At midmorning, the mountain community was teeming with men, horses, and teams pulling wagons. Everyone appeared too busy to be bothered, except for a few men who loitered outside one of the shops.

As with the last time she was in town, she didn’t see women coming and going. Except for an old native woman who helped service the laundry, the only other women in town were those of ill repute. She’d been told the next closest neighbor was a grandmotherly woman who lived in Buckskin Joe and helped her husband run a hotel. If only the grandmotherly woman were closer. She’d surely appreciate and purchase some of the hand pies.

Greta glanced up and down the street. Wyatt had suggested selling her baked goods at the Fairplay Hotel, a place where many of the town’s patrons ate. When the hotel owner scoffed at her, she picked up her basket and left without a word, heading to Simpkin’s General Store. But Captain Jim wasn’t willing to consider tasting a hand pie either.

Maybe she should have tried harder to find containers to make jam. But without jars or tins, she’d had little choice. Instead, she’d cooked up the chokecherries and huckleberries into a pie filling. In the process of creating the flaky treats, she used up every bit of flour, sugar, and lard in the cabin.

And now she had to sell her baked goods. After all, she’d told Wyatt her business venture wouldn’t cost him a cent and that he wouldn’t regret letting her do this.

At the sight of Wyatt exiting McLaughlin’s Livery, where he’d gone to return Mr. Steele’s wagon, she pretended she hadn’t noticed him and started down the sidewalk the opposite way.

“Greta,” he called, clearly having no intention of letting her pass by.

She slowed her steps and rearranged the towel over the hand pies so if he peeked into her basket, he wouldn’t notice she hadn’t yet sold a single one.

“Any luck?” He strode across the street, his long legs quickly eating up the space between them.

She tugged at the towel again, not wanting to meet Wyatt’s curious gaze as he halted next to her. “I guess the men aren’t as interested as I thought they’d be.”

He was silent while a wagon rattled past. “Where have you been?”

“Only two places so far.”

“Hotel Windsor?”

She shook her head.

Wyatt grabbed her basket and started down the street. Mortified she raced after him. “Don’t worry about me, Wyatt. I promise I’ll sell them all and repay you for the supplies I used up.”