The Tender Stranger

“No, I’m not,” she admitted in a thin, anxious wail. “I think something’s wrong, Quinn. I don’t know what it feels like to birth a child, but I think that’s what’s happening.”

“How long have you had pains?” He clutched her shoulders as if he would squeeze the answer from her flesh.

“Today, since early on. Several times over the past week or so, but just once in a while.” She chewed at her lip, and he nudged her chin with his finger.

“Don’t, Erin. You’ll draw blood.”

“If the baby comes now, it’ll be too early. He’ll be too small!” Her voice sobbed the final words and he drew her to lean against him, her head drooping to rest on his broad chest.

The pain surged, hitting her again, this time with the strength of a runaway train, and she almost collapsed under the sudden onslaught. Her groan escaped before she could close her lips against its release, and she reached with both hands for the tight rounding of her belly.

“Come on,” Quinn told her, lifting her with ease. “You’ll feel better on the bed.” In moments he’d pulled back the quilts and sheet, easing her down, watching as she curled on her side.

“Let me take off your shoes and stockings,” he said quietly, as if unwilling to mar the silence of her misery.

She nodded, allowing his touch as he slid his hands up her calves beneath the folds of her dress to draw down the round garters she wore, bringing her knit stockings with them. His hands turned her to her back, and she complied.

“Do you think you should get undressed?” he asked, clearly awkward at this stage of her disrobing.

Erin nodded, aware of the cessation of the pain. It had held her in its grip longer, much longer, than the last one and she feared its return.

“I’ll put on my nightgown,” she told him, swinging her legs in an awkward movement to the edge of the bed.

“Where is it?” He watched her, and she realized with a blend of embarrassment and relief that he Was not going to leave her alone.

“Under my pillow.”

He reached past her and grasped the gown, shaking it out and holding it up before himself. “Get your dress off,” he told her, and his tone would brook no argument.

Her fingers were shaking as she unbuttoned her dress and slid it from her arms to the bed. The chemise was next, and she forced herself to tug it up, rising a bit from the bed to draw it over her head, then holding it against her breasts.

Her face flaming, she reached for the hem of the gown, hanging like a shield between man and woman. Quinn was there, just two layers of flannel from view, and she slid the gown over her head, tugging at it, until he lowered it in place.

She pushed her arms into the sleeves and he bent to straighten it on her shoulders, meeting her gaze. He smiled, a mere twitch of his lips, as if he would encourage her thus.

“Stand up and let me get rid of your clothes,” he told her, and she obeyed, rising with his help, as if the process of birth, barely begun, had already robbed her of her strength.

He reached beneath the gown, his hands impersonal and circumspect as he drew her petticoat and drawers down with the voluminous fabric of her dress. Balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder, Erin stepped out of the rumpled pile of fabric, and drew in a deep breath.

The pain was returning. Too soon…too soon! Fear wrapped her in greedy arms as she bit against the bruised lip once more. Only the knowledge that Quinn Yarborough stood between her and the terrible night to come gave her courage.

Only his quiet presence and his hands holding hers in silent support allowed her to close her eyes, gritting her teeth against the raging beast that consumed her.

Chapter Four (#ulink_7cdbe247-ef45-552c-b5ff-ad1a35967d14)

Quinn’s hands were gentle, promising kindness, as did the warm glow of his eyes. Against her chilled flesh his fingers soothed, kneading the muscles of her calves as cramps beset her. His gaze comforted her, though how she sensed the compassion Erin could not have said. Yet there was, within his dark eyes, a generosity of spirit, a silent bathing of her pain, as if he would take it as his own.

And at the same time he was forthright, willing her with his soft-spoken encouragement to be at ease with his presence. For surely he sensed that she was totally unused to being viewed and handled in such a familiar manner by a man. Certainly not a man whose acquaintance she had made only several days ago.

“I’d say this is one hell of a time to get charley horses, ma’am,” he muttered, his hands working-to ease her pain. And as he spoke, he cast her a grin that could only be described as impertinent.

