скачать книгу бесплатно
Ellis pushed away from the table. “I’ll go take a look.” He chucked Angel under the chin. “We even fed your animals, so don’t consider going out there today.”
“I won’t, Pa. I figured you’d remember them.”
Before he went out the swinging door, his gaze settled on Constance again. The silence grew thick and heavy. She stared back as long as she could, but shame made her lower her eyes before he looked away. He must know there was more to her story, just as he’d known there were more details to her past than she’d shared last night. An ugly glob of regret settled in her stomach. Stella hadn’t been wanted by the law, that much was true. The girl couldn’t be more than a few years older than Angel. She’d stolen Ashton’s letter from a stack of others that had been delivered to Rosalie’s—the large home down the street from the New Street Boarding House where Constance had first purchased lodging. Later, when her funds had become depleted, she’d washed laundry for room and board.
Stella had said Rosalie had dozens of letters from men who’d paid her to post notices for them. Rosalie never posted the advertisements. Instead she sold the letters to girls who thought becoming a mail-order bride would be better than working in one of Rosalie’s second floor rooms. Constance had no doubt as to what went on in those upstairs bedrooms even before meeting Stella. The young girl had stolen the letter, thinking she might like to travel west, but upon reading Ashton’s description of Wyoming, changed her mind. Stella said she didn’t dare replace the opened letter, but wasn’t going to part with it free of charge, either.
Constance had read the description, and though it didn’t sound rosy, it did seem like a brighter future than washing sheets until her hands bled the rest of her life. She’d responded to the letter the morning after seeing Byron’s headstone. A gravesite didn’t completely convinced her he was dead, but it did make her believe the inheritance from her aunts was gone, and when she was told the authorities would soon be after her, she’d known she had to leave New York.
“Constance? Are you all right?”
The concern in Angel’s voice had Constance twirling around, and searching for an answer. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m just wondering what we should fix all those men for lunch.” Could it be true? That a woman could choose being a mail-order bride over jail? Maybe, but what if the crime was murder? Not that she’d murdered anyone. But if Byron really was dead, they’d have to blame someone.
“Well, you could turn the roast you have in the oven into stew. Stew goes a lot further and will warm them up at the same time.” Angel walked toward the pantry off the side of the kitchen. “I’ll peel potatoes.”
The girl’s common sense was astounding, and the way she flashed those big brown eyes had the ability to catch Constance’s heart off guard. “How did you get to be so wise?” She followed Angel into the pantry. Shelves went from the floor to the ceiling and held more provisions than Link’s store had back in Cottonwood—not to mention it was better organized.
Angel handed Constance a big pot. “I don’t know. Living out here maybe. But I think it’s just one of those things you either have or you don’t. Like good horse sense. Some folks know a good horse when they see it, others get swindled every time.” Angel gathered items as she talked, plopping potatoes, carrots and onions into the pot. “There are times when I see an injured animal, and I just keep riding. I know no matter how hard I try, I won’t be able to help it. Not because of its kind or the size of their injury, but because of their will to let me help.”
There was truth in Angel’s unabashed philosophy. Sometimes a person just had to keep riding. Ignore what they’d seen, where they’d been. Focus on the here and now—like a house full of hungry people.
Constance set the kettle on the table. Angel was a lot like her father. That explained why they got along so well, and how they’d occasionally butt heads. Ellis not only loved his daughter, he respected her, and because of that others did, too. It was evident in how the men responded to Angel, both yesterday in town and today at the ranch.
“I saw it in you,” Angel said as they transferred the vegetables onto the table. “I knew you’d let me help.”
Constance caught the authenticity in Angel’s admission, and a tender wave of warmth, similar to how a morning fire warms a room, spiraled inside her chest. Moved by the genuine fondness blossoming inside her, Constance wrapped her arms around Angel’s shoulders. “Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to help me. And I treasure your friendship.”
Angel snuggled in for an extended hug. “I knew we’d be friends right off. We’ll forever be friends.”
Constance rested her chin atop Angel’s head. Though their age difference was great, she felt a kinship to the girl like no other she’d ever known. Something else wafted over her, a sense of protection. Of keeping Angel safe. Perhaps if she wrote a letter to the authorities in New York, not necessarily telling them where she was, but explaining everything to them—again. When she’d gone to them before, they’d said without a body there wasn’t a crime. This time she could tell them where Byron’s headstone was. Surely the undertaker could identify who was buried there. Her heart balled itself inside her throat. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea. That might be the proof they needed.
