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Unwrapping The Rancher's Secret
Lauri Robinson
A ghost of Christmas past…Heiress Sara Johnson is shocked when the step-brother she believed was dead returns to Colorado to claim his inheritance! It might be the season of good will, but Crofton Parks seems determined to destroy his late father’s empire.Sparks fly as Crofton and Sara are forced to work together, and soon she begins to uncover the secrets behind his disappearance and need for revenge. But a far more unsettling discovery is the desire he awakens in Sara…this roguish rancher might just claim her heart by Christmas!
A ghost of Christmas past...
Heiress Sara Johnson is shocked when the stepbrother she believed was dead returns to Colorado to claim his inheritance! It might be the season of goodwill, but Crofton Parks seems determined to destroy his late father’s empire.
Sparks fly as Crofton and Sara are forced to work together, and soon she begins to uncover the secrets behind his disappearance and need for revenge. But a far more unsettling discovery is the desire he awakens in Sara. This roguish rancher might just claim her heart by Christmas!
“I don’t deserve to inherit any of Winston’s holdings. You’re his son. His blood relative. And I’m—”
“Not up to the challenge?” Crofton asked.
“But Winston would have wanted you to have it,” she said, with an exuberant amount of passion. “I know he would have.”
Crofton ran both hands over his thighs. When she got all emotional he wanted to wrap his arms around her, but he couldn’t. If he did that he might kiss her. Not a peck on the cheek, but really kiss her. Where the hell had these yearnings come from? He’d never been known for his chivalry, and he had kissed more than his fair share of maidens, but this was out of the ordinary even for him. As was the misery it provided. She was a young innocent girl, with more on her plate than she could handle, and all he could think of was her. Kissing her. Holding her. Protecting her.
Author Note (#udc57d5ba-7cb8-5619-99cb-f4ea417fad06)
Ideas for stories come to me in many ways. I’ve dedicated this book to one of my granddaughters because she was behind my inspiration for Unwrapping the Rancher’s Secret. While she was at our house one day we watched a cute cartoon about a little girl whose mother married a king, turning the little girl from a commoner into a princess overnight. I found that concept intriguing, and that gave birth to Sara Johnson Parks—a girl who was born in a dirt dugout in Kansas and didn’t own a pair of shoes until she was five, when her mother married a lumber baron. Upon the death of her stepfather Sara becomes the richest woman in Royalton, Colorado. But that is also when Crofton Parks appears. The stepbrother she believed had died as a child…
I hope you enjoy Sara and Crofton’s story!
Unwrapping the Rancher’s Secret
Lauri Robinson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men—and women—who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset…or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com (http://www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com), facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 (https://facebook.com/lauri.robinson1), or twitter.com/LauriR (https://twitter.com/LauriR).
Books by Lauri Robinson
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Daughters of the Roaring Twenties
The Runaway Daughter (Undone!)
The Bootlegger’s Daughter
The Rebel Daughter
The Forgotten Daughter
Stand-Alone Novels
Christmas Cowboy Kisses
‘Christmas with Her Cowboy’
The Major’s Wife
The Wrong Cowboy
A Fortune for the Outlaw’s Daughter
Saving Marina
Her Cheyenne Warrior
Unwrapping the Rancher’s Secret
Mills & Boon Historical Undone! ebooks
Testing the Lawman’s Honour
The Sheriff’s Last Gamble
What a Cowboy Wants
His Wild West Wife
Dance with the Rancher
Rescued by the Ranger
Snowbound with the Sheriff
Never Tempt a Lawman
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
To my granddaughter, Hayley.
Love you to the moon and back!
Contents
Cover (#ud11d0016-ea9e-5f64-bf91-eb2d1c77a4e1)
Back Cover Text (#u8d159cf3-90eb-5962-ab2c-cc6d0056df2a)
Introduction (#u9d6e67db-cbdd-5651-9f16-a4fefdde301a)
Author Note (#u74c3fde5-cdfb-56c0-9af1-b597968d7770)
Title Page (#u1d446963-d580-5b1d-a45d-fb8d21b373f8)
About the Author (#uea244380-7cfe-5faf-a241-bc88b7f98253)
Dedication (#u5d244c3b-afed-5a42-bc13-733acbaa1f92)
Chapter One (#u267c189a-f0f3-5898-a15b-8fded0460e56)
Chapter Two (#u572aa4d2-28d7-5a9c-a22e-72fc59e5d8ca)
Chapter Three (#u8ff23b5d-9096-5044-a1fd-27b7f3f14941)
Chapter Four (#u38ea7a8d-f050-58b9-b7ab-922214bd172b)
Chapter Five (#u45420567-31a4-5847-b7a6-d3dfb6efd015)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#udc57d5ba-7cb8-5619-99cb-f4ea417fad06)
Royalton, Colorado, 1885
There were several ways to play the hand that had been dealt to him. All of them would benefit him. That, of course, was the main object—benefitting him—and he would play it right. Not could. Would. Just as he always did.
