UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER'S SECRET

  He touched her arm. “I don’t want—”

  “What?” She spun around. As badly as she’d wanted his touch before, it now burned. Clear through her dress, skin and flesh. Pulling her arm away, she said, “You don’t want what? Anything to do with your father? With anything he created? Anything he loved? Fine. Then don’t. Don’t bother checking in periodically. It won’t be needed. I won’t need you any more than your father did.”

  Holding her head up took all the strength she could muster, so did saying, “Goodbye, Crofton.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sara watched from the balcony as Crofton rode away. Her eyes smarted, but there were no tears left to fall. That had happened last night, along with the realization that she’d fallen in love. Completely. Hopelessly. She could even understand why. Just like when Winston had found her and her mother, Crofton had found her when her life was at its lowest. When she’d been scared and alone, and looking for a miracle.

  He may have been a miracle, just as Amelia had claimed that very first day, but he hadn’t been a lasting one. Because she hadn’t needed a lasting one. It had taken half the night for her to come to the conclusion. Lifting her chin, she turned about and headed for the bedroom door. She was a Parks and when a Parks gets knocked down, they get up stronger than before.

  She wasn’t certain where she’d come up with that, but it fit.

  That resolve drove her hard the following week. It turned her hard, too.

  “There’s no need for you to stay at the mill every night until dark,” Amelia insisted on yet another evening that Sara hadn’t returned home by supper time.

  “Yes, there is,” she said, grabbing a piece of chicken off the plate Amelia had kept in the warming oven. “It takes twenty-three hundred railroad ties for every mile of track. When that bridge is done next spring, I want ten miles of ties ready to go, and ten miles after that.”

  “Men can only build so fast,” Amelia said.

  “That’s why I’ve called a meeting with Levi, to suggest he have more men ready to go,” Sara answered.

  “Spring is a long way off,” Amelia said. “Christmas is still three days away.”

  “We’ve already had our Christmas party,” Sara pointed out, and she knew exactly when Christmas was. Exactly how many days it had been since Crofton had left. Eight. Eight days. “You can tell Alvin to get rid of the tree.”

  “I will not.”

  Sara truly didn’t care either way. “Levi will be here tomorrow, and will join us for dinner. A beef roast will do, with an apple spice cake for dessert. Use the good china. I’ll check to see if the silver needs to be polished after I’ve eaten.”

  “I’ll see to the silver,” Amelia said. “You can’t run the mill and the house at the same time. I don’t see why you don’t let Bugsley see to some things. That’s what he’s there for.”

  “He is seeing.”

  “No, he isn’t. Not like he should—”

  Sara set down her fork with a clatter. “You’re as bad as Crofton. A short time ago you hated Bugsley.”

  “I never hated him,” she said. “It’s just—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Sara pushed away from the table. “Bugsley does what I tell him to.”

  Amelia grabbed her arm. “It does matter, and you’re going to listen to me. I didn’t like Bugsley because he was with Nate when he died. I wanted to be that person. I wanted to be the one holding his hand when he died because I loved him. Loved him with all my heart. It didn’t turn out that way, and I didn’t like it. That’s how life is. Things happen that we don’t like. Just like you don’t like that Crofton left.”

  Sara sucked in air at the mention of his name. Lately, the mere mention of his name pained her. Left her feeling as empty and cold as when her parents had died.

  “He had to leave,” Amelia said. “He’s too much like Winston not to.”

  “Just like his father,” Sara snapped. “Nothing will stop him from pursuing his dream. Not even his family.” She’d thought of that plenty of times lately, as well as how Winston had left his family in Ohio to pursue his dream.

  “You aren’t his sister any more than he is your brother,” Amelia said, “and you know it. Just as you know all you have to do is send a telegram, one little letter, and Crofton will be here in a heartbeat. I’ve thought about sending that letter myself, before you work yourself into an early grave.”

  “I’m not in danger of working myself into a grave,” Sara scoffed.

  “You’re not? You aren’t trying to do everything Winston did for his business while still trying to do everything here that your mother did?”

  “I’m just doing what needs to be done,” Sara said, exasperated over the entire conversation.

  “Why?” Amelia asked.

  “Because I need to,” she said. “The railroad needs the lumber. The people of Royalton need the mill. We need a house that is presentable at all times.”

  “And what about you?” Amelia asked. “What do you need? Better yet, what do you want? Because if you don’t want all of this, you’re going to come to hate it. Hate your life. Hate it as bad as Crofton’s mother hated hers. That’s what happened you know. She hated her life so badly she destroyed hers and everyone’s around her. Destroyed the last ounce of love that had been left between her and Winston.”

  Hardened when it came to the idea of love, Sara huffed out a breath. “Love. There’s no time for love.”

  “There’s always time for love,” Amelia said softly. “You’ll see that when you learn to put it first.”

  Sara had no retort. Her mind flat-out couldn’t come up with one.

  “You’ll also understand why Crofton left, if you’d stop long enough to think about it.”

  She shook her head.

