A Cowboy for Keeps

by Jody Hedlund

  Would he see the benefit in investing in cattle? It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?

  Wyatt swallowed his trepidation and forced out the words he needed to say. “Next spring, I’m aiming to buy a herd of Shorthorns and drive them up here.”

  “And you need someone to loan you the cash for the purchase?”

  “Yep. In addition to the loan payback, I’d offer a percentage of the market sales.”

  “Of course.” Steele’s attention drifted to the end of Main Street to the treeless, grassy plains that surrounded Fairplay for miles and miles. Wyatt hoped Steele was seeing the same thing as him—hundreds of cattle roaming the fertile land, fat and content and ready to sell for a huge profit.

  “I might be new to ranching.” Wyatt tried to tamp down his growing excitement. “But I’ve got a whole heap of experience with livestock. My pa raised cattle on our farm, and I worked alongside him since the day I was born. After he died, I got a job driving cattle from Ohio to New York. And you know about my work freighting livestock for Russell, Majors, & Waddell.”

  Steele continued to stare at the boundless land. “I don’t doubt your experience, son. And I don’t doubt your determination.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “But if I’m going to invest, I want to make sure you’re planning to stick around and follow through for the long haul.”

  The excitement bubbling inside Wyatt pushed higher. “I wouldn’t have built a cabin and a barn on my homestead if I wasn’t fixin’ to make a go of this place.”

  Steele turned his focus back onto Wyatt, and the sadness in his eyes set Wyatt off-kilter. “I telegraphed my wife again when I was in Denver. She’s still refusing to come out here to Fairplay. Says she won’t move until I make it into a bigger town with more to offer.”

  Wyatt wasn’t sure what Steele’s personal business had to do with agreeing to invest in his cattle ranch. Even so, he had to offer a word of consolation. “I’m sorry. I reckon you miss her an awful lot.”

  Steele’s jaw worked up and down.

  “You’ve already built a church and a theater,” Wyatt continued. “There ain’t much more you can do.”

  “If we get more families here, the town will become more civilized.”

  Wyatt nodded, still unsure of the direction Steele was taking the conversation. “Yep. I agree.”

  “Then you’ll agree to marry Miss Nilsson, settle down permanently, and start a family?”

  As the conversation came full circle and slammed into Wyatt like a steer from behind, he had to catch himself. Protest rose swiftly, but he captured and stuffed it since Steele was watching his reaction.

  “I am settling down here, Steele, but that doesn’t mean I wanna get married.”

  “She has no place to go. I’d let her stay in Hallock’s house, but I can’t kick out the renters.”

  “Give her some of Hallock’s gold.”

  “You know I can’t do that. They weren’t married, so she has no legal claim to his assets.”

  Across the street, the front door of the general store opened, and Miss Nilsson stepped out onto the plank sidewalk.

  Her bonnet hung down her back, revealing a worried crease between her eyebrows. She searched the street, taking in each of the wooden signs that hung above the businesses, before she lifted a hand and twisted a loose strand of her hair.

  Wyatt held his breath and waited for her to glance toward him and Steele. No doubt if she did, she’d catch on real fast that she was the topic of their conversation. Thankfully, however, after only a moment more of hesitation, she started toward the hotel. Once she disappeared inside, Wyatt allowed himself to breathe again.

  “She needs a husband,” Steele said firmly. “You need an investor. And I need a civilized town for my wife.”

  “Don’t know how one woman’s gonna make much difference in civilizing the town.”

  “Good Christian women in the community attract other women, which eventually leads to schools, community events, charities, and all the other things women like to participate in.”

  “Reckon so, but that doesn’t mean I need to rush in to getting hitched.”

  Steele situated his hat, readying to leave. “If you marry Miss Nilsson today and take her home as your wife, then I’ll give you what you need for buying cattle.”

  Wyatt felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut by a wild horse and that his prize was galloping away even as he chased it. He wanted to plead with Steele to reconsider the ultimatum, but the hard set to the man’s mouth told him he wouldn’t be swayed, that for some crazy reason, he’d already made up his mind.

