cornbread from the oven, she cut a large square, centering it on a thick plate, one of the two that had come with the cabin. A dollop of butter at the edge of the plate, along with a knife and fork, completed her offering. She opened the door slowly and bent to place the food at the edge of the porch, once ascertaining he was not in view.

      “On second thought.” she said after a moment, turning back to the stove. Her common courtesy demanded more, and she filled a mug with steaming coffee from the pot resting on the back burner.

      As she opened the door again, the visitor looked up from the edge of the porch, his hand reaching for the plate. His eyes were dark, narrowing as the light from inside illuminated his face.

      “Ma’am? Something wrong?” he asked. And then his mouth twisted into a one-sided smile as he spotted the cup she held.

      She stepped warily from the doorway, holding the coffee in his direction, and he took it from her, his fingers careful not to infringe on her grip.

      “Thank you. It’s most appreciated.” His eyes widened a bit as he scanned her form, then hesitated as his gaze came to rest on her swollen belly.

      “You all right, up here by yourself?” he asked quietly.

      “What makes you think I’m alone?” she asked, backing into the cabin. Her heart was thumping, her cheeks felt flushed, and she leaned against the doorjamb.

      “Dunno. Guess I took it for granted. Didn’t see a man around. Not much room in there to hide anybody, is there?” His smile was wider, but his look was unchanging, dark and piercing.

      “I do all right, mister. Just go eat your meal.” She closed the door and leaned against it, her head back. This wasn’t what she’d bargained for, this stranger at her doorstep.

      She’d hoped for solitude here, prayed for safety and expected to be ignored. No one back east knew where she was. Even the man at the store thought she was a widow lady named Mrs. Peterson. That he also probably thought she was a bit eccentric, maybe even unbalanced, living alone on the side of a mountain all winter, could not be avoided.

      Her cornbread tasted flat, the coffee strong, and the milk she drank was too warm to be refreshing.

      “You ruined my supper, mister,” she muttered, turning down the wick on the kerosene lamp before she readied herself for bed. Her flannel gown was big, bought large enough to accommodate her increasing bulk, and she wrapped it around herself as she curled in the middle of the bed.

      The window allowed moonlight to cast its glow against the floor, and she watched as shadows flitted across the glass panes. An owl, from the size of it, then another night bird. Leaves from the hardwoods at the edge of the clearing would be on the ground by morning, what with the wind blowing up a storm.

      Her eyes closed and she opened them with effort, hearing a horse call from the shed. Maybe the chicken would cluck outside the door and he’d let her in. Probably wasn’t cold enough to freeze the creature, anyway.

      

      The morning dawned with a red glow, the sun behind hazy clouds, barely peeking through. It hadn’t rained much, but there was a storm still brewing out there.

      Erin dressed quickly before she turned to the stove, shaking down the ashes and stoking СКАЧАТЬ