Chapter 21
“‘I am sincerely sorry for any problems or issues this mix-up may cause you.’” Amelia read aloud the letter Thatcher had just finished penning to Eileen. “‘I promise to do everything within my power to make sure you are taken care of until other arrangements can be made for your well-being.’”
Thatcher remained at the kitchen table, his pen in hand, his brow furrowed above troubled eyes. “What do you think? Does it sound caring enough, or should I add something else?”
Amelia scanned the one-page sheet, the ink barely dry. “I think you’re being as responsible as you can be in offering to help her make arrangements to return to the East or to help her until she can find another marriageable prospect here.”
“Then it’s fair?”
“I think so.” Amelia carefully considered the letter to Eileen, putting herself in the poor woman’s place. What would she have done if she’d arrived to find her groom—the one she’d been writing to for months—had accidentally married another woman?
She supposed she would have questioned whether the marriage was really accidental. She probably would have been frustrated to come all that way expecting to marry someone, only to find the plan foiled.
However, in the end, she would have looked for another husband because the truth was, she hadn’t been all that attached to Beckett—clearly, since she’d fallen for another man so rapidly after arriving in Summit County.
As a mail-order bride, she’d come west as mostly a stranger to her groom, and at the time, she hadn’t been picky and would have taken one man over another as long as they had the qualities she was looking for.
Of course, she felt very differently now that she had Thatcher. She wouldn’t be satisfied with just any man. In fact, she couldn’t imagine having anyone else but him and never wanted to be with another man ever again.
Including Beckett . . .
They were planning to go over to High Country Ranch to return Weston Oakley’s horse today before he left with his little family and returned to Fairplay. Since High Country Ranch was close to the Noble Ranch, Thatcher had suggested they ride out to visit Beckett after returning the horse.
Even though she wanted to put off meeting with Beckett, she knew they no longer had any excuses now that it was the day after Christmas. They needed to let him know about their decision to stay together and then pray he wouldn’t protest too strongly or violently.
Last evening, when they’d arrived home from Lee’s house and they’d been in the barn tending to Queen together, they’d talked about what to do if Beckett became insistent. Would they need to run off together? And where could they go in December that would be far enough away to be safe?
Not that Beckett had made any physical threats yet. But he’d been clear earlier in the week that he wanted Thatcher to nullify the marriage and that he still wanted to marry her.
She’d suggested they confess the truth to him about falling in love, that they hadn’t expected to find love with each other so swiftly and so surely, but it had happened anyway.
She hoped Beckett would respect their feelings.
At the very least, she hoped he was a decent enough fellow that he wouldn’t want to marry her if she was in love with Thatcher.
After all, what kind of man would want a woman who loved someone else?
Obviously he’d seemed like a decent fellow from his letters—or what she remembered from them, which wasn’t much. And Thatcher claimed Beckett was a good man, having gotten to know him last month while helping the Noble Ranch save their cattle.
Even so, with Beckett holding the loss of his gelding against Thatcher, there was no telling what the ranch foreman might do.
Although Thatcher hadn’t said he was nervous about the meeting with Beckett, Amelia could tell he was tense. Thatcher was a healer and not a violent man, but he claimed he wouldn’t hesitate to stand his ground if Beckett tried to take Amelia away from him.
But first things first. They were getting the letter to Eileen ready to go in the mail. They were sending it to her New York City address just in case she had been delayed in leaving and still happened to be there.
Amelia could only hope that was the case, but she suspected if that were the reason, the maid would have reached out with another letter by now.
After traveling across the country and hearing about train problems, robberies, and even ongoing issues with the natives, Amelia feared that anything could have happened to the young woman.
It was also entirely possible that she could show up today or tomorrow or next week. The chances of that happening were slim, as Thatcher liked to say, because of the difficulty in traversing the mountain passes. But Eileen could have been delayed, similar to what had happened to Amelia.
Regardless, she and Thatcher were doing everything in their power to fix the mix-up. They’d agreed that only after they’d righted the wrongs would they be able to move forward in their marriage with clear consciences.
