UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER'S SECRET

  “What did you do to Lincoln to make him change his mind?” she asked.

  Crofton wasn’t sure he could find his voice. His shirt collar was suddenly tight, and worse yet, he was wondering what Sara would say if he asked her to marry him. It was a foolish thought, but, he had to admit, not as out of the blue as he’d like to think. From the moment he’d met her, all the parts inside him that had been numb for years had been rejuvenated.

  He couldn’t ask her to marry him, couldn’t even consider that. People considered them siblings, and a brother couldn’t marry a sister—not the blood kind or the step kind. That would cause a scandal these parts had never seen before. Besides, he wasn’t ready to be married. His mother had tarnished any and all thoughts he’d had of marriage years ago. It took more than a couple of weeks to undo all that.

  “You were right,” she said. “I should never have trusted Bugsley.”

  He silently cleared his throat in order to say, “You’ve been through a lot the past few weeks. It’s understandable why you’d want to trust him.”

  Letting out a heavy sigh, she said, “But I shouldn’t have.”

  Restraining himself from kissing her forehead, he squeezed her shoulder. “We live and learn.”

  She wrapped one arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. Nothing in his entire life had felt so good. So right.

  “You trusted him because you wanted to,” he whispered. “Because Winston had, you wanted to, too.”

  “Winston would have wanted me to trust you more.” Shifting her head slightly, she asked, “You would have told me if you were married, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She nestled her head back on his shoulder. “I knew that.” Silence lingered for a few moments before she asked, “Have you ever thought of getting married?”

  “No,” he lied. Not up until lately. “I saw what marriage did to my father.”

  “You’d think differently if you’d seen him and my mother. They were so happy,” she said wistfully. “So very, very happy.”

  This conversation and the sensations her closeness caused were dangerous, yet he didn’t feel threatened. Instead, he felt peace and thankfulness his father had not only found success in Colorado, he’d found love and happiness. Had lived a life he deserved. Crofton couldn’t help but wonder if one day he’d deserve that kind of happiness and success, too.

  Knowing she was safe did fill him with thankfulness and he didn’t stop himself from planting a small kiss upon the top of her head. As she snuggled closer, all that had happened started playing out in his mind, and a profound realization hit. A picture of Governor Eaton, who had just been voted in, had hung on the wall next to the railroad maps in Lincoln’s private car. Eaton was also a rancher. A bolt of understanding had Crofton’s eyes snapping open. “That’s it,” he whispered.

  “What’s it?” Sara asked.

  Although the workers had sat nearer to the front of the car, giving them space, he didn’t want anyone to hear the connections his mind had made. “I’ll tell you at home,” he said.

  She lifted her head, and her brows knit together.

  “I promise.”

  The way he winked at her made Sara’s heart skip a beat. This time when she wished Winston had never died, it wasn’t for herself, it was for him, and Crofton. Winston would have been so proud of him. So proud to have known the wonderful man his son had become.

  Once again resting her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “I wasn’t prepared for this, Crofton. For my parents to die. To become responsible for so much. To meet you. Bugsley promised to help me, but each time I felt like I’d gained a bit of ground something else happened. You arrived. I fell. The fire.” She stopped just shy of saying he kissed her. The contentment his kisses filled her with was so special she didn’t want it mixed in with everything else. Couldn’t. His kisses made her forget everything else. “So many things happened, and I truly don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “I’m glad I was here to help you,” he said.

  “Are you?” she asked.

  “Very.”

  Pure contentment filled her and she closed her eyes. “Me, too.”

  When the train jostled, she opened her eyes. She hadn’t fallen asleep, but she had been in that place where all was right in the world. The whistle sounded and she lifted her head. “We’re home.”

  “Yes, we are,” Crofton replied. The air in his lungs felt heavy.

  Sara said nothing as the men started rising from their seats when the train jerked to a stop. Crofton assisted her to her feet and waited as she folded the blanket.

  A part of him wished the ride had been longer. No, that wasn’t true. His wishes were more along the lines of her not being his stepsister. But that would mean he wouldn’t be Winston’s son, or that Winston had never married her mother. He didn’t wish for either of those things. Sara deserved the happiness Winston had given her. His father had deserved that, too. What he himself deserved was what haunted him. A wife. A family. Neither seemed to be in his future. Not the wife or future he now wanted.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded and laid the blanket on the bench to be returned to Josiah.

  Crofton took her hand and led her down the aisle between the seats. They’d no sooner stepped onto the platform when someone said his name.

  “Miss Parks,” the man said with a nod at Sara before holding out a hand. “I’m Sheriff Wingard. Just got back into town and it appears all hell broke loose during my absence.” With a slight flinch, he looked at Sara, “My apologies, Miss Parks.” Looking back at Crofton, he said, “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do,” Crofton answered, “but I need to see Sara home first.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said. “But can we talk in your office, Sheriff? Out of the cold?”

  It was a short walk to the sheriff’s office, and even though Crofton had removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders, Sara was shivering by the time they arrived. Crofton led her to stand by the stove in the corner.

