He replaced his hat and nodded. “If you need anything, just let me know. And I’ll do my best to make it or get it for you.”
“I’m sure I’ll get along fine.” Her attention strayed to the bedroom again. The bed was small for the two of them. When she realized Wyatt was watching her, she ducked her head.
A lengthy silence filled the space between them, broken by the steady trill of crickets coming in from the open door.
“Judd and me,” he finally said, “we’ll bed down in the barn loft.”
Her head jerked up. His brows were furrowed above his rich brown eyes made even richer by his long lashes. What was he saying? That he didn’t plan to spend the whole night with her?
As if sensing her confusion, he focused on the match stub he’d left on the table and began to twist it. “I figured you and Astrid might want to use the bed.”
“That’s nice of you.” She hoped her voice didn’t squeak through her tight throat. “But I can make a bed for Astrid. Maybe a trundle I can pull out for her at night.”
He flipped the match around and between his fingers. “Listen, Miss Nil—” He stopped himself.
She squirmed. It would be so much easier if they could simply do their marriage duty without having to talk about it.
“Greta,” he said slowly and softly, as though trying out her name. “I ain’t a brute. And I wouldn’t feel right about—well, sharing a bed with you. Not until we’ve gotten to know each other better.”
His declaration took her by surprise, so much so that for a moment she was speechless. What was he saying? Didn’t he want to consummate their marriage yet?
“This is all mighty sudden.” He wound the match through his fingers faster. “Shouldn’t we make sure this is gonna work—well, before we make it official?”
Did he want to test her out first? See if she was hardworking enough before he decided if he wanted to keep her? Was there the chance he might not like her and kick her and Astrid out?
Her nerves tightened. “I promise I’ll do my best. I’ve been told I’m easy to get along with.”
“That ain’t it,” he said in a rush. “I can tell you’re a real nice woman and all.”
“Then you’re afraid you might get tired of Astrid?” That was understandable. Not even her family had been able to cope with the demands of Astrid’s illness.
“Nope. She can talk a donkey’s hind leg off. But she’s a sweet girl, and I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”
“But . . .”
His fingers pressed hard against the match, snapping it in two. “I don’t want you to be stuck here if this ain’t what you wanted.”
Or maybe he didn’t want to be stuck with her, if she ended up not being what he wanted.
He released a breath that was full of frustration. “Always figured I’d marry a woman I knew and liked. But since that didn’t happen, I’m fixin’ to wait—you know—until we get to liking each other.”
Get to liking each other. “What if that doesn’t happen?” The question popped out before she could stop it.
He fiddled with the two pieces of the broken match.
“It doesn’t matter—”
“Let’s give it three months. Come November, if you don’t like me or like living here, I’ll buy your passage out to wherever you wanna go.”
She tried to ease the tension that had built in her shoulders. It was a fair deal. She had the rest of August and the autumn to prove herself and make him like her. If she couldn’t do it by then, she’d figure out something else.
“Alright,” she said softly.
He straightened and moved from the table. “I’ll go get Astrid and carry her inside.”
She nodded but couldn’t make herself move from her spot after he went out to the wagon. Instead, she stared through the doorway to the bedroom, to the bed. She ought to feel relieved, even happy. Wyatt wasn’t pressuring her into intimacies yet. In fact, she should be grateful he was giving her time to get used to her new home and to him. Not many men would be so noble.
Why, then, did she feel afraid?
She shook away the fear and doubled her resolve. She would work hard and prove he hadn’t made a mistake in marrying her. She’d show him she was worthwhile. And she’d make sure she and Astrid weren’t a burden. That was the last thing she wanted to be to anyone ever again.
Chapter 8
Wyatt splashed cold river water against his face, trying to wake himself after a restless night. He let the icy drops course down before he sat back on his heels and dried his skin with the sleeve of his union suit.
The eastern sky above the Kenosha Mountains was tinted with the first pink of sunrise, more beautiful at dawn than any other time of day. It was the time when he could pray the best. The solitude, peace, and magnificence brought him in tune with his Maker so that for a few minutes, he could forget about his worries and the pressing work of the day ahead.
But not so this morning. From the second he’d pushed himself up from his bed of hay in the barn loft, he’d done nothing but chew on the conversation he’d had with Greta the previous evening after they’d arrived home. And he got all riled up when he thought about Judd’s reaction later.
“Steele ain’t gonna be happy,” Judd had remarked in his quiet but deep voice. “If he learns you’re beddin’ down in the barn instead of with your wife, he’ll be airin’ his lungs.”
“It ain’t his business.” Wyatt closed the barn door for the night, shutting the two of them in with the livestock, along with the new steers.
“When you made the confounded deal with him, you made it his business.”
All night, Wyatt had tossed and turned, wondering if he’d done the right thing in accepting Steele’s bargain, marrying Greta but then keeping things friend-like between them.
He’d thought Greta would be relieved he wasn’t pressuring her into a real marriage—at least not right away. But she seemed confused and perhaps worried.
Maybe he’d been wrong to offer her freedom in three months if she decided she didn’t like living on his homestead. It’s just that he’d seen the wariness in her expression when she looked at the place, as if she expected something better.
Although he had big plans for his ranch, he couldn’t shake the nagging voice reminding him of the ways he’d already failed. The voice sounded a lot like Rusty’s and the words pretty near the same as what Rusty had told him.
It had been after the first time Wyatt had come in from the fields to find the bruise on Ma’s face. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it. But Ivy hadn’t held back anything, telling him how Rusty had slapped Ma for not having his noon meal ready when he’d walked in the house.
Wyatt had stormed out to the barn, found Rusty mucking a horse stall, and plowed into him with both fists swinging. Of course at the time, Wyatt had been half the size and weight of Rusty, and his new stepfather easily subdued him by pinning him to the ground and punching him in the gut.
Even with Rusty sitting on top of him, Wyatt bucked and twisted like a wild bronco, trying to free himself so he could take another punch. Rusty just laughed.