Chapter 4
“I’ll return the horse tomorrow,” Thatcher called to Weston as the fellow, his wife, and their little ones continued down the road toward High Country Ranch.
“No hurry!” Weston’s response echoed in the cold night.
Thatcher gave the family a final wave, then raised his lantern higher to illuminate the lane that led to his cabin and barn.
The light fell across Eileen, on the horse beside him with two large carpet bags strapped to the back of her mount. She hadn’t brought much with her. He’d expected a couple of trunks at least. But maybe as a maid, she’d never accumulated much.
She’d been quiet for most of the ride out of town and seemed content to let him do most of the talking with Weston and Serena. He hadn’t minded, although a part of him had selfishly wanted to ride home with just his new wife so he could spend the time getting to know her.
Eileen watched Weston and Serena ride away, as if she wasn’t quite ready for them to leave. Was she nervous about spending time alone with him? Their meeting had been abrupt and their wedding rushed, giving them little time to converse.
Yet, they had all winter to talk and become comfortable with one another. The awkwardness wouldn’t last long. At least, he’d do his best to put her at ease.
Probably the first thing he should do to alleviate her worries was talk about the marital expectations.
Of course he wanted a real marriage with all the benefits.
But he also wanted a marriage with affection and companionship, which would be harder to develop since they were starting out with nothing.
He’d had plenty of time to think about things over the past weeks while waiting for her to arrive, and he’d decided it would be best if they had a period to get to know each other before . . . well, before having all those marriage benefits.
If he told her his decision, would that help her to relax around him?
After all, he didn’t want her to think he was taking her to his cabin and going straight to the bedroom.
He couldn’t imagine doing something so cold and impersonal.
No, when he joined her in the bedroom, he wanted her to welcome him not just out of duty but because she wanted him there with her.
“So, this is my—our home.” He shifted the lantern again so that the lane lined with trees was more distinguishable, since the sliver of the moon wasn’t providing much light. “I’m renting the place. But once I get enough saved, I’m hoping to buy a small farm of my own.”
“That sounds nice.”
He wasn’t sure when he’d ever have enough saved, but that was his goal. “In the meantime, I hope you’ll like living here.”
“I’m sure I will.” She seemed to be taking in the property as best she could in the darkness.
Rusty’s barking from near the cabin told him the golden retriever had noticed them and was welcoming them home. “That’s my dog, Rusty.”
“Thatcher?” Her voice held a note of hesitation . . . and something else that set him suddenly on edge.
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you two things.”
“Okay.” He had the feeling he wasn’t going to like either of the things. But what could he do about it now that he was married to her? All he’d be able to do was make the best of it. At least, he hoped he could do that. “Would you like to go into the cabin first and get out of the cold?”
“My name isn’t Eileen. It’s Amelia.” Her words came out in a rush.
What? Amelia? Where had that come from? The three letters she’d written to him had all been signed with Eileen.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the declaration had left him speechless, which didn’t happen often.
“The other thing you should know about me . . .” She drew in a breath, one that shuddered, as though she dreaded what she had to say next.
That dread penetrated him, sending a cold trail up his spine.
“The thing is . . .” The lantern highlighted the lighter brown strands in her hair and the curves of her face, along with her dimples. Even as serious as she was at the moment, nothing could hide those puckers. What would it be like to kiss them?
Inwardly he gave himself a shake. He couldn’t think about that now.
“I mentioned I was a widow, but . . .”
She was a widow? “No, you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t?” Her eyes widened. “I thought I did to each of the men I was writing to.”
“You were writing to more men than me?” That was news too. He’d thought he was the only one. At least, that’s how it had sounded.
“I corresponded with three.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“Yes, I wanted to find a man of good character and thought by having more than one option, that would help.”
“So I had the best character?”
She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I favored you above the other two because of how well-respected you are. I also appreciated that we both like animals and livestock.”
At least he’d gotten that right about her.
“So your real name is Amelia? And you’ve been married already?”
“Yes to both.” She tugged her coat about her more securely, a puff of her breath showing in the air.
“We should get inside and warm up—”
“I’m pregnant.”
That was obviously the second thing she’d wanted to tell him, and it took him by surprise even more than the first.
He couldn’t keep from glancing down at her stomach, which was hidden beneath her coat. Even without the coat, there hadn’t been any sign of her being pregnant when he’d stood beside her in the dining room at Vance Hotel. Then again, he hadn’t really paid too much attention to her midsection.
As though seeing the direction of his gaze, she pressed a hand to her stomach above her coat. “I’m about five months along.”
This situation was growing more confusing by the second. Thatcher had started exchanging letters with her back in early July, which meant her husband had been gone since at least then, if not earlier. That meant she had to be further along than five months.
He wanted to question her about dates and conception and gestation and all those details. He’d learned to be proficient at such things—had to be when he was helping with the mating of livestock as well as pregnancy care and birthing.
But this was neither the time nor place to question her timing and try to help her establish a better due date. The fact was, she was having a baby, and she needed a husband now more than ever.
“Why didn’t you tell me in your letters?”
“I didn’t know I was with child until after I sent the last one.”
He supposed that made sense. But he still didn’t understand why she’d chosen to use an alias in her letters. Had she done so just with him? Or had she done it with the other men too? And why? Was she in some kind of trouble?
She was watching him with guarded eyes.
Did it really matter? As she’d said, she’d favored him above the other two men she’d been writing to. Now she was here—better late than never.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away in the dining room about the baby.” She glanced back at the road that led to town. “I wanted to, but it was a private matter, and there were so many people.”
