Chapter 3
Was she ready to get married?
Amelia’s heart was quavering almost as much as her hands. This was a life-changing decision. And what if she got herself into another horrible situation like she had with Charles?
No, this was different. Thatcher was different.
A dozen feet away, separated from her by a couple of tables, he stood solidly, his kind eyes upon her. That was one of the first things she’d noticed about him, that he had kind eyes. And he had laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
Of course, she’d also noted that he was good-looking—but in a muscular country-boy way and not in the suave city-guy way that had befitted Charles.
Besides, every person in the room had testified to Thatcher’s good character while she’d eaten dinner and waited for his arrival. With so many in the community speaking highly of him as the veterinarian, it had to be another sign that marrying him was the right decision.
“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Thatcher said gently and held out a hand, as if he was speaking with a spooked animal.
Maybe she was a little spooked. Weston and Serena had told her again over supper that she was welcome to stay at High Country Ranch with them until she was ready for marriage.
But if Thatcher was a man of good standing and so well-liked by everyone, then what was the point in putting off the wedding for another day or two?
Why make things more complicated for Weston and Serena?
Why inconvenience the townspeople, the reverend, and even Thatcher?
Why not just move forward and do what she’d come for?
Getting married here and now would certainly make things easier for her and everyone.
The only trouble was that she wanted him to know about her pregnancy first. He deserved the opportunity to change his mind if he wasn’t willing to raise another man’s child as his own. Should she ask for a moment of privacy so she could speak to him about it?
She glanced around the crowded room. Eager and excited faces peered back at her. More eager and excited faces peeked in from the doorway behind Thatcher and the hotel owner. She wasn’t sure how big the town was, but it seemed as though half of it was here.
“That settles it.” Thatcher’s voice rang with decisiveness. “I’m putting off the wedding for a couple of days so we can have the chance to get to know each other first.”
Thatcher’s gaze reached across the distance and seemed to ask her if his decision made her happy.
A strange lump rose into her throat. When had any man ever cared if she was happy? Of course, her father had loved her dearly and tried to make up for Mother’s leaving. But he’d always been so busy and tired. His daughter’s happiness hadn’t necessarily been his top priority.
“Let’s call it a night,” Thatcher called out good-naturedly.
Sighs and murmurs of disappointment filtered around her.
“No.” She spoke the one word loud enough that hopefully all the people inside and out could hear her. “Everyone is here, and everything is ready. We should have the wedding tonight.”
“I agree,” came a call across the room.
“No sense in delaying the inevitable,” said another.
Thatcher’s mouth stalled around a response.
“I came here to marry you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “and that’s what I intend to do.”
At her words, a cheer rose up. With lots of back-thumping and grinning and congratulations, the crowd maneuvered Thatcher toward her. As he reached her side, he raised his brow in question, probably trying to gauge if she meant what she’d said and really wanted to go through with the wedding.
She gave a firm nod and opened her mouth to ask him for a moment alone first, but before she could say anything, the eager crowd was guiding them toward the reverend, in front of the blazing hearth fire.
With more pats and slaps, the men positioned them, then stepped away. But by this point, even more people had pushed into the dining room from outside, so it was more congested than before.
Even if she wanted to cancel—which she didn’t—she wouldn’t be able to make her way out through the tight crowd.
She stood close enough to Thatcher that her arm nearly brushed against his. Should she have a whispered conversation here and now? Maybe she ought to lean in and just tell him she was pregnant.
He’d straightened to his full height and now towered over her by about six inches. No, she wouldn’t be able to reach his ear easily, and she didn’t want to risk others hearing her news about the baby. Not until she had the chance to find out how Thatcher felt about it.
She hesitated. What should she do?
Reverend Livingston, whom she’d met a short while ago, opened his prayer book to a dog-eared page that appeared to be well used.
He cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved friends, we are gathered together here in the sight of God and in the face of his congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted by God in Paradise.”
The room grew silent, allowing the crackling of the burning wood to be heard.
Now was most definitely not the time to talk to Thatcher about her pregnancy. She would have to wait until later, when they were alone, and tell him then. If he was as kind as he first appeared, surely he would accept her baby from her first marriage. It wouldn’t have to change their circumstances.
But obviously, if he was opposed, she would allow him a way out of the marriage, wouldn’t hold him to their agreement, and would give him an annulment.
“. . . considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained,” the reverend was saying as he read from his book. “One was the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord. Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin and to avoid fornication . . .”
Amelia tried to block out the reverend’s words.
She didn’t want to hear about the references to the marriage bed.
The nightly visits from Charles had been uncomfortable and awkward, and she wasn’t looking forward to having to endure marital relations again with a new husband.
But she also knew it was the price she had to pay for a home and security.
Without a husband, she had nothing and no one.
She would never be able to survive, especially to take care of the baby.
“Therefore,” the reverend continued, “if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
She tensed. What if Thatcher wasn’t the right groom? What if there was someone else who was waiting for her?
Surely in a small community like this, that man would come forward now and say something, wouldn’t he?
Again, silence stretched through the room, this time broken by coughing.
“Very well,” the reverend said. “Then let’s proceed with the vows.”
Thatcher expelled a breath.
Had he been nervous that another man would step in and prevent their wedding?
Everyone had claimed he was excited about his bride coming and eager to get married. It would appear so. That was another good sign—at least she hoped so.
“You first, Thatcher. Repeat after me.” The reverend smoothed the page in front of him. “I, Thatcher, take thee . . .”
“Eileen.” Thatcher nodded. “I, Thatcher, take thee, Eileen, to be my wedded wife.”
