All night, Wyatt had tossed and turned, wondering if he’d done the right thing in accepting Steele’s bargain, marrying Greta but then keeping things friend-like between them.

He’d thought Greta would be relieved he wasn’t pressuring her into a real marriage—at least not right away. But she seemed confused and perhaps worried.

Maybe he’d been wrong to offer her freedom in three months if she decided she didn’t like living on his homestead. It’s just that he’d seen the wariness in her expression when she looked at the place, as if she expected something better.

Although he had big plans for his ranch, he couldn’t shake the nagging voice reminding him of the ways he’d already failed. The voice sounded a lot like Rusty’s and the words pretty near the same as what Rusty had told him.

It had been after the first time Wyatt had come in from the fields to find the bruise on Ma’s face. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it. But Ivy hadn’t held back anything, telling him how Rusty had slapped Ma for not having his noon meal ready when he’d walked in the house.

Wyatt had stormed out to the barn, found Rusty mucking a horse stall, and plowed into him with both fists swinging. Of course at the time, Wyatt had been half the size and weight of Rusty, and his new stepfather easily subdued him by pinning him to the ground and punching him in the gut.

Even with Rusty sitting on top of him, Wyatt bucked and twisted like a wild bronco, trying to free himself so he could take another punch. Rusty just laughed.

“Go on and leave!” Wyatt shouted, breathless and sore. “We don’t need you and can get by fine without the likes of you around.”

“Get by fine?” Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you call the failed crop last year and almost losing this here farm?”

“We didn’t lose it!”

“That’s because your ma realized you were running the farm into the ground, so she married me to bail her out of the trouble you got her in.”

“I didn’t run the farm into the ground.” As Wyatt wrestled against Rusty, his voice lacked the same bluster as earlier.

After Pa’s death, he’d taken over and tried to do everything the way his pa taught him. But the summer had been exceptionally hot and dry, almost to the point that many farmers had called it a drought. Their farm hadn’t been the only one in a bad way.

“The problem with you young’uns”—Rusty jammed his finger into Wyatt’s chest—“is that you’re proud and think you know better than the rest of us.”