Guarding the Mountain Man’s Secret (Brothers of Sapphire Ranch #7)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

C lara peered through the cabin window at Eric playing with the two girls and Sean in the snow, the picture of joy.

Miles had been right about flakes beginning to fall today. They’d started not long after the family finished the morning meal.

Some of the men had left right after eating to crack ice on the creeks for the stock and fork hay from the storage barns in the pastures, but the rest of the group stayed close to the house. They all kept a wary eye around the edges of the clearing for any sign of the stranger, but nothing unusual had happened yet today.

Now, a thin layer of white covered the ground, enough for little Mary Ellen, Anna, and even Sean to laugh and shout with Eric as they made snow angels and snowballs.

She’d done all those things with Uncle Hiram as a girl when she stayed on his farm.

As though her thoughts had summoned him, soft footsteps sounded behind her, and the familiar scent of her uncle filled her senses.

She turned to smile at him, and he wrapped his good hand around her shoulders as he joined her at the window.

“My, they’re having fun.” His warm voice always sounded like it held a smile. “You should go out and show them a thing or two about how to throw a proper snowball.”

She chuckled, leaning into his embrace. "I'm not sure I remember how to make a proper snowball. It's been a long time since we played in the snow together."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Nonsense. Once you learn, you never forget."

The smile stayed with her, even as her thoughts wandered to the barn beyond the playing children. Miles had gone out there a while ago, when she’d been cutting potatoes into the stew to take to the survey camp later. Was he working on his pickax, or another project?

She needed to add the measurements and sketches Holloway had given her yesterday onto her map. Maybe she could take that task to the barn and draw while Miles worked.

How easy it had been to confide in him last night. Maybe because of the darkness. But it was more than that. Miles was simply comfortable to talk to. He listened. Asked questions. Didn’t interrupt, but didn’t let her fade into silence either. He made it so simple to share the parts of herself she usually kept walled off.

He felt like a true friend, the first she'd had in ages.

And Holloway wanted her to hurt him and his family.

How could she do that? How could she steal the deed to their ranch? Their home and livelihood?

She couldn’t. No matter what Holloway threatened, she couldn’t do it to these good people. To Miles, her friend.

“I guess I should go catch up on my maps. I might take them out to the barn where there’s a bit more space to work.”

She didn’t miss the twinkle in Uncle Hiram’s eye when he pulled his arm back. “Sounds like a good idea, my dear.”

Did he know Miles was in the barn? She’d not thought he would think about that detail, but his twinkle said otherwise. Surely, he wasn’t trying to encourage an attachment between her and Miles. They would be moving on in a week or two. Whenever Dr. Coulter approved his leaving.

The thought tightened her chest. She’d lost all respect for Holloway, and the idea of traveling on with him soured.

But another notion rose up to fight against it. Leaving might be a good thing. If she could hold off Holloway long enough, they would have to move to the next area to survey, and she wouldn’t have to find the Coulters’ deed. Could that work? Maybe not, but she would certainly try it.

After gathering her sketchbook and pencil from their chamber, she tugged on her coat and scarf and stepped outside.

The crisp winter air nipped at her cheeks as she made her way down the snowy hill, her boots crunching with each step.

“Come see my angel, Miss Clara!” Anna waved her over to where she and Mary Ellen were playing.

Clara diverted her path to join the children.

Anna and Mary Ellen's pink cheeks nearly glowed against the white snow as the girls displayed their artwork, complete with pebble eyes.

"Those are the prettiest snow angels I've ever seen." She plopped a hand on each girls’ knitted cap. "You two are true artists."

“Mine has curls like my Aunt Patsy.” Anna grinned almost shyly, revealing a missing front tooth.

Clara’s heart melted a little at the sweet innocence. The girl looked to be only six or seven—maybe even eight, now that she took a closer look at the maturity in her gentle eyes. She could still remember being that age and how big every accomplishment had felt.

She leaned down and propped her hands on her thighs so she was Anna’s height. “Your aunt is beautiful, and so is this angel.”

Anna beamed, her mouth parting wide enough to reveal a second missing tooth on the bottom. Clara couldn’t help wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulders for a side hug.

After another minute admiring their designs, she turned back toward the barn, slipped inside, and breathed in the rich scent of hay and horses.

Miles hunched over his work table near the window, brow furrowed in concentration as he tinkered with what looked like a rifle.

He glanced up at her arrival, a warm smile lighting his face. "What brings you out here?" His rich baritone wrapped around her like an embrace.

Heat crept up her neck. A silly reaction. She wasn’t usually shy. "I needed some air, and I have maps to catch up on. I thought it might be nice to work out here."

He gestured to a barrel at one end of his work table. “I'd welcome the company." He moved the few tools away from that spot and swept wood scraps off the surface with his hand, dumping them into a bucket by his feet.

She settled on the barrel and flipped open her sketchbook, but then focused on what he’d been working on. “Are you making a gun?”

He shook his head. "Repairing an old rifle. The firing mechanism was damaged, so I'm replacing that. And the stock has seen better days." He ran a hand over the worn wood. "Once I sand out these nicks and refinish it, it'll be good as new."

She watched his large hands as he worked, strong and sure in their movements. "You're very skilled. Is this something you do often?"

Miles nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I've always enjoyed working with my hands, figuring out how things work and fixing them."

"I think it's wonderful. To be able to take something broken and make it whole again—that's a gift."

"I suppose so." He glanced at her sketchbook. "Though I imagine you know a thing or two about creating beauty from a blank page."

She ducked to hide a blush. "I don't know about that. My drawings are more for practicality than beauty."

"May I see?" He gestured to the book.

She hesitated. The maps would be seen by plenty of railroad employees, but those people didn’t know her. Letting Miles glimpse this part of her felt…personal. But she was safe with him. She handed over the book. "These are the areas we've surveyed so far. They’ll be added to the official maps later."

