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eyes as he scanned her well-covered form, his gaze alert after only a moment. She’d felt warmed by it. Still did, if the truth be known.
    Yet, despite that, he was a gentleman. She owed him an apology for that remark. He’d only sought a warm spot to spend the night, and borrowed a quilt to add to his comfort.
    And that gentleman would be looking for breakfast before too long, if she knew anything about it. Bending to her carpetbag, where she stored her clean clothing, Erin drew forth a dress and donned it quickly. Her soft shoes were by the stove and she made her way there, buttoning her bodice as she went.
    And then waited.
    The sun was over the meadow by the time she heard his horse whinny. She was at the door in an instant, drawing it open to seek his whereabouts. Across the yard, just beyond the shed, Quinn rode at an easy trot, the carcass of the deer across his horse’s haunches.
    He raised a hand to wave at her and she lifted hers inresponse, trying in vain to suppress the delight that would not be denied.
    For over an hour she’d thought he was gone, that her fit of pique had sent him on his way. If she’d used her head she’d have remembered his promise to head out first thing and bring back the deer he’d shot.
    “The coffee’s hot,” she called out, and smiled at his answering wave.
    “Give me fifteen minutes,” he answered. “Have you milked yet?”
    “No, I knew you’d done it late last night. I found the pail in the corner, so I knew she’d be all right for a while.”
    Quinn nodded, dismounting and leading his horse to a tree near the cabin. “I did. Just let me hang this deer and I’ll wash up.”
    She’d baked biscuits earlier and kept them warm on the back of the stove. Her skillet was full of gravy, made with freshly ground sausage she’d bought yesterday. The gravy had thickened, and Erin dipped milk from the pail he’d brought in last night to thin it out.
    She was pouring coffee when he came in the door.
    “That buck’s a young one. Should be tender,” he told her, scooping soap from the crock she kept on the sinkboard. He washed up, then dried his hands, his gaze pinning her in place.
    “You still mad at me?” The question was blunt and to the point, and she felt a flush sweep up over her cheeks.
    “No.” She motioned to the table. “Come sit down.
    I’ve made gravy for the biscuits. I suspect you’re hungry.”
    “Never thought I’d be tempted by raw meat before, but that deer was lookin’ pretty good by the time I gotback with it.” Quinn’s voice held more than a hint of good humor, and Erin chanced a look at him.
    He was opening biscuits, three of them making a circle on the chipped plate. The skillet of gravy was in the middle of the table and he took the handle with care, holding it with her dish towel.
    “Looks good,” he said, and then glanced up. “You ready for some?”
    She nodded and he ladled a generous portion onto her single biscuit. The steam rose and he inhaled sharply, sniffing the spicy aroma with appreciation. With the first forkful on its way to his mouth, he remembered his manners.
    “Thanks for cooking, Erin. I appreciate it.”
    She felt the flush return. “It was the least I could do…Quinn. You’ve been more than generous with your time.”
    He shrugged. “Seems to me we’re about even on that score. You let me take shelter from the weather, and I returned the favor another way.”
    Her question, burning in her mind for three days, could wait no longer. “Where are you headed, Quinn? After you leave here, I mean,” she asked cautiously, knowing it was an infringement on his privacy. She’d heard in town that one never asked questions in the West, but took folks at their face value.
    “Nowhere for a while,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got a deer to butcher and take care of.”
    She made an impatient gesture. “You know what I mean. Where were you going when you showed up here? Where will you go when you leave here?”
    His