She hadn’t asked him what he planned to do with all the vegetables once they were harvested, but she’d started a mental list of all the things she needed to do, including digging a cellar near the house for storing the produce.

Greta had spent the majority of the past two days exploring and getting familiar with the ranch, along with cleaning and airing out the cabin. Doing laundry had been the first priority. Though the cabin had but a few scant household linens, her and Astrid’s garments had been in sore need of scrubbing after going weeks without a proper washing. She’d also gathered up Wyatt’s and Judd’s clothing and laundered it too.

When it came time for drying everything, she’d set to work shoveling two holes deep enough for the couple of posts she dragged over from behind the barn. Once she had both posts buried and sturdy, she rigged up a rope between the two and hung the bedsheets to dry and laid the clothing out in the grass and on brush.

All while she’d worked, she kept Astrid busy snapping beans and shelling peas and other small jobs. Astrid tired easily and had taken several naps during the day. Greta had supposed the girl was worn out from all the excitement of their traveling. But now she realized Astrid had been battling consumption again.

Greta lifted the lid off the pan, the waft of potatoes and bacon making her stomach rumble.

“Listen, Greta.” Wyatt reached alongside her and took the lid out of her hold. “You go on and take care of Astrid. Me and Judd, we can fend for ourselves.”

She shook her head and picked up the spatula she’d left inside the pan. Wyatt was directly behind her—much too close. He’d protested yesterday, telling her she didn’t have to do so much, especially after seeing the laundry line she’d made. He told her next time she ought to ask him for help. But from what she’d seen, he was busy enough without having to stop and do things for her.

“No, I’m not letting you fend for yourself.” She scooped a serving of the potato-bacon mixture onto a tin plate. “You married me to help you take care of the ranch, and that’s what I intend to do.”

He was still too close, so when he released a long sigh, she could feel the breath against the back of her neck. “Greta,” he said softly, “look at me.”

She let the spatula fall idle in the pan.

“Please?”

At the sweetness of his tone, she couldn’t resist. She pivoted, plate in hand.

Without his hat, she had full view of his eyes, his beautiful, expressive eyes. “You’re my wife. Not my slave.”

“But as your wife, I have responsibilities—”

“You’ll be running yourself ragged if you’re not careful.”