As with the previous morning, Greta had the saddlebags packed with food and supplies before dawn. Wyatt decided they’d head south toward a couple of the lakes he’d mentioned to Astrid, lakes with good fishing. Greta didn’t think Astrid would attempt any fishing since she hadn’t taken fishing equipment with, but they had to explore every option.
All the while they rode, Greta’s thoughts replayed the conversation she’d had with Wyatt the previous evening. “I’m mighty glad I was there in town at the right time to get you. I’m the lucky one.”
His humbleness in asking for her forgiveness had touched her deeply. As had his desire to approach Mr. Steele with the truth. Wyatt was willing to lose the cattle deal because he wanted to prove he was truthful and trustworthy. Without the cattle, what else could he do with his land? Certainly not farming. The land was too dry and the growing season too short.
He needed cattle.
If—when—they found Astrid, she needed to take the girl to Denver. But surely if Wyatt cared about her the way he seemed to, they could work out the situation. She didn’t know how, but she wanted to believe there was something they could do to save the ranch.
In spite of another day of sunshine, the wind blowing from the north was cold and nipped at her ears, cheeks, and nose. The grass was covered with hoar frost, sparkling in the sunshine and crunching under the horses’ hooves. She pulled her cloak around her and was thankful for the warm mittens she’d donned.
Slightly to the east of her, Wyatt scanned the ground they were traveling. In an overcoat, he held his reins with one gloved hand and braced the other against his thigh, looking every inch a rugged cowboy. His profile was etched with determination, made stronger by the set of his jaw and mouth. The shadows of his hat made his facial hair seem darker, lending him an intensity that caused her heart to sputter.
As if sensing her gaze, he glanced at her, his brows rising above his rich brown eyes, eyes that could draw her in and make her forget about everything but him. Like last night when he’d focused on her lips as though he might kiss her again. Under the spell of his beautiful eyes—and his calling her darlin’—she’d nearly risen on her toes and kissed him first. She’d wanted to kiss him more than anything else, had wanted to be in his arms, had wanted to lose herself with him and forget about their troubles.
She’d all but flung herself at him and invited him to stay and kiss her.
As though remembering the same, Wyatt shifted his attention to her mouth. “Next time I kiss you, I ain’t gonna stop.” The memory of his low voice rumbled through her and stoked the embers inside her. How long did she have to wait for the next time?
Embarrassed by her eagerness, she dropped her gaze to the ground, which she should be examining with as much care as he was. According to Wyatt, they had to scrutinize every detail, every turned stone, every footprint, every broken blade of grass.
The problem was, it all looked the same to her and had for miles—treeless land, the grass now brown, almost gray, with a lone prairie dog popping up once in a while to scold them as they passed.
Nevertheless, she had to focus. Astrid’s life was at stake.
“Hold up.” Wyatt’s tone was taut and filled with warning. “Utes to the west.”
In the distance, a dozen Indians rode single file, heading to the north. They traveled briskly without wavering from their course.
Wyatt drew his horse next to hers. Only then did she realize he rested his rifle across his lap in one hand and his pistol in the other. He sat tall in his saddle, his focus intently upon the Indians. Though the natives hadn’t harmed her or Astrid that day they’d visited the cabin, this party might not be as kind as the men who’d visited.
The Indians huddled in their deerskin shirts, fringed buckskin leggings, and buffalo robes, the wind rustling their long hair intertwined with beads, feathers, and bones. Men at the forefront were followed by a few women and children riding their beautiful mustangs.
Her body tensed as she waited for them to notice Wyatt and her and steer toward them. But the party rode onward without a glance in their direction. “They must not see us.”
“Oh, they see us alright.” Wyatt’s fingers grazed the triggers of his guns. “They probably saw us long before we spotted them.”
“Then why aren’t they coming over?”
“I don’t rightly know, but I reckon they sense a change in the weather and are in a hurry to get someplace.”
A change in the weather? The wide expanse of the cloudless sky was as beautiful and blue as always in the morning. Perhaps a change was moving in later in the day.
From a distance she couldn’t make out the faces of the Indians, but the tall, young Ute who’d been kind to Astrid came to mind. He’d even seemed concerned about her coughing. What had he told Astrid? Something about water being good for the sick?
Greta’s pulse slowed. At the time, she’d been too afraid to consider the Indian’s suggestion, assumed he was alluding to drinking water. But what if the Indian had been referring to specific water that could help the sick? And what if Astrid remembered what the Indian said? After all, she conversed with him longer, and maybe she questioned him more about it.
“Wyatt.” A trembling started in her stomach and spread to her limbs.
He remained focused on the backs of the Indians as they rode into the distance.
“Wyatt,” she said again, this time more urgently.
His attention finally shifted to her.
“Do you know anything about water that might be helpful to someone who’s sick?”
He relaxed his hold on his rifle. “What kind of water?”
“The day the Indians came to the cabin, one of them heard Astrid coughing and told her that water was good for the sick. Maybe there’s a well? Or a pond? Or a lake with especially clear water?”
For a long instant, Wyatt remained motionless, as if trying to make sense of what the Indian had said. Then he sat straighter and tipped up the brim of his hat. “Or maybe a hot spring?”
“What’s a hot spring?” she asked.
“From what I’ve heard, they’re pools of water that stay warm all year round.”
“The water never gets cold?”
“Nope. The Indians use the springs for bathing, but I ain’t heard nothing about the water helping someone who’s sick.”
“Is there a hot spring in the area?”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed with sudden intensity. “It’s a real small one. Judd’s been to it. Says it’s tucked away in some hills southeast of the ranch.”
“What if Astrid went to the hot spring thinking she could get better there?”
“It’s about as good a guess as any that’s where we’re gonna find her.” Wyatt started strapping his rifle back onto his saddle. “Let’s pray to the good Lord you’re right.”
Since they were already well south of the ranch, they shifted their direction and rode hard toward the east. While they galloped, Greta alternated between pleading with God for help and silently chastising Astrid for being so foolish to believe a hot spring would help her—if that’s what the Indian had told her. It was just as foolhardy as thinking that panning for gold in the river in Fairplay would recoup the money they’d lost in the stagecoach robbery.