UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER'S SECRET

by ROBINSON, LAURI

  “Boiled eggs, already peeled, ham slices, cheese and apple pie.” Walter grinned. “There’s enough for two.”

  “As there has been all week,” Crofton said, shoving memories aside while pulling the cloth off the top of the basket.

  “I could get used to this,” Walter said. “Already am.” Rolling up his sleeves, he added, “I’m getting used to the idea of Sara as a boss, too. It was a concern for all of us—we worried about what would happen with Winston gone. Then you showed up and we worried about that.” Taking a moment to examine the egg he was about to put in his mouth, Walter added, “Funny thing what folks worry about, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he answered, just because it was expected. Although it was odd the things he was worried about lately. There were mill-related issues, but they were mostly due to how people would relate to Sara running things, and how she would handle that. In the long scheme of things, that’s what he was working toward. She would have to take over things 100 percent. He would make the trip up this way from his ranch now and again to check on her, but she’d be on her own most of the time and that’s what he’d focused his attention on lately. Making sure the mill could practically run itself. Namely due to the railroad contracts. Once those ran out, he might have to commit a portion of time to help her get other endeavors in place to keep the number of people working that were employed by the mill.

  He wouldn’t mind that. Coming up here to help her. The mill had grown on him. He liked the challenge it held. Working with lumber was far more enjoyable than cows. It shouldn’t be, he’d invested a lot of time in building up his ranch, but had to admit, he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he did the lumber business. That could have a lot to do with following in his father’s footsteps, or it could have a lot to do with Sara.

  He worried about her in general. Without help, the mill might become too much for her. Eventually she would take a husband, and that didn’t settle well with him. He wasn’t overly sure he wanted an outsider running Winston’s enterprise.

  Walter was speaking again and something he’d said caught Crofton’s attention.

  “What?”

  “I said it’s commendable, stepping in to help your sister like you have,” Walter explained.

  “Sara’s not my sister.” Crofton couldn’t pinpoint what bothered him about people saying that, but it did. He had no trouble accepting Winston had loved her as a daughter, or her inheriting the mill and everything else, but he could not, would not, accept she was his sister.

  Walter nodded slightly and ate another egg before saying, “She plans on coming down to the mill tomorrow to pass out the payroll like Winston used to. I said she didn’t need to, but she insisted.”

  “I’ll discuss that with her,” Crofton said, not liking that idea, either.

  “I figured you’d want to,” Walter said, “that’s why I brought it up, even though she told me not to.”

  “Smart man,” Crofton said.

  “Another smart man would make sure she doesn’t discover I told him.”

  Crofton chuckled. He liked Walter, and his way of thinking. “Agreed.”

  They spoke of a few mill issues as they ate their meal, and then Crofton gathered his hat and jacket while Walter put the used plates back inside the empty basket.

  “I’m heading to the train station,” Crofton said. “I’m catching a ride out to the bridge site. Won’t be back until around five, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good enough,” Walter said. “I’ll leave the basket on the counter for you to pick up. Don’t want Amelia getting upset by you not following orders.”

  “More like you want to make sure she has the basket for tomorrow.”

  “That, too,” the other man agreed with good humor.

  Crofton headed for the train station, and though his mind should be on the tasks at hand, they’d once again reverted back to Sara. Her stitches had been removed and the doctor had given her permission to assume normal activities, which included going to town, either walking or in a buggy. Keeping her at home wouldn’t be as easy as it had been the past few days. That in part was why he was heading to the bridge site ten miles west of town. The tracks needed to cross the river, and span the wide-open space from delta to delta high above the water. The building of the bridge would continue for several months. It was also where Josiah Westerlund was stationed. Time had come to assure the man that Winston’s untimely death would not interrupt the mill’s ability to complete the contracts as promised.

  The station was a hive of activity, both because a westbound train full of passengers from Denver and farther east had arrived and, on an alternate track, a train pulling carloads of needed supplies was being prepared to depart. Crofton jumped onto one of the boxed-in cars that held nothing but rows of benches for the workers who traveled back and forth at intervals throughout the day. Immersing himself in all aspects of his father’s business had provided him with far more knowledge than he’d had when he arrived in Royalton, and his respect for all his father had accomplished continued to grow. A part of him had latched on to the excitement of the railroad expansion that fed the town, and he found himself wanting to see this project to fruition probably as much as his father had. Or as much as Sara did. That was really where his loyalty lay. He wanted her to be a success more so than he’d ever wanted it for himself.

  He’d ridden on trains before, but now held a new appreciation for being able to travel ten miles in less than an hour, complete his business and return to town in time for supper. Sara continued to insist supper was served at six, and he refused to disappoint her on that matter, either.

  Josiah Westerlund met him as soon as he stepped off the train. A big man, with a handshake that said he not only oversaw the workforce, he worked alongside them.

