“How’d things go?” He followed the cow into the corral.
“Astrid’s been in a bad way.” Judd’s voice was low, and the grooves in his leathery face cut deep.
“Worse than usual?”
Judd closed the gate and took his time latching it. “Not much.”
Greta must have heard his arrival by now. What was wrong? He studied the lone square window next to the door and wanted to ply Judd with a dozen questions. But Judd wouldn’t say much more than a rock buried in dirt.
When Wyatt had told Judd that everyone thought Greta was pregnant, all his friend had said was, “The more you pile on the manure, the harder it’ll be to come clean.”
Maybe Judd was right. Maybe he should have come clean and been honest with Greta from the start. She was an understanding woman. With her business sense, she might have even approved of the bargain he’d struck with Steele in marrying her for the cattle.
He was in too deep now to know where to begin shoveling himself out of the heap.
Judd took the crate, peeked inside, and cracked a crooked smile.
Wyatt dismounted his horse, and after a few more minutes of relaying news about the cow purchase, Wyatt moseyed toward the barn, unable to keep his shoulders from sagging with weariness.
Judd grabbed the lead line away from him. “I got this. Go on now.”
“You sure?”
“I ain’t the purty one you’re dyin’ to see.”
“You’re a little purty,” he teased.
Judd released a stream of spit that shot hard and straight into the dirt yard. “Get on. You’re gonna be as useless as a dead pig in the sunshine until you see her.”
Wyatt glanced toward the house and scrubbed a hand down his grin. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m near always right.” Judd moved on without missing a beat in his lopsided gait.
Fortifying himself with a lungful of crisp evening air, Wyatt grabbed the crate and headed to the cabin. Everything was just fine. But the minute he stood in front of the door, all his doubts crowded around him.
Why hadn’t she come to greet him? What if he’d read the signs wrong and she didn’t like him after all? What if he was imposing on her?
He lifted his hand to knock, but then, as with other times, he opened the door without announcing himself. After all, it was still his home, and he wasn’t about to get permission to enter.
As he slipped inside, the front room was in immaculate order, the way he’d come to expect from her. Bunches of drying herbs and other vegetables hung from the rafters, filling the air with an earthy scent that made his stomach rumble with hunger. Several new shelves Judd had added were lined with jars of canned goods. The table was half filled with shucked corn waiting for preserving.
Even with signs of her all around, she wasn’t in sight.
He peeked through the bedroom door to find the windowless room was dark. But the faint light from the front room gave him a view of Greta sitting on the bed with her back against the wall and Astrid curled up next to her.
Were they both asleep?
He tiptoed through the cabin until he stood in the doorway.
Sure enough, Greta’s eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell in slumber. As far as he could tell, Astrid was asleep too.
Best thing was to leave them undisturbed for a spell. If Greta was tuckered out at this time of the day, then she probably wasn’t getting much shut-eye at night.
Her hand rested against Astrid’s hair, her fingers motionless.
Wyatt’s chest squeezed with a strange tenderness. Greta was always putting the needs of everyone else above her own, especially Astrid’s. She deserved to have someone look after her once in a while. Someone like him.
After setting the crate on the floor, he silently crossed to the bed. He’d help take off her shoes and tuck her in next to Astrid. Then maybe he’d sit in the other room and listen for Astrid to stir so he could give Greta a break.
Upon reaching her, he hesitated. He didn’t want to chance waking her.
Her bun was loose, strands having escaped to curl around her chin.
Rather than go for her shoes, his fingers had a mind of their own and stretched toward her chin and the stray hair. He caressed the piece back behind her ear and admired the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks. He wanted to stroke her high cheekbone down to her lips. But he forced himself to straighten.
As he took a step back, a sigh escaped from her lips. “Wyatt?” Her lashes lifted. “You’re home?”
In an instant he found himself right where he’d wanted to be all day, lost in her beautiful silver blue eyes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her lips curved into a sleepy smile, and she captured his hand, cutting off his breath. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Got you a milking cow.” He could hardly think of anything with her warm hand wrapped in his.
“I like you, Wyatt.” Her voice was still groggy. She’d said those words to him before, and they never failed to stir him. But this time, he wasn’t sure if he was satisfied with just the liking and her sweet way of expressing her appreciation.
He rubbed his thumb over her hand, relishing the rare contact with her.
She tugged his arm. “Sit for a minute and tell me about your trip.”
“Naw, I want you to sleep. We can catch up later.”
“I missed you.” Her words came out like a plea. But in the next instant, she dropped her gaze to Astrid, as if mortified by her declaration.
She’d missed him. That was something more. He lowered himself to the wooden beam that formed the edge of the bed frame. He was afraid that in her embarrassment, she’d pull her hand from his, so he tightened his hold.
“Hey.” He caressed her hand again with his thumb. “I missed you too.”
Her lashes flew up, and her eyes widened. “You did?”
“Yep. A whole lot.” He might as well spill the truth. “I was mighty ready to be home again.”
She lifted her free hand from Astrid and cupped his cheek. “And I was mighty ready for you to be home.”
He suddenly couldn’t think of anything but the fact that she was touching his cheek. He was scruffy and unshaven and dusty, but her fingers felt as smooth and soft as a newborn calf’s hide. He leaned in to her, giving her permission to stay there, to caress him, to hold him, to do whatever she wanted.
As though sensing his offer, her hand skimmed his jaw. A charge of pleasure shot through him, making him conscious of their proximity. Before he could stop himself, he caressed her cheek the same way she had his.
At her quick inhale, he froze. He didn’t want to scare her or push her away. But as he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see any fear, only welcome. And desire?
A low burn started in his gut and spread into his blood. Would she let him kiss her? Right here? Right now?
He rubbed his thumb from her cheek to her lips. As his callused pad brushed against her soft fullness, she sucked in another breath, staring straight at his mouth in return.
When she imperceptibly moved toward him, he closed the distance, letting his lips touch hers and drink her in like water from a crystal-clear mountain brook. She responded with a thirst that matched his, and she slipped her hand behind his neck as though to urge him to get his fill.
Her lips were sweeter than anything he’d known, but rather than sating him, the kiss made him thirstier so that he delved deeper, needing more of her. She arched up, giving him more, her hands moving from his neck to his shoulders and down his arms, as though she needed him too.