A Cowboy for Keeps

by Jody Hedlund

  Wyatt took his time replacing the rifle on the rack. When he turned, he removed his hat and stared at the ground in front of him, his head hanging and his shoulders sagging, leaving Greta no doubt of his deception.

  Astrid took Chase from Greta’s arms and set him down. He sat and stared up at Greta with cute black eyes, as if waiting for her to say something.

  What should she say? Could she even speak without crying?

  “I’m sorry, Greta.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Don’t apologize to me again.”

  “This ain’t what it appears—”

  “It appears you married me in order to get cattle. A wife for cattle. Isn’t that right?”

  Wyatt jammed his fingers through his hair and blew out a loud breath. “I asked Steele if he’d be willing to invest, to give me a loan, and he said he’d do it if I married you.”

  Though Brawley had said the same thing, the words straight from Wyatt’s mouth pierced her. “And he expects you to have a family?”

  Wyatt shifted and kept his gaze trained on his boots. “You heard him yourself. He’s fixin’ to make the town a place with other children and families. Figures if he does, then his wife and son will come live here with him.”

  “So that’s why you don’t want me to leave and take Astrid to Denver?”

  “Take me to Denver?” Astrid said from where she knelt stroking the puppy. “Why are you taking me there?”

  “Nope,” Wyatt said. “That ain’t why—”

  “Tell me the truth, Wyatt.” Greta stepped forward, the pain radiating into her limbs and somehow giving her the strength she needed to confront him. “If Steele hadn’t offered you the cattle loan, would you have married me? Simply to help me out?”

  He twisted at the brim of his hat.

  “Why are we leaving, Greta?” Astrid stood, her thin body rigid. “I don’t wanna go.”

  Greta put her hand on the little girl’s head, trying to comfort her but unable to reassure her of anything, not when the world was crumbling beneath their feet.

  “I don’t want you to go either,” Wyatt said.

  “Answer my question, Wyatt. Would you have married me without Steele’s loan?”

  He was silent for several heartbeats. Then he shook his head, almost sadly. “I don’t rightly know.”

  “Probably not?”

  This time he didn’t reply, which gave her the answer she didn’t want. Wyatt hadn’t intended to marry her to help her out or for his old friend Phineas’s sake or even because he wanted the companionship. He’d done it for one reason and one reason alone—for cattle.

  Tears stung her eyes. She had to get out of the barn now, before she lost control of her emotions and started sobbing. She didn’t want Wyatt to see how much he’d hurt her.

  “Come on, Astrid.” She reached for her sister’s hand. “We need to go pack.”

  “No!” Astrid held her arms stiffly at her sides.

  “Wait and hear me out.” Wyatt started toward her.

  Greta held out her arm to halt him.

  He stopped, his beautiful brown eyes tortured. “You gotta believe me, Greta. Things might’ve started out for the wrong reasons, but it ain’t like that anymore.”

  She blinked to hold back the tears threatening to spill out.

  “I like having you and Astrid around.” His tone was low and sincere. “I like it a real lot.”

  Deep inside she sensed the honesty of his confession. He couldn’t have pretended everything.

  Even so, how could she trust his motives again? How would she know if he truly cared about her or whether he was trying to win her over to keep Mr. Steele happy?

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said more to herself than Wyatt. “I told you I need to take Astrid to Denver, and now knowing you never really wanted us just makes it easier to go.”

  “Greta, please.” His expression radiated anguish. “I don’t want to lose you or Astrid.”

  “Why?” She forced the question through her tight throat as she slipped off her wedding band. “So you don’t lose your cattle deal with Mr. Steele?”

  Without giving him time to answer, she marched to him and thrust the ring into his hand. Then she grabbed Astrid’s arm and headed to the barn door.

  Though Astrid struggled against her, Greta held on tightly as she exited and started across the yard. Judd stood silently next to Dolly holding her lead line, no doubt having heard every word of her argument with Wyatt. She could feel him watching Astrid and her with troubled eyes. She suspected he’d known all about Wyatt’s dealings too, and part of her wanted to blame the old ranch hand for staying silent. On the other hand, knowing Judd, he’d likely been an unwilling participant in the whole scheme.

