From the corner of his vision, he could see her draw her knees up and wrap her arms around her skirt. Her hair still hung loose in beautiful swirling waves, waves that called to him.
He forced himself to stare straight ahead.
“I loved him,” she said again.
“I only needed to hear it once—”
“Just as a friend.”
“Just a friend?” His heartbeat stumbled. “Then you never—you weren’t—together?”
“Wyatt!” she hissed, slapping his arm lightly and glancing at Astrid, who was still asleep. “We never even kissed.”
“You didn’t?” The tension eased from his body.
“Thomas wanted to kiss,” she said hesitantly, almost as if she regretted her decision to hold back. “But to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t attracted to him in that way.”
“You mean the way you are to me?” He tried to keep his tone light, but he hoped she’d give him a serious reply. Was she interested in him now that they’d had time to get to know each other?
“You’re the first man I’ve kissed.” As soon as her admission was out, she tucked her chin. It wasn’t exactly an answer to his question, but it was telling.
“Good. I want to be the only man you kiss.” A part of him couldn’t believe they were sitting together having this kind of conversation. But another part wanted to connect with her more deeply, to earn her trust, and win her affection.
Out in the hay field, he’d told himself he had to keep things friendly-like with her. But he couldn’t deny he wanted a whole lot more than just friendship. He wanted her to be his wife in body, soul, and spirit. Was that possible?
He tried to put together the right words to let her know he was aiming to have a good marriage. Before he could say anything, Astrid stretched and yawned noisily, and Greta turned her attention to the girl.
He stood and gathered the fishing supplies. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her hug Astrid and then tickle her, earning giggles that filled the air, a sound sweeter than any other.
Sober reality settled around Wyatt. Greta had married him for one reason and only one—so Astrid could stay in the high country and have a chance at getting better. If the child didn’t improve, what would Greta do? Would she stick with the marriage? Or would she be off trying to find the next best cure, leaving him and his cattle ranch far behind?
The honest truth was that even if Greta decided to stay, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make a go of the ranch in the long run anyway. What if he failed at it? Failed her?
There was no sense blathering on about his feelings or carrying on with her. Not until autumn was over and she decided if she wanted to stay on with him. For now, he’d do well to keep busy and keep his mind from going where it didn’t need to.
Chapter 14
After almost two months in Colorado, Astrid wasn’t better. Not even a little bit.
With a huff of frustration, Greta pushed the basket of onions farther back in the new cellar Judd had dug out for her. She spread the hay evenly over the top of the onions. Then she shifted the bin of potatoes next to the onions, bumping her head against the low dirt ceiling supported by log beams.
The musty scent of earth mingled with that of the root vegetables she and Judd had harvested over the past few weeks since finishing the haying. Judd had done most of the picking and shelling, leaving the preserving up to her. And so far she’d canned tomatoes, beans, and beets.
Since Judd had been occupied with the garden produce, Wyatt had taken over managing the cattle. He was gone for hours a day in the pasturelands, corralling steers and keeping them from danger. He usually came back with game he’d hunted—rabbits, sage grouse, deer, and elk, storing up provisions since the game would soon be scarce once the colder temperatures and snow sent the animals into lower elevations or hibernation.
That meant he devoted every daylight hour to dressing the game, along with drying it in the smokehouse next to the barn. And that also meant she’d spent little time with him since their fishing expedition. They had the rare trips to town together when he took her to sell her baked goods and jams. Of course they were all together on Sundays, their day of rest, going to church and visiting in town. And he was always friendly and easy to talk to.
But she’d been waiting for another moment of closeness like that day by the river, and it hadn’t come. Had he decided he didn’t like her after all? Had she read more into his touch and their conversation that day than he’d meant?
Greta sat back on her heels, dusted her hands, and gazed around at the produce. She wanted to believe the busyness of preparing for winter was all that was standing between them. But as with other times, she sensed something more was holding him back.
Sunlight poured in through the hatch above, and she started up the ladder, forcing thoughts of Wyatt from her mind. Maintaining simple camaraderie was for the best. After all, she awoke some mornings in a near panic, wondering what would happen if Astrid took a turn for the worse during the winter months and needed a physician. Though a doctor lived in Alma, there was no guarantee he’d be available when they needed him.
Would she and Astrid be better off living in Denver? Should they be closer to physicians and the hospital that boasted of being able to help with consumption?
As Greta neared the top rung, a strange shout from the front of the cabin stopped her. It was a man’s voice that sounded nothing like Judd’s or Wyatt’s. Did they have visitors from town? Hopefully it wasn’t Roper Brawley. Wyatt had indicated that if their neighbor came anywhere near, she was to stay in the cabin and not come out.
During Wyatt’s last purchase of oxen a couple weeks ago, Brawley had threatened Wyatt as usual. Wyatt was getting tired of the harassing, especially because Brawley was already buying up livestock and leaving so few for him.
At another shout, Greta’s pulse spurted with fear for Astrid, who’d been napping in the cabin. She scrambled the rest of the way up the ladder into the dirt surrounding the opening. Without bothering to shake out her skirt or shut the cellar door, she bounded forward and rounded the cabin in time to see an Indian duck inside.
She stopped short, dread driving into her chest.
Although Wyatt had spoken of seeing Utes passing through his land from time to time, he’d never mentioned having any problems. He indicated the Utes had made the mountains of Colorado their home for hundreds of years, but with the flood of miners arriving, they’d been giving up land and moving farther west.
Standing in the middle of the ranch yard were three mustangs with long manes and tails as well as muscular bodies of rich chestnut, black, and white. Without saddles, they were majestic and untamed.
And so were the Indians. She’d only glimpsed one, and he’d been young and tall with long braids, a buckskin shirt, and leather leggings. Her mind immediately filled with all the stories she’d heard during the stagecoach ride to Colorado—the atrocities committed by Indians against settlers moving west, the killing, torturing, and taking of captives.
With her heart beating fast, she started toward the door. Even if Astrid remained asleep while the natives were in the cabin, Greta refused to take any chances. She had to go inside and protect her sister, no matter the cost.
As she reached for the door handle, her fingers shook. She took a deep breath, shot a prayer heavenward, then swung the door open and walked inside.