“How are you holding up, Mrs. McQuaid?” Mr. Steele rose from his chair and politely bowed at her. “I hope your husband is treating you well.”
“He’s been as sweet as can be.”
“McQuaid? Sweet?” One of the other men elbowed Wyatt. “Sure would like to see that.”
“He has a soft spot for Astrid,” she said in a rush, not wanting to cause Wyatt any further embarrassment. “He’s kind to her.”
Astrid was still weak and tired and coughing but soaking in the attention of both Judd and Wyatt. Upon arriving home from the berry-picking expedition, she’d found Astrid resting outside, stitching combed-out horsehair through the strands of a burlap bag and making her very own saddle blanket. Judd had promised to teach Astrid to ride a horse just as soon as she finished the blanket. And while Greta wasn’t sure that riding was suitable for a sick child like Astrid, she’d been relieved to see some life back in Astrid’s face.
Mr. Steele took a puff on his cigar and then released a cloud laden with a tangy tobacco scent. “I was just telling these fellows they ought to write back East for their own mail-order brides.”
“If I could have me one as pretty as this gal, I’d give it a try,” said a middle-aged man wearing an apron over his bulging midsection. He eyed Greta with too much interest, and she scooted closer to Wyatt.
The men teased the middle-aged man for a minute before they turned their attention back on Wyatt and Greta. Should she bring up the hand pies now? Maybe Mr. Steele would be willing to try one.
“Go on and show everyone what they’re missing, McQuaid.” Mr. Steele stepped back to his chair and narrowed his eyes at Wyatt.
“Come again?”
“Give them a taste of what they have to look forward to if they send away for wives.”
Taste? Taste of what? One of her hand pies? Maybe selling them here in Hotel Windsor would be easier than she’d thought.
As the other men called out assent, Wyatt shook his head. “For crying-in-the-rain, Steele.”
Mr. Steele’s gaze didn’t budge from Wyatt’s. And somehow, Greta got the impression he was testing Wyatt, though for what, she didn’t know.
“Go on!” someone shouted.
“You ought to be getting pretty good at this by now.” Mr. Steele still held Wyatt’s gaze.
Wyatt released an exasperated breath, then turned toward her, his beautiful brown eyes apologizing. She didn’t have time to ask him what was wrong, because in the next second he bent down and touched his lips to hers, silencing her and taking her breath away in a single instant.
His kiss was as warm and gentle as it had been after their wedding. And although she’d relived that kiss more times than she wanted to admit, somehow this one was even better. Maybe because she’d gotten to know Wyatt a little bit. Maybe because in her secret thoughts she’d been wondering what it would be like to kiss him again. Maybe because he was so heart-stoppingly handsome that she couldn’t keep from being attracted to him.
Whatever the case, she rose into the kiss, letting her mouth fuse with his in an exquisite moment of pure pleasure.
At the raucous chortles and laughter around them, she pulled away at the same moment he did, fighting down a wave of mortification.
She didn’t realize she was twisting a loose strand of hair until Wyatt slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to his side. The pressure was reassuring, even as she fought the confusion that was making her forget rhyme or reason.
“Speaking of sweetness.” Wyatt’s grin was much too charming. “Greta’s been baking up some sweet pastries that can tide you fellas over.”
“I’d like to give one to Mr. Steele.” She reached into the basket. “A small thank-you for all his help the other day.”
At Wyatt’s nod, she took out a hand pie and offered it to Mr. Steele. He made quick work of disposing his cigar, rubbing the butt against an empty plate, before taking an eager bite out of the square-shaped pastry.
Everyone in the room grew silent as they watched Mr. Steele chew. Greta’s limbs stiffened in anticipation. Had she made a mistake letting him try it? What if he didn’t like it? Then she’d have even more trouble selling the goodies.
He swallowed the first bite and took a second that was larger and full of the sugary mixture of huckleberries and chokecherries. This time as he chewed, his gaze met Greta’s across the distance, glowing with the same fatherly warmth she’d seen the day they’d traveled together in the stagecoach. “Very tasty, Mrs. McQuaid. I don’t think I’ve had anything as delicious in a long time.”
Wyatt gently squeezed her arm, as though to tell her everything would be alright.
She released a pent-up breath. “Thank you.”
Before she could say anything more, Wyatt was laying on more charm and convincing the men they were getting a good deal by paying a whole silver dollar. She tried to whisper to Wyatt that back in Illinois at the state fair, she’d bought a hand pie for ten cents. But he only shook his head and continued to gather the silver dollar pieces from the men, who seemed all too eager to hand over their hard-earned money.
By the time they exited the hotel a short while later, Wyatt had managed to sell a pie to every man present and then sold the rest to Mr. Fehling, the owner of the hotel, who planned to add them to his menu for the day, charging at least a dollar and twenty-five cents.
She wasn’t sure whether to feel guilty or excited. “It’s too much, Wyatt.” She walked alongside him, swinging her now-empty basket. “I just don’t feel right charging such a high price for them when they’re not worth it.”
“Everything costs more up here, especially something as special as the pies.”
“Even so, I’d feel better asking for a fair price.”
“A dollar’s a real fair price seeing how it’s all about the supply and demand. When there ain’t much of something to go around, folks’ll put out more cash for it.” He told her that’s what he had done already with his cattle when he sold off a couple last month. Since the miners were eager for fresh beef, they were willing to pay a high price for the luxuries they missed from back East.
When they halted in front of the general store, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a neckerchief full of coins. He reached for her hand and placed the bulging bundle in her palm. “Get all the supplies you need for making jam or more hand pies. And if you have any money left, buy yourself something special.”
The weight of the silver pieces was strange but exhilarating. She’d never had so much money all at once, and she couldn’t imagine using a cent on something special for herself.
Wyatt left her standing speechless, watching after him as he continued down the street. She hadn’t been lying when she told Mr. Steele that Wyatt was a sweet man. And not just to Astrid. He was the kindest, most considerate man she’d ever met, even more so than Thomas.
Not only that, but she liked his lanky walk with his scuffling boots and muscular backside. With the jaunty tilt of his hat and the dark shadow of scruff on his jaw, her mind wandered back to his kiss and the tender pressure of his lips. Just the memory sent strange flutters around her belly, making her crave him and more of his touch.
As though sensing her admiration, he glanced over his shoulder at her, and his brow shot up.