UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER'S SECRET

by ROBINSON, LAURI

  “Deportation?” Sara repeated.

  “Yes. For the most part, the truth came out. The judge believed the captain was behind the stolen merchandise, but ordered all of us to be removed from the country. I hadn’t known that my mother had told Winston I was dead, and upon my return to England, I confronted her about it. She claimed it was for my benefit. That Winston had never wanted children, had only used me to make her move to uncivilized locations, and claimed she had to tell him that I was dead in order for him to agree to a divorce. She said she’d feared for both of our lives and believed we’d only be safe far away from him.”

  Sara’s insides were quivering with anger at how a mother could do such things, what kind of wife she must have been. It was appalling and so very deceitful. Neither Ohio, from what she had heard from Amelia, nor Royalton were uncivilized. His mother should have seen the barren plains of Kansas. Not that she could remember much about it, but did recall the descriptions her mother and Winston used when talking about how they had met.

  “That was when I had her provide this,” Crofton said, handing Ralph the envelope Sara had never opened. “It is a legal affidavit, provided under oath, of her lies, and my true parentage.”

  “Why didn’t you bring that to Winston?” she asked. “When you returned to America?”

  “His response to the telegram was proof enough that at least part of her story was true. That he didn’t want me to contact him.”

  “He thought you were dead,” Sara argued.

  He shrugged.

  Not satisfied, she asked, “If you believed that, then why did you return to America?”

  His eyes locked onto her, and she could almost feel how lost and alone he must have felt at one time. Or maybe still did. She had come to understand what that felt like in the past few days.

  “Because I had no reason to stay in England,” he said.

  “Winston could not have sent this telegram,” Ralph Wainwright said.

  “What?”

  “Why?”

  Both she and Crofton had spoken at the same time. He furthered his question. “How do you know that?”

  “Because of the date,” Ralph answered. “Winston Parks was not in Royalton on the twelfth of April 1879. He was in Denver, meeting with me. Helen, my wife, and I, along with Ben, arrived in Denver on the tenth, on invitation from Winston. He had used the law firm that I worked for in Chicago during negotiations with the railroad, and invited me to move out here to become his private attorney. Your mother was with him, Sara, and we all remained in Denver until the eighteenth before beginning our journey to Royalton. The tracks were not completed all the way then, and the final part of our journey was by wagon. We didn’t arrive here until the twenty-fifth. I remember that date because it is Ben’s birthday, but all of the dates are very clear in my mind.”

  Sara remembered her parents returning home after that trip. Although Winston traveled fairly often during that time—the railroad wars were happening and he’d spent a lot of time in Denver—her mother had usually remained home. Mother had gone with Winston on that particular trip and it stuck in Sara’s mind because even with Amelia and Hilton at home with her, she’d grown lonesome with both parents gone for so long. The implication of what Ralph’s explanation meant churned her stomach. “Then who would have responded to the judge? Who would have sent that returning telegram?”

  “I can’t say,” Ralph answered.

  “Can you guess?” Crofton asked.

  “I could, but that wouldn’t be appropriate,” Ralph responded.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Crofton answered. “Nor is it necessary. Nate was already dead in seventy-nine, therefore, any of Winston’s correspondence would have gone to his right-hand man, Bugsley Morton.”

  “Bugsley wouldn’t—” The way both men turned to her had Sara clamping her lips closed. Crofton may have taken a dislike to Bugsley, but she couldn’t believe he would have betrayed Winston in such a manner. Denied him of the opportunity to be reunited with his son.

  “There was a lot going on at that time,” Ralph said. “Men were vying for both railroad companies to win, along with plenty of deceit and trickery on both sides. Winston may have appointed someone to oversee his correspondence, and due to all that was happening, whoever that may have been might have thought this was a ploy to take Winston’s focus off the railroad.” Turning to her, Ralph’s expression softened slightly, “Mr. Morton was rarely in Royalton during that time. He was usually with Winston, but I honestly don’t remember if he had been in Denver with us or not.”

  She nodded, although she questioned his answer. A man who remembered the dates so clearly would have remembered who had traveled with them.

  “Who responded, we may never know,” Ralph then said to Crofton, “but I can accept this affidavit as the proof needed. May I keep this with your father’s other legal papers?”

  Crofton nodded. “I will never need it again.”

  “And this?” Ralph asked, holding up the telegram.

  “Don’t need that, either,” Crofton replied.

  Sara bit her bottom lip to keep from replying. The condition of the telegram, how it was so worn, said he’d looked at it often, and she couldn’t help but empathize how he must have wished it had held different words. She balled her fingers into a fist because despite their differences, she had the greatest desire to just reach over and squeeze his hand.

  “Then, if you’re both willing, I shall open Winston’s will,” Ralph said, reaching for the envelope he’d laid on the table.

  Crofton turned to her. “Are you all right with this?”

  After swallowing the lump that rose up in her throat for no apparent reason, she nodded. “Yes, of course, that is why we’re here.”

