Again Wyatt cleared his throat. “Hold on a minute, Steele—”
“You’re having a baby?” Astrid interrupted, her eyes clear and full of life in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. She clapped and spun. “I’m going to have a niece or nephew. A brand-new baby!”
Mr. Fehling, the proprietor of Hotel Windsor, stepped out of the door of his establishment, wiping his hands on his apron and grinning from ear to ear. “Mrs. McQuaid is having a baby? How thrilling. The wee one’ll have the honor of being the first baby born in Fairplay.”
Several more passersby stopped to slap Wyatt on the back and offer Greta congratulations. As they did so, she couldn’t seem to stop the current that was dragging her along. Though she made a few attempts to correct the misunderstanding, as did Wyatt, she felt as though she was grasping at a riverbank trying to find solid footing but was being carried too rapidly to change her course.
By the time they finished selling her goods to Mr. Fehling, word of her expecting a baby had spread to nearly all her patrons. She was downright mortified and had no idea how to explain she wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t very well stand in the middle of Main Street and announce she wasn’t with child because she and Wyatt had barely shared kisses, much less the marriage bed.
Wyatt’s face was pale and taut by the time they made their way to the livery, and he seemed to be having as much trouble as she was in figuring out how to row upstream against the current.
“Hold on there, McQuaid.” Captain Jim hurried down the sidewalk toward them.
Greta braced herself for more congratulations. But Captain Jim didn’t make any mention of the baby and instead handed Wyatt a letter. “Came with freighters from Denver a few days ago.”
Since Astrid had raced ahead to the livery, eager to see the kittens, Greta used the opportunity to escape from the public eye, slipping into the dark interior of the wide barn and its many stalls. On a Sunday morning, the place was quiet except for the soft nickering of the horses. Thin rays of sunlight slanted through the cracks in the walls, shining on the dust and warming the air with the familiar scent of horseflesh.
“Here, kitty-kitties,” Astrid called as she probed the dark stall where the kittens had been last week.
Their trips to town on Sunday mornings always brought back the most remembrances of home. No matter how busy her pappa was, he’d always made time to honor “the Lord’s day”—as he’d called it—and to attend church. The gatherings had been a place of community and friendship—and where she’d met Thomas during those lonely days after her mamma had died.
He’d been a true friend. Maybe she’d never felt warm flutters in her stomach at his touch the way she did with Wyatt, but she’d loved him. And he was the one she missed whenever she thought about home and Sunday mornings and church services.
“I can’t find the kitties.” Alarm laced Astrid’s voice. “Can you help me find them, Greta?”
“Maybe the mother moved them to a new place.” Greta made her way carefully through the hay, but before she could join the search, Wyatt stepped into the barn. His stricken expression and the open letter in his hand stopped her.
“What’s wrong?”
“The letter’s from Flynn.”
Wyatt had shared enough about his brothers that Greta felt she knew them to a small degree. Two years younger than Wyatt, Flynn hadn’t approved of Wyatt leaving the farm and had been angry with him ever since. During Wyatt’s last visit home three years ago, they’d exchanged bitter words before parting. While Wyatt’s mother had continued to write letters, Flynn had been silent.
Greta crossed to Wyatt and wasn’t sure whether to take the letter and read it for herself or wait for him to elaborate.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple threading up and down his throat.
It couldn’t be good news. She touched his arm, hoping he sensed her support.
“It’s my ma.” His voice choked, his eyes wide with heart-wrenching sorrow. “She died in childbirth.”
“Oh, Wyatt.” Without hesitating, she slipped her arms around him and drew him into an embrace. Maybe her own family had never been affectionate with her, but she’d learned from Thomas how to be a supportive friend. And right now, that’s what Wyatt needed.
He gripped her tightly, almost as if he couldn’t stand without her holding him up.
She wished there was some way to take away the pain, but just about the only thing she could do was be by his side through the grief.
“The babe died too,” he whispered after a moment.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt.” She pressed him closer.
“This is all Rusty’s fault.” His voice was hoarse. “He knew she couldn’t handle having another babe, not after the way she almost died giving birth last time.”
Wyatt didn’t speak often of his stepfather, but whenever he did, he’d had nothing good to say, blaming Rusty for his mother’s miscarriages in recent years along with a stillbirth that had left her in poor health.
“I should have sent for her—for them—sooner.”
“You’ve been doing the best you could.”
“I could’ve done more.”
“You’re the hardest working, most determined man I know. If there had been a way, you would have found it.”
His chest shuddered as he drew in a deep breath. His nose burrowed into her neck, and for a long moment she simply held him. Thankfully, Astrid had gotten distracted by the horses and was busy feeding them handfuls of hay.
When he peeled away, she reluctantly released him but held on to his arm. She could feel the inner turmoil rippling through his muscles. With the length of time it took the mail to reach Fairplay, his mother had likely died weeks ago. There wasn’t much he’d be able to do now, as much as he wished he could.
“She shouldn’t have married Rusty. And it’s my fault she had to.”
“No, Wyatt. You did your best with the farm after your father died. You were only a boy—”
“To top it all, Rusty’s saying my pa’s farm is his.” Wyatt spat the words. “Told Flynn he can stay ’til spring, but then he has to take everyone and get on out.”
“Can Rusty do that? Don’t you or Flynn have legal rights to the land?”
“Nope.” The word contained a world of bitterness. “From what Flynn says, Rusty made Ma sign the deed over to him.”
“That’s awful.”
“Guess I knew we’d lost the farm the day Ma married that fleabag.” Wyatt hung his head, then took another deep breath before he lifted his chin, his features filling with the determination she’d grown to appreciate. “Don’t matter. I was fixin’ to have them come by next summer anyhow. Now this just makes it all the more certain.”
On that first day meeting Wyatt during their time together in the cold cavern in the thunderstorm, he’d mentioned bringing his family west at some point. But the recollection was vague, and she’d put it from her mind.
“I’m gonna write to Flynn and let him know.”
Her mind whirled with the implications. Wyatt had three brothers and a sister. Where would everyone stay? How would they feed and take care of additional people when they were already working long hours to get by the way it was?