His thoughts hadn’t been on Mel recently, on finding his murderer and that gouged at his conscience. He hadn’t thought of his ranch much, either, of the work others were doing for him while he was up here.
“Is that Elliott Cross coming up the driveway?”
Crofton glanced toward the road. “Looks like it. He probably wants our praise for the article he wrote.”
“It was a nice article,” she said. “Hardly contained a bad word or insult.”
“Which is out of the ordinary for Cross from what I’ve heard.”
Her smile said she agreed but considering the other man would soon be within hearing distance she chose not to say it aloud.
Crofton stood as the man approached the porch. Living in the company of Sara and Amelia had made him more aware of the good manners that had been instilled in him as a child, but it didn’t mean he used them on every occasion. “Cross.”
“Mr. Parks, Miss Parks,” Elliott answered, tipping his head in Sara’s direction. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything this evening, but it was brought to my attention, Mr. Parks, that you visited the bridge site today and I was wondering if you’d care to make a remark on the progress you witnessed for next week’s edition.”
Crofton believed the newspaper man was interested in the bridge progress, but couldn’t get past his dislike of the man. “You can travel out there at any time, free of charge. Josiah will give you a complete report.”
“I intend to,” Elliott answered. “An additional quote from you will simply add weight to my article. You are quickly being accepted as the new most influential man in Royalton.”
Crofton took the man’s words for what they were meant to be. A poke in the eye rather than a compliment.
With a grin as sly as a weasel’s Cross said, “The town was concerned about the future. That is until Sara’s big brother arrived to save the day.”
Instantly angered, Crofton growled, “Insulting Sara will get you nowhere, except kicked off this property.”
“Insulting Sara? I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” Cross insisted. “No one would. Everyone is very happy the two of you are getting along so well. A dispute between siblings would certainly be a disruption.” Turning to Sara, he said, “Perhaps if your dear brother doesn’t have a comment, you do, Sara?”
The man’s continued reference to them being brother and sister was making Crofton’s jaw burn.
“If you have something to add, I’d be honored to include it. I’ve attempted to come see you several times, but your guards wouldn’t let me pass until this evening. I’m assuming that is because your brother is at home. It appears he wants to keep you all to himself.”
Crofton had plenty to say, especially about the man’s implications, but Sara spoke first. “He was simply assuring I got the rest I needed, Mr. Cross. I also must point out that like when Winston was alive, we do not attend to business in the evenings. Both Crofton and I will be at the mill tomorrow and will provide you with statements then.” She rounded the table. “Now, if you will excuse us.”
She’d hooked her arm through his elbow, and pride welled inside Crofton. He lifted a brow at Cross before turning to escort Sara into the house.
As he closed the door behind them, she shivered from head to toe.
“What’s that about?” Crofton asked.
“He makes my skin crawl,” she said.
Her nose was wrinkled up and her face puckered. Without thought, Crofton wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close. “He’s just set on selling his newspapers.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “I know.”
He hadn’t been hugged in a long time, nor hugged someone, and it felt so good that Crofton tightened his hold, keeping her within his arms. Her sigh filled him with contentment, and he had no desire to let her loose.
She was the first to move, shifting slightly and lifting her face upward. The shine of her eyes, of her face, filled him with the same sense of awe as watching the sun rise over the mountain peaks. When he bent forward, he wasn’t aiming for her forehead.
Warm and moist, her lips met his in an unhurried rush that was as sweet and tender as it was stirring. The connection held a secret, a promise that made him want more. He pulled her closer, tasting and seeking something that seemed elusive. As if he was starving and she the nourishment he needed but couldn’t quite get.
A sound or outside awareness tugged at his mind and pulled him out of the kiss. As his eyes opened, over Sara’s head his focus landed on Amelia standing in the dining room doorway, glaring at him as if he’d just splattered her freshly laundered clothes with mud.
Chapter Fourteen
Sara didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted Crofton’s lips to be pressed against hers again. She’d never experienced anything so wonderful. So powerful. It had been as if she’d entered a real-life dream world, beyond the curtains of reality where angels sang and all was tranquil and elegant and perfect. Oh, so perfect.
As she came to understand it wasn’t a chorus of angels singing in her ears, but rather her own heart thudding so fast it echoed inside her head, she lifted her lids. Crofton was looking over the top of her head, and she twisted to see what held his attention so completely.
Spying the empty dining room, she turned back to him. He smiled softly and pressed a finger to her lips, an action which kept her heart racing.
“I need to make sure Cross left,” he whispered. “You should run on up to bed.”
“Of course Elliott left,” she said. “And it’s barely even dark yet.”
“I know, but you’re still healing, and need the rest.”
He was more like his father than even he could know. Always needing to protect those he loved. Her own thought made a tiny shiver tickle her spine. Crofton couldn’t love her. As the shiver turned into a chill, she nodded, and without looking back, headed for the staircase.