As he studied the drawings, his eyes brightened. "These are incredible, Clara. You have a real eye for detail." He traced a finger over a sketch of a rocky outcropping. "I feel like I'm standing right there."

Something released in her chest, easing the tension, lightening the weight there. He might just be kind, but the admiration in his eyes didn’t look feigned. “Thank you.”

After studying several pages, he handed the book back to her. “I won’t keep you from working, but I’d love to see more later, if you don’t mind.”

"If you’d like." She took the sketchbook and settled on the barrel, then opened to the page where she would map out the notes from the men.

As Miles returned to his repairs, she tried to focus on reading the dimensions and scribbled images of the landscapes that had been measured. But her gaze shifted up to watch him more often than it should. The surety and skill of his hands as he disassembled the rifle. The furrow of concentration between his brows, the satisfied set to his shoulders when a particularly tricky bit went well. He poured such care into the task, such devotion. Like he did with everything.

This ranch suited him, working in this barn. It was hard to imagine him anywhere else. Certainly not back in Baltimore, and not in one of the raucous mining towns either.

"Do you like it here?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "Living here on the ranch, I mean."

He glanced up, a smile playing on his lips. "It's a good life. Hard work, but rewarding." He set down the rifle piece he'd been cleaning. "We haven't always been here though. Moved from Kansas when I was about six."

"Do you remember much from before?"

He shook his head. "Not a lot. Flashes, mostly. Mum's laugh, Dat teaching Jericho to whittle."

Then the corner of his mouth crooked up. “I do remember the first time we met Two Stones, right after we settled here. This Indian boy just walked into the log cabin Dat and the older boys were building. He spoke a few words of English and told us his name, then wanted to know who we were. He stayed and helped work that afternoon, then came back the next day. After that, he was just like one of my brothers.”

Clara smiled, picturing a young Two Stones and the Coulter brothers, working side by side. "That's a special friendship to last all these years."

"It is." Miles's expression sobered. "He was a big help when we lost our parents."

The weight of old grief hung in his words. She knew that sadness. It never left, just…changed. "I'm so sorry. How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

He exhaled slowly. "Typhoid fever. It came on quick. Mum went first, then Dat a few days later. Lucy, our sister, got sick too but pulled through."

"That must have been hard, to lose them both like that."

"It was." He looked down at his hands. "I’d just turned seven. Jericho was fifteen and had to step up, take on the role of provider and head of the family. He's done a fine job of it, even with Lucy leaving."

"She left?" He’d said last night that she’d died. That Lillian and Sean were her children.

"Less than a year after we lost Mum and Dat. Lucy met a miner in Missoula Mills and ran off with him." Miles’s mouth pinched in a grim line. “Jericho tried to get her to come home for years, but she was too stubborn. She died of smallpox a couple years ago, and Jericho brought Lilly and Sean to live on the ranch.”

A knot formed in her throat. This place was not only home to the men who’d built it and their wives. It had become a refuge for two orphaned children.

She couldn’t let Holloway or Winston or anyone else steal it from them.

She had to say something, respond to the sad story about his sister. "Were you close to her? Your sister, I mean."

His eyes met hers, a vulnerability there she hadn't seen before. “I wish I had been. I mostly remember tiny moments, just like with Mum and Dat. I was old enough when she left that I should have a lot of memories. It’s like I blocked them out.”

Her chest ached for him. For the little boy whose parents had both died when he was so young, then his sister leaving. She couldn't imagine bearing all that. She’d only lost her mother, yet that grief had changed her forever.

She laid a hand on his forearm. "You were just a boy. Sometimes, our minds protect us from the things that hurt too much to remember. It doesn't mean you loved them any less."

His throat worked as he looked down at the rifle in front of him. What thoughts ran through his head? The few memories he could remember? Grasping for others? Or was he considering her words?

Had his focus shifted to her hand on his arm? She shouldn’t have touched him. Maybe he was in shock at that bold move.

She started to pull back, but he placed his other hand atop hers, wrapping his fingers around to her palm. His calloused skin warmed her skin. Comforted.

"Maybe so." He lifted his gaze to hers. "Feels a bit easier, talking about it with you."

She swallowed. Her mouth was so dry as those warm brown eyes drew her in. Goodness, he was handsome. Every rugged feature coming together to make a perfect whole.

Then he released her, shifting his gaze back to the rifle and clearing his throat.

She pulled her hand away, letting out a breath as she gathered her wits again.

He picked up the gun and examined the stock, running a thumb over the wood. "Anyway, after Lucy left, Jericho threw himself into building up the ranch. We started with just a few horses, then added cattle. It's grown into a good spread over the years."

And she was being ordered to rip this ranch from his family’s grasp. She worked for a normal tone. "You’ve done an incredible job. All of you. I can see your hand in it. This is more than just a ranch—it's a home, a safe haven." One she couldn't let Holloway destroy with his schemes.

Miles ducked his head at the praise, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I probably don’t do as much as the others. Jericho says I spend more time tinkering and making things than being a proper rancher." He chuckled, though the sound lacked any lightness.

She shook her head. "I’d say your tinkering is one of your finest qualities. It shows your intelligence, your creativity. The world needs more of that." Maybe she’d gone too far with the compliment, but he had to know his brothers’ opinions weren’t the only ones that mattered. This man was a rare find.

He kept his focus on the cloth he rubbed over the wood. "You have a way of seeing the best in people, Clara Pendleton." His rich voice wrapped around her name like a caress.

"I just call it like I see it."

A clatter sounded outside, breaking through the moment.

The barn door whooshed open, and Sean halted in the frame, panting. “Uncle Miles! Jericho said come quick.”