Chapter 12
She fingered the top envelope and could feel a folded piece of paper inside.
Was Eileen Thatcher’s ex-fiancée? He’d mentioned being engaged before moving to Colorado.
But it hadn’t seemed as though he’d wanted to discuss what had happened or why the wedding had been called off.
Amelia hadn’t pressured him, had sensed the topic was difficult for him and wanted to wait until he was ready to talk about it.
But with the distinctively feminine slant of the cursive writing on the envelope, a sense of apprehension seeped through her. What if Thatcher had been corresponding with his fiancée over the past months because he still had feelings for her? Because he’d wanted to get back together?
If so, what had happened to finally put an end to his hopes with Eileen and seek out a mail-order bride instead?
Amelia glanced at the door. It was still firmly shut, and Thatcher wouldn’t be back for a while. What harm could come from peeking inside at the letter and learning a little bit more about this Eileen?
Two more letters rested on the table from Eileen that she could see.
Of course, there might be more buried under other stuff.
But she didn’t have to read any of the others.
She’d only take a quick look at this one—just to see who Eileen was and reassure herself the woman was no longer a part of Thatcher’s life.
Amelia gingerly lifted the envelope flap and slipped the sheet out.
As she unfolded it, she glanced in the direction of the door again.
She really didn’t want Thatcher catching her going through his mail.
She knew it was wrong and that she wasn’t respecting his privacy.
But now that she’d discovered this woman’s name among his correspondences, she needed to know what had happened.
The letter started out with a few niceties, the woman talking about her position as a domestic for a wealthy household and how she planned to put in her notice of termination soon.
“Thank you for your advice on traversing the mountain roads. I will do my best to arrive in Breckenridge this autumn since the winter is indeed lonely and long. I look forward to meeting you and hope that I will not disappoint you in any way.”
Amelia halted and flattened her hand against her suddenly racing heart. Eileen. From New York City. Coming to marry Thatcher.
What was the name Thatcher had used at the wedding that night at the hotel? Had it been Eileen?
Amelia replayed the ceremony when they’d begun stating their vows. Yes, as a matter of fact, that’s what it had been. He’d called her Eileen.
Amelia had assumed he’d used the name because of the confusion with her letters or because her envelopes had been smudged or because he’d forgotten her name.
But no, he’d called her Eileen because that was the name of his mail-order bride—a bride who had yet to arrive in Breckenridge and who would still be expecting to marry Thatcher and start a new life with him.
What would Thatcher do when he realized he’d married the wrong bride?
He’d invited Eileen, asked her to marry him, and promised to provide for her.
He wouldn’t send her back, would he? Thatcher was too honorable to cast Eileen aside or ignore her.
He would feel responsible for her. Maybe he would still want to marry her.
After all, he’d exchanged letters with her and liked her enough that he’d asked her to be his bride.
Eileen probably wouldn’t have such a difficult past, wouldn’t have to force herself to clean the house, and wouldn’t prefer to accompany him on his visits.
Eileen was probably the perfect companion for Thatcher.
Amelia’s legs began to tremble. She grabbed onto the edge of the table and lowered herself to a spot on the bench. Her hand shook with the letter, and she quickly tossed it down on the table as if somehow she could make it go away.
No wonder Thatcher had been confused about her being a widow and other details that hadn’t seemed to match up. He’d been confused because she wasn’t his bride. He wasn’t the man in Breckenridge who she’d been communicating with.
If he wasn’t the man, then who was the fellow she’d written to?
Of course, she’d said in her letters that she wouldn’t arrive until the spring, so wherever he was, he probably wouldn’t expect her until then.
When he discovered she’d arrived early and married another man, what would he think? Would he be upset?
Honestly, that was the least of her worries at the moment.
The biggest issue was that Eileen was still in the picture.
Although it was winter and traveling into the high country was difficult, there was still the possibility that Eileen could come any day.
She might even be in the high country already and simply be stranded like Amelia had been.
What would happen if Eileen showed up? Could they convince her to marry another eager man? There were plenty around. But what if she insisted on marrying Thatcher? It would be within her right to do so.
“Oh my.” Amelia bowed her head, feeling suddenly nauseous.
How was she going to break this news to Thatcher?
She had to tell him, didn’t she? She couldn’t go on and pretend that she hadn’t discovered the mix-up.
Thatcher needed to know the truth, that he’d gotten the wrong bride.
He needed the freedom to marry Eileen, who probably wasn’t a widow pregnant with a murdered man’s child.
Amelia slipped the letter back into the envelope and placed it on top of the other two. If only she hadn’t lost her bundle of letters, this wouldn’t have happened. She would have married the right man—the man who was expecting her. Was it someone she’d met over the past week?
She sifted back through the faces of the various single men she’d met on visits with Thatcher or at church.
