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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

C lara slipped into the bedchamber she shared with Uncle Hiram, easing the door closed behind her. Sunlight streamed through the small window, casting a warm glow on the floor beside her small bed. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. This was her chance to finally get a proper look at the deed.

She sat on the floor on the far side of her cot, her back to the door, and pulled her carpet bag close. If someone came in unexpectedly, she could quickly tuck the paper out of sight.

Her fingers trembled a little as she unfolded the deed.

Across the top, the word Homestead had been written in a bold hand. The remaining text appeared to be standard, granting 160 acres to J. M. Coulter according to the Homestead Act of 1862. The register at the land office of Helena, Montana had signed the document—Henry M. Atkinson.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though she’d never seen a homestead grant. She’d only laid eyes on one other deed—that to Uncle Hiram’s farm. He’d been working in his office one day when she wandered in, and he took the time to explain what he was doing. Uncle Hiram always made her feel important, even as a young girl.

She inhaled a breath. She was doing this to protect her uncle. And Miles. And all of Miles’s family.

As she released the air, she pulled her map sketchbook from her bag and opened to a blank page at the back. She cut out a sheet the same size as the homestead grant and laid the clean paper atop the aged document.

The thickness was different—her map paper a better quality. Surely Holloway wouldn't notice the discrepancy. Had he even seen a homestead grant? He may have, which was why she had to stay as close as she could to the original format. She could change names, and hopefully that would alert the clerk if Holloway took this to a land office to be signed over to someone else.

She crouched over the papers, dipped her pen in her inkwell, and traced the deed onto the clean paper. She had to keep a steady flowing hand so the ink wouldn’t pool or splotch. Instead of making the grant out to J. M. Coulter, she wrote T. B. Coulter. If Mr. Coulter’s name were listed in a ledger book, surely that difference would leap out to the clerk, enough to make him pause and investigate further anyway.

At the end of the document, she changed the name of the register who had signed from Henry M. Atkinson to Harold V. Wiltkinson.

Lord, let this be enough. Let the clerk spot the forgery. And protect my uncle and the Coulters.

Would her changes work? Or would they only make Holloway angry? Or Winston. If Holloway’s claim that Winston had commanded this theft was true, where would this forged document go? The knot in her middle twisted tighter, and her throat swelled enough to make breathing hard.

Please, God. Protect me. Protect us all.

The original deed had once been folded, its crease deeply worn and its edges stained from years of handling. She creased her new version in the same place, opening and closing the paper until the line was just as deep. She gathered some stain from the wooden floor on her fingers, mixing it with a dab of ink to dirty the edges of the document. After a few minutes of effort, it looked suitably aged. Or so she hoped, anyway.

She held up her work to the light. Maybe it wasn’t identical to the Coulters’ original deed, but it looked authentic. It would have to suffice. Holloway would never see the two side by side. She tucked the forged version into her pocket, then hid the original near the bottom of her carpet bag. She would return it to the Coulters’ trunk at her first opportunity. Though without Holloway kidnapping a child to create a diversion, she couldn’t imagine when that would be.

With everything done, she pushed to her feet and returned her bag to its place. As soon as the men returned, she’d take the evening meal to the survey camp—along with her other delivery.

But until then, she could help with the children. Maybe reading them a book or playing ranch with the animals like little Mary Ellen enjoyed so much.

It was the least she could do. Maybe she could somehow assuage the guilt pressing like a bear on her chest.

L ate the next morning, Clara stood on a chair, draping a garland of rich green pine boughs over the frame of the door leading into her chamber. The fresh scent of the evergreen filled her senses, bringing the warmth of Christmases past to fill her spirit.

Decorating for this holiday was the one time of year she and Sarah could work together with pleasure. They both loved all the festive trimmings, especially since most could be crafted using branches and berry clusters picked for free in the countryside. Clara loved beauty as much as Sarah did, especially when it could be had without spending hard earned wages.

"That looks just lovely, Clara." Naomi smiled as she approached, her arms laden with holly, crimson berries peeking out from glossy green leaves. "You have a real knack for where to place things."

