UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER'S SECRET

  Once the confession was over and the sheriff led Elliott away, Sara turned to Crofton. “We’d better head down to the mill.”

  “What for?”

  “They need to know what happened, and that it’s over,” she said.

  “I can do that.”

  She hooked an arm through his. “No, it needs to come from both of us. They need to know that we are a team, and that they have nothing to worry about.”

  He shrugged, but straightened and walked beside her down the steps.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Preparations for the Christmas party had filled her days; Crofton, updating her about the mill, had filled her evenings and dreams had filled her nights. Of the three, it was the dreams that remained with her most of the time. They were full of kisses and weddings, and a future she wanted more and more. Crofton hadn’t kissed her again since the incident with Elliott, but sometimes, when their eyes met, she could see the desire that told her he wanted to.

  Smoothing the brilliant green gown over her stomach, Sara twisted to check her reflection in the mirror. The gown had been her mother’s. One she’d admired, and was delighted it fit her as well as it had her mother. Stepping closer to the mirror, she repositioned the combs holding the hair above her ears, and tugged a couple more ringlets to hang from her temples. Usually not conceited, she had to smile into the mirror. She looked the part. A wealthy young woman. Proud, but not conceited. Sophisticated, but not snobbish.

  She let out a breath. These were big shoes she had to fill, but it would be possible with Crofton at her side. He’d be there, greeting the guests as they arrived for the party.

  After a final glance in the mirror, she crossed the room to peek out the window at the balcony. The empty bowl and glass saddened her. The sun was shining, but the colder weather had remained, and she hadn’t seen the birds. Not once. She’d used her hand mirror to try and look inside the basket, but the hole was too small and she didn’t dare move the basket, just in case they were in there.

  Spinning around, she hurried to the door. Mother had a tiny mirror in her dresser. Rushing into the hallway, Sara ran directly into Crofton. Her heart went wild when his hands grasped her arms.

  “Hey there, slow down,” he said. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”

  “I haven’t seen the hummingbirds the past couple of days. I want to get a mirror to look inside the basket.”

  He chuckled. “Well, slow down. If you take the steps at that speed, you’ll end up breaking your neck.”

  Not wanting to part from him yet, she reached up and straightened his string tie. “You look nice.”

  “So do you,” he said, stepping farther away. “Go get your mirror. I’ll help you look.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you!”

  She flew down the hall and back, finding Crofton on the balcony.

  He stood near the basket she’d wired onto the balcony next to the house. “When did you make this?”

  “A while ago.” She handed him the tiny mirror. “I hoped this would fit in the hole so I could see if they are in there.”

  She held her breath while he maneuvered a corner of the mirror through the tiny hole. The look on his face when he pulled out the mirror sent disappointment washing over her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She took the mirror he held out. “It was a silly idea anyway.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was an admirable one.” He took her hand and led her into the bedroom. “Let’s go downstairs. I heard wagons arriving.”

  She set mirror on the dresser. “I heard them, too.”

  He squeezed her hand as they left the room together. “They’ll be back. Next spring you’ll have all sorts of hummingbirds.”

  She smiled at his attempt to make her feel better. “You’re right.”

  They had barely stepped off the last step when the first knock sounded. From that moment on, the flow of guests didn’t slow. She had hired the same women from town that her mother always had in order to keep the buffet of food on the dining room table never ending and the dishes clean.

  Sara split her time between answering the door and mingling with the guests, just as mother had taught her, and she sought out Crofton every chance she got. He did look very handsome in his suit and standing at his side increased her pride to the point she should be ashamed. But she wasn’t.

  “Happy?” he asked while closing the door after greeting several railroad workers.

  “Yes,” she said, looping an arm though his elbow. “It’s a fine party.”

  “That it is,” he agreed. “And you are a beautiful hostess.” Nodding behind her, he quietly added, “Who is being summoned.”

  Spinning about to see Amelia gesturing for her, Sara said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Crofton nodded as she parted. He’d concluded a few things the past couple of days, and watching Sara hurry toward the dining room, her skirts rustling, made him sigh. She was so beautiful. So loving and kind and intelligent. And the very reason he had to leave. Staying had grown dangerous. Dodging Cross’s bullets had been easier than dodging Sara’s star-spangled eyes. Every time she looked at him, his resilience took a hit. He certainly hadn’t planned on falling in love with her, but it had happened. There was no denying that. There was just one final matter he needed to settle and then he’d leave.

  Oddly enough, his mind no longer thought of the ranch as home. Neither did his heart. The cattle, the land, the idea of success no longer beckoned him. Maybe it never truly had, other than as a way to prove himself to his father. He no longer needed to prove anything. Maybe he never had to. Either way, it didn’t matter. The reason he had to leave wasn’t for himself—it was for Sara. She was what he wanted. Fully. Forever. Which was exactly why he had to leave.

  She had disappeared into the kitchen, and Crofton turned about. He exited the house at the perfect moment. “Morton,” he said to the man on the steps.

