Wyatt’s revolver wavered, and he flicked his gaze to her before he fixed it once again on Brawley.
Behind Wyatt, Mr. Steele stepped out of his front door, a revolver in his hand, and all around men were pouring out of the hotels and taverns and shops.
A chill swept under Greta’s cloak, which had nothing to do with the breeze that had been getting colder as the day progressed. She had to do something to put an end to the conflict before it got out of hand and people were needlessly hurt. Especially Wyatt.
“Brawley, please unhand me. Wyatt and I agreed that we’re planning to stay married.”
“I think I’m aimin’ to keep you for myself.” Brawley drew her back into the crook of his arm. “That is, unless McQuaid wants to strike a deal.”
Wyatt started across the street toward her, his revolver trained upon Brawley’s head.
The cold steel tip of Brawley’s revolver pressed into her neck, sending a shudder through her.
Wyatt froze, his attention riveted to the weapon. “Now hold on, Brawley. Put the gun down.”
“Come on, Brawley,” Mr. Steele called. “Don’t do this.”
Brawley laughed and pressed the barrel into her more firmly.
Wyatt’s eyes rounded, and he held out a hand as though that would stop the man. “What kind of deal do you want?”
“This purty little thing for the land.”
The land. Brawley wasn’t going to stop tormenting them until he wrested the homestead away from Wyatt. That much was certain.
“Fine.” Wyatt spat out the word. “You win. You can have it—”
“No!” Greta twisted and grabbed at Brawley’s face. She wasn’t about to let Wyatt lose his land. Not today, and not because of her.
“Greta, wait!” The fear in Wyatt’s voice drove deep inside her.
But her fingers were already connecting with Brawley’s eye patch. She wrenched at it as he jerked his head back, panic flashing across his features.
She didn’t release her hold, and as Brawley stumbled backward, the string holding the patch in place snapped, so she was left holding the felt cup.
Brawley fell to the ground, taking his revolver with him. “Give that back, woman!” He looked up at her long enough for her to see a lazy eye—the same lazy eye that had plagued the stagecoach robber.
Astrid had been right. Brawley was the leader of the Crooked-Eye Gang. And that would explain why he always had more than enough money to purchase oxen from miners when Wyatt struggled to come up with the necessary cash.
Before Brawley could right himself, the crack of a gun came from Wyatt’s direction. An instant later, a bullet tore into Brawley’s hand. He bellowed in pain and dropped his revolver.
All around men jumped into action. Several lunged for Brawley. Some grabbed his companions and disarmed them. Through the commotion and shouting, Wyatt stalked toward her, his worried eyes taking her in. “You alright?”
“I’m just fine.” She held out the eye patch. “Astrid told me Brawley was the leader of the Crooked-Eye Gang and now we have proof.”
Mr. Steele was right on Wyatt’s heels. “Proof of what?”
“That Brawley has a crooked eye, which is evidence that he and his men have been the ones robbing the stagecoaches coming over Kenosha Pass.”
Wyatt took the eye patch from her, examined it, and then handed it to Steele.
Brawley was clutching his injured hand, clearly in too much pain to think about the fact that he was showing his lazy eye for every man in town to see and revealing the lie he’d perpetuated about losing his eye in an Indian attack.
Mr. Steele glanced from the patch to Brawley and then back to Wyatt. “Guess I need to pull the vigilance committee together today after all.”
Wyatt’s expression turned grave. “Didn’t want things to come to this.”
Mr. Steele holstered his gun. “Me either. But we can’t let Brawley and his men rob and kill any more innocent people.”
“Reckon so.” Wyatt’s voice was soft, and his eyes radiated resignation.
Greta pulled her cloak about her tighter so Wyatt wouldn’t see her trembling hands. Now that the ordeal was over, she wanted to sink to the ground and give way to tears of relief that Wyatt was safe and Brawley could never again threaten him or the ranch.
The men pulled Brawley to his feet and began shoving him and his partners down the street. Wyatt watched for only a few moments before leveling a gaze at Steele. “I’m gonna take Greta on home if that’s alright by you. She’s already been through enough for one day.”
At their somber exchange of glances, Greta guessed Wyatt didn’t want to subject her to whatever the men planned to do to Brawley and his men. She could only shudder at the prospect.
When Wyatt reached for her hand, she didn’t resist. She grabbed hold of him and allowed him to lead her to her horse.
Chapter 29
In the fading evening light, Greta kept looking at Wyatt and memorizing him, from the strong way he held himself in his saddle to the powerful build of his torso. The determined tilt of his hat. The scruffy dark layer of whiskers on his face. The tough set of his jaw.
She loved everything about him and wanted to carry every detail with her when she left tomorrow. As much as she wanted to delay a few more days or even a week, the stagecoach driver had warned her that this might be the last ride out. Already they’d had a hard time pushing through the highest passes with snow up to five feet in some places and the trail covered in ice in other spots.
Now that the plans were final, Greta’s last hurdle was convincing Astrid of the need to leave. Wyatt had promised to help. “She’ll go if she knows she can come back,” he’d said.
Greta prayed he was right.
“Let’s wait to tell her until the morning,” Greta said as the cabin came into view.
“Then you’re afraid she’ll run away again?”
“I don’t know what she’ll do.” The closer they drew to home, the more she dreaded facing the child with the news. Astrid would be devastated, maybe even feel betrayed, especially after how they’d bonded earlier in the day.
Wyatt reined in his horse, and Greta did the same.
Ahead, the cabin and barn sat against the backdrop of the mountains with the glow of the setting sun reflected on the golden aspens, dark evergreens, and gray rocky crags. The few remaining cattle grazed in the barnyard along with the chickens. It was a stunning view, one she wanted to capture and take with her so she could remember everything about this rugged place during the days to come.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “And has so much potential.”
“It is mighty beautiful.” He swept his gaze over the landscape too. “But I can’t deny that I’m scared to death of what the future holds.”
She was scared too. Nothing was certain in life, not in this wild land where anything could happen—dangerous thieves, inclement weather, unpredictable Utes, wild animals, and crooked neighbors. The odds of being able to make it were stacked against them. Just like the odds were stacked against Astrid.
However, Greta refused to accept defeat with the ranch every bit as much as she refused to accept defeat with Astrid’s consumption. She had to cling to the impossible. Could she do so with their marriage too?