by Jody Hedlund
“I ain’t wasting time.”
Though the sunlight filtered in from outside the livery, Brawley’s face was shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, hiding his black eye patch. Seeing their neighbor never failed to make Greta shiver. Although most of the sightings had been from a distance, she had only to remember the first time he’d harassed her while she had been huckleberry picking for her to sense that this man was dangerous, perhaps even deadly.
Wyatt’s fingers gripped the handle of his revolver too. “Last I checked, my mail and what I aim to do with my family is my business, not yours.”
Brawley spat a stream of tobacco juice into the hay, his bottom lip bulging and his scraggly beard stained from the spittle. “No need to get all-fired up, McQuaid. Just doin’ my civil-like duty to keep more people from being homeless than need to be.”
“Hey there, Mister.” Of course, Astrid had to choose that moment to decide she was done petting the horses. She skipped past Wyatt and would have gone straight toward Brawley if Wyatt hadn’t grabbed her up and held her back.
She craned her neck to see Brawley regardless of Wyatt’s hold. “What happened to your eye, Mister?”
“Astrid,” Greta muttered. “Be polite.”
“Just curious is all. Last time you came riding through town, I thought for sure you were a pirate, what with the eye patch and all.”
“Good one, kid. Yep, I’m a pirate.”
Astrid cocked her head and stared at Brawley. “W-e-l-l—”
Greta clamped a hand over the little girl’s mouth. The situation was already tense enough, and they didn’t need to add to the danger with Astrid’s blunt remarks.
“Get on out of here, Brawley.” Wyatt dropped his hand again to his revolver. “And you better not come anywhere near my place if you want to live a month of Sundays.”
Brawley let out a barking laugh and then turned and sauntered away. Wyatt watched him go, his already-dark eyes turning murky. He passed Astrid over to her, told her to stay in the livery, and then left, his heavy-booted steps taking him in the direction of Simpkin’s General Store. No doubt he planned to give an earful to Captain Jim for spilling the news about his family’s predicament.
Whatever Wyatt might do, one thing was true. The West was no place for cowards. And Greta was fairly certain that with all her uncertainties, she was the biggest coward of all.
Chapter 16
Atop his horse, Wyatt patted his vest pocket underneath his coat and traced the outline of the ring. Had he been too rash in buying it for Greta? He reckoned it’d be the easiest way to let on that he wanted to keep their marriage going. ’Cause he did, didn’t he?
At a wiggle in the small crate on his lap, he peeked inside, as he had dozens of times during the long day of traveling back from Mosquito Gulch. With the rough terrain, he’d been afraid he’d have trouble with his extra load. But thankfully, the ride toward home had been uneventful. Except for the cow having a hoof abscess and slowing things down, he hadn’t had any problems.
The cow he’d bought with the earnings from Greta’s plum jam.
Though she had encouraged him to use the money to help pay for his family’s journey out here, he had to make sure Flynn agreed to moving first. And knowing his brother, he’d have a burr under his saddle and refuse to consider coming west.
Greta had easily accepted Wyatt’s decision and instead asked for a milking cow she could use for butter making. He already had one pregnant heifer and hoped to breed more. So while tracking down the cow hadn’t been easy, getting another for breeding was actually a smart plan.
Then again, just about everything Greta did was smart. She’d proven that her business efforts were worth the initial investment. No doubt she’d make just as much selling butter in town as she had with her jam and hand pies. She’d recently hatched chicks in her efforts to increase the number of laying hens. At some point, she’d have more than enough eggs to sell in town too.
She was as shrewd and savvy as the best businessmen he knew. Her suggestions regarding the farm and cattle were always intelligent. Her foresight was accurate. And her willingness to work hard was unmatched—except maybe by his.
As his horse reached the top of a rise, he reined in, sat back in his saddle, and swept his gaze over his land. The acreage spread out for as far as he could see, endless grass bending in the wind, as though kneeling in reverence to the white-capped mountains in the distance.
The sorrow that had been plaguing him since getting Flynn’s letter a few days ago reared up and kicked Wyatt in the gut. If only his ma had been able to come and see all this . . . she would have loved it.
And now with the war dragging out, he was worried about all three of his brothers joining up. He was surprised Flynn wasn’t fighting yet but was relieved that with Ma gone, he was still home taking care of things.
Wyatt reckoned he’d be fighting for the Union himself if he lived in the States. The honest truth was that he’d thought about going back a time or two and enlisting. He wanted to do his duty like the next man. But out here, they were too far away from the conflict. By the time they left and traveled east, the war would likely be over.
Even so, he should have sent for Ma—for all his family—sooner. He could have written to Flynn early in the summer, once the cabin was ready, and told them to come.
Wyatt swallowed hard and pushed down the guilt that came with the grief. He’d had years to make something of himself and to find a way to save Ma. And, blast it all, now he was too late.
A nip in the breeze slapped his cheeks. With November just around the corner, the days were not only growing cooler, but shorter, giving him less daylight for finishing all that needed to be done before winter set in.
