Hyacinth just shook her head this time, probably not able to think of a comeback. Beckett was sharp-witted and sparred well with Hyacinth. The two had been exchanging insults for the past hour while they’d been waiting for the ranch hand to return with the reverend.
Part of Violet was entertained by the interchange. But another part of her didn’t quite know what to think of the pretend engagement plan. If Hyacinth and Beckett couldn’t get along in private, couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as each other, how would they be able to prove to everyone they were engaged?
At least with Sterling, Violet was most definitely attracted to him.
She twisted her coffee mug around on the table in front of her. Yes, there was no doubt she was attracted to Sterling. She was so attracted she’d asked him for another kiss, even though she’d warned herself not to.
Heat infused her face at just the thought of how she’d practically begged him.
She lifted her cup and took a sip, hoping the steam from the coffee would mask any flush. Hyacinth hadn’t asked her about the kiss yet, and Violet wasn’t sure if she wanted to say anything.
Of course, Hyacinth was too busy with her frustration over Beckett to notice. Which was probably a good thing since Violet was confused about what to do with all the emotions bubbling inside her.
At Sterling’s abrupt departure a short while ago, a whole host of doubts had come rushing back in—was she really ready, was she doing the right thing, was there another way out of her predicament, would she be safe with Sterling, would he ever be able to love her?
The questions had been clamoring, and she hadn’t been able to answer a single one.
Sterling had come back inside not long ago and had gone upstairs to sleep for a short while. A part of her wanted to go up and talk to him again and discover what he was really feeling.
Maybe the two of them should have a pretend engagement like Hyacinth and Beckett. Why go to all the trouble of getting married if it wasn’t necessary and especially if he didn’t really want it and planned to annul their union at some point?
At a shout outside in the ranch yard, Violet placed her cup of coffee on the table. Hyacinth had finished pouring a mug for Beckett. In the process of carrying it toward the hallway door, she paused.
It was probably the ranch hand returning with the reverend.
A tremor rippled through Violet. Was she ready for this?
She closed her eyes and fought back a wave of panic. What was wrong with her? When she’d been getting dressed with Hyacinth earlier, she’d felt such anticipation putting on her best gown, taking extra care with her appearance, and trying to look her best.
While she’d waited in the parlor for Sterling to appear, she’d been excited, and yes, a little nervous. But mostly excited. And determined to follow through, to have courage, and to marry for love. Now that the moment had arrived, could she really go through with it?
Another shout came louder, followed by a gunshot.
Violet froze.
There wouldn’t be gunshots if the reverend had arrived.
“Get down and away from windows.” The urgent call came from Beckett.
Hyacinth hurriedly approached the table and placed the mug there.
Violet rose from her chair. Where should they go that would be safe?
Hyacinth passed Violet her crutch, all the while studying the layout of the kitchen and seeking a place to hide.
Another shot rang out.
“Come into the hallway, away from windows,” Beckett called again, this time more urgently.
At the footsteps in the hallway upstairs, Violet guessed Sterling had heard the shot too.
Hyacinth took hold of Violet’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Violet couldn’t move fast with her crutch, but she crossed as quickly as she could to the hallway with Hyacinth. As they stepped into the corridor, Beckett had the front door open a crack and was peering outside.
Sterling thundered down the steps in his Sunday best—a dark suit with a starched white dress shirt and a string tie. He was in the process of situating his hat and had a revolver out. His jaw was rigid and his eyes hard as he approached the door. “How many?”
Beckett shut the door and then locked it. “Six, maybe eight.”
