UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER'S SECRET

There was no hint of Sara anywhere. “Where’s Sara?” he repeated, not caring who Mable was or what she’d said.

  “She’s delivering thank-you notes,” Amelia said. “And inviting people to the Christmas party.”

  Fury along with a sense of panic he’d never experienced exploded inside him. “You left her alone? Where?” Without waiting for answer, he shouted for Walter.

  “She’s at the parsonage,” Amelia said.

  “She’d better be.” Crofton ran for the buggy as Walter walked out of the office. “If I’m not back in five minutes, shut down the mill and send every man out searching for Sara.” The knot in his stomach changed his mind. “Don’t wait! Shut down the mill now!”

  Slapping the reins over the horse’s backside, he spun the buggy around and headed toward town at a full gallop. Wagons, horses and people careened out of his way, and he didn’t slow the horse down until the buggy took the final corner. He jumped sideways on the seat in order for his weight to keep the little rig from flipping, and bounced erratically as it landed back on all four wheels moments before he pulled on the reins and slammed on the brake.

  The buggy and horse were still rolling forward when he leaped out and ran up the walkway leading to the parsonage.

  Reverend Borman opened the door before Crofton arrived at the steps. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Is Sara here?” Crofton asked.

  “No. Why? What’s happened?”

  “Have you seen her?” The urgency welling inside Crofton grew and he spun around to scan the buildings and yards nearby. “I have to find her immediately.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Reverend Borman said. “I just arrived home. Let me ask Martha if she’s seen her.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  The woman’s voice had Crofton spinning back to the house.

  “A short time ago, while hanging clothes on the line I saw her and Mr. Morton from the backyard. I was just going to mention to the reverend that the man must have been found.”

  Crofton was biting his tongue to keep the curse words from flowing. “Where did you see them? What direction were they going?”

  “Toward the train station,” Mrs. Borman said.

  Without offering his thanks, Crofton spun and started to run. He started cursing aloud, too, at how, after all that’d happened, Sara could still hold trust in Bugsley. She knew Crofton had been looking for Morton—everyone knew.

  “Damn it,” he muttered while darting into a narrow passageway between two buildings as a shortcut to the train station. “How can she still trust that man?”

  Crofton shot out from between the buildings and headed toward the depot at a full run. Not slowing until the ticket booth was within a few feet, he grabbed the ledge while skidding to a stop. “Did Sara Parks get on the last train? The one that left a few minutes ago. Was she on it?”

  The ticket taker turned about, but it was the person behind the clerk that caught and held Crofton’s attention. The woman was clearly a working girl, and she’d been working.

  Darting around the caged front, he shoved open the side door. “How much were you offered to distract him?” Crofton asked, pointing toward the clerk but speaking to the woman. “While Bugsley Morton snuck Sara Parks on the train?”

  “Distract?” The clerk shook his head. “I wasn’t distracted.”

  “Weren’t you?” Crofton demanded. “Then you saw whether Sara Parks boarded the train or not.”

  The man bowed his head.

  Crofton almost exploded as he turned to the woman. “Where is Morton taking her?”

  She pulled the short sleeves of her dress onto her shoulders. “I have not seen Mr. Morton. I was merely—”

  “You will be on the next train out of town if you don’t tell me what you know right now,” Crofton roared. “There won’t be jobs for anyone in this town if something happens to Sara Parks,” he continued, including the ticket taker in his glare. “I’ll burn the mill down myself and laugh as this town dries up and blows away.”

  “That’s what you came here to do,” she said. “But Bugsley isn’t going to let that happen. He knows you aren’t really Winston’s son, and will prove it.”

  With confirmation his instincts were right, Crofton turned to the ticket taker. “Is that train scheduled to stop between here and Denver?”

  “No, sir, but—”

  “Wire every depot between here and Denver,” he ordered. “If that train stops, I want Morton arrested.”

  “Morton didn’t get on the Denver train,” the clerk hollered as Crofton ran out the door.

  Spinning about, he asked, “Where is he then?”

  “They hitched Mr. Lincoln’s private cars to the workers’ train and headed to the railhead.”

  “Damn it!” He’d heard the worker train rattle past the mill and hadn’t even glanced out the window. Leaping off the platform, he commandeered a horse and rode to the mill. The place had been shut down, and he steered the horse toward the train engine that had hauled down a load of logs this morning.

  “Did you find her?” Amelia shouted, running to meet him.

  “No,” Crofton said, dropping to the ground.

  “Oh, dear, maybe she’s—”

  “She’s on her way to the railhead,” Crofton supplied. Several of the men had gathered around and he gestured toward the train. “Unhook that log car and find the engineer!”

  Among the men, Walter asked, “What for? Did you find her?”

  “Morton has her,” Crofton answered, “and that engine’s going to take me to the railhead right behind them.”

  “That engine’s made for short routes,” Walter said.

  Crofton had already weighed his options. He had no idea what Morton was planning, but his gut knew what the man was capable of, and that included murder. “A horse will take too long to get there.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The pounding in her temples was as strong as the sting in her eyes and the rumbling of the train car rolling on the tracks. Sara glanced between Bugsley and Levi Lincoln. “Married?”

