Chapter 1 #2
Mr. Oak bent lower to speak with his little son, as he’d done all throughout the trip. It was easy to see he was a good father and loved his family. She could only pray her husband-to-be would be the same.
Serena slowed her mount to ride beside Amelia’s. She wore a scarf over her head and another one around her neck, so that only her pretty face showed, revealing her bright eyes and rosy cheeks. “Please come out to the ranch and stay with us, Miss Stone.”
“I couldn’t impose.”
“Weston’s family will gladly welcome you.”
Weston. Ah, yes. That was her guide’s name.
“I was once in a difficult situation too.” Serena’s eyes held a compassion that reached out and tugged at Amelia’s heart. “I know what it’s like to be alone in a new town without any support. And with a child . . .”
Serena’s gaze slid to Amelia’s middle for a brief moment, and it was enough for Amelia to know Serena had guessed she was pregnant.
“Thank you.” Amelia hadn’t had any support since she’d married Charles and moved off the dairy farm, leaving her father behind. The union had been the only way to save the farm. However, in the end, her efforts hadn’t mattered. Her father had died of a heart attack only a month after her marriage.
Weston glanced at Serena, as he had frequently, clearly making sure she and the baby were secure. Then he nodded at Amelia. “Reckon you can stay with my brother and his wife as long as you need.”
“That’s very kind.” Amelia’s throat tightened. These two strangers had shown her more consideration in one day than anyone in Albany had shown her in the few months she’d lived there.
“We’ll stop at a couple places in town,” Weston said, “and put out word about your situation and that you’ll be staying at the ranch.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“Of course we’re sure.” Serena smiled warmly.
“That would be wonderful.”
Weston tipped up his cowboy hat and surveyed the edge of town. “If the fellow is still living in the area, then he can come out to the ranch, and you can make sure he’s decent before going off with him.”
That was so thoughtful and considerate. Amelia’s throat closed up even more, and she couldn’t respond. All she could do was offer him a wobbly smile—one she hoped contained her gratefulness.
Weston smiled in return, then shifted forward in his saddle, his legs straddling his little boy, who was holding the reins.
Within minutes, they were at Vance Hotel. Weston offered to go in and inquire on Amelia’s behalf, but Serena suggested they all take a moment to warm up before riding the last of the distance to High Country Ranch, which was apparently a couple miles north of Breckenridge.
As they stepped inside, the front room opened into a spacious dining room filled with a dozen small tables. Most were occupied by men and a few women eating supper—roast with carrots and potatoes along with slices of thick bread and bowls of custard.
Cigar smoke cast a haze over the few oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
Somehow, Amelia ended up under one of the lanterns, making it seem as though a spotlight shone right on her.
All eyes turned their way, landing upon her just as she tossed off her hood and her hair spilled in long waves around her.
A hush came over the dining room, accentuating the clanking of pots and pans through an open door that led to the kitchen.
She was the center of attention, just like when she’d been in Fairplay.
She had the urge to duck back outside and let Weston take care of things for her after all. But he was busy behind her, helping Serena unbundle their children.
Amelia straightened her shoulders. She didn’t need his help with this. This was her problem and not his.
She tried to offer the crowd a smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “Hi, everyone. I’m hoping someone will be able to direct me to the man in your community who sent away for a mail-order bride.”
“You a mail-order bride?” asked an older gentleman at the closest table. With dusty clothing and a soot-covered face, his shoulders were slumped and his features drooping. He sat with two other men who were equally dusty and tired, although their eyes regarded her with curiosity.
“Yes, I’ve lost my correspondence and cannot recall the fellow’s name, but he should have letters from me. I wrote to him a couple of times.”
The room was silent for a moment.
“I’m from the East . . . New York—”
“If she’s from New York”—another male voice came from a side table, this one from a young man with blond hair, his eyes alight with interest—“then she’s gotta be the one Thatcher’s been waiting for.”
A T name. But Thatcher? “Thatcher.” She spoke the name, hoping it would jog her memory.
“Yep, Thatcher Hoyt.”
Hoyt? That name couldn’t be right. It didn’t sound familiar, and surely she would recognize it if it belonged to one of the men she’d corresponded with. “He works with livestock—mostly cattle and horses.”
“Then that’s him,” said the same young man. “The veterinarian.”
“Gotta be Thatcher,” said another voice from among the many. “He’s been riding into town practically every day, keeping a lookout for his bride.”
Why had he been riding to town every day when she’d told him she was coming in the spring? That didn’t make sense.
“He reckoned his bride wouldn’t come ’til spring.” This came from the older man at the nearby table, as though he’d heard her silent question. “But he was still hoping you’d make it before winter.”
Had she given her groom some indication she would come earlier? Maybe in her last letter, he’d sensed the fears and frustration that had plagued her after Charles’s murder, even though she hadn’t disclosed any details except that she was a widow.
“Mr. Hoyt’s gonna be plumb tickled!”
“He didn’t tell us she was such a looker.”
“He’s one lucky fellow.”
“She’s a real beauty.”
The clamor in the dining room rose.
They all seemed convinced that this Thatcher Hoyt was her groom.
He hadn’t mentioned anything about being a veterinarian that she remembered from the letters. But the correspondences had been brief, hardly more than a couple of paragraphs each. The men couldn’t be expected to communicate everything about themselves in such a short time. She sure hadn’t.
“Is this fellow the only one in town expecting a bride?” she called out above the hubbub. “Are there any others?”
The voices quieted.
Behind her, Serena’s baby gave a tiny wail, probably of hunger. Weston was speaking to a gentleman who seemed to be the proprietor.
“I know of a fellow who works at Little Boy Mine.” A stocky man sitting near the hearth spoke first. “He sent away for a bride, but she’s coming from Boston.”
“Ain’t the Noble Ranch foreman sending away for a bride too?” asked another.
“Yep,” said the young man with the blond hair. “But I heard Beckett got engaged to one of those Berkley women. The younger sister.”
Beckett? That sounded familiar. And a ranch foreman would certainly work with livestock. But if he was marrying someone else, then she wouldn’t be able to count on him to take her in.
Thatcher, the veterinarian, had to be the one. Besides, if he was eagerly awaiting her arrival, that had to be a good sign.
She swept her gaze over the faces peering back at her. “Is Thatcher well-respected in this community?”
“He’s a real nice fellow,” called someone.
“A mite young to be a veterinarian,” said the old-timer sitting closest to her. “Not as experienced as we need in these parts.”
“But he goes out on calls whenever anyone needs him,” the younger fellow countered.
A man near the back of the room stood. “He came out in a thunderstorm and saved my sow when she had trouble during her birthing.”
“He’s as honest and kind as they come,” said another. “Let’s get him on in here, and you can see for yourself.”
The young man with blond hair stood from his chair and started for the door. “I’ll go fetch him.”
Another fellow stood. “I’ll go after the reverend since it looks like we’re gonna have a wedding tonight.”
A wedding tonight?
Amelia took a tiny step back. She hadn’t been sure if she’d meet the fellow tonight, much less marry him.
Weston was standing in the doorway of the side room, his back turned on the dining room. No doubt he’d found a warm place for Serena to nurse the baby and wasn’t paying attention to the drama unfolding.
Amelia swallowed, pushing down her misgivings.
If this fellow—this veterinarian—was her groom, then what was the point of waiting for a wedding?
She’d only inconvenience Serena and Weston and their family, and she’d only be putting off the inevitable.
After all, she’d come west to get married.
Ready or not, that’s what she planned to do.