  “He did it for you,” Amelia said. “Because he didn’t want you trapped into something you didn’t want.”

  * * *

  Crofton curled his nose at the scent of burnt hair as he stepped back and signaled for Gray Hawk to let the steer bound to its feet. In the days since he’d returned to the ranch, he’d discovered there wasn’t much about cattle he liked. There wasn’t much about ranch life that he was content with whatsoever. At one time, living so far from town had fit him. He’d been hiding then. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Mel’s death, he might have never left the ranch.

  It had taken him less than a day to figure that all out. How he had been hiding from his father. Over the years he’d told himself he needed to become someone, be successful before searching out his father, whereas he now knew that had been a lie. He’d been hiding from his father. Hiding from anything that would make him feel again. Feel anything except hate and distrust.

  Sara had made him see that, and made him feel. Riding away from the house that morning had ripped his insides so open he’d still be gushing blood had it been a flesh wound. Trouble was, he was back to hiding, and it was harder this time. His heart wasn’t in it.

  “Crofton!”

  He turned toward the shout, and dropped the handle of the branding iron onto the ground. Although she’d helped Gray Hawk with all the chores during his absence, since his return, Crofton hadn’t seen June leave the house. He wished she would. Eating her cooking reminded him of exactly why he’d missed Amelia’s so much over the years.

  “You’ve got company,” she said, pulling her horse to a stop that stirred up a fair amount of dust.

  The wind didn’t need any help. His mouth tasted like dirt all day, every day. It may have snowed in Colorado, but it hadn’t here. Dust coated everything. Wiping a gloved hand over his lips, he asked, “Who is it?”

  “Go see for yourself,” she said. “I’ll take over for you.”

  June and her husband Gray Hawk had moved in with them shortly after he and Mel had claimed the a
creage, and after Mel’s death, his half became theirs. Crofton had found himself wondering if they wanted his half, too. Telling himself he couldn’t desert one family for another no longer resonated with him as it used to. Neither did building up a cattle ranch. Rather than cattle, his thoughts were often on trees and lumber and railroads and, more specifically, one particular woman.

  “I left them in the kitchen,” June said.

  Crofton took the reins she held out and stuck a foot in the stirrup. Whoever it was wouldn’t hang around long. June’s coffee could chase away coyotes.

  Although it was Christmas Eve, he didn’t expect any holiday visitors. It was most likely Fred Haberman and his sons. Therefore, Crofton didn’t rush to the house. The Habermans owned the place south of his and had opposed the fence he and Mel had erected from the day they’d driven the first post. Namely because the Habermans didn’t mind rounding up every newborn calf and branding it as their own.

  Rounding the barn, Crofton’s thoughts of telling his neighbors the fence wouldn’t be coming down disappeared. He recognized the buggy, the horse hitched to it and the saddled one tethered to the corral rail next to the rig.

  Crofton dropped to the ground and bolted to the house with all sorts of possible disasters racing across his mind. “Morton,” he shouted as he threw opened the door. “What’s happened? Is Sara—”

  His questions stopped as abruptly as his feet. More beautiful than ever, she rose from the chair slowly, gracefully. The smile on her face was the one he fell asleep to at night. It may have been the one thing he missed most. How the tiny upward curls at each side of her mouth had chased away all the emptiness inside him.

  “Hello, Crofton,” she said.

  The sound of her voice shot through him like a flame. Stung, he turned to Bugsley. “Why the hell did you let her come all the way down here? Do you have any idea how dangerous that trail is? How—”

  “Bugsley didn’t let me do anything,” Sara said. “I allowed him to accompany me. Just as I allowed Levi.”

  Crofton hadn’t noticed Lincoln sitting at the table until she pointed toward the railroad man.

  “We’ve come to discuss an opportunity with you,” she said.

  “Discuss—” He stopped in order to calm his nerves. Excitement at seeing her—damn, he’d missed her—and fury at her traveling along a route that was long, dusty and far from smooth, in the middle of winter, fought for space inside him. “What opportunity?” he finished when convinced he had enough willpower not to grab her, hug her, kiss her.

  “The railroad is interested in building a southern route,” Sara said with far more poise and dignity than lived inside him at the moment. “Legally, and now, not in the future. It can be built simultaneously with the one going west, they will connect in Utah, and—”

  “Will you gentlemen excuse us?” Crofton asked, stepping toward Sara.

  Her gaze, locked with his, didn’t falter. His didn’t, either. He felt the strength she’d gained, and as much as that pleased him, it frightened him. She’d become a powerful woman, and wasn’t afraid of that any longer, and therefore, all the more stubborn.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, while waving a hand towards the door.

  As soon as the door closed, Crofton asked, “What are you doing here? Do you have any idea of the things that could have happened to you along that trail? There’s barely a road from here to the state line. There are wild animals and roaming Indians and—”

  “I just traveled that road, Crofton. You don’t need to describe it.” She stepped around him, as if needing space. “I came to tell you—”

  Not wanting space, he spun and grabbed her arm. “I heard what you said.”