  “Mr. Parks.”

  “I’d like a word with you,” Crofton said. “The barn will work.”

  Morton didn’t protest, and Crofton waited until they were both inside the barn before he said, “I rarely give a man a second chance. The only reason I’m considering it now is because of your history with my father, and let me assure you, I don’t want to regret it.”

  Bugsley shot a wary glance around the barn before he hung his head. “I didn’t expect a second chance.”

  “You shouldn’t,” Crofton answered.

  “Then—”

  “Because I believe my father wouldn’t have kept you in his employ for so long if he didn’t trust you,” Crofton said. He couldn’t leave without knowing there was someone Sara could depend on when needed. Morton wasn’t who he’d choose, but there was no one else. He’d searched the town over, and done his due diligence when it came to Morton. The man had been dedicated to his father, and from what he’d determined, hadn’t known what to do after the accident anymore than anyone else. The lawyer, the sheriff, even Walter, were convinced of that. Crofton had concluded one other thing. His jealousy may have blinded him to some of the man’s traits. But, forgiving the man for pulling Sara so deep into the mess would not be easy.

  “I would have given my life for Winston,” Bugsley said. “That’s what he hired me for. Not to work at the mill, but to protect him and his family. I failed, and I’m ashamed of that. Ashamed of all that happened. Hell, I’m not even sure how it happened. And I should have known Elliott was behind it. He’s the one who started spouting off about how Sara needed to get married right off. I told her I’d take care of everything, and everything seemed to be going smoothly, until you arrived.”

  Crofton leaned against the wall, letting the man know he was interested in all he had to say.

  “When you
suggested the accident wasn’t an accident, I checked the wreckage. Elliott saw me, and suggested it was the railroad.” Bugsley ran both hands through his hair. “That’s why I burned it. And why I told Walter to fire shots in the air. I saw Sara in the clearing and didn’t want her to see the wreckage. There was some scuttlebutt about a scheme last year, but Winston put a stop to it. I never knew the ins and outs until I went to Denver to question Lincoln, and told him about you. We all thought you were dead. Seems Cross was the only one to know the truth about that, too.”

  Crofton remained silent, but lifted a brow.

  Morton lowered his head and shook it. “When Lincoln and I returned from Denver the other day, Cross was at the station. He not only told me about the letter from your wife that he’d just delivered to the post office, he told me that years ago, Winston had received a telegram from a judge out East. A judge who shipped you back to England for thievery. Cross was the one who sent that message back to the judge. He can be quite convincing at times. He led both Lincoln and I to believe that after you robbed the town blind, you’d leave Sara and Amelia, with nothing, and then return to your wife and your ranch, all the richer.” Bugsley shook his head again. “I don’t know why I believed it all. Why I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I was thinking about was how sheltered Sara had always been, and how it was my duty to keep her safe.”

  “From me,” Crofton said, pushing off the wall.

  He nodded. “And every other man asking for her hand.”

  Crofton let it all settle in his mind. Morton seemed sincere, and from what he’d been told, had been as dedicated to Winston as his dog Sampson had been to him all those years ago. Crofton was the one who had been full of distrust. For years and years. Letting that go wouldn’t be easy.

  “That’s why I told Ralph Wainwright, and Sara, there was no need to have the will read,” Morton said. “I knew Elliott would post that in his paper and men would flock in so thick I’d be beating them away with two-by-fours.”

  “They were thick those first few days,” Crofton admitted.

  Bugsley offered a half grin. “I have to admit, I didn’t mind letting you handle that.” He shrugged. “Amelia Long believes I was behind that, Nate’s death. I wasn’t. I was fighting right beside him when it happened.” Blinking quickly, he said, “Held his head on my lap as he took his last breath.” He sniffed and wiped his nose. “I saw how close you two are, you and Amelia, that first night at the house. After the funeral. I figured she’d convince you to hate me just as much. That’s how it happens, isn’t it? You expect a man to be your enemy, and he is. Expect him to be your friend, and it usually works out that way, too.”

  “It does work out that way at times,” Crofton admitted.

  Bugsley squared his shoulders. “And a man can always find a reason for doing what he wants to, right or wrong.”

  Crofton caught Morton’s underlying tone. “You aren’t talking about Cross.”

  Bugsley shook his head. “Your father’s wife Suzanne once told me that Winston found people at their worst and turned them into their best. He did that. He gave men chances that no one else would have. Including me. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, and I’m willing to face whatever consequences you choose in that matter, but, at the end of the day, I was doing what I’d been hired to do. Protect Sara, and that is something I will continue to do. From anyone I feel is not looking out for her best interests.”

  Crofton knew a threat when he heard one, but in this case, he wasn’t offended. Matter of fact, he appreciated it. He’d put other measures into place, that of Walter running more of the business issues. What he needed was just what Morton claimed to be. A protector, a watchdog for Sara. One she didn’t know had her back covered. With a nod, Crofton said, “I believe you will, and I will hold you to that.”