Once in her room, she leaned against the closed door and pressed both hands to her lips. What was happening? She’d kissed Crofton. Sincerely kissed him. Twice. Once on the cheek, an impulse that had come out of nowhere, but the second one had been more than an impulse. A lot more. It had come from a place deep inside her. A want.
Yes, she had wanted to kiss him more strongly than she’d ever wanted something before. Anything.
She hadn’t been frightened, or worried or afraid it wouldn’t happen. She’d known it would and had accepted that without even thinking about it.
Pushing off the door, she crossed the room and opened the door to the balcony. Two hummingbirds fluttered around the feeder she filled each morning for them, and she watched them dart around the glass, pausing briefly to drink the nectar through their long beaks. It was a pair, a dull-colored female and a bright green male with a red band around its neck. Two males would chase each other away, as would two females, but this couple didn’t. Instead they flew about in unison, moving around the glass so the other could take a turn.
Months ago, when the pair hadn’t flown south like all the others, she’d cut a hole in the side of an old basket, put an old fur hand muff inside and attached the basket to the side of the balcony rail near the corner of the house, hoping the birds would find enough warmth inside it to live through the winter.
Used to her, the birds continued to feed as she moved to the balcony rail. Although the office was closed, steam still rose above the mill. Crews would continue cutting logs into lumber until night fell. Elliott Cross’s article had claimed that the mill hadn’t slowed since Winston’s death, not even after the fire, because of the team managing it. Her and Crofton. Crofton did deserve the praise, but the past few days, ever since he’d jolted her out of that low place she’d managed to slip into, she had been helping. Tomorrow she would go to town and oversee the monthly payout of wages
to the workers. It would be a new experience. Winston had never allowed her or her mother to partake in such things. He might have allowed it, but her mother would never have agreed to it. Amelia was right. Mother was a wonderful person, but had long-ago embedded herself into a very small role. She was so thankful to Winston for marrying her, for saving their lives, that she had never dared venture any further.
Sara had to wonder, if only briefly, if that had been all Mother had ever wanted. Being Winston’s wife had provided things she’d never dreamed of—her mother had said as much, but could it have provided more if she’d wanted more?
As her thoughts twisted and collided, loud and clear, as if she stood right beside her, Mother’s voice echoed in her ears.
“You were born in a dirt dugout in the middle of Kansas, didn’t own a pair of shoes until you were five years old and Winston bought them for you. You haven’t wanted for a thing since. Don’t you ever forget that, Sara. Ever.”
She could hear herself answering, “I won’t, Momma, I won’t.”
They’d had that conversation more than once, even though she had never forgotten where she’d come from and why she was here.
Had she forgotten it recently? Working with Crofton the past few days, learning about the mill, the railroad, and searching for answers had filled her with a unique sense of being. Like she didn’t need to pretend she belonged here because she truly did belong here. She had never been unhappy in her life, but maybe she’d never been truly happy, either.
Still gazing at the mill, she rested her hands on the rail. She did want to see the railroad built. But was she doing it for Winston? Or herself. Or Crofton?
Brought right back to where it had started, her mind once again settled on the kiss downstairs. The memory made her smile, but before the well of happiness had time to consume her, a knock sounded on her door. She had only made it as far as the balcony door when Amelia walked in the room.
“Going to bed already?” she asked.
Sara shrugged, not overly sure.
“Confused?”
“Yes,” Sara admitted. “About several things.”
“I expect you are,” Amelia said. “Throw two people together long enough and they come out either hating each other, or loving each other.”
Sara didn’t respond. She certainly didn’t hate Crofton, but did she love him? And if she did, what did that mean? Not of a mind to contemplate the great wonders of that, she moved to the door. “I have some papers I need to go over in the office.”
“Crofton went to town,” Amelia said, following her down the hallway. “But I’m here if you want to talk.”
Sara nodded, but had no intention of talking. She didn’t intend to read through more of Winston’s paperwork, either. The answers she sought needed to come from within. And they had very little to do with the mill or the railroad.
Crofton hadn’t returned home when she left the office hours later, and he was absent from the breakfast table. She’d tossed and turned half the night thinking and wondering. This morning, while getting dressed, she’d concluded it was all for naught. She didn’t have time for love. Crofton didn’t, either. Not with all that needed to be done. Which was best. Thinking about love meant thinking about marriage. She’d told several people she wasn’t interested in that, and going back on her word would make them question everything she said. There was more to it than that. She couldn’t marry her stepbrother.
“Crofton says you’re going to town today,” Amelia said from where she stood near the stove.
“Yes, would you like to join me?”
“Already told Crofton I’ll drive you down the hill. Gotta pick up a few things at Wellington’s.”
Despite her sleepless night, and her confusion, Sara was looking forward to the day. “We’ll leave around eleven. The payout is at noon.”
Amelia handed her a plate with two peeled boiled eggs. “I know—Crofton took the cash box from the safe with him so you won’t have to worry about carrying it.”
