A Lost Love's Legacy (Sons Of A Gun Book 5)

by Brenda Sinclair

  But Rosie couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  She met eyes with AJ and awaited his explanation.

  “I’ve no doubt surprised you, Rosie.” AJ leaned his arms on his desktop and glanced at the diary in front of him. “I’ve listened to everything you’ve told us. And I’ve re-read your grandmother’s entries. Despite what is written here, I’m not convinced Michael Miller was your grandfather.”

  Rosie had counted on AJ to provide her with family history. Now, he’d informed her that he doubted she and Michael Miller were even related. Had she also fallen asleep after lunch? Would she awaken to discover she’d been dreaming?

  “Papa. How can you say such a thing?” Amanda blurted.

  Michael sat, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. The smirk on his face spoke I told you so as loud and clear as if he’d voiced the words aloud.

  “I knew Michael Miller better than anyone, and he’d never compromise a young lady’s virtue before marriage.” AJ shook his head. “There’s no possible way he’d have done such a thing.”

  “Then how do you explain…” Rosie found herself at a loss for words, feeling her face flaming.

  “I’m not certain how to explain your grandmother’s words, but there are several other possibilities. Someone your grandmother met shortly after her return to Boston. Perhaps someone else in Milestone compromised her prior to or following her introduction to Michael.” AJ threw up his hands. “I might be grasping at straws here, but I will never believe such a thing possible of the Michael Miller I knew.”

  “I hate to say it, but do you suppose some fellow… forced himself on your grandmother?” Michael speculated.

  Rosie gasped, hearing such an offensive accusation. “Never. Surely, Grandmother would have written about something so horrific in the private pages of her journal.”

  Amanda reached for Rosie’s hand. “Perhaps not, if she believed there was a possibility of someone reading it.”

  “She wrote about her indiscretion and the ‘early’ arrival of her baby. Would she include those entries if she hadn’t secured the journal safely away from prying eyes?” Rosie whispered, holding back her tears.

  “You’re right. Such a thing seems very unlikely,” AJ agreed with her on this matter at least, glaring at his son for mentioning it in the first place. “Had that happened, I’d like to think your grandmother would have confided in her parents. Her father would have reported the scoundrel, the authorities would have been called, and suitable charges would have resulted.”

  Michael gazed into Rosie’s eyes. “I apologize for suggesting it.”

  “No, we can’t rule out any possibility,” Rosie conceded. “Although, I still believe my grandmother told the truth and Michael was the father. She obviously loved him dearly, despite only knowing him such a short time.”

  “Never dreaming her father would insist she return home to Boston and she’d never see Michael again, would Lucille have allowed him to take liberties believing they would be married soon?” Amanda suggested.

  “I would guess Michael asked her father for permission to court his daughter. Michael would never take liberties outside marriage with a lovely young lady from her social standing, no matter how willing.” AJ shook his head. “He lectured me endlessly about being a gentleman and not taking a young lady’s virtue until marriage. He wasn’t a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ type of fellow. He led by impeccable example in all things.”

  Rosie glanced from Amanda to Michael. She still didn’t agree with AJ but she’d keep her opinion to herself.

  “And Michael would never have compromised Lucille and then permitted her father to take her back to Boston, knowing a new life could be on the way. He would have followed her to Boston and courted her, ensured she wasn’t with child. Or married her immediately when he discovered there was a baby on the way.” AJ waved his hand. “No, there has to be another explanation.”

  Amanda tapped Rosie on the arm. “Could you read the entry again about the baby’s birth. I recall something in there that has niggled my mind with each reading.”

  Rosie handed her the book at the page. “Read that particular entry aloud for all of us, please.”

  Amanda’s finger moved down the page as she skimmed the words. “Here it is… the place in the entry dated November 19 when she mentions her mother discovering her secret. What do you make of this? Of course, Mother realized the truth of the matter and scolded me for my inexcusable behavior in Montana. I didn’t elaborate on the details, allowing her to stew about her foolish daughter misbehaving with ‘that Michael chap’.”