  She glanced at his hold before looking at him again. “You want a railroad. You want a cattle empire. As your family, I want to help you, so I negotiated a route—”

  “You aren’t my family.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, but it was the truth. He didn’t consider her his sister. Never would. “Your name isn’t Parks.”

  The snap in her eyes said his hit had hurt, and remorse struck him deeper.

  “You’re right,” she said, “it’s not.”

  Frustration rolled inside him. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Yes, it is. And it’s not right.” She shook her head. “Me having the Parks name isn’t right. I’m not Winston’s daughter. I’m not your sister. I don’t want to be your sister.”

  “Damn it,” Crofton growled. “What are you doing here, Sara? I don’t want a railroad. I don’t want a cattle empire.”

  She pinched her lips together and swallowed visibly before asking, “What do you want, Crofton?”

  Not able to admit what he did want, at least not out loud, he shook his head. “Hell if I know.”

  “Would you like to know what I want?” she asked.

  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know or not, yet nodded.

  “I want to polish the stair rail with beeswax until it’s so smooth a drop of water won’t bead on it. I want the silverware to shine when I set it on the table and the china to sparkle. I want the napkins ironed with precise crease marks and starched so they snap when unfolded.”

  “What?”

  She sighed. “Those are things my mother taught me were important. Along with many other things about how to make sure a home is perfect.”

  “So you are tired of running Parks Lumber,” Crofton said, feeling a bit of a gut punch.

  She shrugged. “Possibly. I’m grateful for all I’ve learned, and am confident that I could continue to run it, but it’s not what I want. It’s not right.”

  “What’s not right? What’s happened? Hasn’t Bugsley been helping you?”

  “Bugsley does everything I ask,” she said. “And nothing has happened, other than the negotiation for the new route. What’s not right is that you should be at the helm of Parks Lumber.”

  He shook his head. “I have my cattle ranch.”

  “That you don’t want,” she said. “You just told me that. I want you to have Parks Lumber, Crofton, but if you don’t want it, tell me what you do want, what your dream is so I can help you make it come true.”

  “You don’t want to know what I want, Sara,” he answered.

  She sighed. “I remember asking Winston if I could marry him when I grew up. He was the most perfect man in the world, and I didn’t think I’d ever meet another one like him.” She closed her eyes briefly before saying, “Until I met you. I love you, Crofton. Once I realized that, I understood why my mother wanted everything to be perfect for Winston. That’s how it is when you love someone. I want your life to be perfect, Crofton. I want you to be happy.”

  For the first time in his life, he’d been knocked speechless.

  Afraid she’d gone too far, Sara stepped back. This wasn’t how she’d expected things to go. She’d thought he’d be elated about the railroad, so excited he’d have hugged her and kissed her. Shaking her head, yet still wanting his happiness above all else, she said, “You don’t have to love me in return, just let me help you. Let me help you make your dreams come true.”

  “You just did,” he said.

  Before the words totally settled, he pulled her close.

  “I love you, too, Sara.”

  “You do?” she asked, hoping she’d heard right.

  “I do. I love you more than I thought possible. You were all I’ve thought about since I left the house. I’ve missed you so much I’ve been downright miserable.”

  Too excited not to, she looped her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you, too. So very, very—”

  His mouth covered hers before she could finish telling him how much she’d missed him, and when his tongue caught hers, all of her words were completely forgotten. His kiss grew so vigorous she pressed
her length against him, partly to encourage him to continue. The other part was so she could let loose all of the passion, all of the want and desire that had built up inside her like water behind a dam.

  A moan escaped the back of her throat as everything she’d been holding back let go. Her entire being quivered at the sensation, but Crofton’s hold, so tight, so powerful, let her know it was happiness, pure and unrefined, filling her system. A happiness she’d never have found if not for him.

  A true Christmas miracle.

  Epilogue

  “Good morning, Mrs. Parks.”

  The arms that slid around her waist made her smile as much as his words. “Good morning, Mr. Parks,” she replied, leaning back against him.

  “You like the sound of that, don’t you? Mrs. Parks.”

  “Yes, but more so because I’m your wife.”

  He kissed the side of her neck and then nipped at her earlobe until she scrunched up one shoulder against the tickle. Laughing, he tightened his hold around her and rested his chin atop her head. “I like it, too. Especially the more so part.”

  They stood there at the balcony for several quiet moments, just watching the sun rising over the mountaintops through the glass panes. It was not only the first day of their married life, it was the first day of the New Year. She thought the date very fitting.

  It all was fitting. Her and Crofton marrying. The entire town thought so. It turned out, despite how Elliott Cross’s article had attempted to make everyone think of them as brother and sister, no one did. People were very happy to know Parks Lumber would continue with them as husband and wife at the helm.

  A flutter caught her attention and she leaned closer to the window. Excitement had her grabbing for the doorknob.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as she opened the door. A second later, he ducked, pulling her down with him while tugging the door shut. “What the hell was that?”

  Twisting in his arms, she glanced around the room. “My hummingbirds. They’re back.”