  “Wait!” Wyatt strode out of the barn. “Please, Greta, let me say more.”

  She picked up her pace, practically dragging Astrid along. She couldn’t fall prey to Wyatt’s charm. If she let him get anywhere near her, he’d sweet talk her into doing whatever he wanted, just as he’d been doing all along.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow,” she called. “Please don’t try to stop us.”

  Distant gunshots echoed in the stillness of the evening, causing her to stumble to a halt a few paces from the cabin with Astrid bumping into her from behind. Who was shooting and why?

  Wyatt and Judd had both grown motionless as well and were staring toward the north pasture behind the barn.

  More gunshots resounded in close succession.

  Wyatt exchanged a glance with Judd. “You don’t think it’s Brawley, do you?”

  “Yep. Has to be.”

  “Tell me they’re hunting.”

  “More like rustling.” Judd’s lips formed a grim line beneath his bushy white mustache.

  Wyatt spun and stalked back into the barn. The moment he disappeared, Greta’s legs turned as wobbly as jam, and she had to hold on to Astrid for balance.

  “What’s rustling, Greta?” Astrid stared at the horizon as more gunshots filled the air.

  “Stealing.” As upset as she was at Wyatt, she didn’t want him to lose his cattle, not after how hard he’d worked to build up his small herd.

  “They can’t just steal them, can they?” Astrid bent and picked up Chase. “They’ll get in trouble if they do.”

  “Let’s pray that’s the case.”

  As Judd limped into the barn after Wyatt, Greta’s muscles tightened with dread. A moment later, Wyatt emerged atop his horse with Judd following on his mount, both carrying their rifles.

  They weren’t thinking of riding out to the north pasture and fighting Brawley over the cattle, were they? Brawley’s parting words echoed in her head: “Maybe I oughta do what I’ve been aiming to do all along. Run you out of here.”

  Wyatt reined in his horse near them. “Take Astrid and stay in the cabin.” His eyes flashed with anger, and his jaw was set with determination.

  She wanted to tell Wyatt not to go, that it was too dangerous, that she was afraid of what might happen to him. But she bit back the words that weren’t hers to say anymore. Even if such a warning had been within her rights, he wouldn’t listen anyway. He was the kind of man who did hard things, who didn’t shrink from danger, and who wasn’t afraid to protect what was his.

  As much as she admired those qualities about him, she didn’t want him to go out and fight Brawley, not with the angry threats still ringing in the air.

  “Don’t come out until we get back!” Wyatt called, and then without another glance, he slapped his horse into a gallop.

  Chapter 20

  Wyatt’s pulse pounded with fury. Riding low, he nudged his heels into his horse and urged it faster. Behind him, Judd’s steed kicked up grass too.

  He wasn’t about to let Brawley drive his cattle off his land. No how, no way. He’d paid for each of the steers, branded them, and invested hours into fattening and watching over them. Brawley couldn’t get away with this. And he had to know it. Anyone with eyes in his head would see Wyat
t’s brand, the block Mc seared into the hide, and sort out which cattle belonged to him in no time.

  Wyatt just prayed his pesky neighbor was doing nothing more than riling up the cattle and driving them into the foothills.

  The setting sun cast shades of pink and purple all across the mountain peaks. Daylight was fast fading, and he and Judd wouldn’t have much time to round up the spooked herd before darkness fell.

  “There!” Judd pointed to the northeast.

  Wyatt squinted where Judd indicated, but he couldn’t make out anything but grassland, brush, and boulders. Doggone it all. He should have figured with the way Brawley was all-fired up that he’d find a way to make trouble.

  When Judd pulled ahead and veered toward one of the boulders, Wyatt followed, only to have his heart plummet when he realized it wasn’t a boulder.

  It was one of the steers. Down. On its side.

  With growing horror, he glanced around to the other forms that at a distance had looked like large stones. Now up close he recognized them for what they were. His cattle.

