Unwrapping The Rancher's Secret. Lauri Robinson

Austin’s heavy sobbing forced her to remain in the woman’s embrace a bit longer than most, and offer comforting words of her own.

      “Hush, now,” Sara whispered, recalling how her mother had responded to such situations over the years. “They are at peace, and together.”

      “I’m just going to miss her so much,” Hilda sobbed. “I’ll never have another friend like her.”

      “We’ve both suffered great losses.” Sara’s gaze went to the three-story brick house that still had the ability to awe her as it had the first day she’d seen it. From that day onward, she’d never wanted for anything. Her throat threatened to close up, and she had to swallow in order to say, “Keeping happy memories close these next few weeks is what we must do. It’ll help.”

      Hilda sniffled and stepped back to wipe her nose with an embroidered hanky. “Look at me. I’m blubbering away when you’re the one’s who’s lost her momma. You poor child—you’re all alone now.”

      Sara’s throat swelled shut. Blinking back tears, she nodded and started for the house again. Bugsley was right. She didn’t need a house full of people. There wasn’t time to dwell on the fact that she was completely alone. She wasn’t. Mrs. Long wouldn’t leave. Amelia Long had been managing Winston’s house for decades and this morning promised to continue working here until she was too old to knead bread. Bugsley was here, too. He’d worked for Winston for years, and promised he’d help her with everything. She’d forever be grateful to him for being at her side the past few days. He’d kept her strong, and she’d needed that.

      It was Bugsley who appeared at her elbow before she was all the way down the hill. Sara didn’t have to offer him a smile. He wouldn’t expect it, and that felt good.

      “Come,” he said softly while tucking her arm through his. “You’ve had a rough day.”

      His wool suit was as black as her gabardine dress and his boots recently shined. Something that probably hadn’t happened since the last funeral he’d attended.

      Sara took a deep breath, drawing strength and resolve in understanding that she wasn’t the only person who’d experienced such devastating pain. The Williams children had lost their father just last week. Bugsley hadn’t gone to the funeral, but she and her mother had, and Winston, who had slipped into the recent widow’s hand an envelope containing a sum of money to help the family through their hard time. Sara was grateful that part wasn’t an issue for her. Just the opposite in fact. She had more money than she knew how to handle. That would soon change. She’d learn how to handle the money, and invest it for the future of Royalton.

      Not entirely sure how she’d complete that daunting task, she said, “It was a lovely service.”

      “Yes, it was,” Bugsley said. “I’ll have a donation sent to the church tomorrow.”

      “I already made a donation for the services,” she said. “Yesterday, when I gave Reverend Borman the selection of songs for today.”

      “I told you I’d take care of things for you,” Bugsley said.

      “I know,” she answered. “And I appreciate your help, but there were some things I wanted to do myself. Needed to do.”

      “All right,” he said, patting her arm. “But I’m here to handle everything else.”

      There was no doubt she’d need his help. She didn’t have the knowledge it would take to run the lumber mill and negotiate the contracts with the railroad, but she was astute and a fast learner, and wasn’t going to shy away from any part of her duties. She’d stayed up late the last two nights, studying maps and contracts, and a plethora of other paperwork in Winston’s office, but she now felt she knew less about what to do rather than more. She wasn’t about to give up, though, or ask for help. Not yet. One couldn’t ask for help until one knew what help was needed. “You’ll be the first person I seek when I need assistance,” she said. “I promise.”

      He stiffened slightly but held his silence until they arrived at the house and she looked up. His cheeks were ruddy from shaving off his scruffy whiskers for the day. He’d gotten a haircut, too. White skin showed where his brown hair had been snipped short around his ears. He wasn’t what most would call handsome, but he was dedicated and that was what she needed above all else.

      “You need some rest,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Unless you want me to stay—maybe you don’t want to be alone?”

      Her gaze roamed to the house. To the flower bushes beside the steps, the set of white wicker furniture situated in the corner of the massive front porch and the wide front door complete with a screen door to let the air in on warm days. It could be warm today. She couldn’t tell. The chill that had settled inside her, clear to her bones, was too encompassing, even wearing the heavy black dress and cape. Fighting off a shiver, Sara answered, “I won’t be alone. Mrs. Long is here.”

      “She’s still up the hill,” he said. “Talking.”

      “But will be along shortly.” Pulling her hand out of the crook of his elbow, Sara drew a fortifying breath. Mrs. Long had been upset about not hosting a gathering after the funeral, giving people the opportunity to mourn and share memories. Looking at the empty house, Sara had to wonder if she should have sided with Amelia rather than Bugsley. Perhaps entering the front door would be easier with others nearby. The decision had been made, though, and she had no choice but to abide by it. To go forward. Alone. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she told Bugsley.

      She entered the house without looking back. It would be easy to ask him to step in and see to everything. Too easy. Turning, she closed the inside door, thankful it provided a barrier, making it harder to change her mind. Winston had never let her or her mother down, and now she couldn’t let him down. There was no law that said he had to be her father, that he had to feed and clothe her. But he had. Along with so many other things. Therefore, she would do what no law said she had to do. Take up where he had left off. Make sure the railroad had enough timber to build the line from the pass to the border. Farther even, all the way across the Utah Territory and into Nevada.

      The ache in her chest became all-consuming. Winston had been so proud of this project. He’d been committed to it, too. Needing to diminish the pain, center her attention on something other than her loss, Sara focused on walking past the sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. The very steps she’d loved to run down and jump into Winston’s arms when she’d been younger. He’d laugh and twirl her about before hugging her tight and then setting her down to run off, giggling and dizzy.

      Removing the black gloves that matched her funeral dress and cape as she walked, she held them both in one hand when she arrived at Winston’s office door. The contracts were in there, and maps and statements and correspondence with railroad men. Reading through them would take her mind off other things as well as prepare her for her next steps. She’d make sure of it this time. Really focus. Living with Winston all these years had left her with considerable knowledge already. Just a few years ago the railroad had been at a standstill in Colorado. The two largest companies attempting to build a line through the southern part of the state had taken each other to court. The Santa Fe had won out, being a standard gauge. Winston had said, and many others had agreed, that the narrow-gauge rails of the Denver & Rio Grande were far better when it came to laying track through the Rocky Mountains, but not beyond, and he’d said that was the important piece. Running tracks beyond the mountains, clear to the ocean.

      Winston had won the bid to provide lumber for the Santa Fe and their standard-gauge rail, and that’s what she needed to research. She would spend the rest of the day reading and taking notes so this time she’d remember things. Understand them. She needed to know what was expected of the lumber mill better than she knew the recipe for her famous cinnamon cookies. Made famous by her stepfather who ate them two at a time as soon as she took them out of the oven.

      The smile that memory evoked froze on her lips as she opened the door to Winston’s office. Her heart momentarily stopped, too. For a split second she could have