She didn’t remember names, but she honestly couldn’t claim that she would want to marry any of them.
None of them appealed to her. Even the men in her letters weren’t appealing to her anymore.
The truth was, she didn’t want anyone else .
. . except Thatcher. After spending hours and hours with him over the past week and getting to know the truly amazing man that he was, she knew she’d never find another husband who was like him.
He was a man of solid principle and character.
He treated her with more respect and gentleness than anyone ever had before.
And he’d made it clear he wanted a marriage that had more to it than just an exchange of duties.
She was beginning to see that a marriage could be built with friendship, companionship, and even working together.
She hadn’t felt any dread over the past week, not even that night she’d gone to his bed, because he treated her as an equal partner who deserved to be valued for who she was and not what she could give him.
How could she relinquish him and that kind of marriage?
She couldn’t.
But how could she keep him when he wasn’t really hers to begin with?
She couldn’t.
Expelling a soft groan, she laid her forehead on the table. Everything inside her resisted the prospect of telling Thatcher anything about the mix-up, but she knew she would have to sooner rather than later.
Even though her mind was scattered with the new revelation, she managed to finish tidying the house, do the laundry, and make a batch of biscuits.
As she stepped into the bedroom, she halted, put her hands on her hips, and stared at her bags.
A part of her wanted to unpack them, as if in doing so she could claim her place there in the cabin. But did she really have that right?
She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, then expelled a long sigh. She should have known her relationship with Thatcher was too good to be true.
She twisted her wedding band. Even though it was simple and didn’t have any embellishments or jewels, she loved it more with every passing day because it showed Thatcher’s generosity and kindness. He hadn’t known her, but he’d come to the wedding prepared to give her the ring.
Charles hadn’t given her a ring, not even after they were married. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever having any jewelry. Her mother hadn’t left any of hers behind, and her father had never been able to afford any.
She fingered the ring. Would she have to give it back since Thatcher had meant it for a different woman?
At the distant clopping of horse hooves, she stood. With the afternoon turning into evening, Thatcher was probably returning from town.
Her stomach churned with sudden nausea. For once, she wasn’t eager to see him and wanted to put it off. He’d probably take one look at her face and realize something was wrong.
What should she do about Eileen’s letters?
She jumped up and raced into the other room. The envelopes were spread out over the table right where she’d left them.
With a racing heart, she swiped them up and glanced around the room. She wasn’t really considering hiding the letters, was she?
Her gaze locked in on the basket of newspapers. She quickly crossed to it, knelt beside it, then lifted half the newspapers. She slipped the three letters into the stack, set them back down, and then stood.
She ignored the guilt starting to poke at her. She would only hide them until she figured out what she was going to say to Thatcher.
The best thing was just to tell him right away.
Yes, that’s what she would do.
As his horse pattered to a halt in front of the cabin, she straightened her shoulders and started toward the door. With each step, her heart pounded with dread, and by the time she reached the door, she felt like she was going to a funeral.
She placed her hand on the door, but it swung open before she could do anything, and there stood Thatcher, his smile as wide as the mountain sky overhead, and his eyes filled with excitement. “I have a Christmas present for you.”
He was holding one hand behind his body, concealing something from her.
“A Christmas present?” She took a step back.
“Yes.” He brought his hand around and held out a wool coat in a pretty blue. It was trimmed with black velvet, and the lining inside looked warm and thick.
“Oh, Thatcher.” She stroked it but then pulled her hand back. “It’s too nice. I couldn’t accept it.”
His smile only stretched wider. “You need it, especially since you’ll be going with me on so many calls.”
She fingered the velvet trim this time. “Thatcher, you shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to.” His voice gentled. “Besides, like I said, it’s a Christmas present.”
“But I can’t get you anything.” She hadn’t even thought about getting him a present. She had only pennies left, and what would that buy?
“I have everything I want right here.” He swept his gaze over her, leaving a warm trail in its wake.
She could feel a flush moving into her cheeks. “Seriously, Thatcher.”
“I am serious. You needed the new coat, and the General Store had this one. I had to get it for you.”
She finally took it from him and hugged it against her chest. “Thank you.”
“And please, don’t feel like you have to reciprocate. Okay?”
“I want to do something for you for Christmas.”
“Then go with me to cut down a tree and help me decorate it. Maybe tomorrow?”
That wasn’t the same as giving him a gift.
“Please?” he pleaded in a sweet voice before she could say so.
What about those letters from Eileen? She hesitated. Now wasn’t the right time to say anything about them. Not when he was doing something so nice for her. Not with him watching her and waiting so expectantly.
“Okay.” She couldn’t keep from smiling back at him. His happiness was always contagious.
Tomorrow. She would bring up Eileen’s letters tomorrow. For tonight, though, she would just put them from her mind and pretend everything was all right.