  “It’s good to meet ya,” the man greeted him with a thick northern accent. “There’s been some rumbling about the mill, with the fire and all.”

  “I’m sure there has been,” Crofton answered. “That’s why I wanted to come and personally let you know all is well. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Ya, Mr. Morton said the same,” Josiah answered, gesturing for them to move toward a canvas village of sorts. Several dozen tents and other structures housed and were used by the workers and those who lived here rather than taking the train back and forth to Royalton regularly. Once the bridge was complete, the entire village would follow, setting up on the other side, and then farther down the tracks. “And I read the paper.”

  Yesterday’s edition of the weekly paper held the headline Prodigal Son Returns and had surprised him. The article had been rather flattering and focused on how he and Sara were working together and how the Parks Lumber Company had continued to operate at full capacity throughout the recent disasters. If it hadn’t stated he and Sara were brother and sister several times, he might have appreciated Elliott Cross’s writing abilities. Letting that subject go, Crofton asked, “When was Morton out here?”

  “Not since the day afore the funeral,” Josiah said. “Can’t lay tracks on frozen ground, so we couldn’t stop working to attend, but we did take a break and blow the whistle at noon, in honor of your father. He was a good man. He made the trip out here every Monday.”

  “I understand that, and thank you, he was a good man.” Following the man inside one of the larger tents, Crofton asked, “Has Bugsley been out here since?”

  “No.” Lifting a pot off a crudely built iron stove, Josiah asked, “Coffee?”

  “Sure.” Crofton stopped near the huge table where several large sheets of paper had rocks holding down each corner to keep them from rolling up.

  “I laid out the plans so you could see the progress,” Josiah said. “We are right on schedule. This weather has held out, just as Winston said it would. Giving us time to get her set before the ground freezes and the snow flies. We’ll be able to build
the trestles through the winter months and come spring, start laying tracks on the other side.”

  The man took the time to show him every aspect of the bridge building, and though he would never allow her to trek over some of the trails he took to see the bridge base, Crofton did consider bringing Sara out to the site on his next visit. Seeing the actual progress would be good for her. Josiah answered all his questions, and asked several of his own, and by the time he was ready to board the train now headed back toward town, Crofton considered Josiah an ally. The man had readily agreed to send word immediately if Morton showed up at the site.

  The trip back was quick and convenient, and after picking up the basket from the mill office, Crofton took the pathway up the mountain rather than the road. Just like on the road, he’d ordered men to guard the path, making sure no one had access to the house in his absence. With Walter’s help, the guards had been handpicked and each day he took the time to stop and chat with each one.

  Bill Mix was on the trail this evening, and stepped out of the woods as Crofton made his way up the hill.

  “See anything today, Bill?”

  “A bull elk that’s gonna be on my supper table one of these days,” Bill answered.

  Crofton nodded. “He’s all yours, but not until we know no one’s sneaking around out here.”

  “I hear you on that one, Boss,” Bill said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Crofton continued on his way, scanning the area as he walked. Other than the path, the foliage made the hillside almost impassable, and he appreciated that. At the house, he entered through the back door, delivered the basket to Amelia and took the back stairway to the second floor to change his shirt. The train was convenient, but the soot and the dirt trekking down to the bridge base had left on his clothes would be frowned upon at the dinner table.

  At first he’d questioned wearing Winston’s clothing; now he was glad to have a clean supply at hand. Amelia had been right. They might as well be used.

  As he took the corner at the top, his reflexes acted faster than his mind as he grabbed Sara with both hands to keep her from barreling into him. “Hey, there, slow down. Where you off to in such a hurry?”

  Her face was flushed, her hair shimmering in the low evening sun shining through the windows, and her eyes sparkling. The smile on her face was as bright as the rest of her. All in all, she dang near took his breath away.

  “I saw you come up the hill,” she said. “I was just going down to say hello.”

  “Well, in that case...” He stepped back and bowed at the waist before taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “Hello.”

  Her lifting laugh filled the hallway as she curtsied. “Hello.” She popped back up and asked, “Walter said you were going out to the bridge site, did you?”

  He stepped around her and removed his coat while walking toward his bedroom, where Amelia had filled the freestanding closet with clothes. “Yes, I did.”

  Her skirt and slips rustled as she twirled about and followed him. “And?”

  Unbuttoning his cuffs, and then the front of his shirt, he pulled it off as he entered his room. “And what?”

  “How’s the bridge look?”

  Tossing the shirt and coat on a chair, he crossed the room. “Not much like a bridge.” Selecting a shirt much like the one he’d removed, he added, “Actually, I was thinking that next time I go out there, I’d let you tag along.”

  He expected an excited reply, so when silence lingered, he turned about. She stood in the open doorway, and it took a moment before he realized what she was staring at.

  Never in his life had he blushed, but at that moment, he may have. Her gaze was glued to his bare chest and that sent a swirl of heat from his shoulders downward. He stopped the thought of where that heat pooled. She’d lived a sheltered life, and obviously had never seen a man without a shirt on before.