  “Hold me to that?”

  Crofton nodded and gestured to the door. “We best head to the house before we are missed.”

  Bugsley glanced toward the door, but rather than taking a step, he proved his insights. “Does Sara know you don’t plan on staying?”

  Crofton questioned answering. A part of him didn’t want it to be true. To be what needed to be done. The other part of him knew it was for the best. “Not yet. I’ll tell her tomorrow. Right before I head south.”

  “Why?” Morton asked. “Why leave when you could have all this?”

  Crofton shrugged. “I didn’t come here to inherit anything from my father. Not his businesses, and not his daughter.”

  It was Morton’s turn to lift a brow.

  Pushing the heavy air out of his lungs, Crofton said, “Sara needs time to figure out what she wants. She won’t do that with me here. She’s too kind, too generous. She’ll give in to whatever I want. I can’t let her. For her sake, I can’t do that to her.”

  “Your father would be proud of you,” Morton said.

  “I hope so,” Crofton admitted, because leaving Sara might be enough to break him.

  * * *

  Sara had kept one eye on the front door ever since Crofton had walked out of it, and watching him walk in the house made her smile, until she noticed Bugsley following him. Excusing herself, she left the group of women near the table and crossed into the foyer.

  “Good afternoon, Bugsley,” she greeted, although her smile wasn’t easy. Someday, when others weren’t looking, she would have a serious conversation with Bugsley.

  “Sara,” he replied with a bow of his head.

  “There is plenty of food,” she said, gesturing toward the buffet. “Please enjoy yourself.”

  The look that crossed between the two men confused her. It wasn’t full of animosity. In fact, it seemed like they knew what the other was thinking. “Is there something I should know about?” she asked Crofton as Bugsley walked away.

  “No, not that I know of.”

  She frowned.

  “Other than that Morton owes you an apology, and will provide it, but I suggested he waits until another day.”

  The mystery in his eyes held her attention more than his words. “Why do I get the feeling something is happening that I should know about?”

  “Because you have a suspicious mind,” he said with a grin and a wink. “Come, I’m hungry and I bet you haven’t eaten, either.”

  “A hostess doesn’t eat in front of her guests,” she said.

  “Says who?”

  “My mother.”

  “And what do you think about that?”

  She glanced around before whispering, “That I’m going to starve to death.”

  He laughed. “I can’t let that happen.”

  Crofton escorted her to the buffet table and handed her a plate and added things she’d missed to it, then he found two chairs in the corner of the parlor, near the large pine tree Alvin had hauled in and set up.

  “This is some party,” he said.

  People had been telling her that all day, but not one of them had made her as happy as his comment. It was exactly as she’d pictured it would be, and as wonderful with Crofton at her side.

  She nibbled on her food between visiting with the people who stopped to talk, including Levi Lincoln who promised he and Governor Eaton had no ulterior motives and looked forward to many future contracts.

  She smiled at Crofton as Lincoln moved on. Parks Lumber Company, the empire Winston had created would continue on for years to come. That filled her with pride, but she also knew, without Crofton, things would have turned out much differently.

  “All’s well that ends well,” Crofton said.

  His tone made her stomach gurgle, and suddenly she knew why. Just like when the link connecting Elliott Cross had connected in her mind, so did this one. Actually, it had been there all along, she just hadn’t wanted to think along those lines. Drawing a breath of fortification, she turned to face him. �
��When are you leaving?”

  His gaze never faltered as he stared at her, but it didn’t reveal anything, either. It didn’t have to.

  “When?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  She sucked up the fear and anger growing inside her. “When were you going to tell me?”

  “I’ve been telling you that since I arrived.”

  “So you have,” she said far more quietly than she felt.

  “Bugsley will help you.”

  “A man you haven’t trusted since you arrived,” she pointed out.

  “I was wrong about him.”

  Controlling all the emotions tumbling and turning inside her may have been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. It helped to think of her mother, of all her teachings about manners and expectations. Throwing herself at him and begging him to stay in front of a house full of people certainly would not be appropriate. Therefore, despite how it tore up her insides, Sara merely nodded, and smiled at those looking her way.

  “I’ll check on you periodically.”

  “Don’t bother.” She felt a bit ashamed that her tone sounded as cold as she felt. He’d never promised to remain—she’d put that in her head all by herself. She’d put other things in her head, too. Things she wasn’t about to admit to. Not to him or anyone else.

  She stood and willed her feet to cross the room. People spoke to her and she replied, but didn’t slow. After depositing her plate in the kitchen, she took the back stairway upstairs.

  “Sara.”

  She’d barely just sat down on the bed, and shot back to her feet. “Go away.”

  The door opened. “I didn’t leave before now because I didn’t want to disrupt your party,” Crofton said.

  “You didn’t,” she answered, moving to the mirror to check her hair.

  His reflection was there, too, looking back at her even though he stood behind her.