His gaze snagged upon the cabin. At the sight of a thin curl of smoke coming from the cookstove pipe, his heartbeat gave an extra thump. He’d only been gone for three days, but with the eagerness driving him, anyone else would have guessed he’d been gone for three weeks.
He’d never felt this way after a trip. Then again, this was the first extended time he’d been gone since marrying Greta back in August. He could admit he’d been nervous about leaving her and Astrid behind, even if Judd had assured him he’d stick close to home.
His anticipation was mounting as he drew nearer. Anticipation for seeing Greta’s beautiful smile and the sparkle in her eyes. Anticipation for hearing her voice. Anticipation for catching up on all she’d done the past few days.
More than that, she had unending confidence in his abilities in a way no one else ever had. She didn’t flatter him or give him false hope. But because she believed he could do anything, he almost believed it for himself.
He nudged his horse forward, the movement shifting the direction of the cow and spurring her to move faster.
There was something satisfying in knowing he was returning home to someone and not just an empty house. He loved that whenever he came around, she stood in the doorway or sat back on her heels in the garden or paused in whatever task she was doing to watch him approach.
More and more lately, he’d been tempted to go right over and pull her into his arms. It was getting mighty hard to keep his hands and thoughts from her. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching for her in the livery. . . .
It was a good thing they had less than two weeks of their trial to go.
With everyone thinking they were expecting their first babe, maybe he oughta hurry on up and make their marriage official. If he did and she got pregnant, then he wouldn’t have to worry anymore about how to explain she wasn’t in the family way.
The very thought of holding her for as long as he wanted sent flames shooting through his blood. “Good Lord,” he whispered, turning a plea heavenward. He threw open his coat to allow the air to cool him down, and he slipped off his hat to let the breeze ruffle his hair.
If only Steele had kept his big mouth shut and wasn’t so doggone pushy. Yep, he understood Steele wanted to bring his wife and son west. Y
ep, he understood he’d shaken hands with Steele and told him he’d have a real marriage. And yep, he understood Steele had already carried through on his part of the bargain by contacting the breeder in Missouri.
Trouble was, Wyatt couldn’t rush Greta before she was ready, especially into having a babe. It wouldn’t be right, no matter how much he liked her, and she liked him.
The big question was, did she like him enough to stay?
He patted his pocket and the ring again. It was about time to find out.
The last hour of the ride seemed to take days. By the time he drove the cow into the yard between the cabin and barn, his chest was near to hurting with the need to see her. Judd had heard him coming and was already limping toward the corral gate.
By the fading light of the evening, Wyatt watched the cabin door, waiting for Greta to make her appearance. She’d likely be wiping her hands on her apron, busy with another one of her projects.
But as he moved the new cow into the corral, the door remained closed.
“First calf heifer?” Judd gave a curt nod toward the new milking cow.
“Yep, she oughta have some good breeding years left.” Wyatt’s sights again strayed to the cabin, and he waited for the door to open, warm light to spill outside, and Greta to welcome him with one of her heart-stopping smiles.
But the cabin was quiet, almost too still. If the curl of smoke hadn’t been rising from the stovepipe, he would have assumed no one was inside. Maybe she wasn’t as excited to see him as he was her.
“How’d things go?” He followed the cow into the corral.
“Astrid’s been in a bad way.” Judd’s voice was low, and the grooves in his leathery face cut deep.
“Worse than usual?”
Judd closed the gate and took his time latching it. “Not much.”
Greta must have heard his arrival by now. What was wrong? He studied the lone square window next to the door and wanted to ply Judd with a dozen questions. But Judd wouldn’t say much more than a rock buried in dirt.
When Wyatt had told Judd that everyone thought Greta was pregnant, all his friend had said was, “The more you pile on the manure, the harder it’ll be to come clean.”
Maybe Judd was right. Maybe he should have come clean and been honest with Greta from the start. She was an understanding woman. With her business sense, she might have even approved of the bargain he’d struck with Steele in marrying her for the cattle.
He was in too deep now to know where to begin shoveling himself out of the heap.
Judd took the crate, peeked inside, and cracked a crooked smile.
Wyatt dismounted his horse, and after a few more minutes of relaying news about the cow purchase, Wyatt moseyed toward the barn, unable to keep his shoulders from sagging with weariness.
Judd grabbed the lead line away from him. “I got this. Go on now.”
“You sure?”
“I ain’t the purty one you’re dyin’ to see.”
“You’re a little purty,” he teased.
Judd released a stream of spit that shot hard and straight into the dirt yard. “Get on. You’re gonna be as useless as a dead pig in the sunshine until you see her.”
Wyatt glanced toward the house and scrubbed a hand down his grin. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m near always right.” Judd moved on without missing a beat in his lopsided gait.
Fortifying himself with a lungful of crisp evening air, Wyatt grabbed the crate and headed to the cabin. Everything was just fine. But the minute he stood in front of the door, all his doubts crowded around him.
Why hadn’t she come to greet him? What if he’d read the signs wrong and she didn’t like him after all? What if he was imposing on her?
He lifted his hand to knock, but then, as with other times, he opened the door without announcing himself. After all, it was still his home, and he wasn’t about to get permission to enter.