  Why him? What did Steele think Wyatt had to offer a wife?

  “Mull it over.”

  “I might.” He’d already thought all he was going to on it, but Wyatt bit back his response.

  Steele tipped the brim of his hat, then started back to the stagecoach and the luggage the driver was in the process of unloading.

  “When you’re ready for the wedding,” Steele said over his shoulder, “I’ll be at the Hotel Windsor taking a meal.”

  Wyatt nodded, then spun on his boots and headed toward Judd, who was still waiting near the livery. Frustration thrummed through Wyatt’s body and echoed in each thud of his footsteps against the hard earth.

  How could he walk away from the opportunity to buy a herd of cattle and finally make something worthwhile of his life? And yet, how could he possibly marry a complete stranger?

  Chapter 4

  No luck. Again.

  Greta stepped out of the dry goods store and closed the door behind her. The evening sky had turned a shade bluer over the past hour of job hunting. Nighttime would soon be upon her, and she still had no work, no place to live, and no money.

  She reached up and twisted a loose strand of hair. She’d come to the edge of town. There were no more businesses to visit—at least none for a woman like her.

  The lively music pouring out of the closest tavern taunted her every bit as much as some of the men had. “There’s plenty of work to be had for a woman as purty as you.” The leering grin and ugly words from the owner of the dry goods store had followed her outside and still rang in her mind.

  She hadn’t stayed to ask the man what kind of work he was referring to. She hadn’t needed to.

  Down the street near the livery, the stagecoach sat empty, the teams of horses unhitched, the luggage gone, and the driver nowhere to be seen. Or any of the other passengers, including Mr. Steele.

  She had hoped to prove the kind gentleman wrong. He’d warned her that in a mining town like Fairplay, a single woman wouldn’t have other options besides becoming a dance girl. She supposed that’s why he’d offered to give her shelter in his home.

  She’d wanted to remain optimistic that one of the hotels would hire her to do their cooking or that one of the stores might need help, but he’d been right. No one was willing to pay others to do the work he could do for himself.

  “God,” she whispered as she lifted her face heavenward. “What am I to do now?”

  She breathed in the clean air laden with the scent of campfire smoke and roasting game. Her stomach gurgled, reminding her that she and Astrid hadn’t eaten anything all day except for the biscuits, dried venison, and milk she’d purchased before leaving the stagecoach station hours ago. And now, without any money, she had no way to buy them an evening meal.

  Of course, along with giving her a room in his house, Mr. Steele had been kind enough to suggest taking Astrid and her to supper tonight. He’d emphasized that he was happily married and didn’t have any ulterior motives for his kindness.

  Nevertheless, she was hesitant to accept his assistance. Maybe he was as noble as he appeared. Maybe he was simply a Good Samaritan. Maybe she was worrying for nothing. But the fact was, Mr. Steele lived alone. And staying with him would only cause problems.

  Lowering her head, she blinked back swift tears. She was always a burden and had been for as far back as she could remember. She�
�d been a burden on Pappa as he labored to take care of Mamma when she’d been bedbound. Of course, he’d loved Greta the best he could, but with managing his farm all by himself, he’d been stretched too thin, even though many within their Swedish immigrant community had reached out to help him.

  After Mamma had died, Pappa quickly remarried so he wouldn’t have to watch over a six-year-old in addition to everything else he had to worry about. Her stepmother, a newly arrived Swedish immigrant widow, had two boys, and Greta had felt as though she was adding to the woman’s heavy workload, especially after Astrid and Liam were born.

  Over the past few years, as her older stepbrothers had gotten married and the number of people living in the farmhouse grew, Greta sensed she was wanted even less. If not for her role in taking care of Astrid after her stepmother and Liam died, Greta guessed her stepbrothers would have married her off long ago. But no one else had the energy or desire to oversee the sick little girl.

