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.