As he slipped inside, the front room was in immaculate order, the way he’d come to expect from her. Bunches of drying herbs and other vegetables hung from the rafters, filling the air with an earthy scent that made his stomach rumble with hunger. Several new shelves Judd had added were lined with jars of canned goods. The table was half filled with shucked corn waiting for preserving.
Even with signs of her all around, she wasn’t in sight.
He peeked through the bedroom door to find the windowless room was dark. But the faint light from the front room gave him a view of Greta sitting on the bed with her back against the wall and Astrid curled up next to her.
Were they both asleep?
He tiptoed through the cabin until he stood in the doorway.
Sure enough, Greta’s eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell in slumber. As far as he could tell, Astrid was asleep too.
Best thing was to leave them undisturbed for a spell. If Greta was tuckered out at this time of the day, then she probably wasn’t getting much shut-eye at night.
Her hand rested against Astrid’s hair, her fingers motionless.
Wyatt’s chest squeezed with a strange tenderness. Greta was always putting the needs of everyone else above her own, especially Astrid’s. She deserved to have someone look after her once in a while. Someone like him.
After setting the crate on the floor, he silently crossed to the bed. He’d help take off her shoes and tuck her in next to Astrid. Then maybe he’d sit in the other room and listen for Astrid to stir so he could give Greta a break.
Upon reaching her, he hesitated. He didn’t want to chance waking her.
Her bun was loose, strands having escaped to curl around her chin.
Rather than go for her shoes, his fingers had a mind of their own and stretched toward her chin and the stray hair. He caressed the piece back behind her ear and admired the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks. He wanted to stroke her high cheekbone down to her lips. But he forced himself to straighten.
As he took a step back, a sigh escaped from her lips. “Wyatt?” Her lashes lifted. “You’re home?”
In an instant he found himself right where he’d wanted to be all day, lost in her beautiful silver blue eyes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her lips curved into a sleepy smile, and she captured his hand, cutting off his breath. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Got you a milking cow.” He could hardly think of anything with her warm hand wrapped in his.
“I like you, Wyatt.” Her voice was still groggy. She’d said those words to him before, and they never failed to stir him. But this time, he wasn’t sure if he was satisfied with just the liking and her sweet way of expressing her appreciation.
He rubbed his thumb over her hand, relishing the rare contact with her.
She tugged his arm. “Sit for a minute and tell me about your trip.”
“Naw, I want you to sleep. We can catch up later.”
“I missed you.” Her words came out like a plea. But in the next instant, she dropped her gaze to Astrid, as if mortified by her declaration.
She’d missed him. That was something more. He lowered himself to the wooden beam that formed the edge of the bed frame. He was afraid that in her embarrassment, she’d pull her hand from his, so he tightened his hold.
“Hey.” He caressed her hand again with his thumb. “I missed you too.”
Her lashes flew up, and her eyes widened. “You did?”
“Yep. A whole lot.” He might as well spill the truth. “I was mighty ready to be home again.”
She lifted her free hand from Astrid and cupped his cheek. “And I was mighty ready for you to be home.”
He suddenly couldn’t think of anything but the fact that she was touching his cheek. He was scruffy and unshaven and dusty, but her fingers felt as smooth and soft as a newborn calf’s hide. He leaned in to her, giving her permission to stay there, to caress him, to hold him, to do whatever she wanted.
As though sensing his offer, her hand skimmed his jaw. A charge of pleasure shot th
rough him, making him conscious of their proximity. Before he could stop himself, he caressed her cheek the same way she had his.
At her quick inhale, he froze. He didn’t want to scare her or push her away. But as he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see any fear, only welcome. And desire?
A low burn started in his gut and spread into his blood. Would she let him kiss her? Right here? Right now?
He rubbed his thumb from her cheek to her lips. As his callused pad brushed against her soft fullness, she sucked in another breath, staring straight at his mouth in return.
When she imperceptibly moved toward him, he closed the distance, letting his lips touch hers and drink her in like water from a crystal-clear mountain brook. She responded with a thirst that matched his, and she slipped her hand behind his neck as though to urge him to get his fill.
Her lips were sweeter than anything he’d known, but rather than sating him, the kiss made him thirstier so that he delved deeper, needing more of her. She arched up, giving him more, her hands moving from his neck to his shoulders and down his arms, as though she needed him too.
The pressure in his chest tightened. This woman. His wife. Greta. Was he falling in love with her?
The very thought brought him to a halt, and he broke the kiss. Her soft gasps brushed his lips, the warmth, the sweetness, the pleasure overwhelming him but also settling fear deep into his bones and digging up all the doubts that had been lingering.
What if he couldn’t be the kind of husband she needed and he ended up letting her down? What if his attempt at ranching didn’t work out? What if he had to move on again?
Chapter 17
Greta hadn’t been ready for their kiss to end and wanted to press into Wyatt, showing him he didn’t have to stop, that he could go on kissing her for as long as he wanted.
Her cheeks heated at the prospect. She had a feeling such kissing would lead to more. Much more. And was she really ready for that?
