Thankfully, Steele was staying out of the conversation. He leaned back in his chair and took a puff on his cigar, his gaze bouncing back and forth between them.
Wyatt chanced a look at Greta. She was staring at the sheet on the desk and twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. She might not be jumping up and down at the sight of him, but she hadn’t objected.
Before he could formulate the words to convince her not to give up on their marriage, insistent knocking at the front door interrupted them. Wyatt wanted to ignore the pesky intrusion until he was sure Greta was safely still his wife.
But at the increased pounding, Mr. Steele took out his cigar and pointed it in the direction of the door. “Answer that, will you, McQuaid?”
Wyatt had no choice but to backtrack to the door. As he swung it open, he was surprised to find the stout woman in the red gown from the stagecoach standing there. She held a red-and-white-striped parasol above her, shielding her from the sun and casting a shadow over her face. Even so, Wyatt could see she was a middle-aged woman, and her frizzy graying hair surrounded a stern countenance.
“Mr. Steele?” She eyed Wyatt with an air of mistrust.
“Nope. I’m Wyatt McQuaid. Steele is busy at the moment. You’ll have to come back later—”
“Henrietta?” Hallock spoke from behind him.
The woman’s expression softened as she peered at Hallock standing in the hallway just outside the office door. “Phineas, I know I said I’d wait for you to figure things out. But when I saw you walking down here with a woman, I had a very bad feeling about it.”
Hallock gazed at the newcomer with such longing that a hopeful current zipped through Wyatt. Who was this woman and what did she mean to his friend?
Before Hallock could answer, Greta stepped into the hallway.
Henrietta turned her full attention upon Greta as though sizing up her competition. But there wasn’t any competition as far as Wyatt was concerned. No woman could ever compare to Greta.
“Miss Nilsson?” A note of despair colored Henrietta’s tone.
Greta hesitated. “No, actually, I’m Mrs. McQuaid.”
At her announcement, Wyatt’s heartbeat ticked up a notch. Did that mean she wanted to stay with him? He tried to catch her gaze, but she kept her attention riveted on the newcomer. Why? Because she might give in and allow herself to care about him?
“You’re Mrs. McQuaid? His wife?” Henrietta nodded at Wyatt.
“Yep. She’s my wife,” he answered before Greta could deny it.
The relief that transformed the woman’s expression was almost comical. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I assumed she was the mail-order bride Phineas had sent away for. And I had a terrible feeling he wasn’t going to sever ties with her, as he assured me he’d do, so he could marry me instead.”
“What?” Greta asked the question at the same time as Wyatt.
Hallock ducked his head and stared at his shoes.
Henrietta twisted the handle of her parasol. “We’ve been traveling companions since leaving San Francisco. And during the few months we were delayed in Salt Lake City together, we developed affection for one another. I’d made arrangements to become a teacher in Denver, but Phineas assured me Fairplay could use a teacher too.”
The tension in Wyatt’s muscles eased, and he allowed himself the first full breath since walking into Steele’s house. “So the two of you are hoping to get married?”
The woman nodded. “Being such a man of principle, Phineas wants to make arrangements for Miss Nilsson first. And when I saw him walking with so pretty a young woman, I assumed he’d changed his mind.”
“No, no, no.” Hallock’s face turned red. “Indeed not. I haven’t changed my mind. I just haven’t yet figured out how to change Miss Nilsson’s.”
“Let’s talk to her together, Phineas. If she’s as kind as you indicated, then when she sees us together, she’ll surely give us her blessing.”
“Of course I give you my blessing,” Greta said.
Henrietta’s eyes rounded, and she glanced at everyone as though trying to make sense of who belonged to whom.
“I’m the mail-order bride.” Greta smiled gently. “And since Phineas wasn’t here when I arrived on the stagecoach, Wyatt offered to marry me.”
“I see.” Henrietta smiled back. “Then nothing is preventing Phineas and me from getting married?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Nope—”
Hallock cut him off. “If Wyatt promises to take care of Greta for the rest of her earthly days—then I will, with good conscience, release her from any obligation to me.” Hallock met Wyatt’s gaze. Friendship and goodwill radiated from Hallock’s face just as it always had.
“You have my word. I love Greta more than my own life. And as much as I respect you, I wouldn’t have been able to let you have her. So thank the good Lord He’s provided a solution.”
“Indeed.” Hallock shifted his attention to Henrietta, his eyes filling with hope. “I shall go speak with Mr. Steele and let him know the decision.”
“And I shall come with you.” Henrietta snapped her parasol closed and bustled past Wyatt. Hallock held out his arm, and she slipped her gloved hand into the crook.
As they disappeared into Steele’s office, Wyatt took a step toward Greta.
She inched back. “Even if I don’t marry Phineas, I still have to sign the annulment papers, Wyatt.”
Greta’s chest pounded with what she needed to do. During the walk from the hotel to Mr. Steele’s and the time they’d been in his office, she sensed the same distraction and despondency from Phineas that she had since they started their conversation.
Now she understood why. He hadn’t wanted to marry her because he cared about the other woman he’d met, but he likely would have gone through with the wedding because he felt responsible for her. And now that Wyatt had come after her, everything within her wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms, and tell him she’d stay married to him.
But the other part of her—the rational part—demanded she finish getting the annulment and set Wyatt free from any further responsibility for Astrid and her. She wouldn’t shackle either of the men.
Wyatt took off his hat and dug his fingers through his hair. His jaw flexed, and his dark eyes turned murky. “I want to make our marriage work.”
“I have to go away, and I’m not certain I’ll be able to come back.”
“I know.” His tone was resigned though turmoil still etched his face.
“That’s not fair to you—”
“Do you love me?”
His question threw her off guard. Yes, she’d admitted to herself that she loved him. But she couldn’t tell him that. Doing so would only complicate matters. She pressed her lips together.
He waited, his brows furrowed.
“I won’t give you false hope,” she whispered.
“I love you.” His voice was earnest and pricked her heart, causing tears to well up. “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me—even a hair—then I’ll let you go and won’t bother you no more about it.”
She shut her eyes so he wouldn’t see the truth.