  After her pappa and stepbrothers left to join the War of Secession, her sisters-in-law had made it quite clear they saw her and Astrid as a burden on their limited resources. They encouraged her to get married and take Astrid with her. They even brought her mail-order bride ads in the newspaper and suggested she accept an offer.

  She’d come west so she wouldn’t need to encumber anyone. And she didn’t want to burden a new friend on her first day in town. But it seemed no matter where Greta went or what she tried to do, she ended up being an unwanted responsibility to those around her.

  With heavy steps, she started back toward Simpkin’s General Store, where Astrid had been playing checkers. The moment Astrid had walked into the establishment and noticed the board set up on top of a barrel, she’d challenged the store owner to a game.

  When Greta had checked on Astrid a short while ago in between job hunting, the two had been on their fourth game, with Astrid having won each round. The store owner’s placating smile had long since vanished, replaced by a brow furrowed with determination. Greta should have warned the man, but she hadn’t wanted to ruin Astrid’s fun, especially because the game was keeping the girl occupied.

  The traffic on the street had steadily increased, and as Greta retraced her steps to the store, she could feel the stares of the men coming and going from the hotels and taverns. She garnered a whistle or two along with a few calls. But she chose to ignore such vulgar behavior, hoping the men would eventually choose to ignore her too.

  She supposed the only thing to be done for the night was to take up Mr. Steele’s offer and stay with him. She had no other option, unless she and Astrid camped out under the stars. Of course, Astrid would love every minute of camping.

  But Greta had heard too many stories during their journey—and some even before leaving—that had opened her eyes to the perils of the West. She’d clung to the hope that the danger, risks, and hardships they encountered would be worth it if the Colorado climate helped to heal Astrid’s consumption.

  She’d first heard about the clean mountain air being medicine for the lungs from a physician who’d passed through her small Illinois farming town. After that, she’d done more investigating and learned the West was considered an Eden, that the open air was life-giving, and that it could cure those with the white death.

  In recent days, Astrid seemed to have gained more energy along with color to her face, but her delicate body was still too thin and the cough still too frequent. Maybe the Colorado air wouldn’t be able to cure Astrid after all. Or maybe they just needed to give this mountain wilderness more time to work its miracle.

  Whatever the case, they couldn’t think of leaving yet, not when they’d just arrived. Besides, even if she wanted to go home to Illinois, she had no money to pay for the return stagecoach trip. She’d have to stay in Fairplay and earn the fare. By the time she saved up enough, she and Astrid would likely be snowed in the high country until spring—at least she’d heard some mountain trails became impassable from November’s first snowfall until the spring thaw.

  With a shake of her head, she tried to forget her worries. But as her footsteps slapped against the plank sidewalk, they only echoed the steady dreadful thud of her heartbeat.

  “Miss Nilsson?” came a voice from the side of the blacksmith shop.

  Startled that anyone other than Mr. Steele would know her name, Greta halted and searched the shadows. A man leaned against the building, his arms folded and his legs crossed at his ankles. She couldn’t see him clearly, but it was enough to tell he was broad shouldered, well built, and muscular.

  Seeing he had her attention, he pushed away from the wall and straightened, adding several inches to his height, making him too imposing for a woman unchaperoned on the street.

  Gathering her skirt and the starched petticoat underneath, she hurried on her way, ducking her head and pretending not to notice him.

  “Miss Nilsson, hold on.”

  She picked up her pace.

  “I need to talk to you.” He sounded almost desperate.

  Still, she kept her head down and continued toward the general store, now only a dozen paces away.

  “Heard you’re in a bad way, and I’ve got a proposal for you.”

  Proposal? Her footsteps faltered. What kind of proposal?

  “Phineas Hallock was a good friend of mine.”

  She slowed and then stopped. If this man had been friends with Phineas, then surely he was someone she could trust. Hesitantly, she turned.

  The stranger had halted and now held himself motionless, as though he was facing a doe about to bolt. “Name’s Wyatt McQuaid.”