She settled a hand on Thatcher’s shoulder, amazed that she had the right to touch him like that whenever she wanted and that he welcomed her touch.
Maybe she was simply starved for the connection because she’d never had such a loving and affectionate relationship before. Or maybe she couldn’t help but respond to his kindness and tenderness with her, like a newborn creature being nurtured and wanting to show affection in return.
Whatever the case, she wasn’t sure she could wait weeks, even months, to resolve the unknown with Eileen before giving in to all that she was feeling for Thatcher, especially because those feelings were growing from foothills into mountains almost overnight.
The mail from the Front Range was sporadic during the winter months, just like the traveling was. But the mail carriers apparently used skis to deliver mail from one town to the next, so it was worth the effort to post the letter.
“So you want to take the letter to town first?” she asked, handing Thatcher the envelope that he’d already addressed.
He folded the sheet. “Yes, and I’m not just saying that to avoid meeting Beckett.”
She raised a brow.
“Okay, you’re right. I am avoiding the confrontation.” He smiled, the smooth motion barreling into her and making her breathless with its charm.
“I suppose there’s no harm in putting it off a little longer.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He slipped the letter into the envelope. “Except that we probably should return Weston’s horse first because they’ll probably be wanting to leave first thing this morning.”
The loss of the horse meant they would be down to one horse for the time being, which would limit her traveling with Thatcher.
He’d said she could ride with him on his horse on occasion if the distance wasn’t overly far or too strenuous for the horse.
Otherwise, she would likely have to stay home more often, at least until Queen was fully healed and able to carry her load.
Even though the mare was improving every day, Thatcher said it could still be weeks before Queen would be ready for a rider.
They were bundled up and heading north in no time. The morning air held a nip of cold, but the high-altitude sunshine was warmer than she’d expected, melting the snow and filling the ruts in the road with puddles. The open range spread out in the river valley, making it an ideal place for ranches.
As they rode, Thatcher told her more about the Oakleys and the High Country Ranch, which was closest to his farm and specialized in breeding horses. She’d already learned a little bit about the family, but Thatcher always seemed to know everything about everybody, and she enjoyed hearing his tales.
The wrought-iron Noble Ranch sign and gate were in sight when they glimpsed a lone rider farther down the road. From the hat and the build, it was easy to see the rider was a cowboy and that he was in a hurry.
Thatcher watched the newcomer for a few seconds, then reined in his horse with a frown. “Great. Just great.”
Amelia reined in beside him. “What’s wrong?”
Thatcher shied back a couple of steps, moving off the road and out of the way. “Looks like we’re going to have that meeting with Beckett in a minute.”
She peered again at the rider, fresh trepidation swirling in her stomach.
It was easy to tell when Beckett noticed them by the slowing of his mount and the steeling of his shoulders.
She and Thatcher waited silently, the tension increasing with every second. Would Beckett ride past them, or would they have a meeting right here and now on the road?
When he drew up to them, he reined in only a dozen paces away. His brow furrowed in obvious displeasure. It was clear he wasn’t passing by without saying or doing something.
She gripped her reins tighter, hoping to keep him from seeing the tremble in her fingers.
“Beckett.” Thatcher spoke the greeting calmly, even though his body was rigid in his saddle. “We were on our way to pay you a visit.”
“I was on my way to your place to do the same.” Beckett’s voice had a distinct Southern drawl that she’d noticed the first time she’d met him.
Amelia wanted to sidle closer to Thatcher, maybe even hide behind him. But she had to stay strong even as the doubts about her worthiness began to creep out of the corners of her mind, where she’d swept them.
She couldn’t accept her mother’s failures as her own. Instead, she needed to remember she was worthy of love, worthy of having a family, and worthy of having Thatcher.
Beckett tipped up the brim of his Stetson, then met Thatcher’s gaze. “I owe you an apology for the things I said about my horse the other day.”
The words were so completely unexpected that Amelia could only blink.
Thankfully, as a good conversationalist, Thatcher took the comment in stride. “Thank you, Beckett. I appreciate that.”