  Rosie stared at Amanda. “I’m not certain what you’re concerned about.”

  “The part I didn’t elaborate on the details. Could that mean Lucille’s mother was mistaken about Michael being the child’s father?” Amanda speculated. “But she let her mother believe she’d been intimate with Michael. What if ‘the details’ mean her mothers’ assumption was incorrect?”

  AJ leaned back in his chair. “Makes sense to me, knowing Michael as I did.”

  Rosie shook her head. “I was certain Michael Miller was my grandfather. Otherwise, I never would have come here.”

  “Don’t fret.” Amanda wrapped an arm around Rosie.

  “If Michael Miller wasn’t my grandfather, then who was?” Rosie whispered, tears filling her eyes.

  “Don’t cry.” Amanda rubbed her back. “We’ll solve this mystery, one way or another. There has to be an answer. Someone has to know something.”

  “You think so?” Michael glanced from Amanda to Rosie. “This happened fifty-five years ago. I doubt any of the parties involved are even alive. Your great-grandparents aren’t. Your grandmother isn’t. Neither is Michael. Who else would have known what happened?”

  “Maybe I’ll never learn the truth,” Rosie whispered, wiping the wetness from her cheek. “I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

  * * *

  Michael turned toward the doorway, stuffing his hands into his pockets. If he didn’t leave soon, he might wrap his arms around Rosie to comfort the crying girl. His opinion of her had changed in the past few minutes. He certainly no longer believed her story centered on illegal motives, and he regretted accusing her of being a fraud.

  She’d sincerely believed what her grandmother had written in the journals. And who wouldn’t? He, too, had started to believe the entries held credibility. His father’s declaration hadn’t surprised him, but for a different reason than he’d expected.

  “I should get back to work,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  AJ nodded. “Go ahead, son.”

  “We’re not abandoning Rosie,” Amanda insisted. “If we’re to learn the truth, then having Rosie remain in Milestone makes the most sense.”

  “I agree,” Rosie whispered. “But the hotel won’t rent me a room—”

  “Hotel?” AJ interrupted her. “Young lady, you’re staying here with us at the ranch.”

  Rosie glanced at Michael. “I won’t impose, and I certainly won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

  Michael shifted on his feet. “You should stay here. Pa can better help you solve this if you’re close by.”

  “Absolutely. I don’t believe you’re Michael Miller’s granddaughter, but then again, if I’m wrong about the man, perhaps you are his kin.” AJ stood and looked Rosie in the eye. “I would never turn my back on family or someone who could prove as close to family as you might be. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want.”

  “Thank you,” Rosie whispered. “If you’re certain I won’t be a bother or cause a rift within your family, then I appreciate your hospitality.”

  Amanda clasped her hands. “Excellent. Michael, please fetch Rosie’s trunks from the buggy.”

  Michael gaped.

  AJ burst into laughter.

  “Well, I suspected you’d invite Rosie to stay so we brought her trunks along with us,” Amanda rationalized. “I knew Papa would send a ranch hand back to t
own with me if it was decided I’d be returning home alone.”

  “Oh, my girl.” AJ shook his head. “Go fetch the trunks, Michael. Then find Davie and have him saddle his horse and tie it behind the buggy. He can accompany Amanda to town.”

  “Thank you, Papa. My husband is expecting his supper on the table by six.”

  “Amanda, you’ll be the death of me,” AJ muttered.

  Rosie chuckled. “At least you didn’t admit the only reason Sawyer put the trunks in the buggy was our story we were taking them to your store so I could renew my wardrobe with several new purchases.”

  AJ laughed heartily and Michael snickered.

  Amanda wagged a finger at both men in turn. “Don’t either of you ever breathe a word of that to my husband.”

  “I promise,” AJ agreed immediately.

  “I don’t know…” Michael began, grinning. “All right.”

  “Thank you. Now, Rosie, enjoy your time on the ranch, and don’t worry about this situation with your grandfather. We’ll sort it out somehow.” Amanda hugged Rosie tightly before stepping back and meeting her eyes. “Promise me you won’t worry.”

