A Cowboy for Keeps

by Jody Hedlund

  “I love this place,” Astrid said, almost as if she’d read Greta’s thoughts.

  “Then you don’t miss home?” Greta blew on the spoon again, then slurped a tiny amount.

  “Not a bit. And I hope I never have to go back.”

  Greta paused in savoring the berries, a stab of regret piercing her. She’d tried to make Astrid’s life bearable, tried to give her the love the rest of the family had withheld, but had she somehow failed?

  “I hope we can stay here forever,” Astrid continued.

  “It wasn’t all bad back home, was it?”

  When Astrid didn’t answer right away, Greta placed the spoon into the pot, wiped her hands on her apron, and crossed to her sister. “I’m sorry it was so hard.”

  Astrid looked up and smiled. “It’s not your fault.”

  Greta took in every detail of the girl’s delicate face, her dainty lips and nose and chin, and the new sprinkling of freckles from sitting in the sun more often.

  “It’s just that here, no one is getting mad at me and telling me to stop coughing or to go to my room and stay there. I can go wherever I want and cough as much as I need to.”

  Her sisters-in-law had been very vocal in their concern over Astrid’s lingering illness. They’d only been trying to protect their own families, but over time, Astrid was bound to feel unwanted and unloved.

  “My coughing doesn’t bother Judd or Wyatt, does it, Greta?” The little girl’s voice contained a note of worry, and a furrow formed between her brows.

  “No, not at all.” The two handled Astrid with patience and kindness, much better than anyone else ever had.

  “You’re sure?”

  “They want to help you get well just like I do.”

  Astrid was quiet for a moment. “What if I don’t get better, Greta?”

  “You will. Already you’re improving.” At least, Astrid had been improving until the fever last week. And now she was pale and tired and listless again.

  Greta stroked her sister’s cheek. They had to be patient, had to give the high-altitude air time to work its healing.

  At the approach of horse hooves, Astrid pushed herself to her feet. “It’s Wyatt and Judd!”

  Greta shielded her eyes and glimpsed the men riding in from the east pasture. Her sights locked upon Wyatt, his strong, proud bearing holding him well above Judd.

  And at the perfect height above her. For that kiss. In the hotel dining room. Oh my.

  Her skin tingled just thinking about being so close to him, feeling his lips and his breath. Even if he’d been pressured into kissing her, he hadn’t seemed to mind. The trouble was, he hadn’t made any effort to try it again.

  As the men rode into the yard and dismounted by the barn, Astrid was already racing toward them, her excitement giving her new energy. Wyatt was the first one down, and Astrid was standing before him, chattering away and showing him the horsehair blanket.

  Wyatt hoisted her up into a hug. “It’s mighty fine,” he said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Better than anything I’ve ever seen Judd make.”

  Astrid laughed and the sound wafted around Greta, sweeter than the jam bubbling in the pot. She couldn’t keep from smiling, a sense of completeness settling inside, that this place, these men, this life was where she and Astrid finally might belong.

  And she couldn’t keep from liking Wyatt better every day, especially when she witnessed him interacting this way with Astrid. His tenderness and attentiveness melted Greta’s heart. Not many men could be as strong and rugged as Wyatt and yet display such gentleness with a little girl.

  Wyatt claimed that Astrid reminded him of his sister and that’s why he was able to interact with her like he did. But as Greta got to know him, the more she realized he was a man of deep character and principle, and the more she was amazed that he’d chosen to marry her.

  As Wyatt returned Astrid to the ground, his gaze snagged on Greta above the girl’s head. He straightened and seemed to give himself permission to look at her boldly, taking her in with an appreciation that did strange things to her insides.

  She quickly turned her attention to Astrid, who was now throwing herself upon Judd. The older man lowered himself and hugged her back, then pulled away to examine the blanket. “It’s real good.”

  “Then you’ll teach me to ride?” Astrid hopped on first one leg, then the other.

  “If Greta says you’re fit.”

