Unwrapping The Rancher's Secret

Eventually the heart-wrenching pain turned into a hollow ache, and her tears eased. She lifted her head, wiping at her cheeks with both hands. After blinking several times she could make out the barn and farther up the hill, the fenced-in area that held the fresh mound of dirt. The wave of sadness that washed over her was heavy, but she was too numb to react.

“It gets easier.”

“I know,” she replied. “Time heals.”

“In some ways,” he said quietly, “it does.”

Glancing sideways, just enough to see his profile, she said, “In other ways it doesn’t.”

He nodded.

She looked back over the yard and without the energy to do much more, simply stared up the hill. “I know that, too.” Not having anything in common with Crofton would have suited her, but not having an accident, a stupid, unbelievable accident, take the lives of her mother and Winston would have suited her, too. But she hadn’t had a choice, and still didn’t. In other words, this is what she had. A mound of dirt and a man who wanted Lord knows what.

The sigh that left her chest was thick and rather hopeless. However, her life had been worse. She and her mother hadn’t even had hope when Winston had arrived at their place back in Kansas. Although she couldn’t remember much about that time, her mother had said that with no money and very little food, they wouldn’t have made it through the month. Winston had been their miracle.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she told herself she did not need a miracle. Not like her mother had back then. The last thing she needed was a husband. She’d dreamed of getting married someday. Having children. But her mother had told her to be careful with those dreams. With her heart. That a wife’s duty was to be completely dedicated to her husband. To give up everything to follow him wherever he may lead her. That’s how she’d ended up in Kansas, alone, with a small child.

Sara had thought about that long and hard, and couldn’t imagine leaving home. Leaving Royalton, her parents, Amelia.

On that thought, she gave her face one final swipe with both hands and then slapped her knees. She had money, food, a home, and wouldn’t be giving any of that up. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

Without waiting for his help, she stood and stepped up onto the porch. He was just as quick, and was already holding open the door. Even that, his manners, irritated her. His presence did, too. Winston would have been so happy to see him, so happy to have him here, and knowing he’d prevented that happiness from ever happening went beyond irritation.

As soon as he walked in, he asked, “Is that fried chicken I smell?”

“Your favorite,” Sara seethed between her teeth. This would be a lot easier if Amelia didn’t welcome him so fully. Blame is what he deserved. Amelia should see that.

“That it is,” he said, pretending to sniff the air. “That it is.”

He wasn’t pretending. The smell of fried chicken filled the house. Amelia had probably stood over the pan with a towel, waving it about in hopes the scent would have made it all the way to town, telling him the meal was ready.

In the dining room he greeted Amelia with a hug, and if he thought it odd that they’d all be eating together, he didn’t comment. Amelia had eaten with the family ever since her husband Nate had died. Before then, the two of them had lived in the house between here and the mill. The one Alvin now lived in.

Sara took her seat on the one side of the table, and again, if Crofton found it odd that no one sat at the head of the table, he didn’t comment. He took the chair next to Amelia, and surprisingly, offered to say grace. Sara wasn’t sure why that surprised her, or why his heartfelt blessing, which wasn’t a rote one, was as equally surprising. Winston had never been a churchgoing man, but he had been God-fearing, so it was believable that his son was as well. If she wanted to believe such things, that is.

They’d no sooner passed around the platter of fried chicken and bowls of potatoes, gravy, beans, and bread when a knock sounded on the door.

Amelia set down her fork, “I’ll get it.”

Sara stood. “No, I will.” The other two had been visiting like old friends, which it appeared they were, and she’d already heard and seen enough to tell her there would be no convincing Amelia to agree with any notions of sending Crofton away. Back to where he came from, wherever that was.

With those thoughts filling her mind, Sara felt a scowl pulling on her brows by the time she opened the front door.

“Hello, Miss Parks,” Samuel Wellington said as she pushed open the screen door. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

For years everyone had assumed her last name was Parks instead of Johnson, and she’d never corrected them. Now wasn’t the time to start. “We have just sat down to eat,” she said. “Is there something you need, Samuel?”

