by Jody Hedlund
Her fingers roamed higher, moving to his jaw. Her touch was like fire, shooting heat through his veins. When she skimmed his lips, he couldn’t stop himself—he captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips.
Her eyes flew open, flashing with confusion. Then, as she took in her position against him, she began to scoot away. He snaked his other arm underneath her, gently catching and kissing her fingers again.
As her gaze connected with his, the embarrassment faded, and she grew motionless, no doubt seeing the desire written in his eyes. He was certain of it when her lashes lowered and a flush rose into her cheeks.
The heat from his veins pooled in his gut. What would she say if he bent in and kissed her? Would she allow it? She hadn’t resisted the last time, and he reckoned she wouldn’t push him away now either. She was the kind of woman who expected to satisfy her husband’s needs and bear him children without thought to herself.
He shifted his kiss to the thudding pulse in her wrist. Her lashes lifted to reveal curiosity and shyness. She’d accept him. He could sense it. All he had to do was bend in and kiss her.
His body tensed at the very thought of the pleasures that awaited him in her arms. And yet, even as he longed for her, he wouldn’t use her. He’d told her three months, and as sure-as-crows-fly he wouldn’t break his word. Besides, if and when they shared more intimacies, he wanted her to welcome his touch and invite him in to her arms. Not just endure it.
“Did you love Thomas?” he whispered, not sure why he couldn’t be satisfied with her answer from earlier. But once the question was out, he was keenly aware that he needed to know how she’d felt about her fiancé.
As though sensing his need, she searched his face. “Yes, I loved him. . . .”
Jealousy cut a quick path through him. He released her and pushed himself up with the sudden need to wrangle something.
She scrambled to sit, positioning herself next to him but thankfully not touching him. He wasn’t sure he could handle the merest contact without giving in to the need to gather her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot all about her former love.
From the corner of his vision, he could see her draw her knees up and wrap her arms around her skirt. Her hair still hung loose in beautiful swirling waves, waves that called to him.
He forced himself to stare straight ahead.
“I loved him,” she said again.
“I only needed to hear it once—”
“Just as a friend.”
“Just a friend?” His heartbeat stumbled. “Then you never—you weren’t—together?”
“Wyatt!” she hissed, slapping his arm lightly and glancing at Astrid, who was still asleep. “We never even kissed.”
“You didn’t?” The tension eased from his body.
“Thomas wanted to kiss,” she said hesitantly, almost as if she regretted her decision to hold back. “But to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t attracted to him in that way.”
“You mean the way you are to me?” He tried to keep his tone light, but he hoped she’d give him a serious reply. Was she interested in him now that they’d had time to get to know each other?
“You’re the first man I’ve kissed.” As soon as her admission was out, she tucked her chin. It wasn’t exactly an answer to his question, but it was telling.
“Good. I want to be the only man you kiss.” A part of him couldn’t believe they were sitting together having this kind of conversation. But another part wanted to connect with her more deeply, to earn her trust, and win her affection.
Out in the hay field, he’d told himself he had to keep things friendly-like with her. But he couldn’t deny he wanted a whole lot more than just friendship. He wanted her to be his wife in body, soul, and spirit. Was that possible?
He tried to put together the right words to let her know he was aiming to have a good marriage. Before he could say anything, Astrid stretched and yawned noisily, and Greta turned her attention to the girl.
He stood and gathered the fishing supplies. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her hug Astrid and then tickle her, earning giggles that filled the air, a sound sweeter than any other.
Sober reality settled around Wyatt. Greta had married him for one reason and only one—so Astrid could stay in the high country and have a chance at getting better. If the child didn’t improve, what would Greta do? Would she stick with the marriage? Or would she be off trying to find the next best cure, leaving him and his cattle ranch far behind?
The honest truth was that even if Greta decided to stay, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make a go of the ranch in the long run anyway. What if he failed at it? Failed her?
There was no sense blathering on about his feelings or carrying on with her. Not until autumn was over and she decided if she wanted to stay on with him. For now, he’d do well to keep busy and keep his mind from going where it didn’t need to.
Chapter 14
After almost two months in Colorado, Astrid wasn’t better. Not even a little bit.
With a huff of frustration, Greta pushed the basket of onions farther back in the new cellar Judd had dug out for her. She spread the hay evenly over the top of the onions. Then she shifted the bin of potatoes next to the onions, bumping her head against the low dirt ceiling supported by log beams.
The musty scent of earth mingled with that of the root vegetables she and Judd had harvested over the past few weeks since finishing the haying. Judd had done most of the picking and shelling, leaving the preserving up to her. And so far she’d canned tomatoes, beans, and beets.
Since Judd had been occupied with the garden produce, Wyatt had taken over managing the cattle. He was gone for hours a day in the pasturelands, corralling steers and keeping them from danger. He usually came back with game he’d hunted—rabbits, sage grouse, deer, and elk, storing up provisions since the game would soon be scarce once the colder temperatures and snow sent the animals into lower elevations or hibernation.