  “I shall preface what I’m about to read,” Ralph started while shuffling through several sheets of paper, “by saying I spoke to Winston about updating his will just a few weeks ago.” Once again glancing her way, he added, “When he asked me to check into making your last name legally Parks. Unfortunately neither was accomplished prior to his death.”

  “Why had he waited so long for that?” Crofton asked.

  “This will,” Ralph answered, “was one of the first tasks I completed for Winston. He was worried that something might happen to him after Nate Long died.”

  “I meant having Sara’s name legally changed,” Crofton said.

  Sara tried to read his face, to see why he was curious about that, but his expression hadn’t changed. He hadn’t glanced her way, either.

  “Winston was worried about that for years, but he was also concerned about taking Sara’s real father away from her.” Ralph looked her way. “He said your father died while you were young, in a farming accident back in Kansas.”

  When she nodded, Ralph then included Crofton in his gaze, looking between the two of them as he continued, “Winston said he knew how he’d feel if Crofton hadn’t died and someone else wanted to have him change his last name. How upset he’d be. He also said when you were just a little girl, you told him once that you couldn’t call him father, because he wasn’t your father.”

  Sara closed her eyes for a moment. She remembered that. She’d asked her mother if Winston was now her father, and her mother had said no. “That was a long time ago,” she said quietly. “Before he married my mother. When we were traveling here.” Shaking her head, she added, “I called him Father after that. Many times. Everyone referred to him as my father.”

  “I know,” Ralph said, “but Winston insisted it not be pushed on you. However, when we last met, he said now that you were of age, you were old enough to decide what you wanted your name to be.”

  “He never asked me,” she said. “I would have agreed. He’s the only father I remember. The only one I ever knew.”

  Compassion filled Ralph’s eyes. “He
and your mother were on their way to see me when the accident happened. I had the paperwork complete for them to take back to you.”

  Sara pulled in air so fast her lungs rattled. She’d known they were on their way to town, but hadn’t known exactly why. A tremble started at her toes and raced upward, stopping only when a weight landed on her shoulder. She glanced toward Crofton, and the hand he’d used to gently rub her shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  Whether she was or not didn’t matter. Therefore, she nodded.

  “The important thing, Sara,” Ralph said, “is that Winston thought of himself as your father. From the day he married your mother, he became your father, and loved you as much as any father could.”

  She nodded again and blinked at the stinging in her eyes. Her nose was burning, too, and she sniffled slightly, wishing she’d brought along a handkerchief.

  “Shall we continue?” Ralph asked.

  “Yes, please,” she said. Only once she returned home, would she let the tears fall. Right now, she needed to be the daughter Winston could be proud of.

  “As I said, this will was written several years ago,” Ralph said, and then, with a clearing of his throat he began to read, “I, Winston Parks, being of sound mind and body...”

  Sara heard parts of what was read, but her mind wandered, recalling memories that were too poignant to ignore. How she’d greet Winston returning home after a trip, or simply a day at the lumber mill. She wondered how long it would be before she could no longer remember his laugh, or see his face when she closed her eyes. Her mother, too. She’d been so beautiful, and so caring and gentle. She never raised her voice or appeared mad or scared. Never appeared anything but happy. So very happy.

  “Sara?”

  Lifting her head slowly, it took a fuzzy moment for her to remember where she was, what had happened.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Ralph asked.

  Sara nodded as words filtered through her mind and came together with a single outcome. “Upon Winston’s death, everything is to be divided amongst his children and my mother.”

  “That’s correct,” Ralph said. “Winston included provisions of how your mother was to select an overseer of the mill and other businesses, and continue to maintain proprietorship until one of Winston’s children was of age and old enough Suzanne felt they were ready to succeed her.”

  “But mother is dead, too,” Sara said needlessly.

  “That too is correct,” Ralph said with a gentle smile and once again shared glances between her and Crofton. “I explained Winston had this will written up years ago. At the time the children he referred to were you, Sara, and your half brother Hilton, but Winston refused to use names. He said there may be more children and he didn’t want any of them left out because he hadn’t updated his will upon their birth. So, because of that, how this will is written and worded, all of Winston’s holdings, except for the provisions he specifically stated were to go to Amelia, and myself, to continue to act as counsel on his behalf, are to be divided between the two of you.”

  Crofton’s hand on her shoulder had gone completely still, and that sent a shiver down her spine. She turned his way, not knowing what to expect. The serene expression on his face increased her shiver.

  He was looking at her, not at Ralph when Crofton said, “I have no need for a lumber mill. Sara gets it all.”

  “No,” she said. “Winston would want you to have it. You were his first born.”

  “He thought I was dead.” Crofton turned to Ralph. “Who, besides you, knows what’s in that will?”

  “No one. Besides myself, only Winston and Suzanne knew,” Ralph answered. “But, I have to tell you, there is more than the lumber mill. There are other businesses, investments, land, cash. I have a list.” As he held it out to Crofton, he added, “And the entire town assumes Sara will inherit everything.”