  “Walter filled me in, as much as he could,” the sheriff said as he poured coffee from a pot into three cups, “but I have to admit, I’m not sure where to start.”

  “I am,” Crofton said.

  Sara accepted a cup of coffee and sat down as Crofton started to pace the room. “Governor Eaton, who was voted in last fall, has a sizeable ranch in eastern Colorado. A railroad running through Arizona and New Mexico for others to haul cattle to the markets wouldn’t be something he’d be in favor of, but he wouldn’t want that to be known by anyone. Neither would the railroad. Several years ago a major stockholder company was exposed for the huge profits they were making, and as a result, several politicians lost their seats and many railroad officers lost their jobs.”

  “I’m not sure what that has to do with all that’s happened here,” the sheriff said, frowning.

  Sara was. The flash in her eyes said so. “Winston said everything turned crooked when politicians became involved.”

  Crofton nodded. “And he wouldn’t have wanted to be involved in it.” Turning to the sheriff, he said, “The railroad was set to go south last year. Winston had agreed to provide the lumber, yet as soon as Eaton took office, the contract was pulled. Winston even sent a man down that way to survey it a second time.”

  “Winston and I spoke about that,” Sheriff Wingard said.

  “Winston went to Denver several times this spring,” Sara said.

  “So did Morton.” Crofton looked at the sheriff. “Winston wasn’t going to let politics govern the routes, but someone else might.”

  “You think Bugsley Morton’s behind all this?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’m not completely sure,” Crofton answered. “Morton wouldn’t chance going to jail for murder. He’
s smarter than that.”

  Sheriff Wingard let out a low whistle. “I just arrived in town this afternoon. Let me do some investigating.” He nodded toward Sara. “Take Miss Parks home. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything.”

  Sara shook her head. “Crofton’s friend—”

  “I know about that, too,” the sheriff answered. “Walter filled me in.”

  A chill brushed over Crofton’s skin. The sheriff knew a lot more than he was saying. There was no doubt the man knew whoever had shot at the buggy at the lawyer’s office and killed Mel was still out there. Starting out with his hunch about the governor had been purposeful. Crofton didn’t want Sara thinking about all of the other incidents. It appeared the sheriff didn’t, either, and Crofton appreciated that.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Crofton said. As he set the coffee cup down on the desk, his eyes landed on the newspaper on the table. The one with the headline Prodigal Son Returns.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Snow had started falling when they walked out of the sheriff’s office, and that made Sara lift Crofton’s coat from her shoulders. “Here, you’ll need this.”

  “Not as much as you do,” he answered before pointing across the street. “There’s Alvin.”

  He took her hand, hurried to the buggy. Whoever had told Alvin to be there waiting for them needed to be thanked. She would see to that, right after she warmed up. Squished between the two much larger men on the small buggy seat, she twisted until one shoulder was behind Crofton’s and then, because she was so chilled, she snuggled against him.

  The snow was piling up, but they arrived home safely. Amelia met them at the door, and promised a hot meal would be on the table as soon as they both changed into dry clothes. Amelia was full of questions, and explanations of how she and Walter had completed the payout to the mill workers, and invited them to the Christmas party.

  Sara voiced her appreciation, but her mind was on other things. Namely Crofton. He’d filled a void inside her. One that had been there even before Winston’s death.

  That thought lingered as she retired, and whether it was the sleep, or the dreams that kept her company, she awoke with a smile on her face the next morning. It was a moment before she realized she’d been standing at the altar in her dreams, and the man beside her had been Crofton.

  That sent her bounding off the bed. Just because he wasn’t married, didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. Especially to her. It would solve problems, mainly her problems. She could see herself taking care of the house as immaculately as her mother had while Crofton ran Parks Lumber as proficiently as Winston had. Her life would be much like it used to be. The only difference would be that this time her name would truly be Parks. She liked that idea, and could imagine the house once again being full of love and laughter.

  After donning a blue-and-white-checkered dress, she made her way downstairs. The ground was snow-covered but a path had been shoveled to the outhouse. She grabbed a shawl from the hooks near the door, and headed in that direction.

  Upon opening the door to exit the outhouse, she startled slightly at the sight of Elliott Cross leaning against the corner of the house.

  He’d want to know what had happened yesterday, but the front door of the house would have been a far more appropriate place to wait for her.

  “Hello, Sara.”

  His ominous tone turned her insides rock hard in her stomach. Her gaze slipped lower. There was no pen or paper in his hand. Instead the barrel of a small derringer sparkled in the sunlight. The missing link suddenly appeared in her mind. Finally, it all made sense.

  He took a slight step backward. “I’ll need you to come with me, Sara.”

  Not about to let that happen, she willed an alternative to come to mind. He was just far enough around the corner that anyone in the house wouldn’t see him and the only thing in the outhouse was the broom she used to brush out spiders when needed. Not much, but it would have to do.