  All eyes turned in her direction. Greta smoothed back her flyaway hair and then twirled one of the loose strands around her finger.

  “Please, Greta?” Astrid pleaded. “Please say yes.”

  “If you promise to lie down for a little bit first.” Greta couldn’t say no to Astrid getting on a horse even if the thought worried her.

  “I promise.”

  “Then come on inside and let the men see to their mounts while you rest.”

  “Yay!” Astrid clapped and skipped back to the cabin.

  Greta’s gaze connected with Wyatt’s again, and this time they shared a smile at Astrid’s joy. Someday maybe they’d be sharing smiles over their own children.

  They would have children, wouldn’t they?

  The very thought made her flush, and before Wyatt could read her wayward thoughts, she spun around. When she was inside the cabin away from his probing gaze, she pressed her hands against her cheeks and tried to still the erratic beating of her heart.

  She’d grown to like Wyatt. And he seemed to like her. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t let things move too quickly between them. She might have been hesitant at first about his three-month trial, but now that she’d had time to think on it, she realized that if Astrid didn’t get better, she’d need to find a new way to help her sister, even if that meant leaving.

  Chapter 13

  Maybe the good Lord was smiling down on him after all.

  Wyatt raised his arm and wiped the sweat from his brow against his sleeve. He peered back over the rows of gathered hay and then at the western sky before he released a breath. The scattered showers from earlier had moved on without drenching the earth. And he could almost allow himself to believe he’d finished the haying without any setbacks.

  Roper Brawley had been madder than a hornet over losing more cattle sales and had threatened to burn the alfalfa field in retaliation. All the more reason Wyatt was relieved to get the haying done.

  Not far behind him in the final row, Greta knelt next to a bundle, wrapping a piece of twine around the center, moving expertly as she had all week. Nearby, Astrid had abandoned her work and was cupping a caterpillar in her hand, jawing nonstop.

  Somehow Greta managed to answer the girl’s endless questions without breaking her concentration. With her head bent over the twine, he could watch her for a few seconds without her realizing he’d been staring. Why did she have to be so doggone pretty?

  Despite the strain of the long days of late, she had a freshness and energy that was contagious. Not only had she worked with him in the alfalfa field from dawn till dusk since he’d started the haying, but once they finished for the day, she returned to the cabin and spent hours baking hand pies and making jam. He didn’t know how late she stayed up, but every time he closed the barn door before bedding down, the light was still burning in the cabin.

  Astrid helped her pick chokecherries in the mornings, and Judd had taken to bringing her huckleberries most nights after he returned from herding the cattle. Judd must’ve gone into the higher elevations to find the berries since the supply in the foothills was next to nothing.

  Of course, Judd saw the value in Greta’s hand pies and jams. It had been hard not to, after he and Greta had arrived home that first time with the two new cattle. After a second trip to town a week later, they’d both recognized Greta was earning more with her fixings than they’d panned in gold in a year.

  Even so, Wyatt had the feeling Judd would have been gathering the berries for Greta regardless of whether she earned a penny for the
m. The older man had fallen for Astrid and Greta harder than a cowpoke getting grassed.

  Wyatt’s attention drifted over Greta and landed upon her lips. Fire blazed to life, sparking the need to kiss her again. A need that had simmered low and steady over the past few weeks since Steele had pressured him into kissing her in front of everyone.

  Ever since, Wyatt had steered clear of taking her near the man. Thankfully, Steele had gone back to Denver and hadn’t been around during the last visit to town.

  As irritated as he was at Steele, he couldn’t deny how much he’d liked the kiss. Maybe it had started as a show, but it hadn’t ended that way. And now he couldn’t put it out of his mind no matter how hard he tried.

  And boy, had he tried. He’d nearly worked himself to death to get it out of his system. But against all his best efforts not to dwell on the kiss or Greta, he only seemed to think about it and her more with each passing day.