In the crowded front parlor across the hall, Ellis lowered Jeb’s darkening toes back into the tepid water. “They’ll be fine, Jeb. Sore for a while, but they didn’t freeze all the way through.”
“Thanks, Ellis. They sure do sting.” Jeb spoke through clenched teeth.
“I’m sure they do. It was foolish to leave town in the middle of a blizzard.” Ellis sat back on his haunches, and included all of the men in his gaze. His frustration at the disaster that could have been laced his voice as he spoke, “Why would any of you do such a thing? You all know better.”
Every man started talking at once, pointing fingers at each other and creating excuses. Ellis crossed his arms and waited for the commotion to die down. When it did, he pointed to Buford Homer, the one man he’d been shocked to see huddled beneath a quilt. The banker had more sense than the rest of the room put together—or should, leastwise. The man lowered his head, clearly unwilling to speak. Ellis turned instead to Fred Westmaster, the blacksmith, and maybe the second smartest man in the bunch.
“Well, Jeb there said the storm was lifting and that he was gonna ride out to talk to Ashton’s bride.” Fred glanced around. “Word got out. We all want a chance at asking for her considerations.”
“Are there any others?” Ellis hated the thought, but if there were, he’d have to see about finding them.
Fred shook his head. His cheeks, burned from the elements, were now redder than the man’s hair and beard. “No, not that I know of.”
The rest of the men shook their heads. “Well, gentlemen,” Ellis used the term lightly, “I’m afraid your trip was useless. Miss Jennings hasn’t decided if she’ll stay in the Territory.”
“Not stay?”
“Why not?”
“Says who?”
Ellis held up his hand, stopping the onslaught of questions. He’d dealt with men for years. They were by far easier to deal with than women. Not that he’d had much experience with women—but that’s what he’d always heard. Christine had been the only woman he’d ever dealt with, and her tender and kind heart had never been a challenge. Matter of fact, there were times he wished she’d have been less amicable; it would have better prepared him for raising Angel. His daughter definitely had a mind of her own. So did Constance, traveling all the way from New York City on little more than the promise of marriage. There was more to it than that, and his mind tumbled with what he should do about it.
“Whatcha mean, Ellis? Not staying?” Jeb asked. His young eyes looked as sad as his frostbit toes.
“She’s had a shock, fellas, in learning about Ashton’s death.” He seized all of their attention. “Miss Jennings needs time to catch her breath and then decide what to do. Running her down like a rabbit won’t speed up her decision-making.”
The room filled with low grumbles as his statement hit home.
“Sorry, Ellis,” Mr. Homer offered. “We should’ve thought before we acted. Now, it appears we’re indebted to you to let us stay until the weather breaks. I have no desire to venture back out in that storm, as I’m sure is the case with the rest of the men.”
The men nodded, gladly agreeing with what the banker said.
“You’re welcome to stay, but don’t expect Miss Jennings or Angel to wait on or entertain you.” Ellis wanted the ground rules laid out, and followed. Every man on his ranch knew their position when it came to his family. His mind tried to dart in another direction, telling him Constance wasn’t family, but he brought the thought to a halt, and glared around the room. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir, we understand,” Fred Westmaster assured. The man was the size and shape of a grizzly, and the gaze he shot around the room said he’d be enforcing the ground rules. “Don’t we?”
Agreeable nods and comments guaranteed everyone understood.
Ellis gave a single head bob, accepting their responses. “Good enough, then. I’m sure lunch will be ready shortly.” He rose, prepared to seek some thinking time in his office.
“Mr. Clayton,” Sam McDonaldson said. “Are you interested in claiming Miss Jennings?”
The man owned a farm between Heaven on Earth and Cottonwood. Ellis didn’t know him well, but had no reason to dislike him. Prior to this moment, that is. Ellis didn’t answer right away, not because he didn’t have one, but because he didn’t think anyone needed to know his business.
McDonaldson must have made his own conclusion from Ellis’s silence. “It seems a bit unfair to the rest of us, if you are, with her living here and all.”
Ellis met the man’s stare. McDonaldson had to be well over forty, and it appeared the man had less sense than he had hair. “Do you have a daughter, Sam?”
“No, you know I don’t,” Sam answered. “I ain’t never been married.”