  Her gaze shot upward, to his face and her cheeks turned as pink as her dress. He considered commenting, but figured she was embarrassed enough. Or maybe, just like when he’d accidently bumped her breast the day after her accident—an event that still made his hand burn—he wasn’t willing to go down that route.

  “Would you like that?” He sounded like a frog croaking.

  “What?”

  Clearing his throat, he said, “See the bridge?”

  Her eyes sparked before dimming. “That wouldn’t be proper.”

  Several other improper things were popping around in his head. He put on the shirt while walking toward her. “I think it would be proper for the mill owner to see what her lumber is building.”

  The expressions on her face showed her entire thought process, and he loved the smile that was the end result. “You’re right.”

  Because of the blood racing through his veins, he didn’t attempt to stop himself. Bending slightly, he kissed her forehead. “I’m always right,” he whispered against her skin.

  The shiver that rippled his skin may have started within him or it may have come from her. Either way, he was certain it encompassed both of them before he stepped away.

  “I won’t go so far as to say always.”

  Her smile was so adorable he laughed at the delight it filled him with. “I would.”

  She stretched on her toes and kissed his cheek before spinning about. “Hurry up. I’m hungry.”

  Stunned, it was a moment before he realized he was holding two fingers against his cheek, right where her lips had touched, and a moment longer before his feet remembered what they were made for. Catching up with her in the hallway, he buttoned his shirt as they walked side by side, and then gave her his elbow to hold on to as they descended the front staircase together.

  Floundering a bit inside, he managed a bit of small talk as they walked. Asking about her day, but not truly hearing what she said. His mind was fathoming if she had kissed him. A simple peck on the cheek couldn’t be considered a kiss any more than the ones he’d bestowed upon her forehead, but the touch of her lips had affected him.

  Probably for the first time in his life, he had no idea if Amelia’s cooking was as good as he claimed or not. With Sara sitting across from him it was hard to think of anything else. She’d not only healed the last few days, she’d blossomed. Like a wild rosebush come spring, her petals had furled back to reveal a delicate splendor one couldn’t help but admire.

  After the meal, they retired to the front porch, as they’d done the past few evenings. She had on a knitted white shawl, and pulled it tighter.

  “We won’t be able to do this much longer,” she said. “The weather is growing colder.”

  “It is December,” he pointed out, mainly because he didn’t want to think about how much he enjoyed sitting out here with her.

  “I know. It feels strange setting out Christmas decorations while it’s so warm outside.”

  He watched her expression, looking for sadness, before saying, “They look nice, though.”

  “Thank you. Amelia likes having them out all month. So did mother.” She smiled and shook her head. “Did you know the government commissioned surveys of four railroad routes through the West after the war?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Yes.” His father had acquired the entire series of bound books containing those reports years ago. They covered everything from the geographical elements, vegetation, minerals and climates, to the animals and people residing in each region. In the evenings, while studying those volumes, his father had told him about such things and how he felt Colorado would be the best place for them to build their next lumber mill. He’d been excited about the adventure and overly discouraged upon learning he and his mother wouldn’t accompany his father on the first trip West.

  “One proposed route was through Arizona and New Mexico, but the desert between there and California made that route impractical, if not imposs
ible.”

  “That’s why the route that was proposed headed north after Arizona rather than straight west. To connect with the already established route heading west. The one that is currently being built,” he explained.

  Her sky blue eyes held a twinkle. “Perhaps, then, that route hasn’t been completely canceled, simply delayed until the rest of the route is completed.”

  He didn’t like shooting down her hopefulness, but the truth was the truth. “No. They completely canceled it. They’d already started acquiring land, and the mineral rights, twenty miles on both sides of the proposed track, but right before making those agreed-upon payments to the property owners, they pulled out.” Turning to fully engage her as he spoke, he continued, “It didn’t make any sense because they hadn’t met any opposition. People were willing to wait the years they said it would take. Even an extension of that timeline wouldn’t have been opposed, but they completely withdrew the deal off the table.”

  The way she nibbled on her bottom lip said she was contemplating what he’d said.

  Continuing, Crofton said, “Railroad expansion is very profitable. Offshoot branches are being built across the nation and there is a lot of money to be made on the smaller lines. There is no regulation of what they can charge to transport goods, but people are willing to pay high prices in order to ship their grain and cattle to larger markets because they make more of a profit than what they would locally. Congress has yet to figure out a way to regulate the rates, which is why railroad expansion is still happening, and why pulling out that southern line doesn’t make a lot of sense. None really, unless someone had the money to buy off the line.”

  “Buy off the line? Are you now suggesting Winston—?”

  That had been his thought at one time, but it had altered over the past week. “No, I don’t believe Winston bought off the railroad, but something happened.”

  “And that something caused your friend’s death.”