“I take thee, Wyatt, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance: and thereto I give thee my faith.”
The instant she finished, she loosened her hand from his and wrapped it back around the weeds Astrid had given her. Wyatt self-consciously stuffed his hand into his pocket.
“What about a ring?” Reverend Zieber asked under his breath as he leaned in toward Wyatt.
Wyatt shook his head, again chagrined, but Steele stepped forward and handed the minister a simple silver band with a nod to Wyatt. “You can use this until you have the chance to purchase something more permanent.”
Wyatt nodded back.
“Excellent.” Reverend Zieber closed his eyes. “Bless this ring, O Lord, to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
After placing the band upon his open prayer book, Reverend Zieber held the book out to Wyatt. “Go ahead and place the ring on her finger and repeat after me: Greta, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Wyatt fumbled with the ring but somehow managed to slip it down Miss Nilsson’s finger, noting the slender shape as well as the strength. Once the ring was in place, she stared at it for a moment, as though she wanted to bury it in the boneyard.
He had to stop thinking of her as Miss Nilsson and call her Greta. As improper as such casualness felt, she was no longer Miss Nilsson. She was Mrs. McQuaid. Mrs. Wyatt McQuaid. His wife.
He swallowed past a swelling lump of fear. What in the name of the Almighty had he done?
Reverend Zieber closed his prayer book with a snap that brought their attention back to him. “Now that you’ve given yourselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that you are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.”
Astrid clapped and fairly danced in place. “Now they have to kiss! Right, Reverend Zieber?”
Wyatt started to protest at the same time as Miss Nilsson—Greta. But before either of them could speak, Steele was clapping Wyatt on his shoulder—hard. “Of course they need to kiss. May as well begin right now getting to know each other.”
Something in Steele’s tone and in his squeeze warned Wyatt that he had to fulfill his part of the bargain and make this a real marriage. He couldn’t playact or pretend. He had to take his vows seriously. And he had to produce a family in order to help this community grow.
Guilt prodded him as it had earlier when he tried to explain the cattle bargain to Greta. He’d sounded like a bull in heat and botched the entire conversation, telling her just about everything . . . except the part that really mattered—that he was marrying her so he could get a loan from Steele.
He’d have to find a way to be aboveboard with her eventually, although he didn’t expect it would make much difference. She’d said all the explanation she needed was that he wanted to help out Phineas. That had been good enough for her.
“Go on now.” Steele’s fingers dug into his shoulder. “Give your wife a kiss, a nice one.”
“And a long one,” Astrid chimed in, much too eagerly.
“Astrid.” Greta cast the girl a mortified look.
Wyatt took a step closer to Greta. What was the best way to go about the business of giving her a kiss? Should he put his hands on her tiny waist? Or maybe on her shoulders? Or would she prefer he not touch her at all and just lean in?
When she glanced up at him, he was surprised that her eyes were filled with curiosity more than reticence. A woman as pretty as her had likely been kissed before. Maybe by Thomas. The man she’d planned to marry before he’d gotten killed in the war. It had been clear his death had been painful and that she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. How close had they been?
His attention fell to her lips. Slender like the rest of her, they were slightly open as though she was readying herself. Part of him resisted the notion of kissing this woman. But another part prodded him closer, urging him to do it, to prove to Steele and himself that he was up to the task of having a wife.
“Kiss her!” Astrid said again.
Greta dropped her attention to the girl, as though to issue another rebuke. In that instant, Wyatt swooped in and pressed his lips to hers, gently cupping her cheek to guide their kiss. At the softness of her mouth and the intake of her breath, every other coherent thought fled, and he couldn’t think of anything else except their connection.
He deepened the pressure, urging her to respond. For a second, she didn’t seem to know what to do, and then tentatively she let herself press back softly, curiously.
The movement awakened him, almost as if he’d been asleep, making him conscious of need pulsing through his body—need he’d kept as cold as a wagon tire.
He didn’t want that need awakened. Didn’t want to need a wife. Didn’t want to need anyone.
Though the kiss was thrilling, even pleasurable, he forced himself to break the contact and pull back.
She dropped her gaze as more pink infused her cheeks.
His thoughts returned to the way she’d looked standing in front of the mountain lion, her shoulders braced for an attack, chin jutted with determination. She’d been desperate to save Astrid, so much so she’d placed herself between the girl and the wild animal without a second of hesitation. And now here she was, so desperate to save Astrid she’d sacrificed herself again. By marrying a stranger.
Although he’d only known Greta a short time, she’d already proven herself to be a good and kind woman. The least he could do in return was demonstrate he was worthy of the sacrifice she’d made.
No matter Steele’s pressure for them to have a real marriage, no doubt she’d appreciate having the chance to get to know and trust him before he kissed her a second time.
Chapter 7
The oh-so-handsome Wyatt McQuaid was her husband. Greta wanted to pinch herself and wake up to reality, but she was clinging to the seat with both hands as the wagon bumped over the uneven earth. She didn’t dare let go for fear of falling off.
Mr. Steele had insisted they use his wagon and team to transport them, along with her trunk and bags, back to Wyatt’s ranch. At first, Wyatt had wavered in accepting the offer, only doing so after Mr. Steele insisted.
Now she knew why he’d been reluctant. The ride had been jarring and uncomfortable—more so than the weeks of stagecoach traveling.
The wagon dipped into another rut, tossing her up from the bench and then slamming her back down. She winced. She’d have new bruises in the morning.
She checked over her shoulder to the wagon bed. Cushioned by mounds of hay, Astrid had stopped talking, and her eyes were closed. The little girl had tried valiantly to stay awake to see her new home. But the day had taken its toll on her frail body and now sleep was claiming her.
“Not long now,” Wyatt said above the rattle of the wagon and wheels.
A half-moon overhead drizzled enough light that they’d been able to see their way well enough. The treeless prairie was covered with sage and shrubs, along with pale grass Wyatt said the cattle loved.