  The outhouse door was slightly open, her hand still on the frame. Shifting as if to lean against the wall, she slipped her hand through the opening. “Where to?” she asked, knowing that would be expected.

  “The mill. There’s an issue.”

  Her fingers touched the broom handle. “I’ll need to get Crofton.”

  “He’s busy,” Elliott said. “Now, come on.”

  Panic filled her. “You better not have hurt him,” she shouted at the same time she pulled the broom out the door and barreled forward. With both hands on the handle, she whacked at Elliott as if he was the biggest, most dangerous spider she’d ever spied.

  His gun went off as he fell to the ground. The sound scared her, but considering no pain filled her, she kept swatting. Elliott attempted to grab the broom, but was also trying to protect his glasses, which made her swing faster and harder.

  Snow flew, and he shouted for her to stop, but all the frustration and anger she’d felt over the past few weeks filled her, making her whack harder and faster. “If you’ve harmed one hair on Crofton’s head I’ll squish you like a spider! Your own mother won’t recognize you by the time I’m done!”

  The broom was suddenly snatched out of her hands and two hands grasped her waist. She flayed her arms and kicked her feet, until the voice saying her name filtered through her own screaming. Her entire body went limp as relief washed over her. Then excitement flared. Spinning about as Crofton’s hold loosened, she shouted, “It’s him. It’s been him the entire time!”

  “I know,” Crofton said, glancing toward the outhouse.

  She twisted about. Elliott was still shouting as Sheriff Wingard pulled him off the ground.

  So relieved, so happy, Sara spun around and looped her arms around Crofton’s neck and without a second thought, she pressed her lips against his. He became the only thing to exist. His lips moved against hers, lightly at first, then faster and firmer. His arms tightened, holding her up against him firmly, wondrously. When his tongue slipped past her lips, all kinds of peculiar and fantastic sensations exploded inside her. An incredible and desert-like heat pounded in her veins as his tongue teased and taunted hers.

  The kiss continued until her lungs burned as if she’d just run all the way up the mountain. Crofton pulled his lips off hers, but still held her close. His hands rubbed her back, her shoulders, her hair, and she snuggled her head beneath his chin, still trying to catch her breath.

  He was breathing hard, too. She could hear it, feel it, and held on tighter. “I thought he’d hurt you,” she said when able to speak. “I thought—” She buried her face into his shirt, unable to say more.

  “Shh,” Crofton whispered. “I’m fine.” His hold lessened, and he placed a hand under her chin, lifting her face. “But are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “No. He just surprised me when I stepped out of the outhouse.”

  “I heard a gunshot.”

  She nodded. “It went off when he fell to the ground. All I had was the broom.”

  His smile made his eyes light up. “You used it well.”

  Not sure what else to say, she nodded. “Thank you.”

  Crofton kissed her again, briefly, before stepping back. “Come on, the sheriff wants to talk to you.”

  Neither of the men were nearby. “How did Sheriff Wingard get here so quickly?” she asked.

  “He and I were in the office. He’d been looking for Cross all night.”

  “You knew it was Elliott, didn’t you?”

  Crofton’s hand rubbed her back as they walked. “I had a hunch. After you went to bed last night, I went back to town.”

  “To talk to the sheriff,” she said.

  “Yes. When Winston put a stop to the scandal before it could gain momentum, Cross decided to give it fuel. He wanted the recognition of breaking the story. Wanted to become famous.”


  They’d arrived at the house, but she stopped him from opening the door. “He killed your friend Mel, too, didn’t he?”

  “It appears so. The sheriff has witnesses who saw Elliott talking with Mel right before Mel left to head back to Arizon. He could have easily followed him, and Alvin said Elliott had been in the barn shortly before the accident. Said Elliott claimed his bridle had broken and he needed to borrow an awl to punch a new hole. He could have sawed the brace board before Alvin found him.”

  “He shot at us, too?”

  “He needed to keep the story going.”

  “And the fire?”

  He nodded.

  She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So it’s over.”

  He glanced around before meeting her gaze. “It’s over, and you were right, Bugsley didn’t have anything to do with it, other than being a pawn. Lincoln and Eaton must have thought they’d be able to control him and you if the two of you were married. They were behind the scandal Winston put a stop to. By promising a southern route, they’d started raising money for it, but in fact, never had any intention of building it. They planned on just pocketing the money. The property and mineral rights they’d started to buy up down there were all in their names—not the railroad’s. When Winston discovered that, he’d refused to be part of it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Sheriff Wingard. Winston had told him about it, in case there was trouble.” He glanced at the house before saying, “Wingard was the only one Winston told. If he’d been in town when I first arrived...” He shrugged.

  She stretched on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I don’t want to think what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you had.”

  He lifted a brow but then smiled as he opened the door. “Me, either.”

  * * *

  In the office, where Sheriff Wingard had Elliott wearing a pair of handcuffs, the entire tale, just as she and Crofton had deciphered, was repeated. Elliott denied nothing, including how he’d been the one to start the rumor the letter Crofton received had been from his wife.