Wyatt didn’t pause in his eating, and Judd mumbled his thanks as she scurried back to the stove. She picked up the mug but then almost dropped it.
“Fixin’ to head out tomorrow and cut more timber.”
“Good idea,” Wyatt said through a bite of biscuit. “We’ll be needing the fuel come winter.”
“Not for fuel. For another room.”
Greta started to pour the coffee but then halted. Wyatt grew abruptly silent. And, of course, Judd didn’t elaborate.
What was he implying? That she and Wyatt needed their own room now?
Oh my. Her hand shook and coffee sloshed over the rim. She set the mug down and wiped her hand on her apron, a flush rising into her face once more.
Wyatt cleared his throat. “Reckon we’ll need the space come summer when Flynn and the kids get here.”
His words sent an icy splash against Greta, causing a chill to skitter over her skin. Wyatt’s family was coming.
“You’ll be needin’ a room long before that.”
Greta had no doubt now what Judd was referring to, but the warmth from moments ago had dissipated, leaving confusion in its place. She couldn’t allow these feelings for Wyatt to deepen, not when he had his family to think about. She wouldn’t add to his worries and responsibilities, not when he needed to be there for his siblings in their time of greatest need.
Besides, she had to keep Astrid her priority. Greta had come west to save her little sister, and she couldn’t forget that. No matter the personal sacrifice, she had to do whatever she could to save the child’s life. And what other option did she have but to take Astrid to Denver and seek additional help?
Chapter 18
Wyatt shoveled another forkful of hay into the loose net hanging from the wall. At the sound of childish laughter outside in the corral, he paused and glanced through the open barn doors to where Judd was leading Astrid around on their mare, the gentlest of their horses, a bay Morgan crossbreed named Dolly.
The new pup raced after the horse, scampering and falling and getting right back up. Although Astrid had wanted to carry Chase in the saddle with her, Judd squashed that idea faster than a bug, explaining how the pup wouldn’t turn into a good cow dog if she took to coddling him. So he’d doubled the horse lesson with dog training, and now the pup’s antics were making Astrid laugh.
Astrid’s laughter—along with the fact that she was out of bed—eased the tightness from Wyatt’s chest. She was still pale and thin and delicate, but the coughing had lessened, and she was eating more.
Yesterday, after he and Judd had arrived home from cutting timber, she’d been sitting outside in the sunshine braiding the cornhusks Greta had saved and dried. When Wyatt asked what she was making, she proudly displayed the round braided mat Greta had finished and placed just outside the door.
Today, when he and Judd had ridden in with the two teams of oxen dragging another batch of trunks, Astrid had already saddled Dolly and pleaded with Judd for another riding lesson. She hadn’t needed to plead since Judd would have pushed her to California in a wheelbarrow if she’d have asked him.
Wyatt had gladly taken over the responsibility of unhitching the teams, stacking the logs, and now taking care of the evening chores so Judd could spend time with Astrid. They’d both learned to take advantage of her good days, because they were infrequent and didn’t last long.
From the way she was riding Dolly, she probably didn’t need any more lessons. In fact, from the first time Judd had hoisted her up, she’d been a natural. But with her being sick and weak, Judd was only right to be cautious.
Wyatt cast a glance to the sky. The sun hung low and the shadows were long, meaning daylight would give way to night soon. The air contained a dampness that hinted at colder weather moving in.
Was it wrong for him to wish for rain so tomorrow he could stick closer to the ranch? While he and Judd had felled a decent number of trees, they had several more days of hard work before they’d have enough to add a second level to the cabin.
He let his gaze stray to the cabin, hoping for a glimpse of Greta, but she was avoiding him and had been ever since the night he’d arrived home and kissed her. Steele hadn’t been around to force him into it. The honest truth was that he’d done it of his own will and had enjoyed every sweet second. And sure as a gun, if Judd hadn’t come in, he wouldn’t have stopped.
Maybe he’d rushed her that night, pushed for more than she was ready to give. Now he’d gone and made things awkward between them. Sure, she was busy making the last batch of jam from the plums he’d brought her, but she was also hiding.
Pursing his lips to refrain from cussing himself out, he shoved his fork into the hay mound, lifted the brittle pieces, and stuffed more into the net. If only he could find a moment alone with her to apologize and somehow reassure her that she could have all the time she needed. And he’d also reassure her that adding on to the cabin didn’t mean things between them had to change. Not until she was ready.
With the hay nets full in each stall, he set to work mucking the floors, his thoughts alternating between Astrid and Greta, and most often landing on the beautiful woman he’d married but whose heart he’d yet to win.
She’d liked the wedding band, and she hadn’t taken it off once since he’d slipped it on. He’d caught her admiring it a time or two with the awe that had been in her eyes when he’d first given it to her.
At least he thought she’d liked it, the same way he thought she’d liked kissing him. But what if he’d been wrong about both?
“Can’t be wrong,” he muttered. She’d told him she missed him. She’d wanted him to sit with her. She’d touched him of her own free will. Fiery sparks struck to life in his gut just thinking about the way she’d kissed him back.
Astrid called out a greeting, and Wyatt looked up to see Greta striding across the yard, twin pails swinging from her hands.
He stepped into the shadows of the stall. She must be coming to do the milking. His pulse tottered like a colt learning to walk. Should he use the opportunity to talk? Or would doing so make the awkwardness worse?
She’d taken to milking the new cow three times a day. He had to hand it to her. It was a smart move to increase the cow’s milk supply if she hoped to produce butter to sell. It would take some time, but eventually the cow would give her more.
For now, she was storing the churned butter in a shallow pan of cold river water in the cellar. By the time they went to town by the week’s end, she’d have not only her jam to sell, but a fair amount of butter as well. It was a heap of work, but like always, she didn’t shy away from it.
As she entered the barn, her footsteps crunched in the hay with the confidence of someone who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. He liked that about her. If only she wanted him . . .
He waited until she reached the cow before he let his shovel bang against the stall and alert her that she wasn’t alone. He stepped into the open and waited for her to adjust to the dim barn interior.
As her eyes locked on him and rounded, he guessed she’d thought he’d gone out to check on the herd, likely hadn’t expected to find him there. When she took a quick step back, he held out a hand. “Greta, hold on.”