Maybe Wyatt had been too cocky when he’d taken over after Pa died. Maybe he figured he could be like his pa, but better. And maybe because of that, he’d brought a whole passel of problems on the farm, giving Ma no choice but to marry Rusty when he’d come proposing and promising to turn things around.

“The truth is,” Rusty continued with a harder jab, “you were a failure, and you’ll always be a failure.”

Wyatt tried to push the bitter memories from his mind by leaning down and splashing more icy water against his face. But no matter how hard he tried to shut out the accusation, it reverberated louder than a shooting iron in a narrow canyon. He was a failure and would always be a failure.

After his few years of driving cattle, he’d failed at his brief cow-raising venture in Iowa. Then once he’d had enough experience in the freighting business, he tried setting up his own transportation company. And that bit the dust too. When gold had been found in the Rockies, he’d decided to give mining a go, and he hadn’t had any luck with that either.

At twenty-three, he’d tried and failed more times than many men did in a lifetime. Was he bound to fail again with his ranching plans?

At the crunch of footsteps behind him, he pushed aside his melancholy, his senses on high alert and his fingers already fumbling for the handle of his revolver in his discarded holster. Last week, Judd had seen several Utes in the area. He hadn’t been sure whether they were hunting or just passing through. With the increasing tension as more and more miners came in and took over Ute land, it was just a matter of time before the conflict escalated.

At Greta’s appearance on the path that sloped gently to the river, he let himself relax and released his gun. She was carrying buckets in each hand, swinging them in rhythm to her quick stride.

He hadn’t expected her to be up at dawn the same way he was, especially on her first morning. But she was apparently an early riser. He didn’t want to frighten the living daylights out of her, so he stood and straightened, mighty thankful he hadn’t unshucked all the way as he often did before washing up.

She made it halfway down the path before she stopped short at the sight of him. For several seconds, she stared with wide eyes, then dropped her attention to the tuft of tall yellowing grass in front of her.

He glanced down at himself. Barefoot and wearing only his one-piece under-rigging, he was decent. With the cotton leggings and long sleeves, his union suit covered just about as much of him as his outerwear. As far as he could tell, they didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about, did they?