Crofton Parks lit the cigarette he’d been twirling between his thumb and forefinger and leaned against the side of the building to ponder his options. Smoking wasn’t a habit he partook of regularly, but a man with a smoldering stick between his lips could stand around doing nothing but dragging in smoke and no one would give him a second look. While a stranger staring at the mortuary across the street would catch attention. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Attention. It would come later. At the moment, anonymity would benefit him the most.
White with a black door and shutters framing the windows, the mortuary was new, as were most of the buildings in town. Not surprising. Becoming a railroad hub, the town had doubled in size the past couple of years, and would keep growing. The lumber mill would continue to prosper, supplying all the houses and businesses the newcomers would build.
Crofton flicked off the ashes and lifted the cigarette to his lips for another draw. Through the smoke that swirled in the crisp air, he witnessed a woman open the door of the building she’d entered a short time ago. Leave it to Winston Parks—his good old flesh-and-blood father—to throw yet another boulder in his pathway. Another loop around the ankle. As if all the others hadn’t been enough. At least this one wasn’t an eyesore, or not from a distance anyway.
Disgusted by his own thoughts, Crofton dropped the cigarette to the ground and smashed the smoldering end deep into the dirt with the toe of his boot.
A man twice the woman’s age, which Crofton knew to be twenty as of October, climbed down from a buggy to meet her as she walked down the steps of the mortuary. Once he arrived at her side, she leaned her head against the man’s shoulder for a brief moment, and then straightened. With a shake of her head, as if that gave her fortitude, she squared her shoulders and marched forward. The man lagged behind momentarily, but then quickly caught up with her.
With the sole of one boot braced against the wall behind him and head down, fiddling with the tobacco pouch as if preparing to roll another cigarette, Crofton peered from beneath the brim of his hat to watch the man help the woman into the buggy.
The man climbed in, but Crofton remained still, waiting until the buggy turned the corner and disappeared. Then he glanced both ways, tucked the tobacco pouch into his pocket and crossed the street. It was time he said goodbye to his father. This time it would be for good.
* * *
“There will come a time, child, when you’ll remember this day, not with pain and sorrow, but with peace.”
The aching inside her was so profound that every movement hurt, yet Sara managed to nod in response to the bittersweet words Reverend Borman whispered in her ear. She understood that life went on, despite death and hardships. She’d lived through it before. Perhaps if she’d been older when her father had died she’d be able to remember how long the numbness lasted. For how many days tears would burst forward without warning, or how long the emptiness inside would remain.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the burning sting and bit her lips together. There were no memories to assure her the pain would ease. No memories of her real father. All that came forward were the things her mother had told her about that time in their lives. How little they’d had, and how far they’d come—all because of Winston Parks.
Older now, and in many ways wiser, Sara knew that no matter how long the pain, how deep the loss or how the numbness lingered, there was no time for her to mourn. A child born in a dirt dugout on the Kansas prairie, who hadn’t owned a pair of shoes until she was five, was now the richest woman in town. Along with the wealth bequeathed upon her by the deaths of her mother and stepfather came responsibilities. Ones she couldn’t ignore even long enough to grieve their passing.
That’s what her mother would have wanted. For her to continue to pay homage to Winston for the life he’d provided them, and so many others.
She knelt down and laid the bouquet of yellow mums, that despite the cooler weather, were still blooming in her mother’s garden, on top of the large mound of dirt. Beneath were two coffins, side by side, in one grave. As soon as the stone arrived from Denver, there would be one granite marker, bearing the names of Winston and Suzanne Parks, describing them as loving husband and wife.
Years from now, looking upon the headstone, people wouldn’t know both Winston and Suzanne had been married before. No one would know the anguish and loss they’d each suffered prior to finding one another. Or the strength of the love they’d shared.
Fresh tears formed. Winston had not only loved her mother, he’d loved her, too. He’d treated her as a daughter from the day she’d moved into his home, and in many ways, he’d transformed her from a pauper to a princess. That’s how her mother had described the changes that had happened because of Winston, and why they needed to behave properly—to be women he could be proud of—and the importance of remaining grateful for everything he’d done at all times. The only way she could return his love now was to assure his dream came true.
After adjusting the white ribbon tying the flower stems together, Sara rose, and with a nod in Reverend Borman’s direction, stepped back to stand amongst the few townsfolk who’d traveled up the steep mountainside from the church in town to the grave site on the homestead Winston had settled upon years ago. The service had been beautiful, and the pews packed with people, but Bugsley had suggested this part of the service should be private, that the last thing Sara needed was a house full of mourners. She’d agreed with him, even though it had left a knot in her stomach. The townsfolk had loved her mother and Winston as deeply as she.
Once the final prayer was recited, Sara turned and started walking down the hill toward the house, pausing now and again to accept a hug or word of comfort as people meandered toward their buggies and saddled mounts.
Hilda 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.”