“I plan on inviting people to our Christmas party while in town. I’m going to do that while delivering thank-you notes to people who assisted with the service. I haven’t had a chance to do that yet.”
Sara waited for Amelia’s response. They hadn’t discussed the annual Christmas party that Winston always hosted, but this morning, she’d concluded it needed to happen. Not on Christmas day, Winston always insisted that be just family. “We’ll have the party next Sunday. That’s more than a week before Christmas—do you think people will be able to come?”
Amelia smiled. “I think that’s a fine idea. Sunday will work perfectly. Oh, and I pressed that blue dress of your mother’s for you. The one with the jacket you always admired,” Amelia said.
Sara glanced down at the green-and-white-striped dress she’d chosen to wear this morning.
“That has too much lace. It’s a girl’s dress,” Amelia said. “You’re a businesswoman now, and need to dress like one.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of things you haven’t thought about, but in time you will. Besides, it’s cold out today. You’ll need a jacket.”
A queasiness filled her stomach. “I’m sure I will, but I’m not—”
“Comfortable wearing your mother’s clothes?” Amelia asked. “I’ll tell you what I told Crofton—no sense in good clothes going to waste. I’ll carry it upstairs while you’re eating.”
Sara did wear the dress, and was glad. Putting it on was like receiving a hug from her mother, and the image in the mirror looking back at her did look like a grown woman. She was glad of that, too.
The temperature had dropped considerably, hinting that snow may not be far away, and Sara was glad to be wearing the warm suit. As Amelia parked the buggy in front of the dry goods store, Mable Hollister waved from the post office across the street.
“I’ll go see what she has for us,” Amelia said, “and meet you inside Wellington’s in a minute.”
“Actually,” Sara said, but had to wait until the train whistle died to continue. “Considering you haven’t seen Mable for a while, and she’ll want to chat, why don’t I take the thank-you note over to Reverend and Mrs. Borman? Their place is just around the corner and will probably take me less time than it’ll take you to get the mail.”
“All right,” Amelia agreed. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Sara climbed out of the wagon, and waved to Mable Hollister before stepping onto the boardwalk. The train whistle was sounding again, urging passengers to hurry. At precisely eleven fifteen it would leave for Denver. She contemplated that as she turned the corner, where she stumbled slightly. “Bugsley? Where have you been?”
* * *
Crofton had watched the buggy coming down the hill from the house until it had gone out of view, then he’d turned from the window and sat at the stool behind the counter in the mill office. He hadn’t gotten much work done today. His mind was too busy wandering. After kissing Sara last night, he’d come down to town with the intent of visiting one of the many saloons, but instead had come here, to the mill. He’d forged a connection to the place, and had hoped that would help him sort out a few things.
Whether he liked it or not, Sara needed to be here for the payout today. There wasn’t a lot of time to teach her everything she’d need to know when it came to managing the mill. He couldn’t risk staying longer than necessary. Not after that kiss last night. He’d become comfortable lately. Too comfortable. His mind wasn’t on the things it should be. He’d forgotten the reason he’d come to Royalton, and that had opened him up to other things. Things he didn’t have time for.
Someday when his life was settled, the ranch profitable and his oats sowed, he’d think about finding a woman and getting married. For years, he hadn’t wanted those things. Hadn’t wanted or neede
d anyone. But lately, living with Sara and Amelia, he concluded he did want a family again. Someday. Not yet. If he’d learned one thing from his mother, it was that women needed attention. Constant attention. He didn’t have time for that right now. Wouldn’t for several years.
That was all easier to admit than the idea he’d fallen in love with Sara. There were so many things wrong with that thought, he had to shake his head in an attempt to scatter them.
Forcing his attention on the ledger before him, he double-checked each employee’s name and the total amount they would soon be paid.
He’d just completed the last page when Amelia arrived, waving one arm.
“I wasn’t going to say a word about what I saw last night, but now I am,” she shouted. “How dare you? How dare you?”
He knew what she’d seen last night, but didn’t know what had set her off. “How dare I what?”
She slapped a letter on the counter top. “That is a woman’s handwriting.”
“Yes, it is,” he answered, picking up the letter. “Her name is June.”
“And who is June?”
“She is my friend Mel’s sister,” he said. “I’m sure she’s wondering why I haven’t contacted her yet.”
“Or gone back,” Amelia snapped. “To her. Your wife!” Her eyes, dark with anger, glared as she leaned closer. “Why didn’t you tell us you were married, and why—”
“Married? I’m not married to June or anyone else.”
“You’re not?”
“No,” he said, rounding the counter to walk to the door. Probably as mad as Amelia, Sara must still be in the buggy. As foolish as it was, the idea that she was upset over him being married thrilled him. “June has been married to Gray Hawk for ten years and...”
His thoughts left him and the tickle in his stomach turned rock hard at the sight of the empty buggy. “Where’s Sara?” he asked while rushing out the doorway to glance around.
Amelia shook her head. “Why would Mable tell me—?”
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