He nodded, but didn’t apologize for the interruption. Instead, he shifted from foot to foot, much like he did when delivering things ordered from the general store his father owned.

Normally congenial to all, she wasn’t in an affable mood today. Might never be again. “Well, what is it?”

“Well...uh...I—I.” With a nod he spit out, “I’ve come to talk to you.”

His face had turned almost as red as his hair and his shuffling had increased.

“About what? Did Mother or Winston order something from your father? I can come by to pay for whatever it is tomorrow.”

“No, no, that’s not it. Not it at all.”

Growing frustrated, she asked, “Then what is?”

“Well, I...uh...well...uh...I’ve come to offer you my—my hand in marriage.”

He’d spit the last four words out so quickly it took her a second to decipher what he’d said. Once she did, a rattling shock raced through her so fast she didn’t have time to engage her brain before repeating, “Marriage?”

Samuel seemed to remember his hat at that moment and with a jolt, pulled it off his head to hold over his chest. “Yes, m-m-marriage.”

She recalled what Winston had told her about marriage—that any man trekking up that hill to ask for her hand had better be the best of the best. Samuel was not that—not at any stretch of the imagination. Except of course his mother’s. All Sara could think to say was, “Why?”

“Well, b-because folks are t-talking. Now that M-Mr. Parks is dead, y-you’ll n-need a husband.”

Winston’s statement about the best of the best had not been a guarded secret, and steam replaced her shock. “Folks are talking, are they?”

Tall and gangly, Samuel’s entire body seemed to nod, not just his head.

Although he was a couple years older than her, she’d always looked upon him as being much younger. Plenty of folks did. Therefore, she willed her nerves to remain calm. Drawing a deep breath helped. Gossipers had been talking since the accident, but she hadn’t imagined their topics would turn to her. Not in the sense of marriage. “Thank you, Samuel, but I can’t marry you. And...” She let the word stretch out while reminding herself to remain in check. People would naturally wonder what was to happen with the lumberyard and the railroad upon Winston’s death. The entire community depended upon them for their livelihoods. She couldn’t blame anyone for being anxious, or curious, however, her material status was not of their concern. “If you hear people talking, feel free to mention that I do not need a husband, and assure them they have no need to worry.”

“But you can’t—”

“I assure you I can.” Although she had no idea of what he’d been about to say she was unable to do, she was perfectly capable of many things. “And most certainly have no need for a husband.”

The way his shoulders slumped, she wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

“I—I’ll let you get back to your supper, then,” he said with barely a stutter. “B-but if you change your mind, I’d be obliged if you’d consider my offer.”

She bit the end of her tongue to stifle a promise she’d not be considering his offer now or ever. The fact Winston’s son sat at the dining room table did cross her mind. Briefly, for if by some cruel act of fate, Crofton did end up inheriting everything, she would not remain in Royalton. Watching him blunder Winston’s dream would be as devastating as the deaths she’d just experienced. A shudder made her tense her shoulder muscles. She had not considered that aspect—of what might happen to her if Crofton got what he came after. Where would she go? What would she do?

She hadn’t considered it, because it would not happen. “Goodbye, Samuel,” she said, spinning around to return to the dining room with the momentum of urgency. She would need to find a way to appease the townsfolk until she got herself on solid footing with the lumber mill, and despite Bugsley’s assurance that there was no need for her to speak with Winston’s lawyer, Ralph Wainwright, she would set up an appointment with him. Of course Bugsley hadn’t known about Crofton when he’d told Mr. Wainwright all was under control when the lawyer had come to the house to offer his condolences. None of them had known about Crofton.

Word traveled fast, and by morning she had no doubt everyone would know about Crofton. He had, after all, gone into town.

“Who was it?” Amelia asked as Sara entered the dining room.

“Just Samuel,” she said, taking her seat and waiting until Crofton sat back down before lifting her fork. His manners shouldn’t surprise her—he was Winston’s son. Maybe they irritated her more than surprised her. For that exact reason. That he was Winston’s son.

“What did he need? Had you ordered something?” Amelia asked.

Not answering, Sara turned a cold stare to their guest. “Where did you go this afternoon?”