  Her lips curved up into a half smile in reaction to something Astrid was saying. Lips that were pretty, soft, and responsive. Yep. She’d most definitely kissed him back, almost as if she’d wanted to kiss him—which wasn’t possible, was it?

  “Blast it all, McQuaid.” He forced his attention to the bundle of hay in front of him. “Quit losing your mind.”

  They’d only been married a month. For now, he had to focus on friendship. That’s all.

  And as far as he could tell, their friendship was progressing real well. While they’d worked together with the haying, they had plenty of conversations. She shared about her life on the Illinois farm, explained how consumption had taken her stepmother and young half brother during the last two years. Greta had fought hard to save them, but in the end they’d gotten weaker and sicker until they died. Now she felt responsible for Astrid, and traveling to the West had seemed like her last option.

  Not only did she share with him, but she was a good listener. She didn’t poke or pry into his past but drew it out of him, and he’d found himself talking about his growing-up years and his family and how he was trying to make a new home for them.

  He’d done more yammering with Greta in the little time he’d known her than he had with Judd in two years. There was just something right about her being here, and he was having a hard time remembering what life was like without her.

  As he finished tying the twine, he stood and surveyed the land. He and Judd had already moved half the bundles into the barn. Tomorrow they’d transport and stow the rest.

  Greta, too, rose to her feet and glanced around. Upon seeing their work completed, she arched her back and neck, giving him full view of her beautiful, womanly form.

  His throat went dry. “Good Lord, help me.”

  She stretched her arms above her head and then yawned. Only then did she notice he’d been staring. She rapidly dropped her arms and gaze. At the same time, she cupped a hand over her yawn but couldn’t hide the weary lines in her forehead.

  “We’re done,” he called.

  She fingered the hay standing tall in front of her. “I can help you carry these last bundles to the barn if you’d like.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Let’s go fishing.”

  Eagerness filled Astrid’s pale face. Although she’d recovered from what Greta had called a “flare-up,” the girl was still weak and tired easily. He heard her coughing most nights and knew Greta was up often with her. Wyatt doubted Greta ever got a full night’s shut-eye and likely hadn’t in years.

  “Will you teach me how to fish, Wyatt?” Astrid moved the caterpillar from one hand to the other. “The way you do it, with the string and the fly?”

  Since his move to Colorado, he’d taken to fly-fishing over regular line fishing. He hadn’t had much time over the past month to fish, but he managed to catch enough to provide for a few meals a week.

  “You told me you could teach me someday. And today is a good day, right?”

  “Yep. And I’ll teach Greta too.”

  “No.” Greta smothered another yawn. “Astrid, you may go with Wyatt if you promise not to be a bother. But I have too many other responsibilities needing my attention.”

  “Always gonna be a heap of work,” he said as they started back to the cabin. “And there will always be something pestering us for attention. But I reckon we oughta forget our cares for a spell.”

  Greta only resisted a little while longer, then gave in to both his and Astrid’s pleading. Toting a couple of poles and bait, he led them to his favorite fishing spot upriver from the cabin. Greta spread a blanket in the shade of a cottonwood and sat down with a basket of mending. But Wyatt snagged her hand, pulled her up, and tugged her to the riverbank.

  Though she protested, her eyes turned a light silver blue, the shade of the new needles on the blue spruce trees along the river, a shade he was learning reflected her happiness. After tying on the flies and readying their lines, he gave them each a rod and showed them how to overhead cast. Both were quick learners and soon had fish nibbling.

  When Greta hooked her first trout, her delighted smile warmed him quicker than a swallow of hot coffee. He helped her net the catch. After he dumped it onto the bank, she wasn’t afraid to remove the hook from the mouth and even asked him to show her how to tie on the next fly.

  The fishing didn’t hold Astrid’s attention for long before she was busy collecting rocks. As Wyatt took up the girl’s discarded rod and stood slightly upstream from Greta, his heart was nigh to full as he watched his two girls.

  His two girls.