  “I’ll put my concern aside for now and enjoy my visit on this lovely ranch.”

  AJ hugged his daughter. “Don’t you worry, Amanda. We’ll take excellent care of her.”

  “Good. And spend some time with Michael. I think the two of you make a handsome couple.” Amanda chuckled. “When you’re not preparing to throttle each other, you should get along famously.”

  Michael harrumphed and glared at his sister.

  “No promises,” Rosie warned her new friend. “Especially the part about the throttling.”

  Amanda winked at her. “Please practice restraint. He is one of my favorite brothers.”

  “One?” Michael muttered. “Admit it… I’m your favorite.”

  Rosie waved off the comment. “You’d still have four more,” she teased.

  “True.” Amanda grinned at her and then burst out laughing. She leaned closer and whispered, “Rosie Dalton, you would make a wonderful sister-in-law someday.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Rosie exclaimed, noticing Michael’s face had paled. He’d obviously heard what his sister said.

  Marriage to any man was the last thing on her mind. Even if finding a prospective spouse lingered in her thoughts, after the way he’d treated her, Michael McLennon would be relegated to the bottom of her list.

  Chapter 8

  The next few days flew by for Rosie while she enjoyed lazy hours spent on the Double M Ranch. She’d seldom had a moment to herself. Michael had been assigned to entertain her, leaving Rosie to wonder if AJ hadn’t similar matchmaking thoughts as Amanda.

  Despite being forced to endure Michael’s company, Rosie loved touring the entire ranch.

  He showed her the animals, and she especially enjoyed the new colts and fillies. She couldn’t contain her laughter, watching the newborn calves kicking up their heels in abandon and racing about before settling on the grassland for a nap with their mothers close by. He’d regaled her with stories of the ranch and current and previous ranch hands. If she didn’t know better, she might suspect he’d enjoyed himself as much as she had. He’d certainly kept a civil tongue when conversing with her. And she couldn’t complain about a moment spent with him.

  When not touring with Michael, Rosie occupied many hours of her new-found spare time in the kitchen, chatting with the housekeeper and helping with supper preparations. She and Mrs. Sheridan talked endlessly about so many topics, including Rosie’s childhood and her mother. Only one thing the housekeeper suggested troubled Rosie. And she’d thought about it long into the night.

  This morning, she sipped a cup of coffee and again contemplated Mrs. Sheridan’s reasoning. In a way, the housekeeper’s observation made sense. But it rankled Rosie’s nerves even thinking about corresponding with her mother, especially considering how poorly she’d treated her. Most likely her mother wouldn’t have even realized she left the family estate, if Rosie hadn’t scrawled a brief, last-minute note.

  Reluctantly, Rosie climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She settled herself at the desk by the window, picked up the pen, and opened the small pot of ink. Best she do this before she second-guessed herself.

  May 18, 1889

  Dear Mother,

  After extensive soul-searching and an extremely generous dose of encouragement from someone I’ve recently met, I’m writing this letter. You are no doubt concerned where I’ve gotten to, my having left with only one brief note of explanation. I suppose ‘Searching for my past. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Rosie’ barely suffices. However, I’d made up my mind to leave and I wouldn’t risk anyone attempting to stop me..

  I discovered Grandmother Lucille’s diaries in the attic, and I know the truth. I’ve traveled to Milestone, Montana Territory, where I’m pursuing information about Michael Miller, the man I believe was my real grandfather. No wonder I never felt Brighton loved Grandmother. I doubt he loved any of us. Perhaps that’s painful to read, but I very much doubt you knew otherwise.

  I do not plan to return east any time soon. I will write from time to time so you will know I am well. Be assured though, I will continue to pursue the truth about my biological grandfather and his very interesting life and remarkable legacy.

  Don’t worry about me, Mother. Frankly, I could not be happier. And I may have found a place where I truly belong.

