When Judd had stalked out of the cabin to the barn, Wyatt was pretty sure he’d seen dampness on the old man’s cheeks. Although Judd rarely spoke of his past, Wyatt knew Comanches had attacked his home, burning down his house with his wife and children locked inside, while making him listen to their tortured screams. Finally, they’d beaten him and left him for dead.
Neighbors had found him and nursed him back to health, but his hair had turned permanently white and his leg had never healed right. Worse were the internal scars.
For a long while, Judd had lived a wild and restless life . . . until he’d made his peace with the good Lord. Even so, Judd had been a wandering soul for years, and Wyatt feared one day Judd would get fed up and have an itching to move on. If he did, Wyatt wouldn’t blame him, especially since failure seemed to follow Wyatt around like stink on a pig.
Wyatt prayed Judd would practice his own preaching and stick with the ranch rather than walking away. On the other hand, this wasn’t Judd’s problem to fix. It was Wyatt’s. And he didn’t rightly know how to save the ranch.
All he knew was that he had to get to town and alert everyone they’d found Astrid. While there, he was fixin’ to cash in on more of the beef. More than anything else, he had to talk to Steele and tell him he wanted out of the deal—and that Greta wasn’t in the family way and never had been. The very thought of having to eat crow made him squirm right down to his boots. But he was determined to do the right thing, especially for Greta.
Judd opened the front door a crack and peeked through. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”
Wyatt grinned. “Nope. But wish you were.”
Judd grunted, then shuffled inside and made his way to the stove and the coffeepot. “Get a hotel room tonight.”
In the process of taking a sip of coffee, Wyatt choked and sprayed out the liquid. As he cleared his throat and wiped at his mouth, he glanced to the bedroom and prayed Greta hadn’t heard the comment.
The older man poured himself a cup of coffee as calmly as if he’d just told Wyatt to go fishing. When he turned and limped to the table, his thick white brows rose. “Stop being so blamed afeared to make her yours.”
“For crying-in-the-rain, Judd.” Wyatt shot another glance toward the bedroom. Greta’s head was bent, and she didn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation.
Judd sat down and slurped from his mug.
Wyatt was afraid his friend would yammer on some more, but thankfully he was a man of few words and seemed to have said all he had to say.
A few minutes later, as Greta stepped into the main room, Wyatt took a final swig of coffee and then rose from the bench. She walked straight to her cloak hanging on a peg on the back of the door and started to put it on.
“You don’t have to come.” He stuffed his fingers into one of his gloves. “I can handle everything.”
“I want to ride with you.” She lifted her chin and tied the string on her cloak, giving him a glimpse of the determination in her eyes and the firm set of her lips.
Did she reckon if she tagged along, she could somehow wrangle Steele into giving him the loan anyway? Wyatt wasn’t going that route. After the lying, no doubt Steele would rather see him tarred and feathered than give him a loan. “Promise you won’t try to convince Steele of anything?”
She finished with the ties and then swung open the door. “I’m not making any promises I can’t keep.” She bounded outside before he could respond.
He expelled a sigh, then strode after her to the horses Judd had already groomed as well as weighed down with beef to sell. Wyatt caught hold of her waist before she could climb into the saddle. At his touch, she halted but didn’t pivot.
He moved in closer, and before he could stop himself, he tugged her back against his chest, hugging her from behind. She was probably getting mighty tired of him reaching for her.
“Hey,” he said softly, starting to release her. “Don’t know why I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“It’s alright, Wyatt,” she replied just as softly, leaning into him and letting him bear her weight.
Her words were all the permission he needed to wrap her up more fully and bend in and press his face into her hair, breathing her in. Oh Lord help him, he loved this woman.
The words felt like they needed to be said again. But he held them back, uncertainty poking at him.
“When we get with Steele, let me do the talking first,” he murmured against her hair. “Can you promise me that?”
“I guess so.”
He forced himself to release her and assisted her into the saddle, all the while too doggone aware of how soft and womanly she was.
During the ride to Fairplay, his thoughts locked in on Judd’s suggestion to get a hotel room. He sensed the wisdom in his friend’s request. He oughta make their first night together special. Greta deserved that. But was it still too soon? And did he need to cool his heels?
She hadn’t been pushing him away, but she also hadn’t given him any notion she’d welcome him into her bed. She was unusually quiet during their ride into town, and he guessed her thoughts were focused on Astrid.
As they reached the outer limits of Fairplay, she slowed her horse. “I know you’ll want to sell the beef, and I’ve got an errand to run while you do that.”
When she refused to look at him, wariness prodded him like a hot branding stick. He didn’t know what she was up to, but it wasn’t good.
He swept his sights over Main Street. The traffic was light for the late-afternoon hour. Most miners were still at work. The taverns were silent. And the stragglers lounging around the other businesses were sparse.
Steele’s yellow buggy was parked outside Hotel Windsor, and a sudden desperation welled up within Wyatt to put things right between him and Greta once and for all. “Before we do anything else, I reckon we oughta let the fellas know Astrid’s safe.”
“You’re right.” Greta tore her attention from McLaughlin’s Livery and the stagecoach parked in front, the driver still unloading bags and trunks for the few lingering passengers, including a stout woman wearing a fancy red gown.
Was Greta remembering the day she’d arrived and regretting her decision to travel to Fairplay? Or was she figuring out how to leave?
Wyatt urged his horse toward Hotel Windsor and was relieved when Greta did the same. As they dismounted and hitched their horses to the post, Wyatt noticed through the window that the dining room was crowded.
All the better. The more fellas hanging around when he delivered the news about his and Greta’s marriage and the false pregnancy, the less gossip would go around later.
“Ready?” He halted in front of the door.
She nodded.
After drawing in a deep breath and whispering a prayer for strength to do what he needed to, Wyatt swung open the door and stepped inside behind Greta.
The place grew silent and every eye turned upon them. Likely every man in the room had noticed them outside and now was waiting anxiously for an update on Astrid.
What should he share first? The news about Astrid or the news about him and Greta?
Steele was at his usual spot at a center table, attired in a suit and smoking a cigar. As the door closed behind them, Steele pushed back and rose, his face a mask of concern.
Wyatt swallowed his reservations. Steele was a good man. Maybe his cattle deal had been manipulative and pushy. But he’d meant well, had Greta’s best interests at heart. Now it was past time for Wyatt to be honest with him.