‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t. You know, I figured since you’re in my kitchen and you came in uninvited, that maybe it was up to you to introduce yourselves first. But maybe I’ve been remiss.’ He hauled his hat from the table and shoved it back on his head, then raised it a few inches in a gesture of salutation. ‘I’m Riley Jackson.’ His dark eyes twinkled down at Karli, who was still clinging as hard as she could cling to Jenna’s leg. ‘Have a seat, ladies. Make yourselves at home.’

Then he readdressed his beer. Duty done.

Jenna stared at him in confusion. She was way out of her depth, she acknowledged. If it weren’t for Karli she’d walk out of here-take her chances on the railway platform.

Who was she kidding? No, she wouldn’t. She had no choice but to keep on talking.

‘I’m Jenna Svenson,’ she told him. ‘This is Karli.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Jenna and Karli,’ he said gravely. ‘Welcome to my farm.’

His farm. She stared around her at the layer upon layer of dust. She turned to stare out the cracked and grimed window at the dusty paddocks beyond. ‘This isn’t a working farm?’ she managed. ‘Surely. I mean…you don’t live here?’

‘Don’t you like my décor?’ Riley demanded, as if he were wounded to the core, and she blinked. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s really dusty,’ Karli volunteered and that shocked Jenna, too. For Karli to speak in the presence of a stranger was amazing. ‘You don’t wash your table,’ the little girl said, and there was even a note of reproof in her tone.

‘Hey, I would have dusted if I’d known you were coming.’ Riley smiled straight down at the little girl, with what was almost a conspiratorial grin. ‘I would have got out the best china and made a cake. Or put some more beer in the fridge. Speaking of which.’ He hauled open the fridge to snag another beer and Jenna bit her lip at the sight of it. Her fears had started to recede, but now they resurfaced with a vengeance. They were so alone. He might not be an axe murderer, but if he were to get drunk…