by Jody Hedlund
He hesitated, then released her hand and stood. His hat shadowed his face, but she’d been learning that talking about his family and his past always brought out more shadows.
“I’d best be heading back. But I’ll carry Astrid inside to bed first.”
After Astrid was tucked under the covers, Greta watched Wyatt ride away and wished more than anything she could promise him that she and Astrid would be the family he longed for, that he’d never have to lose them. But as much as she wanted to reassure him, she couldn’t. Not when he’d been the one to leave the door of their marriage open.
He’d left it wide open that first night she’d come to the ranch, and he’d given them both the option of stepping through it and walking away. As much as he might be growing to care about Astrid and her, he’d yet to make a move to yank the door closed and insist on keeping their marriage vows sacred. And the truth was, she couldn’t yank the door closed yet either.
Chapter 15
Snow had fallen in the mountains.
Greta exited the church behind Astrid, her sights straying to the distant hillsides. The aspens had been changing, and the contrast between the evergreens and brilliant yellow never failed to take her breath away. Except for today. Not now that the highest mountain peaks wore new white crowns of snow.
Bad traveling. That’s what everyone was saying this morning. Mrs. Mueller hadn’t ridden down because of the ice. And though Greta missed seeing her, she was more worried about the mountain roads becoming impassable and cutting them off from getting help for Astrid should she need it.
“Can we go see the kittens again?” Astrid charged down the plank step and veered toward the livery, where last Sunday after church she’d happened upon a litter of eight-week-old kittens. “You said that I could bring one home.”
“I said only if Wyatt was agreeable to it.” Greta easily caught up with Astrid and snagged her hand. The child’s pale complexion and the dark circles under her eyes testified to the strain of battling consumption. The last week especially had been difficult, with several nights of severe coughing. The sleepless nights and trouble breathing had taken their toll, not only on Astrid. Greta was wearier than usual too.
She’d worked well into the night making jam and hand pies to sell in town today. While the supply of chokecherries and huckleberries was gone, Judd had brought her wild plums from the foothills that she’d cooked up.
“Let’s wait for Wyatt.” She tugged Astrid to a stop beside her and glanced to where Wyatt stood in the doorway of the church talking with Reverend Zieber. In his Sunday church clothes, Wyatt was sharp, his crisp suit contrasting his ruggedness and making him more handsome.
Her stomach fluttered just looking at him, an ailment that was becoming commonplace whenever she saw him.
“If I can’t have a kitten”—Astrid strained to keep walking—“then I want a puppy. Maybe Mr. McLaughlin will have puppies at the livery this time.”
“Puppies?” came Wyatt’s voice from behind. “What about puppies?”
“W-e-l-l, I was thinking a pet might be nice to keep me company.” Astrid halted and gave Wyatt her most charming smile, one she’d learned could wrap the man around her pinky.
“A pet?” Wyatt’s brows arched, and he glanced from Astrid to Greta, as though trying to gauge Greta’s thoughts on the matter. After the visit last week from the natives, Wyatt had mentioned wanting to get a couple of cow dogs that would be able to cause a ruckus and alert them well in advance of any visitors.
While Greta agreed that having dogs couldn’t hurt, she wanted him to know he didn’t have to give in to Astrid’s whims. Before she could say anything, someone called out a greeting. They shifted to find Mr. Steele driving toward them in a bright yellow buggy with a single seat drawn by one horse. Greta had noticed the kindly gentleman in the service earlier sitting in the front row, back after his weeks in Denver.
Now she smiled a greeting.
As he brought his buggy to a halt next to them, he tipped his hat and smiled in return. “Lovely service this morning, wasn’t it?”
For several moments they spoke of the message and made small talk about the harvest and cooler nights. Mr. Steele also mentioned to Wyatt something about being in touch with a cattle breeder in Missouri and that a payment was underway. And although the two didn’t spell things out, Mr. Steele must have been helping Wyatt to get more cattle.