Erin bit at her lip, torn between embarrassment and gratitude. That this man would accept the task of delivering her child was more than she could imagine If he’d hightailed it down the mountain and left her to fend for herself, she would not have blamed him.

Indeed, she’d been stunned speechless when Quinn had taken it upon himself to ready her as best he could for the imminent birth of her babe. He’d lifted her from the bed to deposit her in the rocking chair while he spread a piece of canvas from the shed over her mattress, then covered it with the sheet.

She’d watched, her body convulsing twice in the throes of labor before he finished his task. Quinn’s eyes had watched her closely as she rubbed her belly and moaned at the peak of each throbbing pain. Then, with care, he had held her arm and lifted her from the rocking chair as she made her way back to the bed.

Giving birth was a messy business, she’d already discovered. Her water had broken midway across the floor, and only Quinn’s easy manner had allowed her any degree of calm.

“Happens every time one of God’s creatures gets ready to deliver its burden,” he’d said cheerfully. Then as he cleaned up both her and the floor he’d told her about the various animals he’d helped into the world.

The cramps in her legs had begun soon afterward, and she shivered within the folds of her last clean nightgown.

“You’ve not delivered a child, have you?” Erin managed to ask, trying not to notice as his hands massaged her thigh, where another knotted muscle made her cry out.

“Would you feel better if I told you a tall tale?” he asked, and then smiled as she hesitated to answer.

“I’ve hauled calves and colts into this world. I’ve watched cats and dogs deliver more blind little creatures than you can shake a stick at. And in every case, things worked out as they were supposed to.”

He eased his body straighter, tugging her gown down to cover her knees. “There, that seems to have done the trick.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling the flush creep up from her breasts to bring heat to her face. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I’m just not used to.”

Quinn smiled again, and his eyes were crinkled at the corners. “We’re in this together, honey. I can’t say it’s what I’d have chosen, but I’m sure as hell glad I’m here. You’d be in sad shape if you were facing this alone.”

Erin nodded. “I know that.” And then she drew up her legs, turning her head aside as another pain began its assault. Again the tension mounted, and once more the muscles of her belly and back rebelled as her womb drew in upon itself. Erin closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, her fingers widespread against the hard surface of her abdomen.

“Try to relax,” Quinn said, his own big hands covering hers, as if he would lend his strength to her endeavor.

She nodded, inhaling sharply as the pain reached a pinnacle. It began a downward slide, and she counted the throbbing beats of her heart as her body softened and relaxed against the sheet beneath her.

It was the middle of the night before the pain took a new twist, and Erin cried out for the first time as she was caught up in the vise that gripped her. Barely had she caught her breath when the onslaught began anew.

“Don’t fight against your body,” Quinn murmured, his fingers offering hers a place to grip. She clutched at him, abandoning all pretense of dignity as she was engulfed by the white-hot torture her body could only accept.

Whether it lasted for minutes or hours, she could not have judged. Only the blurred edges of Quinn Yarborough’s face remained in her line of vision, and she squinted her eyes as she sought some measure of reassurance there. If his smile was strained, she ignored it. If his brow was furrowed, she was too intent on her own suffering to pay it any mind.

Survival was the issue, and Erin was determined to find ease from the agony of this night. If that meant using her muscles to push the baby into the cruel realities of the world, then she would do as this man asked and push with all of her strength.

“That’s the way,” Quinn said, his voice coming to her in the mist of her misery. “Push, Erin. Push hard.”

She heard her wail of despair as if it came from another’s mouth, and cringed at the message it delivered.

“I can’t. I can’t do this anymore!” Surely that wasn’t her speaking those words of surrender. Her breath rasped loudly as she inhaled and concentrated on the words Quinn spoke once more.

“Yes, you can! Listen to me, Erin. Take a deep breath again. Now, push. Hear me? Push!” His tone was filled with command now. He’d done with being kind, she decided, and almost laughed at the thought. As if a laugh could have been formed from her throat. As if she could think of anything but the rending of her body.

And then there was a silence that threatened to swallow her whole, perhaps lasting for only a moment after all, ending with the fragile wail of her child. Her mind welcomed it as she was swallowed up by the bed beneath her.