Chapter 20
Hyacinth tiptoed across the bedroom.
Beckett was finally asleep, and she had to leave while he was still softly snoring, or she might never be able to walk away from him.
She didn’t stop to get dressed or put on shoes. All she did was leave the beautiful wedding ring on the nightstand and then grab the bag she’d originally packed when she’d left the Noble Ranch.
As soundlessly as possible, she made her way out of the room. The house was silent, with only the fountain at the center of the courtyard adding a trickling to the soft chirp of a lone cricket or two.
With dawn light starting to color the eastern horizon, she quietly made her way out a side door. She had to quickly crouch when one of the maids came scurrying up a path toward the house.
The young woman had come from the vicinity where many of the ranch workers lived. She was probably the wife or daughter of one of the vaqueros. Sunshine had informed Hyacinth yesterday that often whole families labored in various roles throughout the ranch.
Hyacinth stayed out of sight until she was alone again. Then she hurried to the outhouse. She donned a traveling outfit, pulled her hair up, tied on her hat, then slipped outside.
She stood motionless and blinked, trying to let her eyes adjust to the darkness that lingered.
She’d contemplated finding a hidden spot and waiting for dawn to fully break before starting on her way to Turnersville.
However, if she delayed, she was worried more people would see her and alert Beckett that she was leaving the ranch.
She’d also decided that the earlier she left, the safer she’d be in traveling alone. After having the small army of vaqueros to escort them yesterday, she’d debated her plan to be out alone. But Beckett had claimed the road from the ranch to town was safer than other routes.
With a glance around to make sure the way was clear, she hurried to the dirt road that would take her to Turnersville.
Beckett had said it was only five miles.
She could easily walk that and reach town in an hour or so.
By then, it would be morning. She would find a carriage service or a livery and hire someone to take her to Corpus Christi.
From there, she would catch the train bound for Colorado.
She still had the money Violet had given her on her wedding day and would be able to pay for regular passenger fare.
Until then, the hardest part would be evading Beckett if he came after her in an attempt to convince her to return. After their conversation last night about wanting to change her mind about leaving, she suspected he would still make an effort to work things out.
But she couldn’t stay with him . . . not when she was becoming just like her mother.
With a shudder, Hyacinth picked up her pace, thankful the barns and corrals and cattle were all the other direction behind the house and that the fields and road leading toward town were deserted—at least, what she could see of the area through the faint light.
Yes, she was becoming like her mother, and that realization had hit her while arguing with Beckett.
She’d assumed that in marrying someone wealthy and independent, she would avoid the same heartbreak and pain her mother had experienced. Yet she’d ended up with it anyway because she’d fallen for a man who needed her but didn’t love her, the same way Father had needed Mother but hadn’t loved her.
Even now, Hyacinth’s heart beat with short, painful bursts at her love for Beckett. She’d tried to relegate her feelings to mere physical attraction, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge all that was growing inside her. But the love was there and wasn’t going away.
That was why she was doing the going away. She had to stay as far from Beckett as possible, or she would all too easily keep falling for him while hoping he would someday fall for her too. In Mother and Father’s case, that someday had never come.
After Violet’s failed wedding, Mother had awakened to the fact that she had to make a change.
But the change had come a little too late.
When they’d moved away from Father, Mother’s inheritance had been mostly gone.
They’d lived on the pittance, and after her death, Violet had wanted to return to Colorado, hoping that Father would take care of them.
Of course, Violet’s real motivation for returning had been that she still loved Sterling, not that she’d trusted Father.
Whatever the case, Hyacinth couldn’t be in a marriage with Beckett any longer.
She didn’t want to love a man who would never love her with the same measure.
At least with Mr. Gray, their relationship wouldn’t be one-sided.
They would both be seeking companionship, and she wouldn’t have to worry about her heart being broken over and over.
Not that Mr. Gray would consider taking her back. No, she’d probably lost all chances of being with him. But she could start over in looking for a husband—another one like Mr. Gray, whom she didn’t have any chance of falling for.
She’d thought she’d never fall for Beckett, had even convinced herself she loathed him. But Sunshine had been right. Hyacinth had used her bickering with Beckett as a way to mask how she really felt about him.
The dirt road was dry and dusty, but in the soft light of the rising sun, the air brushing against her skin was cool, almost refreshing. Even so, after walking for what felt like several miles, she found her mouth growing especially dry.
As she passed over a bridge spanning a creek, she veered off the road and began making her way down to the creek bed that was lined with shrubs.
She didn’t know if the water was clean enough to drink, but she would have a small sip and wash her face.
Surely that would tide her over until she reached town.
She didn’t know the names of all the plants that grew in the dry climate, but they were more prickly and certainly not as plentiful as the lush vegetation in the high country of Colorado.
But with the early sunlight sparkling off the clear water and some of the wildflowers still in blossom, the land contained a beauty of its own, especially with the red-tailed hawk circling nearby, probably hunting for its breakfast.