  Judd reached the nearest steer first and was already hopping to the ground by the time Wyatt stopped next to him. Judd knelt and placed a hand on the steer’s flank. But Wyatt didn’t need to dismount and examine the animal. The blood trickling out of the bullet hole in its head told Wyatt everything he needed to know.

  Brawley and his cowpokes had killed his cattle. Every single one.

  The prostrate bodies were scattered over the grassland. None of them moved, not even to twitch. The rage that had been rampaging through Wyatt’s veins faded away to nothing, leaving him strangely empty, except for the haunting chant: You were a failure, and you’ll always be a failure.

  Ever since Greta’s arrival, he hadn’t been setting store by his past mistakes. He wasn’t exactly sure what about her caused the chant to disappear. Maybe her confidence in him and her confidence in herself made him believe everything would end up alright. Or maybe it was their partnership and the way they worked so well together in running the ranch.

  But he’d gone and lost Greta and had only himself to blame. He should have done the right thing and made sure she knew from the start exactly what kind of deal he’d made with Steele. Instead, he’d walked a mile around the issue, hoping it would go away on its own. Now she was the one going away.

  And the voice was back, yelling at him louder than ever that he didn’t have what it takes to be a rancher. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and down his bristly chin.

  Maybe all this time he’d been fooling himself into believing he’d be able to build a livelihood on the land that could eventually become self-supporting. But this place was too untamed. His enemies were too unyielding. And his luck was all used up—if he’d ever had any to begin with.

  Judd stood, removed his hat, and peered around at the needless carnage. His leathery face was grave.

  The despair inside Wyatt burrowed deeper. On top of all his other shortcomings, he’d also let down Judd. When he’d asked Judd to stay and help him build the ranch, he promised him a new and exciting opportunity along with the chance to put down roots here in this land of beauty. But now, what was the point in staying? Their herd was dead. And his deal with Steele was dead too.

  All along, a part of him had known the deal wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t have bargained over a woman’s life. He should have called things off and figured out another way to build the herd.

  A gust of cold wind whistled low against the earth and rustled the dry grass, as though calling him to mourn. The coldness reminded him of winter’s approach and the bleakness of the months ahead. Wasn’t much he could do now. But come spring, he could claim a homestead on the plains and give farming a try. At least he had the know-how.

  Judd held his hat over his heart and bowed his head, no doubt praying.

  Wyatt expelled a tight breath. He wasn’t sure he wanted to pray any more. Not when God didn’t seem to care a lick about helping anything in his life to go right.

  After several more moments of silence, Judd replaced his hat and then stood back to take in the scene again.

  Another gust of cold air buffeted Wyatt, taunting him about everything he’d lost. “Not every day a man loses both his wife and his livelihood.”

  Judd turned to his mount and retrieved the rope from the saddle. “You ain’t lost either yet.”

  Wyatt snorted. “I know you ain’t deaf or blind. You heard Greta and you see this.” He waved toward the dead cattle. “I’m done.”

  Judd knelt and wrapped the rope around the hind legs of the steer. “You can walk away every time the flies start bitin’. Or you can swat ’em until they’re gone.”

  “Huh?” Wyatt was used to Judd’s adages and respected him for his experience and wisdom. But sometimes, he wished his friend would just come out and say what he meant.

  Judd knotted the rope and then sat back on his boot heels. “Problem with you young pups is that you expect things to be easy, and then the minute they’re not, you pack up and hightail it out.”

  “I ain’t expecting nothin’ to be easy. You’ve seen how hard I’ve been working for months.” Wyatt couldn’t keep the frustration from rising with his voice. “Poured my heart and life into this ranch. And for what? What do I have to show for it? A herd of dead steers, that’s what.”

  “Quit your blubbering,” Judd muttered, standing up.

  “I ain’t blubbering.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Things are always going wrong for me. Can’t seem to make a go of anything I set my hand to.”