Amelia startled. Who was Eileen? Certainly, Thatcher had just misspoken and meant Amelia. Or what if he’d forgotten her name the same way she had his? Or what if her letter had gotten wet and the name had been blurred? She supposed Amelia and Eileen had some similarities.
“To have and to hold from this day forward,” Thatcher continued, “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part . . .”
Amelia felt suddenly frozen in place. Should she correct him? Clear up the confusion?
She had to. Would the marriage even be legal if he said the wrong name? She supposed it would. After all, she was there and giving her consent.
“Your turn.” Reverend Livingston shifted slightly so that he was angled in her direction. “Repeat after me. I, Eileen, take thee, Thatcher, to be my wedded husband.”
Oh my. There was that wrong name again. She couldn’t actually refer to herself as Eileen.
That would be really odd and wrong. But she also couldn’t give her real name of Amelia at this point and have everyone question what was going on.
She was surprised Serena and Weston weren’t saying something.
Of course, they’d called her Miss Stone, which was her maiden name and how she’d introduced herself to them.
But she was pretty sure she’d also told them her first name was Amelia.
The whole room seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for her to speak her vows.
The unease she’d been feeling from not saying anything about the pregnancy began to rise inside and clamp around her chest, tightening her breathing. She had to say something.
“I . . . I . . . take thee, Thatcher, to be my wedded husband.” There, she’d skipped over the wrong name. That would have to be okay for now. Later, she would have a lot of explaining to do with Thatcher. She just hoped he would be understanding.
The rest of the wedding passed with only one more use of the wrong name. Thatcher gave her a gold wedding band. It was plain but practical, one he’d obviously had ready for the occasion when she arrived.
By the time the reverend stated the benediction, she felt as if she’d just stayed up all night for a calf birthing, except at least with calf birthings, she walked away feeling content.
She felt anything but content as Reverend Livingston finished. “I pronounce that they be man and wife together. In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“Amen,” Thatcher murmured with his head bowed and eyes closed. He had taken every part of the ceremony seriously and had been earnest in his declarations and intentions. She was the one who was harboring falsehoods, and she needed to get him alone just as soon as possible and confess everything.
What had happened, though? Was she the woman he’d been waiting for? Or was she another man’s bride?
As the reverend closed his book, calls rose up from some of the younger men. “Kiss her!”
Thatcher laughed off their calls. “Later, my friends.”
“No, kiss her now!”
Thatcher shifted to face her, his grin in place. “It seems we won’t get away without kissing. If you don’t mind . . .”
“It’s fine, Thatcher.” She’d never been fond of Charles’s kisses, which thankfully hadn’t been frequent. But again, she knew it was part of the physical aspect of being married that she couldn’t avoid.
She raised her face so he would have easy access for the kiss.
He dropped his gaze to her mouth and then lifted a hand gently to her cheek. His fingers skimmed the line of her jaw, and then he bent in, his gaze riveted to her mouth.
She closed her eyes and steeled herself for the unpleasantness.
In the next instant, his lips touched hers softly. In fact, the tenderness was so unexpected that she couldn’t even begin to compare his kiss to the demanding and hard kisses Charles had always given her.
His lips meshed with hers for only a few seconds, hardly any contact at all, before he pulled back to whistles and cheers.
Thatcher’s grin made a quick and charming appearance. It looked good on him.
She released a tense breath, only to have his gaze dart back to her and his grin falter.
“You all right?” he whispered.
He was asking her if she was all right? She couldn’t immediately answer. Here was a stranger who had not only been concerned about her happiness moments ago, but was now asking her if she was all right?
She nodded.
“You sure?” he whispered again.
“Yes, I’m not used to anyone asking that.”
His brow rose, as though her statement had taken him aback.
She had to offer him a smile, and somehow forced her lips to curve upward.
“Might as well get used to it.” He reached for her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Because I’ll be asking it a lot.”
At the sincerity in his words and in his eyes, she could feel the stiffness melting away from her smile and it turning genuine.
She liked Thatcher. What was his last name—the name that she’d now taken as hers?
She searched for it only a moment before putting aside the effort, knowing she would hear it again soon enough from one of the townspeople.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.
Home. She hadn’t called any place home other than the dairy farm she’d grown up on. Like many of the other dairy farms in the countryside outside of Albany, they’d had a small herd of only two dozen cows. But it had kept her father and her busy morning and night all year round.
The drought a couple of years ago had been the start of their financial problems, just as it had been for many other farmers.
Those who hadn’t relied solely on dairy for the income had been able to survive better.
But her father and others like him, who had made a living off selling milk, had been forced to take out loans to survive.
Except with loan sharks like Charles, survival wasn’t really possible.
Not when the fees for the loans and the interest rates made the loans too high to pay back.
Whatever the case, Amelia hadn’t considered the house in Albany with Charles home.
She wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel at home here in Breckenridge either.
But she had to make an effort, especially for her baby.
She wanted to wipe the slate clean here where no one had to know about Charles and all of his crimes.
Could she start over with Thatcher? So far, in the short time she’d known him, he’d proven himself to be more well-liked, friendly, polite, and considerate than Charles had ever been.
Thatcher was obviously a catch worth keeping, and now that she had him, she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize things.
Did that mean she should keep silent about her real name? And the baby? Maybe at least until Thatcher had the chance to get to know her and learn to like her? In a week or two she could confess everything, and maybe by then, he wouldn’t want an annulment.
But wasn’t honesty one of the top characteristics she’d wanted in her new husband? How could she require honesty from him if she wasn’t willing to be truthful in return?
No, the best thing was for her to tell Thatcher the truth about herself. She would just need to find the right moment to do so and hope that he would still want her.