Ellis turned, making a wide sweep of the room with a steady stare. “What about anyone else? Does anyone have a daughter or a female that could befriend Miss Jennings?” The room was full of negative gestures. “Then wouldn’t you agree the most appropriate place for Miss Jennings is here at the ranch—with Angel?” Some of the men nodded, while others simply stared at him. His throat wanted to swell up, as if it, too, wondered about his explanation. “Besides,” he added, “I’ve hired Miss Jennings to be a tutor to Angel for the time being. You all know the girl needs some formal education.”
No one dared argue that point. His daughter—as much as he loved her—could be considered a little rough around the edges at times, not to mention a bit domineering.
Ellis spun on his heels and left the room, not willing to answer the array of questions his last statement might conjure up.
The fire in his office needed to be stoked. Understandably, he’d told Thomas not to worry about the house fires after his morning visit, and Angel and Miss Jennings had their hands full with unexpected guests. Ellis crossed the room, threw in a couple of good-sized logs, and then strolled to the window. The blizzard raged on. The hands had been prepared for it. Most of the cattle had been brought close to the ranch and a good supply of hay had been laid out. The brunt of the morning chores had been for the homestead animals, including Angel’s flock. He’d stayed outside as long as he could—contemplating his house guest all the while.
Ellis made his way to his desk. Every time he encountered her, Constance said or did something that had his mind and guts rolling with questions. A smile played on his lips. She certainly had a sweet laugh. It hadn’t been funny—those men could have died—but once it was known everyone was fine, there probably wasn’t a person around who wouldn’t have broke out laughing upon seeing his front parlor. It resembled a Civil War infantry, a comical looking one.
He’d told her the truth: he had known they’d come. Once word got out that there was an available female in Cottonwood, men from as far away as Montana would descend on the town. He’d have to prepare for it, but hadn’t thought it would start today, in the middle of a blizzard.
There was also the consideration of how to prepare her for the onslaught of suitors. He’d expected to someday have this chore ahead of him, but assumed it would happen in a few years, when Angel became of age.
That thought lurched his stomach to his heels. When melancholy hit like this, he grew more thankful he’d only been blessed with one child. He’d have loved them all as much as he did Angel, of that he had no doubt, but the older she grew, the more he understood why his mother had cried when he and Christine had left the Carolinas.
He could only hope the man Angel would eventually fall in love with would be interested in living in Wyoming. Maybe not right on Heaven on Earth, but close by would be the next best thing.
Someone tapped on his door. He glanced at the mantel clock and was surprised by the length of time he’d been wallowing in thought. “Come in,” he instructed.
Angel stuck her nose in. “Lunch is ready.”
“Enough for everyone?”
She grinned, entering the room. “Yes. Constance could out-cook Beans.”
“Oh?” He slapped shut the notation book he hadn’t made a mark in. “She could, could she?”
The door closed behind her. “Yup,” Angel said confidently. “You already tasted her breakfast. She knows how to make fancy holiday candies and cookies, too, beside lots of other stuff.”
“How do you know that?” He rose and pushed his chair in, but didn’t move to the door.
“She told me.” Angel skipped across the room and jumped up to sit on the edge of his desk. “We were planning the holiday party when Mr. Homer arrived.” She rolled her dark eyes to the ceiling. “Followed by the rest.”
“You like Miss Jennings, don’t you?” He held in his other thought, that of asking his daughter if she was looking for a mother. The thought clung to the back of his mind like a pesky cobweb.
“Yes. And you will, too, once you get to know her. She’s lived in England and has lots of recipes from there. And she promised to teach me all about the kings and queens over there.”
“Kings and queens?” He ruffled her hair. “You’re interested in that kind of stuff?”
“I suspect.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I promised to teach her all about Wyoming, and in exchange she said she’d teach me about England. It would have been rude to not accept her offer.”
“I suspect it would have been.” He’d already spent too much time mulling thoughts, so took a hold of Angel’s hand. “Come on, scamp, let’s go get some lunch before our guests eat it all.”
“Why do you think she goes by Miss Jennings instead of Mrs. Jennings?” Angel asked as they walked to the door.
The question brought Ellis to a skidding halt. He planted a hand on the wood, keeping Angel from pulling the door open. “Because she’s not married?” It was a question, but he hoped it sounded like a statement.
“Not now, but she was.”
“No, Ashton died before she arrived,” he argued.
“Not Mr. Kramer.”
“Who then?”
“I don’t know. But when I helped her unpack there was a ring in one of her trunks. She said it was a wedding ring.” Angel stared up at him with open, honest eyes.
“Maybe it was her mother’s or grandmother’s. Women often pass their wedding rings down in the family.” The bubbling in his stomach said no matter how plausible that sounded, he didn’t believe it.
