Wyatt could do nothing less than offer them a home regardless of their insufficient quarters and provisions. If their situations were reversed, she’d do the same thing. Nevertheless, a boulder rolled into the pit of her stomach and lodged there. “Do you think Flynn will come?”
Wyatt’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t rightly know. But he says Brody’s itching to join the war effort as soon as he turns eighteen, and Dylan’s been talking about running away to join up too. I reckon Flynn’ll jump at the chance to bring them west and out of the conflict, even if he’d just as soon jerk a knot in my tail.”
If Greta could go back in time, she’d jump at the chance to avoid the war too and would have done anything to ensure that Thomas didn’t enlist. He’d wanted to get married right away, had asked her if they could wed before he left for training. But, as with the kiss, she’d hoped the prospect of marrying her would bring him home quicker.
She’d been a fool. She should have told Thomas she’d marry him if only he’d go west with her. From what she’d heard, Colorado Territory’s governor, William Gilpin, had formed several militia companies. But being so far away from the conflict, the infantry and cavalry regiments had only skirmished with Confederate Irregulars.
The fact was, most men in the mountains were too busy searching for precious minerals to think about the war. And neither the governor nor the United States War Department had pushed for the men of Colorado to enlist because the Union needed the gold and silver from the mines to help finance the war efforts.
Surely Fairplay would be a safe place for Wyatt’s brothers to get away from the death and destruction of the war. “Why wait until spring? They should come now.”
“I wish.” The letter in his hand was now crumpled but still showed a brief paragraph in neatly slanted cursive. “By the time I get word to Flynn, it will be too late in the year to travel.”
She nodded her understanding. But in her heart, the heaviness only sank deeper. As kind as Wyatt was and as generous as he’d been in providing for Astrid and her, he would need the space for his family. And after building an addition to the cabin, there still wouldn’t be enough room to go around.
Also, Wyatt had no income yet from his cattle, at least not steady or reliable. Yes, they’d made a sizable amount today from Mr. Fehling. But this batch would be one of the last now that the fruit was mostly harvested. As usual, after replenishing baking supplies, she’d planned to give the leftover money to Wyatt so he had the cash to buy necessities for the ranch. But maybe he’d use it to help his siblings pay for their trip west.
Whatever the case, Wyatt didn’t need to worry about her and Astrid too. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to get serious about planning to leave.
She took his callused hand in hers, trying to comfort him. “Let’s get that letter to Flynn ready to post. He’ll appreciate knowing he has a new place he can call home.”
“I’ll get some paper from Captain Jim and write it now.”
“And we’ll send him the earnings from today to help pay for their journey here.”
“No how, no way. I ain’t taking your money—”
She stopped him by laying a finger against his lips. “Our money, Wyatt.” They’d had this argument before, and she never liked it.
Before she could drop her hand, he snagged it and pressed a kiss to her palm.
At the soft warmth, her breath hitched. The sadness in his eyes made them a rich molasses brown, and she found herself sinking into them, unable to look away.
“Looks like I have a knack for making a mess of things.”
“Everything will work out,” she whispered. But would it?
He brushed his lips against her palm again.
He’d rarely touched her in the weeks they’d been married, had stayed true to the boundaries he’d established from the start, had given them plenty of time to try out their marriage of convenience and see if it worked. With only a couple of weeks to go until the end of the three-month arrangement, it was safe to say they’d gotten to “liking each other.”
Right now was proof of it, proof that more and more lately, this attraction was real. Her heart couldn’t deny how much she liked him no matter how much her head warned her to be cautious.
As if reading her thoughts, he dropped his other hand to her waist, drew her closer, and placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist, his breath warm against her thudding pulse.
His fingers tightened and splayed over her hip, making her entirely aware of his searing touch and the power of his masculinity. His somber but beautiful eyes held hers, causing her heartbeat to sputter with strange need, although for what she didn’t know.
“Better not bring your family here,” came a voice from the livery door.
Wyatt stiffened.
Greta peered past him. Roper Brawley stood in the doorway, feet apart, hand on his gun. Wyatt stepped out in front of Greta, guiding her behind him while putting himself in the line of fire.
“You ain’t gonna make it here.” Brawley appeared calm, but his grip was tight against his gun. “Might as well admit it and stop wasting everybody’s time.”
“I ain’t wasting time.”
Though the sunlight filtered in from outside the livery, Brawley’s face was shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, hiding his black eye patch. Seeing their neighbor never failed to make Greta shiver. Although most of the sightings had been from a distance, she had only to remember the first time he’d harassed her while she had been huckleberry picking for her to sense that this man was dangerous, perhaps even deadly.
Wyatt’s fingers gripped the handle of his revolver too. “Last I checked, my mail and what I aim to do with my family is my business, not yours.”
Brawley spat a stream of tobacco juice into the hay, his bottom lip bulging and his scraggly beard stained from the spittle. “No need to get all-fired up, McQuaid. Just doin’ my civil-like duty to keep more people from being homeless than need to be.”
“Hey there, Mister.” Of course, Astrid had to choose that moment to decide she was done petting the horses. She skipped past Wyatt and would have gone straight toward Brawley if Wyatt hadn’t grabbed her up and held her back.
She craned her neck to see Brawley regardless of Wyatt’s hold. “What happened to your eye, Mister?”
“Astrid,” Greta muttered. “Be polite.”
“Just curious is all. Last time you came riding through town, I thought for sure you were a pirate, what with the eye patch and all.”
“Good one, kid. Yep, I’m a pirate.”
Astrid cocked her head and stared at Brawley. “W-e-l-l—”
Greta clamped a hand over the little girl’s mouth. The situation was already tense enough, and they didn’t need to add to the danger with Astrid’s blunt remarks.
“Get on out of here, Brawley.” Wyatt dropped his hand again to his revolver. “And you better not come anywhere near my place if you want to live a month of Sundays.”
Brawley let out a barking laugh and then turned and sauntered away. Wyatt watched him go, his already-dark eyes turning murky. He passed Astrid over to her, told her to stay in the livery, and then left, his heavy-booted steps taking him in the direction of Simpkin’s General Store. No doubt he planned to give an earful to Captain Jim for spilling the news about his family’s predicament.