was up to her to provide for her child’s every need—food, a home, love and security. Even if it meant marrying a man she didn’t know.
Miss Wentworth and her parents aside, Susannah had to go through with it. Squaring her shoulders, she knocked.
When there was no answer, she knocked again. Uncertainty tightened her already dry throat. Surely Riley was here. He had to be here.
Skirting the mound of baggage Matthew Baldwin had stacked before she’d insisted he leave her alone at the ranch, she walked to the east end of the veranda. The long stretch of porch that ran the length of the house was empty. Only a whitewashed windmill broke up the expansive acres of prairie grass. She certainly hadn’t expected a windmill, usually rare in these parts. Down a soft slope, red long-horned cattle roamed.
Susannah walked back across the front and to the opposite end of the porch, her gaze skipping over a spring house next to the main house. A weathered but sturdy barn stood several yards away. A clang sounded from inside. She straightened.
Nerves prickled at the back of her neck and she balled her gloves in one hand. She returned to the steps, her lace-up travel boots clicking hollowly on the wood. After a slight hesitation, she started toward the barn. The clanging sounded again, sharp and metallic. She sucked in a deep breath and struggled to calm her nerves.
The pungent odors of animals and manure drifted to her. She wrinkled her nose and kept moving, despite feeling disconnected and a little lost.
Wide double doors were slid back, revealing the barn’s hazy interior and another opening of the same size at the opposite end. Metal smacked metal twice, then was followed by a curse.
The husky baritone caused an odd flutter in her stomach, a flutter that had nothing to do with the baby. She stepped forward, out of the cool sunshine and into the dim barn.
After a moment, she was able to define the row of stalls on either wall, the slatted doors, bridles hanging neatly on each wooden beam that separated the cubicles. Saddles were draped over the stable walls, from behind which big, dark eyes stared at her.
Horses. She inched back against the door, curled her fingers around its edge. The sharp clang of metal sounded to her left and she turned.
A man bent over a pump, his back to her. Despite the shadows, she could see the span of broad shoulders beneath the white shirt. Even thinking himself unobserved, he seemed to command attention, filling the space with some undefinable aura of power.
Suddenly, as if he felt her presence, he straightened and turned, freezing when he saw her. He moved out of the shadows, holding a greasy wrench. His hard, even features were blatantly male, compellingly confident. Had Adam told her Riley was so big?
So … intimidating?
Spurred by nerves and uncertainty, she blurted, “I’m here.”
One dark brown eyebrow arched. “Uh, yes, you are.”
Oh, bother. She hadn’t once practiced saying that. Frustrated and uncertain, she rubbed her forehead. “I mean, hello.” Riley stepped into the light then, and she saw that his eyes were a piercing blue. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m Susannah. Phelps?” He grinned. “Are you asking me?”
“No! I am. Susannah Phelps, I mean.” She gave a wobbly smile.
“Adam’s sister?”
“Yes.” Relief washed through her and she smiled more widely, dismayed to realize she’d crushed her gloves into a ball. “You received Adam’s telegraph?”
“Yes.” Still looking surprised, he tossed the wrench aside, then pulled a rag from the back pocket of his denim trousers and began wiping his hands. “What are you doing out here? How did you get here?”
“I thought … didn’t Adam tell you I was coming?”
“Yes. Well, to Whirlwind.”
“Oh, good.” A beam of sunlight showed up the gold in Riley’s sun-streaked brown hair and angled over his bronzed features. His blue eyes set her pulse to pounding.
Nothing about this man was pretty or soft or gentle. Strength and power carved every line of his body. His worn white shirt molded a wide shelf of shoulders, a deep chest. He was commanding and rugged and authoritative.
That intent gaze suggested a leashed restlessness, as if he were surrounded on all sides by walls or worse, a firing squad. A raw tension vibrated from him, belying the polite smile that never really reached his eyes, the low calm voice. Everything about him spoke of hard work and labor and sweat, a far cry from the men who’d squired Susannah about, men who spent their days in their father’s law office or shipping business. Riley was a man of the land who owned his world.
His gaze skimmed over her, from her loose chignon to her dusty shoes. A wariness slid into his eyes, and something sharp, hungry.
Though he’d become fast friends with Adam at university nine years before, Riley had never returned Adam’s visits or come to St. Louis. But Susannah had seen a photograph of him with her brother. The grainy image looked nothing like this man. The poor reflection certainly couldn’t capture the blue of his eyes or the power in that body.
His gaze dropped to her lips and her pulse tripped. Taking a step back, she pressed closer to the door. He made her as nervous as those horses did. There was a restive energy about him that reminded her of the animals, as if he were too wild to be confined.
He looked away, shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t realize you were coming to the ranch.”
“Oh. Yes.” She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, glad she’d taken the time at the stage depot to brush out her skirt and wash her face. Still, she would’ve liked a bath. She felt awkward and unwelcome. “I’ve interrupted you.”
“Just working on the pump.”
He seemed to be waiting for her to say something else. When she didn’t, he frowned, tucked the dirty rag back in his pocket. “How was your trip? Did you take the stage?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you staying?”
Maybe that jarring stage ride had addled her brain, but she suddenly felt as if she were in the wrong place. Susannah frowned.
Riley studied her. “Adam sounds happy in his new marriage.”
“Oh, he is.” Pressure tightening her chest, Susannah rushed to take advantage of the opening Riley had given her. “Pardon me for being forward, but don’t you think we should discuss the marriage?”
He stared blankly at her.
“I’m in agreement. Are … you?”
Tilting his head, he studied her, shadows softening the hard angles of his face. “Sure. I think Adam will be happy.”
Oh, dear. Her hands fluttered to her throat. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t talking about Adam’s marriage.”
“No?”