  Both men nodded. She willed the tears not to form, not to flow as she glanced around the elegant car. Settling her gaze back on the men, she asked, “And why do I need to tell the workers that—” she rubbed her burning nose “—that Crofton is married?”

  “Because they have to know there is at least one Parks they can trust,” Bugsley said.

  Both he and Levi Lincoln were sitting across from her, in chairs covered in red velvet with elaborately carved arms and legs. She’d ridden in one of the railroad’s private cars before, but wasn’t enjoying it this time. When Bugsley had asked her to accompany him to Mr. Lincoln’s private car, she’d suggested the men meet both her and Crofton at the mill. He’d agreed, but once they’d arrived at the train car, he’d literally forced her aboard, something she would not forget. Ever.

  Lips pinched, she glared at him. “Married or not, they can trust Crofton.”

  “I don’t understand where you acquired so much admiration for him,” Bugsley said. “So much trust.”

  She stopped before saying Crofton said the same about him.

  “He’s been lying to you since he arrived.”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  “So, he told you he was married?”

  Her stomach didn’t drop this time, but her heart ached a bit harder.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  The pain spread throughout her body. “Crofton—”

  “Will do what Crofton wants. That’s what he’s always done. He could have visited Winston years ago, but instead chose to wait until after his death, so he could step in and take over everything, knowing his father wouldn’t have allowed that if he was still alive.”

  “That’s not true. Winston would hav
e welcomed him,” she insisted, even as her mind tried to comprehend Crofton being married.

  “You only saw the Winston you wanted to. I knew the businessman. That’s truly what he was. His business meant more to him than family ever did. He would never have left them in Ohio if that wasn’t true.”

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, my dear,” Mr. Lincoln said. “Crofton is a lot like Winston in that aspect. He left his family behind in order to seek his fortune, too.

  “I found many of the things Mr. Morton told me suspicious, but when he said Crofton claimed someone deliberately sabotaged Winston’s buggy, I knew I had to come out here and take care of things myself.”

  “That’s where you’ve been?” she asked Bugsley. “In Denver, tattling on Crofton.”

  He leaned forward and touched her hand, which she promptly pulled away.

  “I promised Winston I’d take care of things for you, and that’s what I’ve been doing.” With a wave towards Mr. Lincoln, he said, “The railroad’s not happy about Crofton’s arrival, and may pull their contracts if he takes over. That would be the end of Parks Lumber and Royalton.”

  Her spine stiffened. “They can’t do that.” Turning her gaze toward Mr. Lincoln, she asked, “Where would you get the lumber you need?”

  “Parks Lumber isn’t the only lumber company in these mountains,” Mr. Lincoln said. “Others are already vying for the chance to put in bids. To take over.”

  A wave of frustration washed over her so fully her heart sank. She’d heard Winston discuss rival companies more than once. Anger at Crofton built inside her. He’d never mentioned a wife. Then again, most everything he’d said were lies. Claiming he didn’t want any of the inheritance, but as soon as they’d met with Ralph Wainwright he’d jumped right in to do just that.

  “We have to stop him, Sara,” Bugsley said. “The railroad’s a powerful force to contend with, and they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.”

  She wished the curtains were open, so she could see outside, and not feel so trapped. There were a lot of other wishes rolling around inside her, too, but wishes rarely came true. This time they couldn’t. Winston couldn’t return from the dead.

  “Did you hear me, Sara?”

  “I heard you,” she said. “But I still don’t see how me telling the workers Crofton is married will help anyone.”

  “Well, dear, that is something we need to discuss in detail,” Mr. Lincoln said.

  “What details?”

  “The workers at the railhead need their jobs. Especially as winter is setting in. If they believe someone is jeopardizing that, I may not be able to stop them.”

  “Stop them from what?”

  The men looked at each other and then back at her. Her legs shook as their implication became clear. Swallowing, she asked, “Are you suggesting—”

  Both men nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Sara, but yes,” Bugsley said. “The death of his friend should have told Crofton that no one meddles in the railroad’s business, but he was too stubborn to listen. There again he’s a lot like Winston.”

  Tears stung her eyes as she whispered, “What can—”

  “You can tell the workers that Crofton is married and will be returning to his ranch,” Mr. Lincoln said, “and that Mr. Morton will be in charge.”

  She shook her head. “Crofton inherited half of everything.”

  “That may be true, my dear, but once you are married to Bugsley the railroad will back you in challenging the will.”

  * * *

  Crofton had never cursed so much in his life. He actually ran out of words to shout at the engine that barely chugged along the rail line.

  “She’s built for pulling power,” Chris Bolton said. “Not speed. I told you that before we left.”

  “I know what you told me,” Crofton shouted over the noise of the locomotive. “I can run faster than this.”

  The engineer shook his head. “We’ll be at the railhead shortly. I just hope we don’t encounter the worker train returning. This girl isn’t fond of backing up—”

  “We won’t be backing up,” Crofton declared. He’d never felt so useless, and the image of Sara hurt and scared intensified with each minute that ticked by.