That meant he devoted every daylight hour to dressing the game, along with drying it in the smokehouse next to the barn. And that also meant she’d spent little time with him since their fishing expedition. They had the rare trips to town together when he took her to sell her baked goods and jams. Of course they were all together on Sundays, their day of rest, going to church and visiting in town. And he was always friendly and easy to talk to.
But she’d been waiting for another moment of closeness like that day by the river, and it hadn’t come. Had he decided he didn’t like her after all? Had she read more into his touch and their conversation that day than he’d meant?
Greta sat back on her heels, dusted her hands, and gazed around at the produce. She wanted to believe the busyness of preparing for winter was all that was standing between them. But as with other times, she sensed something more was holding him back.
Sunlight poured in through the hatch above, and she started up the ladder, forcing thoughts of Wyatt from her mind. Maintaining simple camaraderie was for the best. After all, she awoke some mornings in a near panic, wondering what would happen if Astrid took a turn for the worse during the winter months and needed a physician. Though a doctor lived in Alma, there was no guarantee he’d be available when they needed him.
Would she and Astrid be better off living in Denver? Should they be closer to physicians and the hospital that boasted of being able to help with consumption?
As Greta neared the top rung, a strange shout from the front of the cabin stopped her. It was a man’s voice that sounded nothing like Judd’s or Wyatt’s. Did they have visitors from town? Hopefully it wasn’t Roper Brawley. Wyatt had indicated that if their neighbor came anywhere near, she was to stay in the cabin and not come out.
During Wyatt’s last purchase of oxen a couple weeks ago, Brawley had threatened Wyatt as usual. Wyatt was getting tired of the harassing, especially because Brawley was already buying up livestock and leaving so few for him.
At another shout, Greta’s pulse spurted with fear for Astrid, who’d
been napping in the cabin. She scrambled the rest of the way up the ladder into the dirt surrounding the opening. Without bothering to shake out her skirt or shut the cellar door, she bounded forward and rounded the cabin in time to see an Indian duck inside.
She stopped short, dread driving into her chest.
Although Wyatt had spoken of seeing Utes passing through his land from time to time, he’d never mentioned having any problems. He indicated the Utes had made the mountains of Colorado their home for hundreds of years, but with the flood of miners arriving, they’d been giving up land and moving farther west.
Standing in the middle of the ranch yard were three mustangs with long manes and tails as well as muscular bodies of rich chestnut, black, and white. Without saddles, they were majestic and untamed.
And so were the Indians. She’d only glimpsed one, and he’d been young and tall with long braids, a buckskin shirt, and leather leggings. Her mind immediately filled with all the stories she’d heard during the stagecoach ride to Colorado—the atrocities committed by Indians against settlers moving west, the killing, torturing, and taking of captives.
With her heart beating fast, she started toward the door. Even if Astrid remained asleep while the natives were in the cabin, Greta refused to take any chances. She had to go inside and protect her sister, no matter the cost.
As she reached for the door handle, her fingers shook. She took a deep breath, shot a prayer heavenward, then swung the door open and walked inside.
“W-e-l-l, it’s about time.” Astrid knelt on one of the benches, slathering jam onto a biscuit. “I could use some help getting dinner ready for my new friends.”
Two of the Indians were seated at the table on either side of her and the third, the tall one who’d just entered, was in front of the stove lifting a spoon from the pot of vegetable soup Greta had set to simmer.
They paused and stared at her, their dark eyes narrowing and seeming to assess every detail about her.
Should she grab Astrid and run, or should she join the girl in serving the men a meal? Astrid plopped a messy jam-covered biscuit onto the table in front of one of them, drawing their attention. She wasted no time in slathering another biscuit all the while chattering as though she made an everyday occurrence of visiting with Indians.
“Go on now.” She motioned to the native who wore his loose hair cropped close to his shoulders. “Go on and eat it. I know you’ll like it.”
The man didn’t move.
Astrid used her sticky knife to push the biscuit closer to him. “Eat it. It’s real good. Greta makes delicious jam.” At that, she flashed Greta a smile, one brimming with pride.
The Indian gingerly picked up the biscuit, examined it from all angles, and then licked the jam dribbling over the edge. His brows rose before he leaned in and took another taste. Soon all the natives were seated at the table, eating biscuits with jam and slurping vegetable soup.
While they ate, Astrid continued her one-sided conversation, only pausing whenever her cough racked her body. The Indians ate quietly and seemed to relish every morsel. When finished, they stood and exited just as silently.
Only the tall young one lingered in the doorway and looked at Astrid as she finished another burst of coughing. “Little girl sick.”
At the sound of his stilted English, Greta fumbled with the plate in her hand and could only stare at him.
He, in turn, watched Astrid with concern in his eyes. “Waters good for sick and helping.”
Greta nodded, trying to act as though she knew what he was saying but was anxious for him to take his leave with the others.
Thankfully, he didn’t linger. As he strode out, Astrid followed close on his heels, her questions chasing him. Now that he’d revealed his knowledge of English, Astrid was all the more eager to talk.
Greta went as far as the doorway to keep an eye on Astrid to make sure she didn’t do anything to irritate the Indians as they mounted their horses. The tall one spoke a few more English words to Astrid, pointed to the east, and then patted her head.
