A Cowboy for Keeps

by Jody Hedlund

  He fumbled through introducing her to Reverend Zieber and Judd. For a short while, Reverend Zieber yammered on with both Steele and Miss Nilsson about the stagecoach ride as well as the robbery, before finally getting to the ceremony.

  Reverend Zieber led them through Scripture readings and prayers. When he instructed Wyatt to face Miss Nilsson and hold her right hand, Wyatt hesitated to touch her. Thankfully, she offered up her hand, and he situated her fingers within his and then spoke his vows.

  A moment later, as Miss Nilsson began to recite her vows, she abruptly stopped. “I take thee—”

  Wyatt waited.

  “I don’t remember your given name,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing.

  “Wyatt,” he whispered back, embarrassment stealing through him, tightening his muscles, and reminding him of the foolishness of so hasty a marriage. They hardly knew anything about each other for crying-in-the-rain. She didn’t even know his first name and was standing here vowing to marry him. Were they making a mistake?

  “I take thee, Wyatt, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance: and thereto I give thee my faith.”

  The instant she finished, she loosened her hand from his and wrapped it back around the weeds Astrid had given her. Wyatt self-consciously stuffed his hand into his pocket.

  “What about a ring?” Reverend Zieber asked under his breath as he leaned in toward Wyatt.

  Wyatt shook his head, again chagrined, but Steele stepped forward and handed the minister a simple silver band with a nod to Wyatt. “You can use this until you have the chance to purchase something more permanent.”

  Wyatt nodded back.

  “Excellent.” Reverend Zieber closed his eyes. “Bless this ring, O Lord, to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  After placing the band upon his open prayer book, Reverend Zieber held the book out to Wyatt. “Go ahead and place the ring on her finger and repeat after me: Greta, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

  Wyatt fumbled with the ring but somehow managed to slip it down Miss Nilsson’s finger, noting the slender shape as well as the strength. Once the ring was in place, she stared at it for a moment, as though she wanted to bury it in the boneyard.

  He had to stop thinking of her as Miss Nilsson and call her Greta. As improper as such casualness felt, she was no longer Miss Nilsson. She was Mrs. McQuaid. Mrs. Wyatt McQuaid. His wife.

  He swallowed past a swelling lump of fear. What in the name of the Almighty had he done?

  Reverend Zieber closed his prayer book with a snap that brought their attention back to him. “Now that you’ve given yourselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that you are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.”

  Astrid clapped and fairly danced in place. “Now they have to kiss! Right, Reverend Zieber?”

  Wyatt started to protest at the same time as Miss Nilsson—Greta. But before either of them could speak, Steele was clapping Wyatt on his shoulder—hard. “Of course they need to kiss. May as well begin right now getting to know each other.”

  Something in Steele’s tone and in his squeeze warned Wyatt that he had to fulfill his part of the bargain and make this a real marriage. He couldn’t playact or pretend. He had to take his vows seriously. And he had to produce a family in order to help this community grow.

  Guilt prodded him as it had earlier when he tried to explain the cattle bargain to Greta. He’d sounded like a bull in heat and botched the entire conversation, telling her just about everything . . . except the part that really mattered—that he was marrying her so he could get a loan from Steele.

  He’d have to find a way to be aboveboard with her eventually, although he didn’t expect it would make much difference. She’d said all the explanation she needed was that he wanted to help out Phineas. That had been good enough for her.

  “Go on now.” Steele’s fingers dug into his shoulder. “Give your wife a kiss, a nice one.”

  “And a long one,” Astrid chimed in, much too eagerly.

  “Astrid.” Greta cast the girl a mortified look.

  Wyatt took a step closer to Greta. What was the best way to go about the business of giving her a kiss? Should he put his hands on her tiny waist? Or maybe on her shoulders? Or would she prefer he not touch her at all and just lean in?

  When she glanced up at him, he was surprised that her eyes were filled with curiosity more than reticence. A woman as pretty as her had likely been kissed before. Maybe by Thomas. The man she’d planned to marry before he’d gotten killed in the war. It had been clear his death had been painful and that she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. How close had they been?

  His attention fell to her lips. Slender like the rest of her, they were slightly open as though she was readying herself. Part of him resisted the notion of kissing this woman. But another part prodded him closer, urging him to do it, to prove to Steele and himself that he was up to the task of having a wife.

  “Kiss her!” Astrid said again.

  Greta dropped her attention to the girl, as though to issue another rebuke. In that instant, Wyatt swooped in and pressed his lips to hers, gently cupping her cheek to guide their kiss. At the softness of her mouth and the intake of her breath, every other coherent thought fled, and he couldn’t think of anything else except their connection.

  He deepened the pressure, urging her to respond. For a second, she didn’t seem to know what to do, and then tentatively she let herself press back softly, curiously.

  The movement awakened him, almost as if he’d been asleep, making him conscious of need pulsing through his body—need he’d kept as cold as a wagon tire.

  He didn’t want that need awakened. Didn’t want to need a wife. Didn’t want to need anyone.

