Carolyn Davidson by The Tender Stranger Page A

her shoulder.
    The small mouth pursed, the brow furrowed and the downy head turned from one side to the other, as if he sought the warmth he’d been deprived of.
    “Do you think he’s still hungry?” Quinn asked, reaching to touch the soft, dark hair.
    “Maybe so.” Erin nodded, turning the infant to her other arm, arranging her clothing and nudging the tiny mouth against her breast.
    He was not nearly so greedy now, his hunger pangs numbed by the milk he’d gulped down. But the overflowing supply he was offered was tempting and he began suckling with enthusiasm. His splayed fingers were the size of matchsticks against Erin’s breast and he snuffled and snorted as he nursed.
    Quinn took off his coat, hanging it by the door, andheaded for the stove. The baby had taken his attention for several hours. Now his hunger demanded relief, and the scent of food cooking reached his nostrils.
    “Will you eat with me?” he asked, lifting the lid to peer within the kettle. His sigh of appreciation was heartfelt. He settled the lid into place, heading to the washbasin quickly to make ready for supper.
    “Yes.” Her appetite was back, her stomach ready for nourishment, as if she must be fed in order to satisfy the child she held. The child she’d been sent by the Fates that decreed such things.
    “Will there be someone coming up here looking for him?” she asked. “Does he have any family anywhere?”
    Quinn looked up, his hands busy with dishing up the stew into two crockery bowls. “Doc said they were trying to locate family, but most everything got burned up in the fire. I guess they don’t know where to look.”
    Erin’s arms tightened protectively. “I’ll keep him.” Her words were taut with emotion. “He’s not my own, but I can’t help but think that he’s like an answer to my prayers. I wouldn’t have wished for his mama to die, Quinn.” Her gaze was frightened as she looked at him. “You know better than that. It’s just that…he needs me, and God knows I need him.”
    Quinn nodded. “I wouldn’t think that, honey. I know you well enough, even in just the short time I’ve been here. I’d never think that of you, that you’d wish suffering on another. I’d like to think his mama knows somehow that her child is being cared for.” He grinned, a mere lifting of one side of his mouth. “Sound kinda sappy, don’t I?”
    Erin shook her head. And then stiffened as a whinny from outside sounded loudly.
    “I forgot my horse!” Quinn’s movements were hasty as he dumped the stew back into the kettle. He snatched up his coat and pulled his hat on. “I’ll only be a few minutes, honey. I’ll milk after we eat. There’s a whole satchel of stuff Doc’s housekeeper sent for the baby. I’ll bring it in with me.”
    He was gone, the door latching behind him. Erin leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.
    That such a miracle could come to be was beyond her wildest imaginings. That such a gift as this could be hers was more than she’d ever hoped. That the tiny mite buried beneath the trees across the clearing was still alive in her heart was a certainty, but the welcome weight of a child in her arms was easing the crushing hurt she’d borne.
    For all of that, and for the man who even now was making his way to the shed, and from there back into her presence, she was filled with gratitude. Her mouth whispered the words and her heart echoed the syllables with each measured beat within her breast.
    “Thank you, God. Thank you.”
    “You’re crying again.” Exasperation lined his words as Quinn tilted Erin’s chin up, his mouth set in a straight line. “Didn’t the camphorated oil help?” Male frustration made his voice harsh and he watched as twin trickles made their way down her face, the tears dampening the front of her gown.
    “I’m fine, Quinn, really.” Erin blinked, as if attempting to halt the tears that overflowed, but to no avail. That single fingertip