“I’m happy to say”—Mr. Steele focused on Greta again—“that by summer you might have more womanly companionship, as my wife is finally considering moving to Fairplay.”
“That would be delightful, Mr. Steele. I would surely love the friendship.”
“I told her we’re attracting families with young children.” Mr. Steele nodded toward Astrid, who was stroking his horse and talking to it as though she’d just made a new friend. “I also told her I’m planning to build a school and that I’m hoping we’ll be able to fill it eventually.”
He looked pointedly at Wyatt, who tugged at his shirt collar.
“I’m sure we will.” Greta hoped someday Astrid would get well enough so she could attend school. In Illinois, the girl’s illness had prevented her from going, and Greta had taken to teaching her at home during the winter months when she had more time to devote to it. But maybe things would be different here. She couldn’t give up hope yet, could she? “I guess we’ll know more in the spring.”
Mr. Steele’s countenance brightened. “Then does that mean what I think it does?”
“Of course,” Greta said, even as Wyatt cleared his throat.
The older gentleman’s smile widened. “I’m so pleased to hear the news, and my wife will be doubly so. Maybe she’ll be here to help you by the time the baby arrives.”
Baby? Greta’s smile froze in place. Did Mr. Steele think she was expecting a baby? What had she said to give him that impression?
Again Wyatt cleared his throat. “Hold on a minute, Steele—”
“You’re having a baby?” Astrid interrupted, her eyes clear and full of life in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. She clapped and spun. “I’m going to have a niece or nephew. A brand-new baby!”
Mr. Fehling, the proprietor of Hotel Windsor, stepped out of the door of his establishment, wiping his hands on his apron and grinning from ear to ear. “Mrs. McQuaid is having a baby? How thrilling. The wee one’ll have the honor of being the first baby born in Fairplay.”
Several more passersby stopped to slap Wyatt on the back and offer Greta congratulations. As they did so, she couldn’t seem to stop the current that was dragging her along. Though she made a few attempts to correct the misunderstanding, as did Wyatt, she felt as though she was grasping at a riverbank trying to find solid footing but was being carried too rapidly to change her course.
By the time they finished selling her goods to Mr. Fehling, word of her expecting a baby had spread to nearly all her patrons. She was downright mortified and had no idea how to explain she wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t very well stand in the middle of Main Street and announce she wasn’t with child because she and Wyatt had barely shared kisses, much less the marriage bed.
Wyatt’s face was pale and taut by the time they made their way to the livery, and he seemed to be having as much trouble as she was in figuring out how to row upstream against the current.
“Hold on there, McQuaid.” Captain Jim hurried down the sidewalk toward them.
Greta braced herself for more congratulations. But Captain Jim didn’t make any mention of the baby and instead handed Wyatt a letter. “Came with freighters from Denver a few days ago.”
Since Astrid had raced ahead to the livery, eager to see the kittens, Greta used the opportunity to escape from the public eye, slipping into the dark interior of the wide barn and its many stalls. On a Sunday morning, the place was quiet except for the soft nickering of the horses. Thin rays of sunlight slanted through the cracks in the walls, shining on the dust and warming the air with the familiar scent of horseflesh.
> “Here, kitty-kitties,” Astrid called as she probed the dark stall where the kittens had been last week.
Their trips to town on Sunday mornings always brought back the most remembrances of home. No matter how busy her pappa was, he’d always made time to honor “the Lord’s day”—as he’d called it—and to attend church. The gatherings had been a place of community and friendship—and where she’d met Thomas during those lonely days after her mamma had died.
He’d been a true friend. Maybe she’d never felt warm flutters in her stomach at his touch the way she did with Wyatt, but she’d loved him. And he was the one she missed whenever she thought about home and Sunday mornings and church services.
“I can’t find the kitties.” Alarm laced Astrid’s voice. “Can you help me find them, Greta?”
