He’d expected Greta to ride out and finish helping them long ago, especially with the way she’d protested when he’d made her leave earlier. As hours passed without her showing up, he’d worked himself into a frenzy and almost hadn’t stopped to wash himself up at the river before riding on to the cabin.

At the sight of her on the river path, he’d nearly wept with relief to see she hadn’t left him yet. And now all he could do was pray that once they found Astrid, Greta would give him a chance to speak his piece.

By the time he was done with the meal and changed clothing, he had a fresh burst of energy and was ready to head to Fairplay.

“I want to go with.” She held the reins as he climbed up into his saddle.

“I’ll be able to ride a whole lot faster and search more places by myself.” He settled himself and adjusted his hat. “Besides, someone’s gotta stay and let Judd know what happened.”

As she passed the reins up to him, he wrapped his hand around hers.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she glanced away, blinking rapidly.

“And I reckon you need to be here if she comes back.”

Greta nodded and bit her lower lip.

He squeezed her fingers, wishing he could reassure her that everything would be okay. But he’d lived in the mountains long enough to know the wild land sometimes demanded a steep payment for living there. And he just hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

“Pray.” He released his hold and slapped the reins. “Pray hard.”

Greta watched the horizon until the sun dipped behind the mountain peaks and the chill of darkness crept in around her. Even then she sat on a bench outside the cabin, wrapped in her shawl, and refused to go inside. The lantern on a stump next to her allowed her to work on the mending, but she couldn’t concentrate, her heart aching too much at the thought of Astrid being somewhere cold and alone and in danger.

She tried not to think about the cougar poised above Astrid, ready to pounce, and how Astrid had been unaware of the danger so close. But the image kept surfacing nonetheless. Astrid was foolishly fearless at times and was just a child who couldn’t possibly survive on her own.

“Oh, God,” Greta whispered, lowering an old pair of Wyatt’s trousers to her lap, the ripped knee only halfway patched. Her prayer stuck in her throat as it had since Wyatt had ridden away urging her to pray.

God was surely weary of all her problems. Why would He want to hear from her again, with one more trouble?