  “Well, it won’t be long,” the engineer replied.

  But it was long enough to drive Crofton to the edge of sanity. By the time the engine rolled into the canvas town, he’d practically worn out the soles of his boots from pacing the small area. Before the wheels came to a complete stop, he bolted down the metal steps and headed for the private car that was parked on the switchback.

  Snow had started to fall and was already piling up on the ground. He glanced toward the billowing canvas tents. Dozens upon dozens of them. Sara could be anywhere. It would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

  “Damn it,” he growled as he turned his attention back on the private car. She better be inside it.

  Through the snow, he clearly made out Woody Wilson leaning against the side of the train car. Recalling the gunslinger sitting with Morton in the saloon the day of Winston’s funeral sent Crofton’s anger to a new level.

  “Where is she?” he asked upon stopping directly in front of Wilson.

  Dressed in black from head to toe, the man tipped back the brim of his hat. “Who?”

  “You know.”

  With a nod and a quick glance around, Wilson said, “That information will depend on how much it’s worth to you.”

  Not in the mood for any games, Crofton grabbed Woody’s throat with one hand and pulled the gun from the man’s holster with the other. Pressing the barrel into Wilson’s gut, he growled, “No, it depends on how much your life is worth to you.”

  “I ain’t the one who put the fly in your buttermilk,” Wilson said.

  Crofton pulled back the hammer. “Where is she?”

  “Don’t go doing anything rash, now,” Wilson said. “Your sister’s fine.”

  A sister was not how he thought of Sara, but Crofton wasn’t about to tell the gunslinger that. Grabbing one of Woody’s arms, Crofton used the gun to motion the man toward the rear of the car, “Tell them to open the door.”

  Questions filled his mind, and although Wilson might have some of the answers, Crofton chose to stay silent. He also paid close attention to his surroundings. Woody Wilson had been waiting for him. That meant others were, too.

  “Who says she’s in the car?”

  Crofton wouldn’t put it past Wilson to lead him on a goose chase. “Tell them to open the door.”

  As he neared the back of the car, Wilson shouted, “Got company out here.”

  The door opened and Wilson stepped aside, gesturing for Crofton to enter first.

  Not about to have someone on his back, Crofton waved the gun, telling Wilson to enter first. Scanning behind and in front of him, Crofton followed up the steps and into the car. He recognized the bearded man seated at the table. Levi Lincoln had been promoted into a ranking officer of the Santa Fe railroad last year. The car, full of plush furnishing and framed maps, said the railroad believed in providing their officers with the best of everything.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” Levi said.

  Woody nodded and then turned, hand out.

  At the moment the gun in his hand was the only bargaining tool Crofton had. He smiled, but shook his head before sticking the gun into the waistband of his britches. In the rush of things, he’d left his gun in the mill office back in Royalton. A foolish mistake. One he’d been cursing since leaving.

  Levi stood. “You can leave,” he said to Wilson. “I’m sure Mr. Parks will return your gun once our conversation has been completed.” Once the gunslinger had shut the door behind him, Levi said, “Have a seat, Mr. Parks. We need to have a discussion before yo
u are reunited with your sister.”

  Crofton refused to sit. “Where is she?”

  “You seem to have grown awfully fond of a sister you’d never met until a couple of weeks ago.”

  A ball of fire ignited in his stomach. “You know as well as I that she’s not my sister.”

  “I do,” Levi said with a nod. “Don’t worry, she’s not in danger. Please, have a seat so we can talk.” Sitting back down, he said, “I’m not your enemy, Mr. Parks. In fact, I’m the only one willing to make this work.”

  “Make what work?”

  “You taking over for your father.” With a slight nod, he continued, “I do offer you my condolences. Your father was a first-class businessman.” With a hand, he waved toward a large, framed map of the states. “See all those red lines—those are railroad routes. Santa Fe routes now that we’ve acquired the SPR, MTK and several other lines. We were the first line to reach Colorado back in seventy-three. Since then, your father played a large part in our expansion.”

  Crofton gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Along with how you created a demand for your services by selling parcels of the land congress had granted to the railroad.”

  Levi grinned. “That, too. There’s a sparse number of people between Kansas and California. It takes money to build a line, and it takes people to make one work. We need cargo to haul, and people to transport. I’ve been told you’re disappointed we had to pull out of Arizona. The terrain down there is just too much to take on right now. Once we have established regular commissions, we’ll look at that possibility again.”

  Although he wasn’t here to talk about the railroad, that was exactly what Levi Lincoln wanted, and at the moment, Levi was the only route to finding Sara. Crofton’s jaw tightened. He could search every tent and never find her. These were railroad workers, not lumber-mill workers. Putting on a false front, Crofton sat down. “The ranchers need a way to get their cattle to markets now.”

  “I may be able to speed that process up, for the right kind of deal.”

  A knot tightened in Crofton’s stomach. “Sara?”

  Levi tapped the tips of his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair. “Morton led me to believe you don’t care about Sara. It’s the money you’re after. So you can build up your cattle ranch.”