The Tender Stranger. Carolyn Davidson

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СКАЧАТЬ The satisfaction would far outweigh the monetary gain.

      Damian Wentworth had been his boyhood friend, both of them living in the same household. And there the similarity ended.

      The Wentworths were high society. Quinn Yarborough’s mother had been their housekeeper, a job she found after her farmer husband died at a young age and left her to raise a son on her own.

      In those early years, Damian had shared his toys, his pets and his waking hours with the housekeeper’s son. Then, when the time came, they had parted, Damian to attend a fine university, Quinn to make his own way in the world.

      They’d lost touch, only an occasional article in the newspaper keeping Quinn up to date. First the notice of Damian’s wedding, then three years later, an obituary. Sudden death was always suspect, in Quinn’s book.

      The young woman frowned at him, her tone dubious as she questioned his claim. “You found the mother lode? I don’t believe you.”

      He shrugged. “When you’re working for someone else, you don’t get your proper share, you know. I made a bundle, and since I wasn’t lookin’ to be a rich man, it was time to skedaddle. Men have been known to be killed for less than what I carry with me.”

      “Aren’t you afraid to spread that news around?” Her fingers were brisk, stripping the milk from the small cow’s udder, and she concentrated on her task.

      “The only person I’ve told is you, and somehow I don’t think you’re about to rob me blind.”

      She laughed, a short, humorless sound. “You’re probably right, Mr. Yarborough. I’m not much of a threat to anyone.”

      She rose from the stool and bent to pick it up, placing it by the wall. Her hand snatched the pail from disaster as the cow shifted position, one back hoof coming precariously close to the bucket.

      “What would happen if you got hurt out here, all by yourself?” he asked quietly, aware suddenly of her risky situation.

      “These animals are no danger to me,” she answered. “I tend to fear more the two-legged variety that happen this way.”

      “Like me?” He took the bucket from her and carried it to the doorway. She followed, into the daylight where he could see her better.

      She leveled a glance at him, unsmiling. “You could have hurt me already, if you’d a mind to, Mr. Yarborough. Let the chickens out and stake the horses and cow, will you? I’d like them to graze a bit before the storm hits.”

      She took the milk from his grasp, making her way to the cabin, slowly, lest the milk slosh over the edge of the pail. Daisy had given more than usual this morning. Jerseys were not known for quantity of milk, rather the richness of the cream. She’d have plenty for rice pudding today.

      

      “I didn’t plan on having breakfast, Mrs. Peterson.” He’d managed to put away two bowls of oatmeal, swimming in rich cream. The bacon was a little old, but better than none at all. She must be about ready to go to town for supplies.

      He said as much.

      “Winter’s coming on,” she admitted. “I’ll need to stock up. Things will keep better once it gets colder out.”

      “I’d be happy to give you a hand with supplies before I move along.” He leaned back in his chair, the casual suggestion coming as if it were of no account one way or the other.

      She looked at him across the table, her face flushed from the heat of the stove. “You mean, go to town with me? And wouldn’t that make me the talk of Pine Creek?”

      His jaw tightened, and he felt the clench of it narrow his gaze. “Not with me around, ma’am. I’d not treat you as anything but a lady. Any man with eyes in his head could see that you might need a hand, getting ready for winter.”

      “I’ll be fine.” Her mouth thinned, and she bent over her bowl.

      “You sending me on my way?”

      She looked up, and her eyes skimmed his features, as if she looked for assurance of his credibility. “Not till after the storm,” she said finally, waving her spoon at the window. “It looks like it’s going to blow up very soon now.”

      The sky had indeed darkened, the trees being whipped by the wind. He rose and walked to the door, opening it to look outside. The chickens gathered in a clutch near the shed, pecking away at anything that moved, clucking softly as they stepped carefully about in a tight circle.

      A shimmering flash of lightning lit the sky across the valley below, and a crack of thunder met his ears. The cow lifted her head from the edge of the meadow and lowed impatiently. The horses shifted their ears, grazing as if they must eat their fill before the rain came down.

      Behind him, Erin stirred, her chair scraping across the rough floor. He set his jaw. Getting her to town was taken care of. From there to New York promised to present a multitude of problems.

      The cow would be left on her own, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d take the horses and enough supplies to get them through the mountain passes. It would take a couple of days to reach Denver, with her being a good size already.

      Ted Wentworth was a sly one, all right. Not one word about the girl being in the family way. Whether that would have made a difference or not was a moot question, Quinn decided. He was here now. And if he were making a guess, he’d say she was well past the halfway mark.

      “Mr. Yarborough?” She was behind him, and he turned to face her.

      “Don’t you think the animals should be brought in? I’d not like them to be hit by lightning.” She moved to the window and looked outside. Her hand was pressed against her back and she wore the trace of a frown.

      “I’ll get them in,” he told her quickly

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