Unwrapping The Rancher's Secret. Lauri Robinson

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?”

      He finished chewing and swallowed, before stating, “I told you, to see a man about a horse.”

      This time around, hearing him use the line Winston often did lit a fireball in her stomach. Although she knew neither was the case, she asked, “What man? What horse?”

      His stare remained steady. “The owner of the livery. I had to pay for my accommodations the past few days.”

      “Your accommodations?” Amelia asked. “Surely you haven’t been staying at the livery stable.”

      He offered Amelia a smile along with a glance. “I didn’t want to intrude, considering the circumstances.”

      “Intrude?” Sara spat. “Circumstances?” Anger rarely got the best of her, but today was far from normal. She’d just buried her parents. “Do you think you aren’t intruding now? Do you think the circumstances have changed?”

      “Sara!”

      She didn’t so much as blink at Amelia’s admonishment. His