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.