  “The entire town wants to marry her, too,” Crofton said, taking the list.

  It wasn’t necessarily his tone that irritated her, or his statement, but something did. “No, they don’t,” she said. “They think you are here to claim the inheritance, and that scares them. The town will fail without the mill. Some people think I need to be married in order to fight you. That I’ll need the help of a husband.” The sense of righteousness rose inside her. “But I don’t.”

  Crofton handed the list back to Ralph while the lawyer asked, “Who told you that, Sara?”

  “Elliott Cross,” she answered. “And that’s what he’ll tell others, too. If he hasn’t already.”

  “Elliott Cross will say or print anything in order to sell a copy of his newspaper,” Ralph answered.

  “I know,” she agreed, “but people believe what he writes.”

  “What does Sara need to do in order to claim her inheritance?” Crofton asked.

  “I need to file a few papers, transferring holdings and such things, but since it’s not being petitioned, we don’t need to go before a judge,” Ralph answered. “However, knowing you are Winston’s son, I can’t allow it all to go to her. It needs to be split equally.” Ralph held up a hand at how Crofton shook his head. “It is my duty to carry out all activities in the best interest of my client, dead or alive, and Winston specifically stated his shares were to be divided equally amongst his children.”

  The way Crofton pulled his lips together, much like Winston used to do when annoyed, irritated Sara, but she kept her thoughts to herself. On one issue, but on the other, she said, “Start the paperwork. Equal shares.” Then she looked at Crofton. “We have taken up enough of Mr. Wainwright’s time for today.”

  Crofton nodded and stood. “I agree we have.” Offering her a hand to assist her off the chair, he added, “I’d appreciate it, Mr. Wainwright, if none of this becomes public, at least for a while.”

  Ralph had stood as well. “For how long? People are curious, and as Sara stated, scared of the outcome. Telling them might settle the rumors down a bit.”

  “Just a few days.” Crofton had collected her cloak and held it out for her. “It won’t take longer than that.”

  Sara bit her lip to contain asking what he referred to as she slipped on her cloak. There would be time for discussion on the way home—where he wouldn’t be able to avoid answering her questions.

  They bid their farewells, and had barely stepped off the porch of the Wainwright house when her first question could no longer be held back. “Do you hate him that much?”

  “Who?”

  “Winston,” she answered. “Do you hate him so much you won’t take what he would have wanted you to have? What he dreamed about you having. You were his son. Are his son. The least you could do is honor him, honor his death, by publicly recognizing that.”

  “I’ve never denied he was my father.”

  “While acting like it was the most disgusting thing that could happen to a person,” she argued, growing angrier.

  Crofton knew it would be in his best interest not to argue with her. She was distraught. Pain had covered her face and filled her eyes while Wainwright had read the will. Her commitment to Winston was as apparent as the love she’d had for him and the community. In fact, Crofton didn’t doubt she’d marry any one of those men who had come up the driveway if it meant the mill would continue to provide the jobs the town needed. He, however, knew the mill wouldn’t continue without the railroad. That’s what had happened back in Ohio. Once the major building stopped, the demand for lumber had dropped. It would happen here, too, sooner or later. Winston would have known that. It may not happen for a few years, but it would happen, and he had no desire to be a part of that. He had several thousand acres and almost as many cattle to oversee, and needed to get back there in order to do that. Once he found out who murdered Mel.

  “And why must the will be kept secret?” she asked. “Letting it be known tha
t it is split between the two of us is the best situation for everyone.”

  Crofton didn’t want to argue that point, either, and walked around the buggy to assist her climb. She wouldn’t be impressed to learn it was for her own safety. Men were already asking to marry her; once it got out she had indeed inherited Winston’s holdings, they’d crawl out of the woodwork.

  She spun to cast a cold glare. “You will answer my questions.”

  “You enjoy spouting orders, don’t you?”

  She glared harder.

  He caught his grin, wondering if she’d ever spouted an order before he’d arrived. “Tell me, do people always obey you?” he whispered. The opportunity to tease her couldn’t be wasted. She looked too adorable.

  “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

  “Not.” He grasped her waist. “At least not here.” Lifting her onto the seat, he added, “We’ll discuss it at home.” The word burned his tongue. Winston’s house wasn’t his home, hadn’t been for many years, yet, he hadn’t stuttered saying it. He turned and walked around the back of the buggy to the other side.

  The report of a gun firing had him diving into the rig, shoving Sara onto the floor and covering her with his body all in one swift movement.

  The whiz of a bullet made his scalp tingle, as did the sight of the hole it had made while ripping through the black leather canopy.

  Startled, the horse tried to bolt, but the wheel lock held, which had the horse stomping and snorting against the restraint and the buggy rocking.

  “Stay down,” he hissed as Sara tried to push off the floorboard.

  “What happened?”

  “Someone just shot at us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There’s a hole in the leather to prove it.” Trying to tune in his hearing, he added, “Shh.”