Angel shook her head. “Nope. She said it was hers, but that her husband died.”
His hand slipped from the door.
“I don’t think she meant to tell me though, since she clammed up right afterward.” Angel had pulled the door open and was crossing the threshold when she spun about to whisper, “Oh, and if any of the men ask, I cooked lunch. Constance doesn’t want to encourage them. Something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach.”
Ellis rubbed at the invisible hammers pounding against his temples, drumming up a headache like he’d never known. Constance Jennings was becoming more than he’d bargained for. Much more. What kind of woman keeps a dead husband a secret?
Chapter Four
Feeding the men without letting them know she was the cook was not an easy thing when a blizzard held everyone indoors. It wasn’t as if Constance thought herself an excellent cook, but years of preparing meals for Aunt Julia and Aunt Theresa had provided her with the ability to create very palatable dishes. She didn’t want the men to think she would make an acceptable wife just because she knew how to cook. Actually, the more she encountered the men roaming the house, the more she questioned her ability to marry anyone ever again.
She snuck a peek to the group sitting at the table. There was no doubt Ellis had said something. The guests were practically tripping over themselves attempting to help with any and all household chores. Two of them had washed the lunch dishes, and had managed to not break a single plate, which was a relief considering how awkwardly they’d gone about the duty.
Constance put aside the dust rag and walked across the room. “Angel,” she whispered near the girl’s ear. “It’s time to check the ham.”
The girl scooted her chair away from the table. “It’s time you boys cleared out. I gotta check the ham and show Miss Jennings how to peel potatoes.” There were times, especially in how Angel framed her words, that made it crystal clear she’d been raised in a man’s world.
“We can help,” Jeb offered. The man had hobbled into the kitchen earlier, and knowing how badly his feet must hurt, Constance hadn’t had the heart to shoo him out. His attendance had encouraged others to gain entrance, and before she knew it, all the men sat around the kitchen table. Angel had taken control of the situation by pairing them up and dealing out a game of whist. Constance had feigned interest in removing dust from the far corners of the room, while wondering where Ellis had gone.
“Nope.” Angel handed the deck of cards to Constance. The girl also knew when to play a trump card. “Pa wouldn’t want you in here underfoot. Skedaddle now.”
The men listened, pushing in their chairs before they left. When the door clattered shut behind the last one, Constance turned to Angel. “You know, sometimes a lady makes a subtle suggestion rather than giving orders.”
Angel cocked her head, as if deeply contemplating the suggestion. “Does it work?”
“Most of the time.” Constance picked up the pot-holders and opened the oven door. “For instance, you could have said, ‘Excuse us, gentlemen, but Miss Jennings and I have things we need to complete. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the parlor.’”
Angel laughed. Not just a little giggle, but an outright hee-haw.
Constance lifted a brow, attempting to chide Angel with a stern look.
“Do you honestly think those fellers would have listened to that? They’d still be sitting here telling us how comfortable they are,” Angel said, shaking her head and huffing out extra giggles.
Hiding her smile, Constance basted the ham before pushing the large roasting pan back into the oven. “You may be right. It’s just food for thought.”
“I’ll chew on it for a while,” Angel responded.
This time Constance couldn’t help but giggle. She playfully tossed a pot holder across the room. “You are going to be a challenge, aren’t you?”
Angel plucked the knitted pad out of the air with one hand. “Yup.” Eyes sparkling, she tossed the potholder back. “Life’s full of challenges. They make us stronger.”
Constance tossed the pot holder onto the counter and leaped forward. “You are full of it,” she teased, tickling the girl’s sides.
Twisting and giggling, Angel spun about and dug her fingers into Constance’s side. It had been years since she’d joked around. Her brothers had been masters at tickling. Joyful prickles shot up and down her sides and in and out of her heart as she and Angel playfully attacked one another.
The tickling match continued as they twirled from one end of the kitchen to the other. While both of them were whooping with glee the back door opened.
Ellis shed his coat and stomped the snow off his boots by the door. “Every time I find you two together, you’re giggling up a storm.”
His entrance had stalled their fingers, but while smoothing the wrinkles from the flour sack tied around her waist, Constance bit her lips at the fading bits of laughter now mingling with the flutter flipping her insides.
Angel, still openly giggling, wrapped an arm around Constance’s waist and laid her head on her shoulder. “I know. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”
Touched deeply, Constance hugged the girl back. It was quite profound, this tenderness she felt for Angel.
