are you planning to get back to town?” He couldn’t stand it anymore; he moved down the steps and reached out to pry the small trunk from her grasp, then slid it onto his shoulder. “Walk? I don’t see a horse.”
“Oh, I don’t ride horses.” He grinned. “What do you do with them?”
“I.” She blinked, then recovered. “Nothing.”
“You certainly can’t walk all that way. I’d be more than happy to give you a ride.” He glanced at the two large trunks still on his porch. “And your luggage.”
“I’m sure you have better things to do. Fix your pump, for one.”
“I’ve got time. I feel badly about what happened back there.” Not as badly as Adam was going to, though. “Let’s just forget that, shall we?” she asked primly. “Sure.” Remembering the hurt that had flared in her eyes when he’d laughed at her assumption of marriage, Riley felt his conscience twinge. “If you need anything while you’re in Whirlwind, anything at all, you let me know.”
He reached out and took the valise from under her arm. The back of his hand brushed the underside of her breast, and she stiffened, her gaze flying to his. Damn.
For an instant, they stared at each other. Susannah stepped away, nervously fingering the fastening of her cape. Her movement jerked him back to attention.
His hand burned as if he were still touching her. She might be slight, but there was nothing wanting about those breasts, which were fuller than they appeared under her wrap. He turned for the barn. “Let me hitch Pru to the wagon. I’ll get you back to town.”
Susannah Phelps wasn’t his responsibility, but she was the sister of his good friend. He would get her back to Whirlwind, even back to St. Louis. And he would get some answers in the process.
After hitching the bay mare to the buckboard, he drove around to the front of the house and loaded Susannah’s trunks into the back. Lines of fatigue pulled at the magnolia-smooth skin around her clear blue eyes, tightened lips that were temptingly kissable. He wished he weren’t so aware of the exhaustion etched on her face, the slight droop to her shoulders, the careful stiffness of her movements as he handed her into the wagon. If she’d ridden the stage all day, and then Baldwin’s buckboard out to the Rocking H, she had to be sore. He hated riding in both contraptions.
“You all right?”
“Yes,” she answered a touch impatiently.
Reaching under the seat, he pulled out a blanket. He shook out the dust, then refolded it and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” Looking surprised, she gave him a grateful smile.
She was a dandy, sleekly curved just like a Thoroughbred. Her creamy skin begged a man to touch it, see if it was as soft as it looked. Her eyes reflected every emotion like a pool of clear water.
Hell. He pulled himself into the wagon and picked up the reins. Adam knew Riley would never marry again, certainly not a lady who probably couldn’t even lift a full bucket of water on her own. It took a special breed of woman to live here. Even those who could didn’t always survive. Riley’s own mother had been strong, had birthed two big sons, but she had died in her sleep two years ago. Her heart had just given out.
His father, Ben, had passed last year, still grieving for Lorelai Holt. He’d built her this ridiculously fine house in the middle of the plains, and she’d lived in it less than three years.
Already Susannah’s magnolia skin had reddened under the October sun and she looked about to wilt. Riley would take her to town, wire Adam to let him know his plan hadn’t worked. Whatever that plan was.
Riley clucked to the horse and slid a sideways glance at Susannah. She sat straight and stiff as a rod next to him, her skirts pressed as tight to her as she could get them. Her other hand, white-knuckled, gripped the seat.
“Adam’s been known to play a practical joke, but never anything like this.”
She murmured something incoherent.
“Why do you think he did it?”
She glanced over, a sudden wariness sliding into her blue eyes. “I guess he had his reasons.”
And she knew what they were, the little baggage! Riley knew by the set of her jaw as she turned away that she wasn’t going to tell him. He resented the flicker of admiration he felt at the sight of a little backbone. Little sister could keep Adam’s secrets. Riley would get his answers soon enough.
The silence between them swelled. She looked uncomfortable and color rode high on her finely honed cheekbones.
“Peppermint?” He offered her a short stick of the candy, fresh from his shirt pocket.
Her gaze dipped to his hand, lingered on the sweet. “No, thank you.”
He nodded and popped the candy into his mouth. He understood her embarrassment. Adam had put them both in an awkward position.
They rode with only the noise of creaking wagon wheels and cawing crows until he topped a hill and saw Whirlwind sprawled out in front of him in its neat T-shaped layout. To the northeast, about eight miles from town, sat Fort Greer.
“Where should I take you? Do you have a place to stay? I can get you a stage ticket to Abilene, so you can catch the train back to St. Louis.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He slid her a look. “I’ll take you to the Whirlwind Hotel. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean.”
And Riley would pay for her room. He told himself that should’ve eased his conscience. He was doing what he could, what he should. She certainly couldn’t stay with him at the Rocking H, not without a chaperon.
A hammer rang against metal as they approached a barnlike building at the edge of town, and Riley lifted a hand in greeting as he drove past Ef Gerard’s blacksmith shop. The burly man, with muscles bulging in his glistening, thick black arms, returned the wave. Blatant curiosity burned in his coffee-colored eyes as he caught sight of Susannah.
Being a Friday afternoon, the town was still relatively quiet. There was no activity outside the livery or the saloon right across the street. Cowboys from nearby ranches or passing cattle drives would change that in a few short hours. They would come to town to spend their pay on whiskey and women, but Susannah would be safe inside the hotel.
Businesses lined both sides of the double-wagon-width main street, with the church-cum-schoolhouse crowning the center point of the T, a north-south street aptly named North. Homes were scattered on either side of the steepled frame building. As his wagon ambled up Whirlwind’s main thoroughfare, Riley caught sight of his brother, Davis Lee Holt, in the sheriff’s office. Good. Riley wanted to talk to him.
The mare plodded past Pearl Anderson’s restaurant, the Pearl, then the telegraph office, which also served as the post office. Across the street, Haskell’s General Store was doing a brisk business. On the same side as the saloon, the store was flanked by the newly opened Prairie Caller newspaper on one side and Cal Doyle’s law office on the other. A neat, tidy frame building on the corner was home to the other Doyle brother, Jed, a gunsmith.
Easing the wagon
