Unwrapping The Rancher's Secret

Crofton only had fragments of memories during that time, and his mother hadn’t enlightened him even when he’d asked. “I honestly don’t know.” Having strolled down memory lane—a place he rarely liked to visit—long enough, Crofton stood. “I thank you ladies for a wonderful,” nodding toward Amelia, he added, “and delicious, evening.”

Frowning, Amelia asked, “Where are you going?”

No longer wanting an invitation, he said, “I must acquire accommodations for the night at the hotel.”

“You will not,” Amelia stated. “You’ll be staying here. We have plenty of room, don’t we, Sara?”

She’d risen and was gathering dishes from the table. “Mr. Parks may find the accommodations at the hotel more hospitable.”

“He will not,” Amelia said. “There are three extra bedrooms upstairs, and he will use one of them. No arguments.” Piling dishes on the second tray, she added, “From either of you.”

Sara felt Amelia’s glare and Crofton’s curious stare on her back, and ignored them both as she carried the tray into the kitchen. She also heard Amelia continue insisting Crofton stay at the house. At the moment, her mind was too full of other things to care where he slept. He was part of what was dancing about inside her head—especially why his mother would have told Winston he’d died when he hadn’t. The other part of her was wondering about Bugsley. He’d seemed nervous tonight, and subdued. Of course the conversation and Amelia’s attitude could have been part of it. Amelia hadn’t liked Bugsley since he’d taken Nate’s place as Winston’s right-hand man.

Bugsley had worked for Winston before Nate had died during the rail road wars, but had become more essential afterward. Therefore, Sara could understand a small portion of Amelia’s dislike, but she’d never made it quite as obvious before.

Scraping clean the plates, her mind shifted once more—to that of Sampson. She’d often thought having a dog would be fun, but had never asked for one. Mother would never have approved. Life should focus on what was needed not wanted.

It was still that way.

“Well, that’s settled,” Amelia said, setting down the other tray. “Crofton will stay in the room at the end of the hall.”

Sara crossed the room to the stove to dip hot water from the reservoir into the washing bowl. Arguing wouldn’t solve anything; furthermore, he had more right to be in Winston’s house than she did, a fact that truly didn’t settle well.

“Now who could that be?”