  That was how he was beginning to think of them. They were his. His to care for and love and protect. While the realization was daunting, it was also gratifying to know he was accomplishing something worthwhile. He, Wyatt McQuaid, who’d never succeeded at anything, now had a wife and daughter he was providing for.

  With the gurgling of water across the rocky bed and the rustling of the wind in the leaves overhead, he breathed deeply of the scent of damp pine needles and soil. The sunlight glinted off the water and their fishing lines, turning the spray of water droplets into sparkling diamonds. After so many doubts about his decision to try ranching, for the first time, peace wafted through him as gentle as the breeze in the branches.

  “This reminds me of when Thomas took us fishing,” Astrid called as she arranged her collection of rocks on a large flat stone nearby.

  Greta nodded but didn’t reply, concentrating on casting her line, her bottom lip captured between her teeth.

  Was she thinking about how Thomas had died? Even though news of the war trickled into the mountain towns slower than molasses in January, they’d all heard enough to know the battles over recent months had been bloody and the death tolls too high to keep count.

  “What was Thomas like?” His question tumbled out like the river water, flowing fast and unstoppable.

  “W-e-l-l, he was always nice to me.” Astrid picked another stone out of the water and added it to the others. “He bought me licorice.”

  Wyatt focused on Greta, gauging her reaction to his question.

  As if sensing his gaze upon her, Greta glanced at him before she focused on her fishing line again, her brow furrowing. Was it still too painful for her to talk about her former fiancé?

  “Forget it. It ain’t none of my business—”

  “He was a very good man.” Greta tugged at her line. “I don’t think he had a selfish bone in his body.”

  Greta’s words of praise both comforted and riled him up. He liked knowing Thomas had treated Greta well. But on the other hand, Wyatt didn’t want her to like anyone else . . . except him.

  He waited for her to say more, and when she didn’t, he resisted the strange need to probe further and find out about their relationship.

  After Greta caught another trout, she retreated to the blanket with her mending. A short while later, Astrid curled up next to her, all tuckered out. The next time Wyatt glanced over at them, Greta had stretched out and fallen asleep too.

  As he swallowed a yawn, he had the
urge to lie down and rest. With half a dozen fish on a line in a shallow pool, why not give himself a break? After stowing the poles and bait, he lowered himself next to Greta. Careful not to disturb her, he crossed his arms behind his head, tugged the brim of his hat down over his face, and closed his eyes.

  A tickle against his cheek startled him awake, and he tipped up his hat. For a second, he was disoriented and tried to gain his bearings. At the sight of the deserted riverbank and Greta and Astrid still sleeping next to him, he allowed himself to relax.

  From the position of the sun, he guessed he hadn’t slept long—maybe half an hour. There was still time to rest a spell longer, maybe catch a few more fish, before heading back.

  As he shifted, he awakened to the pressure of Greta snuggled against him, her hand resting on his chest and her head on his arm. The wind blew wisps of her hair across his face. Her knot had come loose and now her hair spread out like newly harvested golden-brown strands of grain.

  His entire body suddenly hummed and his every nerve tuned in to her nearness. He liked having her next to him but the second she woke, she’d probably pull away in embarrassment.

  Though a warning went off inside him, reminding him he needed to be careful, he caressed the hair that lay on his chest. It was fine and glossy and cascaded through his fingers.

  He had the overwhelming need to stroke her cheeks and chin and neck. He fought against his desire, but at her soft, sleepy sigh, one filled with contentment, his fingers moved from her hair to her face. Shifting enough to see her features, he caressed her cheek, down to her chin, and back up.

  Her long eyelashes fluttered.

  Even as the warning inside clanged louder, he ignored it and drew a line to her mouth, tracing the slight bow above her upper lip. His muscles tightened with the need to finish his perusal with his mouth.

  Her fingers splayed across his heart, searing through his vest and shirt. And when her hand slid up his neck as though testing the feel of him, he held his breath.

  Was she awake? Or still partly asleep?