“Maybe the mother moved them to a new place.” Greta made her way carefully through the hay, but before she could join the search, Wyatt stepped into the barn. His stricken expression and the open letter in his hand stopped her.
“What’s wrong?”
“The letter’s from Flynn.”
Wyatt had shared enough about his brothers that Greta felt she knew them to a small degree. Two years younger than Wyatt, Flynn hadn’t approved of Wyatt leaving the farm and had been angry with him ever since. During Wyatt’s last visit home three years ago, they’d exchanged bitter words before parting. While Wyatt’s mother had continued to write letters, Flynn had been silent.
Greta crossed to Wyatt and wasn’t sure whether to take the letter and read it for herself or wait for him to elaborate.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple threading up and down his throat.
It couldn’t be good news. She touched his arm, hoping he sensed her support.
“It’s my ma.” His voice choked, his eyes wide with heart-wrenching sorrow. “She died in childbirth.”
“Oh, Wyatt.” Without hesitating, she slipped her arms around him and drew him into an embrace. Maybe her own family had never been affectionate with her, but she’d learned from Thomas how to be a supportive friend. And right now, that’s what Wyatt needed.
He gripped her tightly, almost as if he couldn’t stand without her holding him up.
She wished there was some way to take away the pain, but just about the only thing she could do was be by his side through the grief.
“The babe died too,” he whispered after a moment.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt.” She pressed him closer.
“This is all Rusty’s fault.” His voice was hoarse. “He knew she couldn’t handle having another babe, not after the way she almost died giving birth last time.”
Wyatt didn’t speak often of his stepfather, but whenever he did, he’d had nothing good to say, blaming Rusty for his mother’s miscarriages in recent years along with a stillbirth that had left her in poor health.
“I should have sent for her—for them—sooner.”
“You’ve been doing the best you could.”
“I could’ve done more.”
“You’re the hardest working, most determined man I know. If there had been a way, you would have found it.”
His chest shuddered as he drew in a deep breath. His nose burrowed into her neck, and for a long moment she simply held him. Thankfully, Astrid had gotten distracted by the horses and was busy feeding them handfuls of hay.
When he peeled away, she reluctantly released him but held on to his arm. She could feel the inner turmoil rippling through his muscles. With the length of time it took the mail to reach Fairplay, his mother had likely died weeks ago. There wasn’t much he’d be able to do now, as much as he wished he could.
“She shouldn’t have married Rusty. And it’s my fault she had to.”
“No, Wyatt. You did your best with the farm after your father died. You were only a boy—”
“To top it all, Rusty’s saying my pa’s farm is his.” Wyatt spat the words. “Told Flynn he can stay ’til spring, but then he has to take everyone and get on out.”
“Can Rusty do that? Don’t you or Flynn have legal rights to the land?”
“Nope.” The word contained a world of bitterness. “From what Flynn says, Rusty made Ma sign the deed over to him.”
“That’s awful.”
“Guess I knew we’d lost the farm the day Ma married that fleabag.” Wyatt hung his head, then took another deep breath before he lifted his chin, his features filling with the determination she’d grown to appreciate. “Don’t matter. I was fixin’ to have them come by next summer anyhow. Now this just makes it all the more certain.”
On that first day meeting Wyatt during their time together in the cold cavern in the thunderstorm, he’d mentioned bringing his family west at some point. But the recollection was vague, and she’d put it from her mind.
“I’m gonna write to Flynn and let him know.”
Her mind whirled with the implications. Wyatt had three brothers and a sister. Where would everyone stay? How would they feed and take care of additional people when they were already working long hours to get by the way it was?
Wyatt could do nothing less than offer them a home regardless of their insufficient quarters and provisions. If their situations were reversed, she’d do the same thing. Nevertheless, a boulder rolled into the pit of her stomach and lodged there. “Do you think Flynn will come?”