  With my warmest regards,

  Rosie

  For a moment, she considered scratching out the signature and signing the letter with the name her mother preferred she use. One more bone of contention between them for as long as she could remember.

  But she hadn’t felt like Rosemary since boarding the train in Boston, traveling west to discover her heritage. She enjoyed the simple ways of rural life she’d recently experienced on the ranch. No social mores and impossible standards to consider at every turn. No pretense. Just honest people with truthful opinions. Generous-hearted folks always eager to help. Despite the question of her family history still hanging in the air, Rosie Dalton felt more like a regular person than ever before.

  She quickly folded the pages and sealed the envelope, leaving the signature as it was.

  Chapter 9

  June

  Anna Dalton leaned back in the buggy, struggling to keep a civil tongue. She couldn’t believe the rudeness she’d encountered since arriving in this backwoods Montana town yesterday.

  When she inquired of the shopkeeper where she could acquire suitable accommodations, he’d delivered her to the boarding home of the most disagreeable woman she’d ever met in her entire life. Spending one night enduring the company of Mrs. Landers in her establishment would suffice for anyone. How that poison-tongued woman made a living providing a roof over anyone’s head would forever remain a mystery to Anna. If the people on this ranch didn’t offer her accommodations until she could arrange suitable transport for her daughter and herself back to Boston, Anna hadn’t any notion what she’d do.

  “How much farther?” Anna demanded of the driver. She intended to collect Rosemary and bring her back to Boston where she belonged. The girl turned twenty this spring, and she should be married before it was too late.

  Anna silently thanked the three gentlemen who worked for Woodley Enterprises and offered to purchase the business from her following James’ untimely passing in February. She’d never cared much for commerce of any kind, but her grandfather, father, and husband had almost worshipped the goings-on within the four walls of the family business. Investments, land purchases, mining rights, and a dozen other endeavors, none of which she understood one iota. But she had to admit, the generated profits had provided the family, her included, with a more-than-comfortable income over the decades. After the reading of the will, however, she couldn’t wait to rid herself of the responsibility, indeed the utter nuisance, the company now represented in her life.

  “Only a half hour more,” Billy Turner
from the livery muttered from the seat beside her.

  Anna had forked over a pretty penny to convince him to close his business and bring her out to the Double M. At least, she hadn’t been bored by mundane conversation; the fellow hadn’t spoken a dozen words to her all morning.

  A half hour more? Anna blinked back tears. Why had she decided to follow her daughter to this god-forsaken place? Rosemary’s letter had shocked her to the depth of her core, reading the details of her journey. Believing some fellow in Montana was her grandfather. Such an absurdity. Where did the girl come up with such an outlandish idea? And claiming she’d discovered this nonsense in her grandmother’s diaries? Anna wasn’t even aware of any diaries.

  Anna couldn’t count the number of times her daughter had embarrassed her with some silly project or committed an inexcusable faux pas at a social event. She never knew what the girl would try next, but working her way up a single rung on Boston’s social ladder had never been of interest to her. “Young lady, you’ve truly outdone yourself this time,” she muttered aloud.

  Anna had finally received the monies from the sale of the family business, and the funds had been deposited in her account at the bank just prior to her leaving. Now, she could negotiate a suitable husband for her daughter and see her married. This money would secure a bright future for Rosemary, as well as sustain Anna and ensure she retained her well-earned place in society.

  Rosemary seemed a troubled child from the beginning. At least, it had appeared so to Anna. She’d never wanted any children, and by limiting her husband’s visits to her bedroom and through learned methods of preventing such a thing from occurring, she’d been lucky. But she’d let her guard down once and look what happened? Being with child at age thirty-four had almost been the death of her. Literally. Had the doctor not been so well-trained, she may very well have succumbed to her complications from delivering the child. Fever. Bleeding. Anna shivered just thinking about the ordeal she’d endured. But thankfully, she’d survived. And what thanks did she receive from the child? Being forced halfway across the country to correct Rosemary’s ridiculous beliefs about this invented grandfather and then return the silly girl home.