The hay was tossed to the horses and Daisy, the hens were ignored, and the lantern turned off within minutes. Quinn carried the pail of milk, closing the shed door with one hand, then reaching to grasp Erin’s arm as they headed to the cabin.
The trip to town hung in abeyance for two days. The trail was too wet to travel in safety, Quinn decided, and Erin had to agree.
“I didn’t plan on going down the mountain for at least another week,” she told him after three days of watching him take over her chores, with the exception of milking. He’d shot a pair of rabbits and skinned them out, gutting them at the edge of the woods, then washing them in the creek.
She’d been pleased, frying the small pieces in the skillet and cooking rice atop the stove. “They sure don’t carry a lot of meat on their bones, do they?” she’d said over supper.
“Run it off, probably.”
“Do you think it will snow before long?” she asked, her thoughts darting ahead to the long winter months.
“I’m surprised it hasn’t- already.” He licked his fingers and reached for another piece of meat. “We’re pushing it, waiting till tomorrow to head out.”
“I’ll be ready early,” she told him. “I got out my heavy cloak and a pair of britches I bought to ride in.”
“You’re sure you’ll be all right? Riding, I mean?” His look was dubious.
She glanced up. “Of course I will. I’m healthy.” She forced from her mind the harsh pains she’d suffered through twice since he’d arrived.
“We’ll leave as soon as we take care of the animals.”
She gave him a nod, rising to clear the table and clean up the dishes.
The sky was cloudy, but the mud had dried considerably. Leaves covered parts of the trail and Quinn rode slowly, keeping Erin behind him, lest the mare lose her footing and send her rider tumbling.
“It’s going to take all day to get there if we don’t move faster,” she complained behind him.
“Then we’ll stay there overnight if we have to,” he said patiently. “There’s no way to hurry when you don’t know what’s under the leaves, and the ground is still mushy in spots.”
She subsided, aware of his greater knowledge, and tried for good humor. The jolting when the mare broke into a trot jarred her back and made her bite her lip, but there was no way she would snivel. The least she could do was ride along without complaining.
They gained the edge of town well after noon and spent an hour in the general store. The storekeeper wanted to talk, and Quinn was hard-pressed to be polite. Only the advent of the sheriff bursting in the door to haul the merchant away to help fight a fire on the outskirts of town halted the man’s stream of conversation.
“Do we need to stay and help?” Erin asked, looking over her shoulder at the red blaze in the sky. They rode in the opposite direction, and she felt somehow guilty for leaving while others might be in peril.
“The sheriff said the woman was safe, and it was too late to do anything for her husband. We need to be out of the trees before it gets full dark, Erin. I don’t want to be straggling around looking for the trail at midnight.” His words sounded sensible to her, but the urge to remain and offer aid was strong within her breast.
She subsided, following him down the rutted road, the trail climbing quickly once they passed the last of a long string of houses. “The farther from the middle of town we go, the shabbier the houses get, Quinn. Did you notice?” she asked.
“Folks out here can’t afford much,” he said. “They need room for a garden. Most of them can’t get everything store-bought.”
Just beyond the last dwelling, a woman dug determinedly beside her home, and Erin slowed down. “Do you think she’d have any extra potatoes? I’ll bet that’s what she’s digging.”
Quinn pulled his horse up, the packhorse halting behind him. “Could be. You want some?”
She nodded. “I’m almost out. I’ve been pretty stingy with them. They weigh too much to carry.”
“My horse can handle them,” Quinn offered, riding to the side of the fenced-in area that held a small house where several children played near the doorway.
He paid rather more than Erin thought the potatoes were worth, but the woman looked surprised and pleased at her good fortune as she provided a sack to contain them, and Erin didn’t have the heart to scold Quinn for his generosity. She smiled a last time at the bedraggled creature, waving at the children, before she turned forward to follow his lead.
The trees enclosed them in a cocoon of stillness, the wind muted by the tall trees and dense undergrowth. They rode for hours, mostly in silence, Quinn holding up a hand once as Erin would have spoken to him.
And then she understood as he slid his rifle from the scabbard and motioned again with a finger against his lips. Just ahead, a buck deer stood in the middle of the trail, its spike horn antlers proudly angled. She almost called out, dreading the sight of the elegant creature lying on the ground, its life’s blood draining.
Her good sense prevailed and she only winced as Quinn’s shot went home, downing the buck without any flurry. He keeled over as if he’d been struck on the head, and Quinn was off his horse in an instant, looping his reins over a branch.
“This won’t take long,” he assured her. “I’ll just gut it out and hang it. I can come back in the morning and haul it to the cabin.” Taking off his coat, he hooked it on the saddle horn and drew his knife.
She watched in awe and with more than a trace of reluctance as he cleaned the deer, finally tying its back feet together and throwing the rope over a branch. He hauled the carcass high, with what looked like a minimum of effort to her, yet his muscles strained against the gray fabric of his shirt. The end of the rope was tied to a second tree, and they were on their way once more.
The rest of the ride was a blur in her mind, her body weary, her eyes yearning for slumber. Finally, the cabin a shadowed haven before them, Quinn came to her, lifting her from the mare and holding her shoulders while she gained her balance.
“Thank you.” She looked up at him, savoring the warm touch of his hands, which penetrated the heavy coat. Then, as if she could not meet his gaze any longer, looked over his shoulder where the moon chased the last of the twilight from the sky. “I can’t thank you enough for your help,” she said softly, moving from his touch to reach for her saddlebags.
His big hands halted her attempt, and he shook his head. “You go on in the house and get washed up for bed,” he told her. “I’ll be done in no time. I’m going to try milking Daisy. If I can’t get the job done, you can come out and finish. Is that a deal?”
She nodded, too tired to argue, too weary to be prideful. “I’ll cut some cheese from the round I bought and slice some bread.”
“Put the coffeepot on the front burner. There should be enough left from this morning to heat up,” he told her. He watched as she made her way to the porch, then up the two steps to the door.
She lit the lantern, fed the ever-hungry stove and found warm water in the big kettle. The cloth was rough, but the warm, clean water was refreshing, and she closed her eyes at the pleasure.
She was asleep when he came in, the lantern over the table flickering at its lowest level. The simple food was ready for him and he ate it, washing it down with coffee.
He eyed her for a moment, curled in the center of the bed, boots off, but still clothed. Her body weighed less than he expected, he thought as he lifted her and pulled the quilts down. He placed her back