Wyatt’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t rightly know. But he says Brody’s itching to join the war effort as soon as he turns eighteen, and Dylan’s been talking about running away to join up too. I reckon Flynn’ll jump at the chance to bring them west and out of the conflict, even if he’d just as soon jerk a knot in my tail.”
If Greta could go back in time, she’d jump at the chance to avoid the war too and would have done anything to ensure that Thomas didn’t enlist. He’d wanted to get married right away, had asked her if they could wed before he left for training. But, as with the kiss, she’d hoped the prospect of marrying her would bring him home quicker.
She’d been a fool. She should have told Thomas she’d marry him if only he’d go west with her. From what she’d heard, Colorado Territory’s governor, William Gilpin, had formed several militia companies. But being so far away from the conflict, the infantry and cavalry regiments had only skirmished with Confederate Irregulars.
The fact was, most men in the mountains were too busy searching for precious minerals to think about the war. And neither the governor nor the United States War Department had pushed for the men of Colorado to enlist because the Union needed the gold and silver from the mines to help finance the war efforts.
Surely Fairplay would be a safe place for Wyatt’s brothers to get away from the death and destruction of the war. “Why wait until spring? They should come now.”
“I wish.” The letter in his hand was now crumpled but still showed a brief paragraph in neatly slanted cursive. “By the time I get word to Flynn, it will be too late in the year to travel.”
She nodded her understanding. But in her heart, the heaviness only sank deeper. As kind as Wyatt was and as generous as he’d been in providing for Astrid and her, he would need the space for his family. And after building an addition to the cabin, there still wouldn’t be enough room to go around.
Also, Wyatt had no income yet from his cattle, at least not steady or reliable. Yes, they’d made a sizable amount today from Mr. Fehling. But this batch would be one of the last now that the fruit was mostly harvested. As usual, after replenishing baking supplies, she’d planned to give the leftover money to Wyatt so he had the cash to buy necessities for the ranch. But maybe he’d use it to help his siblings pay for their trip west.
Whatever the case, Wyatt didn’t need to worry about her and Astrid too. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to get serious about planning to leave.
She took his callused hand in hers, trying to comfort him. “Let’s get that letter to Flynn ready to post. He’ll appreciate knowing he has a new place he can call home.”
“I’ll
get some paper from Captain Jim and write it now.”
“And we’ll send him the earnings from today to help pay for their journey here.”
“No how, no way. I ain’t taking your money—”
She stopped him by laying a finger against his lips. “Our money, Wyatt.” They’d had this argument before, and she never liked it.
Before she could drop her hand, he snagged it and pressed a kiss to her palm.
At the soft warmth, her breath hitched. The sadness in his eyes made them a rich molasses brown, and she found herself sinking into them, unable to look away.
“Looks like I have a knack for making a mess of things.”
“Everything will work out,” she whispered. But would it?
He brushed his lips against her palm again.
He’d rarely touched her in the weeks they’d been married, had stayed true to the boundaries he’d established from the start, had given them plenty of time to try out their marriage of convenience and see if it worked. With only a couple of weeks to go until the end of the three-month arrangement, it was safe to say they’d gotten to “liking each other.”
Right now was proof of it, proof that more and more lately, this attraction was real. Her heart couldn’t deny how much she liked him no matter how much her head warned her to be cautious.
As if reading her thoughts, he dropped his other hand to her waist, drew her closer, and placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist, his breath warm against her thudding pulse.
His fingers tightened and splayed over her hip, making her entirely aware of his searing touch and the power of his masculinity. His somber but beautiful eyes held hers, causing her heartbeat to sputter with strange need, although for what she didn’t know.
“Better not bring your family here,” came a voice from the livery door.
Wyatt stiffened.
Greta peered past him. Roper Brawley stood in the doorway, feet apart, hand on his gun. Wyatt stepped out in front of Greta, guiding her behind him while putting himself in the line of fire.
“You ain’t gonna make it here.” Brawley appeared calm, but his grip was tight against his gun. “Might as well admit it and stop wasting everybody’s time.”