She found a smooth spot along the edge and knelt. First, she cupped her hands in the water and took a sip. Then she splashed her face several times, letting the cool water soothe her skin.
As she sat back on her heels and started to lift her sleeve to her face to dry it, she froze. There, under the bridge only a dozen feet away, was a handful of men. They were dressed similarly to the vaqueros on the Double T, with sombreros, light linen shirts, and sturdy trousers with chaps.
These men, however, weren’t looking at her in the friendly or kindly way the Double T vaqueros had. Instead, they were assessing her with sharp eyes and bold expressions that told her they weren’t employees at the Double T.
If they didn’t work on the ranch, then why were they out on Double T property in the early morning? And why did they appear to be hiding under the bridge?
Had they heard Beckett was back? Were they among the enemies that plagued the Double T?
A shiver rippled up her spine, but she forced herself to move slowly and casually as she wiped her face. Once done, she stood and straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, hoping to display a fearlessness that didn’t match the quaking in her stomach.
“Good morning,” she said. “Is the water safe for drinking?” Not that she intended to sip any more. But it was the only question she could think to ask them.
Without responding, two of the men climbed out from underneath the bridge.
Were they coming after her?
She glanced behind her to the brush and the incline that led back to the road.
Should she make an escape now before the situation became more dangerous?
But did she really have a chance of escaping if they chased after her?
After all, there were five of them and one of her.
And she was wearing a cumbersome skirt that would slow her down.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said as she took a step back. “I’m on my way to town, where I’m expected in a short while.”
She wasn’t expected in town or anywhere, but if they thought she was, then maybe they would let her pass by.
The two men coming toward her weren’t tall, but they were broad-shouldered and muscular. And they had guns that they’d unholstered and now carried.
One of the men who was still crouching under the bridge called out something in Spanish.
As with yesterday, when she’d watched Beckett speak the language fluently, she wished she could understand and communicate in a second tongue.
But she’d never interacted with Mexicans before and hadn’t needed to know Spanish.
The two men smirked over their shoulders at the one who’d spoken, hopefully not something about her. But as they splashed through the water and drew nearer, she had the sudden premonition they’d already decided to harass her and that she wouldn’t be able to talk her way free.
The only thing to do was flee, and she should have done it sooner. In fact, maybe she’d been foolish and na?ve altogether to attempt the trip to town on her own.
She had no time to waste on regrets. All she could do was try to save herself.
Without hesitating another moment, she bolted back the way she’d come.
She dodged through the brush, heedless of the branches scratching her.
The soil was sandy and slowed her getaway.
Regardless, she pushed herself hard. Once she reached the incline, she scrambled up, glancing over her shoulder to find one of the men right behind her.
With a burst of determination lending her energy, she grabbed onto one of the few plants that dotted the rise. She used it to heft herself higher.
In the next instant, however, the fellow clasped her skirt.
She attempted to jerk it free, and at the same time, continued to claw at the ground and plants in her desperate effort to get away.
His hold was strong, though, and he hauled her backward, dragging her down.
She cried out but was no match for his strength. Before she could find a way to free herself, she tumbled right into his hold. She thrashed against him, swinging with her fists, slapping at him, and even landing a punch or two.
The second joined his companion in wrestling to subdue her.
She didn’t let up her fight, scratching and attempting to bite them both. When they finally had her hands behind her back, it still took the two of them together to hold her in place.
The fellows who had been waiting under the bridge were now standing nearby, and they were laughing.
One of the men who’d captured her—the one who seemed to be the leader—spoke sharply to the others, and they fell silent, their laughter and smiles fading away.
Had they been making fun of the two men for having to fight with her? And had he just rebuked them? She hadn’t made it easy, that was for sure.
Now that they had her, what would happen next? She didn’t want to wait and find out. “Let me go this instant.” She stomped and tried to kick one of her captors.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Thorpe,” said the leader-like man.
She stilled. Mrs. Thorpe, as in Beckett Thorpe’s wife. That’s who she was still until the annulment came through. But how did these men know her identity?
“We heard the rumors that you were un cuervo hermoso.” He was close enough now that she caught a waft of his sour body odor. “A beautiful raven,” he translated for her, probably realizing she hadn’t understood him.
“If you know who I am,” she snapped, more irritated at herself for getting into this predicament than at them, “then you’ll also know my husband will not be happy that you’re treating me in this undignified way.”
During their travels, Beckett hadn’t liked it when men looked at her too long or even talked to her, and he wouldn’t take kindly to these men either.
The second man had started tying her hands behind her back with a leather strap. She wanted to fight against him, but before she could, the first fellow, the one who seemed like the leader of the group, unholstered his gun and pressed the cold barrel against her neck.
Fear rose swiftly into her throat, and she swallowed hard to push it down. “You need to let me go.”
“Maybe I should let you go the same way Beckett let my little brother go.” The leader’s tone turned suddenly lethal. “Shot in the heart.”