Page 13 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
At the sight of the boy’s face, so much like Eric’s, a vise clamped onto Franz’s chest. “You must be Dieter. And you”—he took in the little girl, who was now resting her head on the woman’s shoulder—“must be Bianca.”
With her dark hair and petite features, the girl resembled Luisa so much that he could almost feel her presence and hear her voice. This child—both children—could have been Luisa’s and his. He would have been the one with the family and the full life.
Instead, Eric had gotten everything that should have been his.
Dieter was examining him with wide blue eyes that were so much like his and Eric’s. “You’re my uncle?”
Franz swallowed the sorrow that had so quickly surfaced. “Yes, I am.” If the family resemblance wasn’t enough, he had a photograph to prove it. He dug into his coat pocket, found the worn picture among the letters, and pulled it out.
“Here.” He held it out, revealing himself and Eric standing together along the shore of Lake Tollensesee, taken the autumn he’d left for the university. The two of them stood side by side,arms slung over each other’s shoulders, both with their light brown hair, youthful faces, and bright smiles. Little had they known how much would change in a few short months.
Dieter studied the photo. “That is Father.” He made the pronouncement as if the matter were settled and he could finally trust Franz.
Even so, Franz held out the picture to Clarabelle and Bianca.
They bent their heads and examined the picture too.
“Uncle Franz.” Dieter’s voice seemed to hold both welcome and excitement. At least, Franz hoped so.
Clarabelle glanced from the picture to him and back. “You don’t need to convince me. It’s obvious enough.”
“It has been a while, and I am sure we have both changed.” Franz peered down the lane, his gut cinching. Would Eric welcome him just as openly as his children? And his wife?
Bianca wiggled to free herself from Clarabelle. The movement only tightened Clarabelle’s garments more snuggly to her body, accentuating her generous curves once again.
He dragged his gaze—and his thoughts—away from those generous curves and focused on her face. She had such pretty cheekbones that angled down to a slender jaw and chin. And her mouth and lips had a full curve that no doubt made her very kissable.
Bianca shuffled so that she was standing beside her brother. “Does this mean we don’t need to go get the sheriff?”
“Uncle Franz will keep us safe now.” Dieter glanced around as if he really did expect a killer to jump out from behind the nearest tree. “Won’t you, Uncle Franz?”
Franz nodded. “Of course I will.”
“Now children,” Clarabelle said gently. “We don’t need to live in fear.”
“But the killer is still out there,” Dieter said.
Something wasn’t quite right. What if Eric and his family were in danger? Was it possible Dieter hadn’t been playing when he’d thrown the blanket?
Franz surveyed the landscape again. Surely if Eric were home, he would have heard the commotion the same way Clarabelle had, and he would have come to investigate by now. “Is Eric gone?”
Having opened her mouth to respond to Dieter, Clarabelle paused, her gaze swinging to Franz and her eyes brimming with compassion. “I’m so sorry, Franz. But yes, he’s gone.”
He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed that Eric wouldn’t be rushing out to greet him. Maybe the delay would give him a chance to be more prepared for what to say. “When will he be back?”
“Back?” Clarabelle’s brow furrowed.
“Yes, did he say when he would return?”
For a moment, everyone looked at him as if he’d sprouted long ears and a tail and turned into a donkey.
Then Clarabelle shuddered and hugged her arms together. “It’s not like that,” she whispered. “He won’t be coming back... because he’s dead.”
6
Dead?
Franz tried to let the word penetrate his mind, but it only seemed to bounce off.
