Chapter 15
The ride back to the farm was silent.
Amelia was too ashamed to speak a word.
From the stiff way Thatcher held himself, it was easy to see he was upset and angry and hurt. He was probably also embarrassed by everything, maybe even humiliated that the news about their mistaken relationship and wedding had surfaced while they were out on a call.
If she’d just told him yesterday about finding Eileen’s letters, or even this morning, she could have prevented the public disgrace of having him make all the ardent claims about her being his wife, especially in front of Beckett.
Now she knew who her real groom-to-be was and the one she’d been corresponding with in Breckenridge.
Beckett. The name was definitely familiar. He did work on a ranch with the livestock. And he’d been expecting her in the spring. All the facts made sense. No doubt if she asked him, he’d pull out the few letters she’d written and show them as proof of their communication.
As Amelia dismounted near the barn, her gaze caught on the bucket of water still in the middle of the yard where they’d left it. The elk were no longer grazing along the woodland. The beautiful moment of kissing Thatcher was over. And so was her marriage to him.
Because she couldn’t stay married to Thatcher, could she? Not when Beckett was her intended, not when he was angry about the mix-up, and not when he was accusing Thatcher of stealing her.
Thatcher had dismounted too and was rubbing Rusty’s head as the dog wagged his tail and begged for affection.
She hesitated near her horse. Should she go back to the cabin and pack her bags? Maybe she ought to go check on Queen one last time?
She reached for her horse’s lead line.
“I’m sorry, Amelia.” Thatcher scratched behind Rusty’s ears, his broad shoulders slumping.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m the one who needs to apologize for not telling you when you got home yesterday that I found Eileen’s letters.”
“But things didn’t match up.” He kept his attention focused on the dog. “I knew it from the start, and I just ignored it.”
“It’s my fault for not bringing my letters and not remembering names and not being more careful about clearing things up before our wedding.”
“I could have questioned you more too.”
Their wedding evening had moved quickly with so many people milling about and pressuring them.
It would have been difficult to slow the momentum.
“I guess I just wanted it to be true. I wanted to marry a man who was different from Charles, and from everything I heard about you and how much people liked and respected you . . .”
Thatcher’s hand on Rusty stilled, and his head dropped so that his chin rested on his chest. “You should know that I’ve been keeping something from you too.”
Something ominous in his tone told her she wouldn’t like what he had to say.
Her pulse, which had been running at twice the speed since leaving the Noble Ranch, slowed to a crawl.
He straightened, drew in a breath, then seemed to force himself to look at her. “I’m not all that different from Charles. I had to leave Iowa because I ruined my practice and people no longer liked me or respected me.”
She couldn’t imagine people not liking or respecting Thatcher. He was so kind and generous and easy to talk to. “What happened?”
He shifted his gaze to the chickens that were strutting out of the barn. But he stood motionless, as though he’d traveled to another place and time.
She wanted to go to him and reassure him that no matter what had happened in his past, he was different from Charles, that there was simply no comparison between them. But she knew she had to let Thatcher say his piece.
He hesitated. One of the hens pecked at the toe of his boot, but he didn’t shoo it away. “It was back in April, at the start of the foaling season. Nora’s family—”
“Nora was your fiancée?”
“Yes, she was someone I knew growing up. And after I returned to Cedar Rapids when I finished veterinarian school, we reconnected. We got engaged last December and were planning to get married in the summer.”
Already, Amelia could tell that she wasn’t going to like Nora.
“Her father breeds mares and has developed a big business selling quality foals for a high price.” He paused as the same hen poked at his boot again.
“The short of the story is that one of his best-bred foals got sick—probably sepsis. I stayed with the foal day and night, trying to save him. I didn’t get enough sleep, let myself get exhausted, dozed off, and wasn’t paying attention to a lantern that got knocked over. ”
She could picture Thatcher working tirelessly. She’d witnessed him doing it on their calls over the past week, going above and beyond for everyone every time.
“The fire was raging out of control and had engulfed a portion of the barn before I realized what had happened.” His voice dropped with anguish. “I called for help and got some of the mares out. But over half of them—a dozen—were burned alive.”
“It sounds like a mistake, Thatcher.”
His expression was tight. “It doesn’t matter. I should have seen the fire sooner, should have noticed the lantern wasn’t hung the way it needed to be, should have realized the wind had gusted, should have noticed the sparks, should have at least smelled the smoke.”
“Surely others could have seen it—”
“It was the middle of the night. No one else was there. I was the one responsible.”
Something about his story didn’t sound quite right—or complete. “I can’t imagine, even with how exhausted you were, that you would leave a lantern unattended.”
He stared at the hen still milling about his feet, now joined by another one that was clucking and scolding him.
“Who was negligent with the lantern, Thatcher?”
He sighed, then lifted his gaze. His blue eyes were murky with all the emotions that had been stirred in his soul. “Nora had come out to keep me company for a while, and she left the lantern by the back barn door when she snuck out.”
“And she let you take the blame for the fire?”
