Page 29 of The Forever Cowboy (Noble Ranch #1)

“Hey, baby,” Beckett called from the hallway where he was standing watch by the front door. “Would you mind bringing me a cup of coffee?”

In the kitchen, Hyacinth looked up from where she was pouring herself a mug. Her eyes flashed with annoyance as she turned toward the hallway. “I’m not your baby .”

“Course you are, darlin’.”

Hyacinth expelled a taut breath before reaching for another mug and plopping it down on the stove. “I ought to dump vinegar in it.”

“Go ahead,” Beckett called, clearly hearing Hyacinth. “Then it will remind me of you—hot but full of sass.”

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.”

How would they ever fight six or eight men? Especially without someone getting hurt.

Violet’s chest pinched tightly. She didn’t want anyone suffering on account of her and Hyacinth, especially Sterling. But what could she do?

Should she step outside and try to negotiate with Claude’s men? Or would that only put her and Hyacinth in more danger?

She shuffled forward a step.

The movement drew Sterling’s sharp gaze. He held out a hand and cocked his head toward a short bureau that the family used for hats, gloves, handkerchiefs, and umbrellas. “Stop and get down low next to that.”

His eyes warned her not to argue with him—not that she was prone to arguing the way Hyacinth was.

Instead, she made her way to the bureau and lowered herself down the wall as Hyacinth did the same.

When they were huddled side by side with the chest of drawers acting as a shield, only then did she allow herself a full breath.

Two more shots rang out. One pinged against the front door. The other shattered a parlor window, the glass crackling and tinkling as it fell to the floor.

Sterling and Beckett crouched together and talked in low tones for a minute before Beckett crawled into the parlor. Sterling started back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He paused halfway up and pinned Violet with a serious look. “Stay right there. And don’t move until one of us says it’s okay.”

She nodded.

Hyacinth grasped Violet’s hand and squeezed it. “I can’t sit here and do nothing, Violet.”

“We have to listen to Sterling.”

“No,” Hyacinth whispered back. “We have to figure this out on our own.”

Violet wished they could. But wasn’t that what had gotten them into the predicament to begin with?

Mother had wanted to keep their affairs private.

Instead of involving the law in Father’s thefts in his places of employment, she’d paid his way out of the problems. And instead of seeking help for Father, Mother had just covered up the issues.

If they’d been more open to talking about their problems and asking for help, would Violet have felt more open to telling Sterling about her father’s gambling rather than keeping it from him?

Maybe if they hadn’t been so embarrassed and isolated, they would have made more friends, had more support, and she wouldn’t have had to turn to her ex-fiancé for help.

She had to do better in the future. She couldn’t hide the problems, had to be more vulnerable, had to let others share the burdens. Because sometimes life’s problems were too heavy to carry by oneself.

“Hold the shooting!” came Sterling’s shout from upstairs. “No more shooting!”

His tone held a strange desperation that sent Violet’s heart thumping with a strange fear. Something was wrong.

She wanted to get up and go to him, but she’d promised him she would wait by the chest of drawers.

A voice boomed from the yard outside the house. “If you want him to live, then hand over the women.”

Him?

“If you don’t do it,” said the booming voice, “then you’ll force me to get rid of this worthless, sniveling son of a gun myself.”

Violet sat up at the same time that Hyacinth did. Was the worthless, sniveling son of a gun their father? Who else could it be?

Hyacinth started to climb to her feet, her features set with determination. What was she planning to do? Run outside and give herself over in exchange for their father?

Violet pulled her back down. “No, Hyacinth. We have to think.”

Sterling couldn’t claim her as his wife yet, but could he tell Claude’s men that she was his fiancée the way they’d planned to introduce Hyacinth as Beckett’s fiancée?

“I’m marrying Violet today, this morning.” Sterling’s shout came from the upstairs room at the front of the house. He was clearly thinking the same way she was. “And Hyacinth is engaged to be married to my foreman, Beckett Thorpe.”

“If they’re not lawfully yours, then they still belong to Claude.” The spokesperson for Claude’s posse was obviously not willing to show any mercy. “Marvin shook on a deal, which in this country is as good as done.”

“The reverend is on his way,” Sterling responded.

A moment of silence ensued. Were Claude’s men trying to decide what to do?

Violet closed her eyes. The situation had no solution. From the way it sounded, Claude’s men had been instructed to bring in her and Hyacinth or kill Father.

She couldn’t sit back and let them murder Father. But she still wasn’t willing to hand herself or Hyacinth over…

Could Father pay off the debt in increments? But where would he be able to find work? And even if someone in the area were willing to hire him, would he gamble the money right away and then cause even more problems?

Even if so, she had to suggest the option. Claude could have Father work for him in some capacity until he earned back what he owed.

Yes, that’s what had to happen. Father had to make himself a slave to Claude—if necessary—until the debt was paid.

Surely Father would be willing to do that if the option were presented to him.

She had to believe that some part of him still cared about her and Hyacinth enough that he would do the right thing.

With determination stiffening her spine, she rose, fixed her crutch under her arm, and started down the hallway toward the front door.

Sterling wouldn’t like her getting involved in the negotiations. But she needed to offer the idea as an option.

“Where are you going?” Hyacinth whispered behind her, already on her feet.

Violet tried to pick up her halting pace, which wasn’t easy with the crutch. But she didn’t want Hyacinth close enough to impede her efforts and was at the front door within seconds.

“You can’t go out—”

Violet swung the door wide, then stepped outside onto the porch.

There, in the middle of the ranch yard, stood a burly man with a scarred face, her father positioned in front of him like a shield.

Her father’s hatless head hung low, but she could see enough to tell that his face was bruised and battered, both eyes swollen nearly shut, his lips cut and bleeding, and a rope with a slip knot already dangling from his chafed neck.

His clothing was stained and rumpled, as if he’d been wearing the same outfit for days.

Violet couldn’t hold back her gasp at the sad state her father was in, and tears quickly sprang to her eyes.

The fellow holding her father shifted his attention to her. “You the daughter?”

From the window above, Sterling said something, and Beckett called out too. But she was too focused on her father and his dismal condition to listen.

Her father lifted his head in her direction. He barely had the strength to look at her, but somehow his gaze connected with hers. “I’m sorry.”

“Come on out here, darlin’.” The scar-faced man beckoned to Violet. “It’s you and your sister for him.”

As angry as she was with her father for all his mistakes and the ways he’d failed to protect their family, she couldn’t stand back and watch these men hang him in the closest tree.

Behind her, Hyacinth stood stiffly, probably just as appalled by the sight of their father.

“We can make this nice and easy,” the man said. “No sense in dragging this out more.”

The fellow was right about that. Violet had to bring an end to the problems today. She couldn’t run away from them any longer, no matter how much she wanted to.