Clara allowed a grin. “Thank you. Christmastime is my favorite season.” She took several sprigs of holly from Naomi and wove them into the pine boughs, the bright red berries adding pops of color against the green.

"I do hope you and your uncle will stay and celebrate with us."

Warmth slid through Clara. “We’re grateful you’ve let us stay this long.” Could they possibly remain here until Christmas? Celebrating with Miles would be…too wonderful to let herself think about.

She stepped down from the chair, smoothing her skirts as she surveyed her work. The cabin was beginning to look festive, with garlands and ribbons adorning the walls and doorways. The scent of baking spices wafted from the kitchen, where Dinah and Patsy were preparing Christmas cookies.

Dinah placed a tray of dough in the oven and closed the door, then wandered toward them. “You ladies have performed a miracle. It’s beautiful.”

Heat crept up Clara’s neck, but she didn’t acknowledge any credit in the outcome. Naomi, Lillian, and Jess had done just as much. Angela had worked with them earlier this morning, but she’d been especially exhausted from the child she carried, so she’d laid down to rest while Mary Ellen napped.

"We need to finish planning the Christmas menu.” Dinah propped her hands at her waist. “Naomi and I always make fig pudding and gingerbread. Of course we’ll have whatever meat the men bring in. What are some of your favorite Christmas dishes, girls?"

Patsy was the first to speak. “I can make mince pie. That’s something we always enjoyed. I’ll bet Anna remembers it.”

“Oh, that’s perfect.” Naomi tied ribbon into bows as she answered, then turned to Jess, who was positioning garland on the mantle. “What about you, Jess?”

The woman always seemed shy when spoken to in a group, and this time was no different. She ducked her chin, murmuring, “My father always loved my roasted chestnuts. There’s a knack to knowing just when to pull them from the flame.”

Did the others catch that Jess hadn’t given her own choice, but her father’s?

Clara hadn’t heard the woman’s story, but Miles mentioned she’d only been here a few weeks. Did she miss her family? Why wasn’t she with them for Christmas?

Naomi sent Jess a warm smile. “I’ve never roasted chestnuts, but I imagine it’s challenging. What’s a food that you love?” Her emphasis on you couldn’t be missed.

Jess stared into the flames. But then she sent a sheepish look to Naomi. “I think my favorite is roasted apples, hung over a fire until cooked through, then cut open and spread with butter.”

Clara’s middle gave a leap at the memory of how wonderful roasted apples tasted. Especially on a cold day when she sat by a warm blaze.

The door opened, and Miles stepped inside. Something surged in her middle at the sight of him. He was so handsome. And so capable.

His focus landed on her as he stomped snow from his boots onto the rug, and the concern in his eyes made her insides churn. This wasn’t a warm meeting of gazes from across the room.

"Holloway's riding into the yard." His tone sounded as grim as his expression.

Her chest clenched, and a cold knot tightened in her middle.

She laid the holly she’d been about to hang on the table and started forward. Why would Holloway be here now? Surely it couldn't be about the forged deed she'd slipped into the meal delivery last night. Miles had insisted on delivering the food alone because of the unknown danger still lurking on the property, but she'd managed to tuck the paper, wrapped in a leather pouch, into the bag with the cornbread.

When she reached the door, she grabbed her coat. She couldn’t let Holloway come inside. Whatever he wanted to say, she’d make sure he left the property as quickly as possible.

Miles touched her arm, drawing her gaze to his face. Those warm eyes held worry. “I’ll go out with you.” Though he didn’t phrase it as a question, his gaze asked permission.

She shook her head. “He probably just wants to give me survey notes.” The lie burned her through.

He could have come for that purpose.

But he’d sent sketches and measurements back with Miles the night before. She doubted he had anything new to share with her already.

Miles’s brows drew together, but he stepped away, allowing her space to exit the cabin. She glanced over her shoulder as she crunched through the snow. He’d closed the door, but he probably watched from the window.

Relief wrapped around her, giving her a layer of protection from whatever Holloway would thrust on her now.

The man had already dismounted and waited beside his horse for her approach. His weathered face wore its usual sullen frown, but his eyes gleamed. "Miss Pendleton. I came to retrieve you and your uncle. We’re done measuring this area, and we need to move on."

