Greta hadn’t been ready for their kiss to end and wanted to press into Wyatt, showing him he didn’t have to stop, that he could go on kissing her for as long as he wanted.

Her cheeks heated at the prospect. She had a feeling such kissing would lead to more. Much more. And was she really ready for that?

Of course, not now. Not with Astrid here.

But surely there was no question she cared for him. She’d been able to feel it swelling within her over the past few days of his absence. She’d missed him more than she could explain—even to herself. And now that he was here, she didn’t want him to leave.

Next to her, Astrid coughed—just lightly—but enough for Greta to know her sister would soon be fully awake.

As if realizing the same, Wyatt started to back away. Before he could get too far, she gripped a fistful of his shirt and tugged him closer. With the momentum, she pressed forward and lifted into him, letting her mouth touch his.

At her offering, he faltered. Had she been too rash in seeking out another kiss? She started to back away, but he released a soft groan and let his lips fuse with hers, moving against her hungrily and without restraint.

The passion stirred a hunger inside her as well as a realization that this intimacy with her husband wasn’t merely a duty she had to endure. She longed to be with Wyatt, wanted to be closer, desired him.

At a giggling from Astrid beside her, Greta toppled from a world of bliss back to reality. She wrenched away from Wyatt, trying to put as much distance and dignity between them as possible, especially when Astrid propped on her elbow and stared up at them.

“It’s okay,” Astrid remarked happily. “You don’t have to stop on account of me.”

Wyatt shot up from the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck and clearing his throat.

Greta’s face burned, and she had the urge to step outside and cool off. She opted for pressing her hands against her cheeks.

“If you keep kissing,” Astrid continued, “maybe we’ll have two babies instead of one.”

“Astrid,” Greta reprimanded. “Polite young ladies don’t talk about such things.”

“I’m not polite. I’m a rancher.”

Through the dim lighting, she could see Wyatt’s lips quirk into a half smile as they usually did at Astrid’s bold statements. The comments only served to remind Greta of the uncomfortable predicament she and Wyatt had gotten themselves into with the false pregnancy news. She still hadn’t figured out how to graciously unravel the misunderstanding.

At a soft whine from a box on the floor, Astrid sat up. “What’s that?”