Chapter 14 #2
“I thought I was writing to Eileen.” Thatcher had needed to explain the name mix-up to others over the past week, even though he still couldn’t quite explain it to himself. “But it turns out her name is Amelia.”
“My mail-order bride’s name is Amelia.” Beckett took a step forward, and this time Sterling didn’t get in the way. “Amelia Stone, a widow from Albany, New York.”
As he spoke now, something inside Thatcher shifted with a strange dread.
Beckett scanned Amelia from her head to her toes. “Five feet five inches, brown hair, hazel eyes, and dimples. That’s the description in the advertisement and in the first letter I received from Amelia. Seems to match pretty well.”
It did match perfectly. Even so, this Amelia didn’t belong to Beckett. Thatcher drew her in closer. She was his. All his.
He cleared his throat. “Your Amelia isn’t coming until the spring.”
“Maybe she came early.” Beckett held Amelia’s gaze as though seeking the truth in her eyes.
Thatcher wanted to push Amelia behind him. Why had he brought her here to the Noble Ranch in the first place? He should have made her stay at home this time.
Even as the irrational considerations rushed through his head, one thought pushed to the front of his mind—Amelia wasn’t denying anything.
Her eyes were wide, and she was still staring at Beckett.
“Tell him he’s wrong, Amelia.” Thatcher spoke to her gently. “Tell him you came here to marry me.”
She swallowed hard, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it.
Everyone had grown silent, the poor horse’s groans and grunts the only sounds in the morning air.
Thatcher had to put an end to this nonsense and take care of the suffering horse. He began to guide Amelia away from the horse and toward the corral gate. “Let’s get you into the house—”
“I did come early.” Her words tumbled out. “I wasn’t supposed to come until spring.”
Thatcher stopped abruptly and released her.
Amelia clasped her hands together, twisting her fingers. “It all happened so fast that night at the hotel. Everyone claimed Thatcher was the one waiting for me. And since I’d left my letters behind and didn’t remember the name, I assumed they were right.”
“No.” Thatcher lifted his hat and combed his unruly waves before setting his hat back in place. “You’re the woman I was waiting for. I’m certain of it.”
Amelia’s eyes filled with apology. “I found Eileen’s letters yesterday when I was cleaning the cabin.”
“Then you can confirm they’re yours.” He didn’t care that his voice sounded pathetically desperate.
Amelia pressed her lips together, but her expression said everything.
He shook his head. This wasn’t happening to him.
“I’m sorry, Thatcher. I was going to tell you today. I really was.”
He shifted and gazed unseeingly at the mountain peaks beyond the ranch. Amelia belonged to Beckett, was his mail-order bride, the one he’d been waiting for. Thatcher had no right to her, and in fact, his real bride was out there somewhere and still making her way to him, expecting him to marry her.
How had he made this big a mistake? He should have known from the moment he’d seen Amelia that she wasn’t Eileen. None of the details and facts had matched up. Not even her name.
Had he just gotten so swept away in the need to have a wife that he’d allowed himself to ignore the warnings and his good judgment?
“Looks like you’re taking what’s mine, Thatcher.” Beckett’s hard comment was like an arrow into Thatcher’s chest. It deflated him and took the life from him all at once. “You stole my bride, and now you’re wanting to kill my horse.”
Thatcher couldn’t move and certainly didn’t know how to respond to Beckett when both of his claims were true.
“What did I ever do to you to deserve your backstabbing?” Beckett’s accusation rang out in the silence. “You’re a poor excuse for a veterinarian and a poor excuse for a neighbor. I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”
“Hey now.” Sterling’s rebuke cut through the echo of Beckett’s words. “You know Thatcher saved our cattle, and it sounds like this business with the bride was all an honest mistake.”
“I doubt it.” Beckett’s bitter words only added to the despair rolling around inside Thatcher. “I want my bride. She’s mine. Not yours.”
Sterling began to cross to Thatcher. “Listen,” he said gravely while darting a glance at Amelia, who’d hung her head and was obviously mortified by everything that had just happened. “Why don’t you go on home and work this out.”
“But the horse—”
“I’ll take care of putting him down.”
“I can try to do more.” Thatcher didn’t want anyone to think he’d given up, that he hadn’t done his job and didn’t deserve to be a veterinarian. He’d already run from such accusations once and had hoped he could do better this time. But apparently not.
Sterling waved a hand at the gate. “You’ve done all you can, Thatcher. Best to be on your way.”
There wasn’t anything encouraging about Sterling’s words. The fellow probably was just as disappointed in him as Beckett was.
Thatcher expelled a taut breath and gave a curt nod. Then he touched Amelia’s arm to lead her away.
She pulled back from him and, without a word or glance his way, strode to the gate.
“She’s my mail-order bride, Thatcher,” Beckett called. “She belongs to me. You can’t keep her. I’ll expect you to figure out a way to get the marriage nullified just as soon as you can and then bring her to me.”
Thatcher didn’t know how to respond, so he kept silent. With his heart dropping hard to the bottom of his chest, he followed after Amelia. The situation felt familiar, as if he’d already lived this nightmare—the one where he lost his woman, his reputation, and the respect of those in the community.
The only thing different this time was that he wasn’t just losing a fiancée. He was losing his wife, the woman he was married to, the woman he loved. Yes, he loved Amelia in a way he’d never loved anyone else.
But he had no right to have her. None. And he guessed she knew it too.