A big, work-roughened hand closed over hers.
Her eyes flew open and she stared at Riley’s hand dwarfing hers. He placed their joined hands against the horse’s firm, warm neck.
Her discomfort faded when she saw the mare standing calmly beneath Riley’s touch. Susannah could feel his chest at her back, his warmth comforting. She tried keeping her mind on the horse. “She’s soft.”
“Yes.”
“She’s letting me touch her,” she said, with both wonder and uncertainty.
“Just keep your touch easy. That’s good.” His breath washed against her temple.
Her hand molded to his as they stroked the mare’s sleek firm flesh, and the slow, sinuous movement lulled her. Riley’s strength wrapped around her.
She found her gaze fixed on him, not the mare. Raw desire shimmered in his blue eyes and Susannah felt her stomach clench in response. He looked as if he wanted to stroke her…!
About the Author
Like many writers, DEBRA COWAN made up stories in her head as a child. Her BA in English was obtained with the intention of following family tradition and becoming a schoolteacher, but after she wrote her first novel there was no looking back. An avid history buff, Debra writes both historical and contemporary romances. Born in the foothills of the Kiamichi Mountains, Debra still lives in her native Oklahoma with her husband. Debra invites her readers to contact her at PO Box 30123, Coffee Creek Station, Edmond, OK 73003-0003, USA, or visit her website at: http://www.debracowan.net
A previous novel by this author:
WHIRLWIND BABY
Whirlwind Bride
Debra Cowan
MILLS & BOON
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To my editor, Diane Grecco Dietz
Thank you for saying yes, but more importantly, thank
you for your friendship. You came during a difficult
time in my career, and your wonderful enthusiasm
convinced me to stay in the trenches.
With thanks and many hugs, D.C.
Chapter One
West Texas, 1883
“Hello, Mr. Holt. No, Riley. I should call him Riley” Two hours after arriving by stage in Whirlwind, Texas, Susannah Phelps stood on the wide, dust-covered veranda of Riley Holt’s large frame house. During the ride out here, she’d tried to think of the best way to start this conversation. Blurting out “I’m here to marry you” would not do.
Susannah felt like a mail-order bride who hadn’t been ordered, and it didn’t sit well. The October air was cool, but the sun, glaring down from a clear sky, kept the temperature from being sharp. She stayed warm with her blue wool cape and gloves. Red Texas dust hazed the air, coating everything with a rusty film and settling in the creases of her navy serge traveling skirt.
This was a lonely, isolated pocket of the plains.
Sprawled in the middle of browning pastureland, the white house with black shutters looked conspicuous and stark amid the red bluffs and short, endless grass. She’d never imagined Riley would have such a grand home; her expectations had been of a crude log cabin or a sod house.
For the third time since arriving, Susannah tugged at her bodice and smoothed her skirt, then paced the few steps to his front door. Sweat dampened her palms. She’d worn her gloves all day, but now they were too hot. She peeled them off.
A man named Matthew Baldwin had been kind enough to drive her from Whirlwind to Riley’s ranch, the Rocking H, but his buckboard had added to the bruises on her derriere. Four days of travel from St. Louis by train and stage, combined with her pregnancy, had left her more than exhausted. Her legs and feet were swollen to the size of German sausages, and she really wanted to sit down. But, having made up her mind to accept Riley Holt’s marriage proposal, she was ready to settle things.
Miss Elmira Wentworth of Miss Wentworth’s Finishing Academy in St. Louis would fall to the floor in a dead faint if she knew what Susannah was about to do. This was the most unladylike thing she’d ever done.
Susannah glanced down at her belly. Well, not the most.
As always, the reminder of her disgrace brought searing memories of the horror and anger on her parents’ faces. Her mother and father had actually let her leave St. Louis without saying a word! She’d eagerly agreed to Adam’s plan to come to his friend in Texas. Not because she shared the man’s desire to marry. No. She, like her brother, had thought their parents would relent before she left, would put aside their anger. They hadn’t.
So here she was in Whirlwind, a dusty Texas town that might as well be on the other side of the world. She was the one who had been hurt in this whole mess, the one person whom everyone had turned on. Paul LaFortune, especially, had betrayed her. She’d loved him with all of her young, innocent heart. His talk of “their future” had seduced her, had had her believing his sweet, empty promises that he’d loved her as much as she’d loved him.
She’d given him not only her virtue, but also her heart. She wouldn’t be so foolish again. Wherever Paul was, things were probably perfect for him. She was the one who’d been banished, the one who was slinking away to an unfamiliar town to marry a stranger.
True, Riley Holt was one of her brother’s best friends, and Adam trusted him implicitly, but Susannah had never met Riley.
She rested a hand on the barely visible swell of her stomach. She was just beginning her fifth month, and so far her condition had been concealed by full skirts and looser clothing. At first, the baby had been only an extension of the scandal that had disgraced her and forced her to leave St. Louis. But now the reality of this tiny life, and the enormous responsibility it brought, had sent her to Riley Holt’s door. This trip was not just about her. She was all this baby had.
It 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