Cold dread crept through her veins.

No.

She'd known this moment would come, but…she shouldn’t have allowed herself to hope they might stay through Christmas. She wanted more precious days with Miles. And his family.

"The Coulters have invited us to stay through Christmas. Surely, a few more days wouldn't hurt the survey work. We could have a short Christmas holiday."

Holloway's expression hardened, implacable as stone. "It's time to leave. Now. Go fetch your uncle and gather your things."

She could only stare at him as her mind whirled. She guessed the deed had been the only thing that had made him linger. That awful, horrible business.

Anger surged through her, but she could do nothing about it.

Locking her jaw, she gritted out, "Very well." She had to get away from this man before she did something she’d regret.

She turned back to the house so he couldn’t see the tears burning in her eyes. Each step toward the cabin felt like a mile, her legs leaden with dread.

How could she tell Miles she was leaving? How could she say goodbye to this wonderful place, these people she'd come to love?

She pushed open the door, the cheerful warmth of the cabin a stark contrast to the icy cold gripping her heart.

Miles was there in an instant, his hands gentle as he pulled her inside and closed the door behind her. "What did he want?"

She fought hard against the tears burning her eyes. "He says…it's time for us to leave. Today. That we need to move on with the survey team."

“No!"

His shout had her heart clenching tighter.

His chest rose and fell, fast, as if he worked to collect himself. “Can’t you…?” His voice came out quieter. “Can’t you stay until Christmas at least? I’ll talk to him. Invite the rest of the men.”

Clara shook her head, a single tear escaping to trail down her cheek. "I asked. He wouldn’t yield. I…I need to tell my uncle."

She made to step around Miles, but he caught her arm, his grip gentle but firm. "Clara, wait. Please. There has to be something we can do. Some way to change his mind."

His earnestness, the desperate hope in his eyes, nearly undid her. She wanted so badly to find a solution. But what could they do?

Holloway held the authority, and she couldn't risk angering him and somehow exposing the forged deed.

"I don't know, Miles." Her voice cracked with the pain rending her heart. "I don't think so."

She couldn’t stand here looking at him. Every second so close to him made her want to plunge herself into his arms. To beg him to hide her so she didn’t have to leave.

She turned away. “I have to go.” She hurried toward the chamber where her uncle was resting. Holloway wouldn’t be kept waiting long.

When she opened the door, Uncle Hiram sat on the edge of the bed, his injured hand cradled in his lap. He’d recovered a great deal and seemed to have much of his strength back.

He looked up as she entered, a smile lighting his features until he caught sight of her expression.

"What's wrong, my dear?" He rose to meet her.

She closed the door and swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. "Mr. Holloway is here. He says it's time for us to move on with the survey team. He’s waiting for us now."

Uncle Hiram's brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak for a moment. Surely, he wanted to stay as much as she did.

She stepped toward him, a tiny bit of hope building in her chest. “Do you think…do we really need to keep working with the surveyors? Couldn't we find work around here instead? Especially with your hand still injured."

She trailed off as he shook his head, his mouth forming a grim line. “I wish we could, my girl. But we made a commitment to the survey team, and we need to see it through."

Her chest ached, her throat so tight she could barely breathe. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision.

Uncle Hiram rested a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe once our work is done, we can come back to this place. If you still have a hankering for it.” His voice softened even more with those last words.

Clara nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. If she told him about the deed, that would surely change his mind.

Yet it would cause him so much pain. To know both about Holloway’s demand and how she’d gone along with it. Maybe she should have confided in him to begin with.

She couldn’t go back now though.

She’d made a plan, and any deviation from it could tip Holloway off that she’d double-crossed him.

As little as she wanted to leave, she needed Holloway a long way from the Coulters.

She swiped at her tears and drew in a steadying breath. "We’d best not keep him waiting."

Her uncle squeezed her shoulder. "You're a strong girl, Clara. We'll get through this. And like I said, maybe we can come back someday."

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Knowing that coming back wouldn’t be an option, not if the Coulters ever found out what she’d done.

It seemed she had no choice, no matter how much leaving broke her heart.