  Though the kiss was thrilling, even pleasurable, he forced himself to break the contact and pull back.

  She dropped her gaze as more pink infused her cheeks.

  His thoughts returned to the way she’d looked standing in front of the mountain lion, her shoulders braced for an attack, chin jutted with determination. She’d been desperate to save Astrid, so much so she’d placed herself between the girl and the wild animal without a second of hesitation. And now here she was, so desperate to save Astrid she’d sacrificed herself again. By marrying a stranger.

  Although he’d only known Greta a short time, she’d already proven herself to be a good and kind woman. The least he could do in return was demonstrate he was worthy of the sacrifice she’d made.

  No matter Steele’s pressure for them to have a real marriage, no doubt she’d appreciate having the chance to get to know and trust him before he kissed her a second time.

  Chapter 7

  The oh-so-handsome Wyatt McQuaid was her husband. Greta wanted to pinch herself and wake up to reality, but she was clinging to the seat with both hands as the wagon bumped over the uneven earth. She didn’t dare let go for fear of falling off.

  Mr. Steele had insisted they use his wagon and team to transport them, along with her trunk and bags, back to Wyatt’s ranch. At first, Wyatt had wavered in accepting the offer, only doing so after Mr. Steele insisted.

  Now she knew why he’d been reluctant. The ride had been jarring and uncomfortable—more so than the weeks of stagecoach traveling.

  The wagon dipped into another rut, tossing her up from the bench and then slamming her back down. She winced. She’d have new bruises in the morning.

  She checked over her shoulder to the wagon bed. Cushioned by mounds of hay, A
strid had stopped talking, and her eyes were closed. The little girl had tried valiantly to stay awake to see her new home. But the day had taken its toll on her frail body and now sleep was claiming her.

  “Not long now,” Wyatt said above the rattle of the wagon and wheels.

  A half-moon overhead drizzled enough light that they’d been able to see their way well enough. The treeless prairie was covered with sage and shrubs, along with pale grass Wyatt said the cattle loved.

  He’d spent the majority of the five-mile ride from town answering Astrid’s questions about his ranch. Though Greta had tried to quell her sister’s unyielding stream of curiosity, it had been a useful way to glean more information about the man she’d married.

  She learned he had three horses, close to eighteen head of cattle, along with four hens and a rooster. She also discovered that Judd had planted and taken charge of a large vegetable garden, while Wyatt fished trout from the river running through his property and hunted wild game.

  Apparently the two men had hauled in and hewn logs from the nearby foothills to build the house and barn since the lumber from the new mill in Fairplay was costly. From the tone of Wyatt’s voice, she could tell he was pleased with his accomplishments.

  He mentioned that he’d purchased two more cattle earlier in the day and was slowly building up and fattening his herd. With Wyatt occupied transporting her and Astrid in the wagon, Judd had offered to drive the two steers back to the ranch. According to Wyatt’s explanation to Astrid, “The cattle take their sweet old time, chewing up every lick of grass they come across.”

  “There’s the house.” Wyatt nodded ahead.

  She didn’t mean to look at him again. But her attention shifted as if it had a mind of its own. His chiseled profile, even in only the moonlight, was strong and masculine. His defined jaw and the dark covering of stubble on his cheeks drew attention to his mouth.

  That mouth. Those lips . . . against hers.

  Strange heat bloomed in her cheeks. He’d really and truly kissed her. The kiss, restrained and yet containing a hint of passion, had been unexpectedly pleasant and unlike anything she’d experienced before. If she didn’t know better, she could almost believe he’d enjoyed it and found her attractive.

  She was tempted to lift her fingers to her lips and capture the memory all over again. But she’d done so a dozen times already, and eventually he’d catch her in the act and realize she was thinking about their kiss.

  It surely hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to her. He’d likely kissed plenty of women in his life. What was one more?

  For her, the kiss was her first. Thomas had wanted to kiss her on the day he’d left for the war. But she’d been too upset and told him he had to wait until he came home for a kiss, hoping to give him an incentive to return.

  It hadn’t worked. And she’d regretted not kissing him good-bye ever since.

  “It ain’t much,” Wyatt said. “But hopefully it’ll get us through the winter.”

  She squinted through the dark to the outline of a stout, low-lying structure that looked more like a hovel than a house. It was built out of logs with thick chinking and had a gabled roof of simple boards. A single stovepipe protruded from the roof, and a small lone window had been cut out of the wall next to the door.

  Dismay settled into her sore bones, bringing a fresh wave of weariness. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but not a cabin that looked as though it could fit into the spacious kitchen of her childhood home. Although modest, the two-story farmhouse had been airy and open with plenty of windows that afforded natural light along with several stoves for warmth in the winter. With four upstairs bedrooms, she’d always considered it too small for everyone living there. But it was a mansion compared to this place.

  As Wyatt blessedly brought the wagon to a halt, she attempted to mask her disappointment, especially in light of how proud he was when talking about it. She’d seen other log structures over the past weeks, and Wyatt’s was well constructed compared with some. He and Judd had obviously put many hours of labor into it, and she couldn’t complain.

