He took the grouse and rifle from her, then slung them across his saddle. She was already on the ground by the time he turned to assist her. “You alright?”
“I’ll be fine.” She swayed just a little.
He reached for her upper arms to steady her. But then for a reason he couldn’t explain, he drew her into an embrace. Maybe to comfort her, or express his relief, or assure himself that she really was fine. Whatever the case, she let her body sag into him and rested her head on his chest as though she didn’t have the energy to hold herself up any longer.
“You did real good back there in getting away.” He hardly dared to breathe for fear of frightening her.
“Did I?”
“Yep, real good.” Her bonnet had fallen down her back and now loose strands of her hair ruffled in the breeze and tickled his chin and cheek. “Couldn’t have done it much better myself.”
Tension seemed to ease from her.
“I shouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Didn’t expect to run into Brawley out there today. But don’t matter. I should’ve been more vigilant.”
She nestled in, not seeming in any hurry to end their embrace.
He tried to let himself relax, but she felt mighty good pressed up against him. She was warm and soft and womanly in all the right places. He bent and let her hair brush his face, and he breathed in the scent of her, a mixture of pine and fruit.
It had been longer than a coon’s age since he held a woman. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time. And now that Greta was in his arms, he liked it a lot. A whole lot. He thought he’d been fine being single, reckoned it was better to be alone than land in a bad marriage. But what if he didn’t have to end up in a bad marriage? What if he could do things right?
His pa had once loved his ma and had modeled for him and his brothers what it meant to be a devoted and kind husband. He could follow in his pa’s steps instead of letting Rusty’s bad example scare him off of trying, couldn’t he?
All the same, he’d told Greta he wouldn’t pester her to share the marriage bed, gave his word she could leave at the end of autumn if that’s what she wanted. He wasn’t about to go back on his promise.
She released a soft breath, one that only made his blood pump faster. Had he been too hasty in making the promise?
Just as quickly as the thought came, he spit it a shooting distance. He was merely being a friend. And there wasn’t nothing wrong with holding and comforting a friend.
Judd was a good companion. But with Greta . . . well, the morning with her had been pleasant and the conversations a welcome change. He’d enjoyed her company and hoped maybe she’d learn to like his too.
She didn’t make a move to break free, so he held her several heartbeats longer, until his thoughts once again jumped to how beautiful she was and how good she felt. At the fresh spurt of heat in his gut, he gently leaned back.
As she straightened, she offered him a smile. “Thank you, Wyatt.”
He started to shake his head and tell her he didn’t need any thanks, but she continued before he could. “The more I get to know you, the more I’m beginning to see how blessed I am that God brought you my way just when He did.”
Wyatt wanted to take comfort from her compliment, but all he could think about was the fact that God hadn’t brought him her way. Steele and his cattle deal had.
He needed to tell her the truth, but the moment didn’t seem right. Instead, he reached for his horse’s lead line and prayed one day he’d be worthy of such praise.
Chapter 11
Greta stepped outside the general store and attempted to quell her growing despair. She’d assumed she’d have no trouble selling her sweets in Fairplay. But it seemed she’d been wrong and could hardly give the hand pies away.
At midmorning, the mountain community was teeming with men, horses, and teams pulling wagons. Everyone appeared too busy to be bothered, except for a few men who loitered outside one of the shops.
As with the last time she was in town, she didn’t see women coming and going. Except for an old native woman who helped service the laundry, the only other women in town were those of ill repute. She’d been told the next closest neighbor was a grandmotherly woman who lived in Buckskin Joe and helped her husband run a hotel. If only the grandmotherly woman were closer. She’d surely appreciate and purchase some of the hand pies.
Greta glanced up and down the street. Wyatt had suggested selling her baked goods at the Fairplay Hotel, a place where many of the town’s patrons ate. When the hotel owner scoffed at her, she picked up her basket and left without a word, heading to Simpkin’s General Store. But Captain Jim wasn’t willing to consider tasting a hand pie either.
Maybe she should have tried harder to find containers to make jam. But without jars or tins, she’d had little choice. Instead, she’d cooked up the chokecherries and huckleberries into a pie filling. In the process of creating the flaky treats, she used up every bit of flour, sugar, and lard in the cabin.
And now she had to sell her baked goods. After all, she’d told Wyatt her business venture wouldn’t cost him a cent and that he wouldn’t regret letting her do this.
At the sight of Wyatt exiting McLaughlin’s Livery, where he’d gone to return Mr. Steele’s wagon, she pretended she hadn’t noticed him and started down the sidewalk the opposite way.
“Greta,” he called, clearly having no intention of letting her pass by.
She slowed her steps and rearranged the towel over the hand pies so if he peeked into her basket, he wouldn’t notice she hadn’t yet sold a single one.
“Any luck?” He strode across the street, his long legs quickly eating up the space between them.
She tugged at the towel again, not wanting to meet Wyatt’s curious gaze as he halted next to her. “I guess the men aren’t as interested as I thought they’d be.”
He was silent while a wagon rattled past. “Where have you been?”
“Only two places so far.”
“Hotel Windsor?”
She shook her head.
Wyatt grabbed her basket and started down the street. Mortified she raced after him. “Don’t worry about me, Wyatt. I promise I’ll sell them all and repay you for the supplies I used up.”
“I told you I ain’t worried about the supplies.” His boots thudded against the planks. As he reached Hotel Windsor, she tried to retrieve the basket and stop him before he entered, but he was too fast. He lifted it out of her reach and opened the front door.
With one of his disarming smiles, he stood back and waved her ahead of him. “After you.”
At the cease of conversation within the dining area, Greta forced a smile and made herself walk inside with grace and poise, even though she wanted to run out and hide.
“There they are,” Mr. Steele said, sitting at one of the center tables, a cigar in one hand and a newspaper in the other. “The newlyweds.”
Greta was tempted to glance around and discover who the newlyweds were but then realized Mr. Steele was referring to her and Wyatt. They’d been married all of five days. She supposed he was right. They were still newlyweds.
Several of the men standing around offered Wyatt rowdy congratulations and backslaps. She took a measure of satisfaction at the sight of Wyatt flustered and tugging at his neckerchief. She wasn’t alone in her discomfort.