“It was crowded and busy.”
“I’ll give you an annulment if you want it.”
“No, of course not.” He wanted to stay married to her, didn’t he, even though she was carrying another man’s child?
She was silent a moment. Did she sense his question? His hesitation?
This was a big decision, especially because she was already well along in the pregnancy and there would likely be no way to hide the fact that the baby wasn’t his.
Not that she would want to hide it. Either way, they would have to tell everyone she was a widow and that the child belonged to another man.
What would people think?
He blew out a tight breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “If you want me to go back to town, I won’t blame you.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He tried to make his voice light to take away some of the seriousness of her confession.
“Thank you, Thatcher. I could tell from your letters you were a kind man, and you’ve shown that tonight in many ways already.”
Something about the way she referred to the kindness made him wonder if she’d been treated poorly in the past, as if kindness wasn’t something she was accustomed to. Had her previous husband been unkind to her?
He’d thought they’d talked about the most important aspects of their lives in their letters, but she’d held things back from him. He supposed that was natural to some extent. How could anyone really get to know another person through just a few letters?
He had a sudden need to know more about her and her past marriage. Her ex-husband’s death had to have been recent, maybe in the spring or early summer. Was she still grieving the loss? Or had she been able to move on because she needed someone to take care of her and the baby?
The baby certainly added a dimension to his life and their marriage that he hadn’t anticipated.
But he was past ready to have children and a family of his own.
That was another reason he’d been looking forward to having his mail-order bride come—so that he could start a family.
Now it appeared he would have that family sooner than expected.
“I hope you know I didn’t set out to deceive you.” She was watching him again, probably trying to gauge how he was feeling.
“I know. Finding a partner through a marriage advertisement isn’t foolproof. There are bound to be mix-ups and miscommunications. Right?”
“I agree.”
“Then let’s move forward and make the best of the situation.”
“Really?” Her question was filled with disbelief, as if what he was suggesting was too good to be true.
“Really.” He still had lots of questions about everything, but he didn’t want to pester Eileen—Amelia—for more answers right now. They could sort out the confusion another time.
At the pounding of horse hooves coming from the south, he shifted in his saddle and raised the lantern in the direction of the rider. From the small size, the rider appeared to be a lad.
“Mr. Hoyt?” The voice that rang out was definitely that of a boy and not a man.
Thatcher lifted a hand in greeting. “I’m here.”
As the horse thundered closer, Thatcher could see the boy was about ten or twelve years of age.
“I need your help!” the boy called out.
Thatcher was used to emergencies with animals and having to go out at all times of the day or night. It was just one of the realities of being a veterinarian. “What can I do for you?”
The lad brought his horse to an abrupt halt. The light shone upon his face, revealing pale skin and freckles and red hair curling out from beneath a knit cap.
Thatcher was good at remembering names and people, and he hadn’t ever seen the boy before.
Streaks of tears glistened on his cheeks, and his eyes were filled with panic. “My dog is in labor and having lots of trouble. My ma says she’s gonna die.” The words rushed out all in one breath and ended on a sob.
“Hold on now.” Thatcher spoke in a calm tone that he’d perfected for moments like this.
“Can you come out to our place, Mr. Hoyt?” More tears dribbled down the lad’s cheeks. “Please come and try to save Bitsy.”
“Of course I will.” He could do nothing less. “Let me take my wife to our cabin, get my bag—”
“There ain’t time. Bitsy’s already been in labor for hours, and she’s awful weak now.”
“It won’t take me but a few minutes—”
“Please!” The boy’s cry held a note of desperation.
“Where’s your bag?” Amelia asked, already veering her horse down the lane.
“In the cabin.”
She nudged her horse into a gallop. “Let’s get it and go with the boy.”
Thatcher watched, trying to make sense of her instructions. She surely didn’t mean she wanted to come with him. She had to be tired after her day of traveling.
“Wait here,” he said to the lad. Then he kicked his horse into a charge after her. He didn’t catch up to her until they reached the cabin. Even then, she was already dismounting. As she started toward the front door of the cabin, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Where is your bag?”
“By the door.” He hopped down and jogged after her. “But you don’t need to go with me.”
“I want to,” she replied as she reached the door and lifted the latch.
As she swung the door open, he stepped past her and found the big brown leather satchel right where he’d left it on the long kitchen table, which was messy with everything he threw there whenever he came home—newspapers, mail, keys, and other miscellaneous items.
He swiped up the bag already stocked with most of what he needed for his calls.
Amelia waited at the door. “Do we need anything else?”
He halted beside the table. “I’m sure you’re tired and would like to unpack and get settled in.”
“No, I really would like to ride with you.” Her pretty features held an earnestness that was difficult to resist. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble . . .”
“Good, then let’s go.” She disappeared outside.
A moment later, as he closed the door, she was already at her horse and untying her bags from the back.
He knew he should insist on her staying home, warming up, and resting, but a part of him was secretly thrilled she wanted to be with him, or at the very least be a part of his work.
As he reached her, she was tossing her bags to the ground. He made a step with his hands and boosted her back into her saddle. “Hurry,” she said as she gathered her reins. “We have to save the dog.”
At her use of the word we, he almost smiled. He wasn’t sure how much knowledge a domestic servant would have about saving a dog in labor, but her presence wouldn’t hurt anything. And no doubt about it, he would enjoy the company.