Courting Susannah Read Free

gone.
    â€œYou must be Mr. Fairgrieve,” she managed at long last, and flushed.
    â€œAnd you are?” he prompted after a distracted nod of acquiescence, stalking toward her. The baby had ceased its pitiful cries and burbled against his shoulder now, sounding calm, almost contented. Idly, he patted the little back with one powerful woodsman’s hand. His eyes did not look friendly as he glowered down at her; she saw none of the mirth and mischief Julia had described in her early letters.
    She swallowed, then straightened her weary shoulders. “My name,” she uttered with hard-won grace, “is Susannah McKittrick. Your late wife, Julia, was my dearest friend.”
    â€œAh,” he said. She saw in his eyes that he remembered, although Susannah had no reason whatsoever to think he approved of her presence. “What are you doing here?”
    She drew upon all that remained of her composure. What she’d done was impulsive, perhaps even foolish, but it was, indeed,
done
. Nothing to do now but go forward. “I’ve come to attend to the child.”
    He arched one eyebrow, still comforting the babywith an inattentive proficiency that might have been comical, given his size and the sheer impact of his personality, if Susannah hadn’t been in the awkward position of a trespasser. “What?” he asked, as though she’d spoken in a language he didn’t comprehend.
    â€œJulia asked for my promise—that I would look after her baby if anything happened to her. When I received your telegram—”
    His frowned deepened. “I see,” he said, though he plainly didn’t. “Maisie must have let you in.”
    She swallowed hard, raised her chin a notch, and shook her head. The name, Maisie, was not a familiar one; Julia had never mentioned the woman. No doubt she was a servant.
    â€œI turned the bell repeatedly, and when no one answered, I simply came in.” She paused, and color pulsed in her cheeks. “I felt I had no choice, you see. I’d come so far, and in a state of extreme urgency.”
    She thought there might have been a grin lurking in the depths of those remarkable eyes of his, though there was no knowing for certain. “Do you make a habit of walking into people’s houses when nobody comes to the door, Miss—er—?”
    â€œMcKittrick,” she reiterated. It was all she could do to hold his gaze, but she would not,
could
not allow herself to be intimidated. She had no acceptable option except to follow through with her grand gesture and find a way to keep her heart’s vow to Julia’s memory by tending the child. “I do not,” she said coolly. She had, of course, admitted herself to the Fairgrieve house out of desperation, not audacity; she had no friends in Seattle, no prospect of employment, and virtually no money. She would find herself in dire straits indeed if this man turned her away.
    Susannah felt fresh panic stir within her and attemptedto stem the tide by biting the inside of her lower lip.
    â€œYou say you were a friend of my wife’s,” he reflected soberly.
    Susannah let out her breath, nodded. Surely Julia must have told him about their shared childhood at St. Mary’s, and he had, after all, written to tell her when his wife passed away. For all of that, he seemed surprised by her existence, let alone her presence in the upstairs hallway of his house.
    â€œI’ve—I’ve taken the smallest bedroom—the one overlooking the churchyard,” she said, resisting an urge to twist her hands. Her gaze was locked on the baby; she longed to reach out, cradle the infant in her arms.
    Fairgrieve’s brows arched, and once again she thought she saw the beginnings of humor far back in his eyes, but the impression was gone as quickly as it had come to her. “I don’t guess I object, since nobody else is using it,” he allowed. “All the same, I’d