  Underneath the brim of a battered felt hat, eyes the color of richly brewed coffee peered at her intently. The eyes were framed by dark, thick lashes and brows. The scruffy layer of hair covering his chiseled jaw and chin was the same inky shade as the hair that curled up around the edge of his collar and neckerchief.

  His loose-fitting shirt and vest were dusty, as were his woolen trousers. But he wasn’t as sloppy or ill-kempt as some of the men she’d met. In fact, under other circumstances, she might have been impressed by the rugged handsomeness of his features.

  But not tonight. Not now. Her situation had become too woeful for her to care that such a good-looking man was stopping her in the middle of the street. “You knew Phineas?”

  “Yep. And as his friend, I know he’d want me to do the right thing. . . .”

  Something in the way the man assessed her—as though measuring her worth—made her stand up a little straighter. Was it possible this Mr. McQuaid was approaching to offer her a job? Maybe for Phineas’s sake?

  When she’d dressed that morning, she wanted to look her best for Mr. Hallock and donned one of her Sunday outfits. After the day of traveling, she should have known she looked wilted.

  She brushed a hand over her calico skirt of blue with sprigs of red flowers and wished it wasn’t so dusty. The matching bodice with velvet-covered buttons was equally dusty, and she guessed the once-white collar pinned neatly in place was now a dull gray. She wasn’t making a good impression.

  “I’ve got a ranch—a homestead—southeast of Fairplay—”

  “If you’re in need of a cook, I won’t disappoint you or your ranch hands. I promise.”

  “Right now, it’s just me and my friend Judd.”

  The hope that had begun to rise stumbled back a step. He wouldn’t need a cook for just the two of them. But maybe he was searching for another ranch hand. “I can help with the cattle. I’ve lived my whole life on a farm, and my pappa raised a few cows, mostly for dairy. But I’m a quick learner, and I’m sure it won’t take me long to learn everything I need to know about ranching.”

  Mr. McQuaid tugged at his neckerchief as if the thing was strangling him. He cleared his throat and then seemed to force himself to speak again. “Thank you kindly for the offer, but I had a different proposal in mind.”

  Her hope fell away, and wariness rushed in to replace it. After spending the past hour fending off advanc
es and offensive suggestions, she had the feeling she knew exactly what kind of proposal he was about to offer. And she didn’t want to hear it.

  She spun on her heels and strode toward the store. “I’m not interested in a different kind of proposal, Mr. McQuaid.”

  “Hold on. Hear me out.”

  She reached the door and tossed a final comment over her shoulder. “I’m looking for honest work or none at all.” She flung open the door, eager to get Astrid and escape.

  “I’m not aiming to make you an employee.” He trailed after her. “I’m aiming to make you my wife.”

  Wife? She stopped so abruptly Mr. McQuaid bumped into her from behind. He caught himself and pulled up short. As she spun, he took a rapid step back, almost as if he expected her to haul off and slap his face.

  His dark brows furrowed above his expressive eyes—eyes that now radiated worry.

  She couldn’t keep from studying his face again, this time more carefully, noting the perfect nose, the shadowed hollow lines that defined his cheeks, and the well-rounded chin. His eyes were deep and serious and altogether too beautiful for a man.

  She dropped her gaze to his chest, noting again how powerfully built he was all the way down to his solid waist, where he wore a holster and a gun, along with what looked like a small whip of braided rawhide. His legs were long and sturdy with his trousers tucked into a pair of Texas-style leather boots with a pointed toe.

  Reaching the end of her inspection, she met his gaze. One of his brows had cocked just slightly, as if questioning whether he had her approval. If she went by appearance alone, this man would have won first prize.

  Why, then, was he proposing marriage to her? Obviously, there weren’t many women in these parts to choose from, which was why Phineas had placed an ad for a bride. But Phineas had been—well, he’d more than made up in kindness what he lacked in appearance.

  This man, on the other hand, could have his pick of women.

  “If you’re looking for that little girl of yours,” the store owner said, “she took off.”