  “Things always go wrong. Just the way it is in a broken world.” Judd shot a stream of spit straight into the dirt. “We can call it rubbish and throw it away. Or we can pick it up and fix it as best we can.”

  Wyatt shook his head. Judd didn’t understand what his life had been like, all his efforts to make a way for himself so he could build a new home for his family. Something always put a hitch in his plans and kept him from succeeding.

  “Been hanging my hat on something my ma taught me from the Good Book,” Judd continued, jawing more now than he had in a month. “She always said, we ain’t supposed to be surprised when we come against fiery trials. If the Lord suffered, then we gotta expect the suffering too.”

  Wyatt wanted to respond that he wasn’t surprised by fiery trials, but as he glanced around the growing darkness at the dead steers, his inner dickering fell silent. Had he expected the good Lord to take away his problems and make everything work out? What if he’d been pulling away from God and blaming Him when things didn’t go the way he wanted?

  Fiery trials. Reverend Zieber had recently preached about the three men who’d been thrown into the fiery furnace for not worshiping a false god. The onlookers had seen not three men in the fire, but four. God hadn’t taken them out of the fiery trial. He’d walked with them through it.

  Was that what God promised? Not to pluck him out of difficulties but to be there in the midst of them?

  “So”—Wyatt tried to make sense of everything—“you think I need to stay put instead of walking away?”

  “Yep. Instead of seeing dead steers, it’s time to see beef.” Judd started toward the next steer.

  Beef? The cattle hadn’t nearly reached the weight and size he’d hoped for. But Judd was right. If they butchered them before the meat turned rancid, they could salvage this mess and sell off the beef. Their profit wouldn’t be hefty, but it would be something.

  “Time to pick up your suspenders,” Judd said, “slap ’em over your shoulders, and get to work.”

  Wyatt hopped down from his mount and retrieved the rope from his saddle, guessing that Judd planned on moving the steers closer together for the night so they’d have a better chance at keeping bloodthirsty wild animals away while they worked.

  It would be a long, hard night ahead. And an even longer few days to come. But instead of calling it quits and moving on, maybe this time he’d learn to pick things up an
d fix them as best he could.

  At some point, Judd returned to the homestead for more supplies, including lanterns. When he returned, Wyatt was surprised to see Greta with him. From where he knelt in a puddle of blood, he had half a mind to stand up and shout at her to go back to the cabin, that she shouldn’t be here.

  At the sight of the dead cattle, she cupped a hand over her mouth, and he thought she’d be sick to her stomach. But then she straightened her shoulders and dismounted. She emptied the contents of her saddlebag, including knives, a sharpening stone, and bone saw. Once she’d stacked them, she approached, carrying a skinning knife.

  “If you sever the head and feet and slit the breastbone,” she said, standing over him, “I’ll start skinning.”

  He jabbed his blade farther toward the spinal cord, rocking it back and forth. “You shouldn’t be out here. Go back with Astrid.”

  “Astrid’s just fine. She’s asleep.” She jutted her chin. “I’m staying and helping.”

  “Judd and me, we can take care of things.”

  “We’ll have a better chance at saving the meat if we work together.”

  He’d already bled several of the steers, but he had a dozen left to go. Dusk had fallen, and though the moon above was full and bright, the lanterns Judd and Greta had brought along would be real helpful.

  She would be real helpful too. After growing up on a farm, no doubt she had plenty of experience butchering pigs and chickens, maybe even a cow. Fact was, he couldn’t turn down her offer. At the same time, he didn’t want to subject her to the hours of bloody work ahead.

  “Let me help you, Wyatt,” she said softly.

  When he glanced up, her beautiful eyes were filled with compassion. Even though she had every right to be angry and hurt, she didn’t have a spiteful bone in her body.

  “Fine. Bring me the bone saw, and I’ll get one of the steers ready for skinning.”

  Throughout the long hours of the night, they worked ceaselessly—bleeding, skinning, and cutting the cattle. As they did so, his attention kept straying to Greta. She scraped the hides, never stopping to rest, working as efficiently with the cattle as she did with her jams.