Carolyn Davidson Read Online Free Page A

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 andseeped 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 steamingcoffee 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