  “The barn is there.” Wyatt cocked his head to the east.

  She followed his gaze to another building, this one slightly bigger, with a zigzag log fence forming a corral off to one side. It was all very basic, almost rudimentary. But from what she could tell, he kept his place tidy and in good repair.

  He hopped down and started rounding the wagon bed. “The river’s not far, maybe a hundred paces behind the house and Judd’s garden.”

  She had to find her voice and say something. This might not be the kind of life she’d envisioned for herself, not after Phineas’s letters detailing the big house he was building for her and the furniture he was buying to fill it. But this was better than being homeless.

  “Looks like you’re off to a good start,” she offered as he came to her side of the wagon.

  “Yep.” He reached up to assist her. “We’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of us to make something of the ranch. But it’s a start.”

  We. Not I. But we.

  She gave him her hand and allowed him to aid her down. Was that the real reason he’d married her? Because he needed the help to get his ranch working? Maybe he couldn’t afford to hire more workers and had decided on a wife instead.

  It made sense. Maybe that’s what he’d meant when he mentioned having a partnership.

  His hand in hers was firm but polite. And as he steadied her on the ground, she breathed a silent prayer and tried to be grateful. Maybe her new home and situation weren’t ideal. But she’d work hard alongside him and do her best to help him succeed. It was the least she could do after all he’d done for her.

  He released her without lingering and started toward the door. “I’ll light a lantern and show you inside before unloading.”

  Greta peeked over the side of the wagon. Astrid was curled up in the hay asleep.

  “Will she be alright for a minute?” Wyatt paused in the door. “I can come back for her and carry her in.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Though the consumption tired Astrid easily, she’d had more energy than usual all evening. Greta could only pray that meant the drier air of the West was helping. If only Astrid could finally sleep through the night without waking up coughing.

  Greta followed Wyatt into the cabin and waited by the door as he fumbled to light a coal-oil lamp. At the touch of the flame to the wick, the room sprang to life. Wyatt lifted the lantern and hung it from a nail protruding from one of the rafters.

  A medium-sized stove in one corner was rusted and dented in places and seemed as though it had seen better days. Several blackened pots and pans sat on the range, congealed grease lining them. A simple table with benches took up most of the rest of the living space. An open door off the back revealed a second smaller room with a bed built into the wall.

  Wyatt had made it clear enough earlier he wanted a family of his own. And she knew very well what that meant: She’d have to share the marriage bed with him from now on.

  She hugged her arms around her middle to ward off a sudden chill. Although he’d given her a sweet kiss after their wedding and she knew she had nothing to fear from him, the thought of being together during the coming night wasn’t something she was looking forward to.

  Feeling Wyatt’s gaze upon her, gauging her reaction to the home, she tried for a smile. “It’s a cozy place.”

  He peered around the room as though seeing it through her eyes. “I know it ain’t much—”

  “No, it’s very nice.”

  He hesitated, took his hat off, and raked his fingers through his black hair.

  “Really. I mean it.” And she did. He’d done a fine job. “You have every right to be proud of what you’ve accomplished so far.”

  He replaced his hat and nodded. “If you need anything, just let me know. And I’ll do my best to make it or get it for you.”

  “I’m sure I’ll get along fine.” Her attention strayed to the bedro
om again. The bed was small for the two of them. When she realized Wyatt was watching her, she ducked her head.

  A lengthy silence filled the space between them, broken by the steady trill of crickets coming in from the open door.

  “Judd and me,” he finally said, “we’ll bed down in the barn loft.”

  Her head jerked up. His brows were furrowed above his rich brown eyes made even richer by his long lashes. What was he saying? That he didn’t plan to spend the whole night with her?

  As if sensing her confusion, he focused on the match stub he’d left on the table and began to twist it. “I figured you and Astrid might want to use the bed.”

  “That’s nice of you.” She hoped her voice didn’t squeak through her tight throat. “But I can make a bed for Astrid. Maybe a trundle I can pull out for her at night.”

  He flipped the match around and between his fingers. “Listen, Miss Nil—” He stopped himself.

  She squirmed. It would be so much easier if they could simply do their marriage duty without having to talk about it.

  “Greta,” he said slowly and softly, as though trying out her name. “I ain’t a brute. And I wouldn’t feel right about—well, sharing a bed with you. Not until we’ve gotten to know each other better.”

  His declaration took her by surprise, so much so that for a moment she was speechless. What was he saying? Didn’t he want to consummate their marriage yet?

  “This is all mighty sudden.” He wound the match through his fingers faster. “Shouldn’t we make sure this is gonna work—well, before we make it official?”

  Did he want to test her out first? See if she was hardworking enough before he decided if he wanted to keep her? Was there the chance he might not like her and kick her and Astrid out?

  Her nerves tightened. “I promise I’ll do my best. I’ve been told I’m easy to get along with.”

  “That ain’t it,” he said in a rush. “I can tell you’re a real nice woman and all.”

  “Then you’re afraid you might get tired of Astrid?” That was understandable. Not even her family had been able to cope with the demands of Astrid’s illness.