“She wanted to tell her father she’d been there and that the fire was her fault. But I didn’t want to hurt her reputation by having everyone know we’d been in the barn alone.”
The dislike for Nora swelled. And something else hot mingled with it. Was it jealousy? “I take it the two of you were—you know.”
“No, nothing like that,” Thatcher rushed to say. “We may have been doing some kissing, but that’s all.”
Somehow, his words took away a little bit of the heat, the jealousy, although she didn’t quite know why. “The fire wasn’t your fault, Thatcher.”
“I take full responsibility.” His tone held a stubbornness that told her he wouldn’t be swayed. “I shouldn’t have let Nora come out and be with me. I knew we were sneaking around and that it wasn’t right.”
Amelia admired Thatcher for his willingness to sacrifice for Nora, but she disliked the woman even more.
“After the fire, Nora’s family—her father—told me I was no longer welcome to practice in the community, that I was done and he’d make sure of it. I paid him what I could for his losses and the damages, sold off everything I had of value, and then I left.”
“Nora could have told her father the truth privately.”
“I didn’t want her to.”
“But she let you take the blame, and that’s not right and that’s not love. If she’d confessed to her father that she left the lantern there, then she would have saved you.”
“If not the fire in the barn ruining my career, then it would have been something else eventually.” His words were filled with frustration. “Like today, having to let that horse die.”
“That wasn’t your fault either.”
“Don’t you see?” His eyes radiated despair. “I’ll always be at risk of becoming the enemy. Because sooner or later I will make a mistake, or I won’t be able to fix something—like with Beckett’s gelding—and people will hate me.”
“The horse was beyond help. No one can be mad at you for that.”
“People like to blame someone for their problems. And oftentimes, that happens to be me.”
“But everyone also sees how much good you do—”
“All it takes is one person’s complaint to undermine me.” He reached for his horse’s lead line and started toward the barn door. “Once word is out that I couldn’t fix Beckett’s horse and he thought I could have done more, everyone will start questioning my abilities.”
She wanted to stop Thatcher, to shake him, to make him see what a good veterinarian he really was, in spite of a setback or two.
“You want to be with a man who’s respected in the community?” He tossed the question over his shoulder. “You won’t always get that with me. But you will with Beckett.” He stepped into the shadows of the barn and disappeared from her sight.
Even though she was standing in the morning sunshine and wearing her new coat, she couldn’t feel the warmth anymore. A chill slithered up her arms and back, and she hugged her arms to her chest.
She didn’t believe Thatcher. Even if there were times like today when people disagreed with him, the incidents would fade, especially in light of all the times he succeeded and proved he was willing to help.
But maybe he was telling her all of this because it was his kind way of trying to ease her into putting an end to their marriage. Now that he knew the real Eileen was still out there and waiting to be his bride, why wouldn’t he want to meet her and fulfill his promise to her?
A part of Amelia knew she had no right to be with Thatcher, that he deserved to have Eileen if that’s who he wanted.
But another part of her couldn’t keep from wondering why he wasn’t willing to keep their marriage.
Or at least fight for it a little. Especially since they’d been getting along so well and enjoying being together—at least, she thought they had been.
She supposed it might not be possible to stay together, that the right thing to do was to fulfill her agreement with Beckett and for Thatcher to fulfill his agreement with Eileen. After all, Beckett had demanded Thatcher figure out a way to nullify the marriage.
Of course, their marriage could still be annulled since they hadn’t consummated their union.
But neither Beckett nor anyone else in the community knew that their marriage was currently in name only.
Would Beckett demand they separate anyway?
Perhaps force Thatcher into divorcing her?
She wasn’t sure what the laws were in the West, but maybe Beckett would simply drag her before the reverend and have another wedding ceremony.
She stared into the open door of the barn, catching sight of Thatcher’s outline as he began to unsaddle his horse.
She couldn’t deny that she really liked him.
In fact, the feelings swirling around inside her were unlike anything she’d ever had for a man.
And after the kiss earlier in the morning, she knew that whatever they had growing between them was something special.
She didn’t want to lose it. Didn’t want to lose him.
Why didn’t he feel the same way? What was wrong with her that Thatcher didn’t want to remain with her? What was her flaw that made people leave her? What was it that her mother hadn’t liked? Was it the same thing that Thatcher now saw?
Would she ever be good enough for anyone? Even Beckett?
A tight vise gripped her throat, the pain of rejection—a familiar pain she’d lived with for most of her life. In the same moment, she felt a flutter in her stomach, like that of a bird just starting to fly.
Was it the baby moving?
She cradled a hand over the baby and waited, not sure if she’d actually felt movement or if it was hunger pangs.
The seconds stretched out. She started to lower her hand and shift to walk back to the cabin, but then she felt another flutter, this one more distinct than the last.
A tiny thrill whispered through her, and she splayed her fingers over her abdomen.
It was the baby along with the reminder that the baby’s happiness and well-being mattered more than her own.
She didn’t need love. She just needed a good home and a husband to take care of her and the baby.
If she had that, then everything would be okay.
If only she could make herself believe it . . .