Only after they’d ridden away, leaving dust in their wake, did Greta’s knees buckle. She sagged against the doorframe and then slid to the ground. While the natives had been polite, the relief pouring through Greta weakened her.
Astrid sat next to her and leaned her head against Greta’s arm. Wheezing for breath, the child closed her eyes, her face pale and her chest rising and falling rapidly. Greta needed to carry her sister to bed and enforce rest time. But she was too weak herself to do anything but gather Astrid into her arms and kiss the top of her head.
A few minutes later, they were sitting in the same spot when the pounding of hooves alerted Greta to another visitor. Her body tensed, but before she could rise, Wyatt’s outline came into view. He was riding hard and low, clearly in a hurry.
As he galloped into the yard and reined in near the cabin, she knew she ought to stand and greet him properly and offer him a drink and something to eat. But she wasn’t sure if she could get her legs working.
He hopped from his horse and yanked down the neckerchief tied up over his mouth and nose to keep out the dust. His brow was creased and his jaw set. “You okay?” His dark brown eyes raked over both Astrid and her.
Greta nodded.
He crossed to them, his steps hard, his breathing labored. “The Utes let you be?”
“Then you saw them?”
“Yep. They passed through the east pasture from this direction. I rode like the devil for fear they’d stopped and harassed you.”
“We fed them biscuits and soup,” Astrid said sleepily, rousing enough to smile up at Wyatt. “They liked it, especially Greta’s jam.”
He dropped to his knees and brushed a hand over Astrid’s loose hair. “Then they didn’t hurt you?”
Greta squeezed his arm, his rigid muscles flexing beneath her touch. “We’re fine. Really.”
His hand covered hers, and he squeezed back, his eyes still filled with worry. “Were they here long?”
“Not overly so.”
His attention shifted to the pasture, and he blew out a short, tense breath. “Thank the good Lord.” His worry only confirmed the volatile nature of the situation with the natives and the dangerous reality of the ongoing conflict.
Astrid relayed a detailed account of all that had transpired before she yawned, reclining into Greta again and shutting her eyes.
Greta pressed another kiss against Astrid’s head, sensing the child drifting to sleep.
“From now on, either me or Judd need to be here,” Wyatt whispered.
“Of course not.” The last thing she wanted was for Wyatt to feel as though he couldn’t go anywhere because he had to stay behind and play nursemaid to Astrid and her. “You both have too much work to do. Besides, this kind of thing doesn’t happen every day.”
He situated himself next to her, extending his legs and leaning against the cabin. “Now that they know you’re here, no doubt they’ll be back.”
“If they return, we’ll just feed them again. That’s what they seemed to want.”
He was quiet a moment before he glanced at Astrid as though making sure she was asleep. “Last week, the Utes captured a couple of homesteaders to the south, stripped them, and made them crawl around on all fours like cattle and eat grass. They finally beat the living daylights out of the pair before they let them go.”
She shuddered. “Have the Utes threatened you?”
“Not yet.” Wyatt’s handsome face remained a mask of frustration. “But reckon I oughta teach you how to use my rifle.”
“I already know how to shoot. My stepbrothers taught me.”
“You know where I keep my rifle in the barn?”
She nodded. “But I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
“I’m aiming to give you a lesson anyhow, just to make sure.”
“Thank you, Wyatt.” She squeezed his arm again, and this time, he captured her hand in his, threading his fingers through hers.
The intimate contact sent a fluttering of warmth through her. And when he rested their intertwined hands on his thigh, the warmth fanned outward.
Memories of their fishing trip rushed back, heedless of all her attempts over recent weeks to stave them off. With his hand securely wrapped through hers, suddenly all she could think about was how his feathery kisses had felt against her hand.
She had to put them from her mind and couldn’t read more into his hand-holding. They were both just relieved nothing bad had happened. That’s all.
She leaned her head back and tried to simply be content with the moment, sitting with him hand in hand and knowing he cared enough to rush home and check on Astrid and her. For now, that would have to be enough.
“Astrid’s really something else, you know?” He peered down at the child, his eyes brimming with affection.
“Yes, she is.” Greta’s insecurities surfaced as they often did when she thought about trying to be a parent to Astrid. “I’m trying so hard to raise her right, but she’s always taking risks—like today, just jumping in and serving the Indians biscuits.”
“She’s fearless.”
“And often foolish.”
“Maybe that comes from not knowing about her future. I reckon people staring death in the face ain’t afraid of a little danger now and then.”
Ever since Astrid had been a baby, she’d been willful and independent. But with the onset of the consumption, those traits had only seemed to grow more pronounced. Greta was thankful that since coming to the ranch, she had some help reining in the girl’s antics. “You’re good with her. And so is Judd.”
“She’s real easy to love.” Wyatt reached across Greta to stroke Astrid’s hair again.
Greta’s heart softened as it did whenever Wyatt interacted with the little girl. He was always taking the time to answer Astrid’s dozens of questions, allowing her to help, and showing affection for her in a brotherly way, like now.
“Being with her makes me miss my little sis a real lot.” Wyatt’s voice was wistful. “Sure as a gun miss them all.”
“They must miss you too.” How could anyone not miss a man like Wyatt?
