Unclaimed Bride

Link guffawed. “You? You can’t claim a mail-order bride, Angel.”

“I’m not claiming her as my bride. I’m claiming her as my friend.” Angel pointed over her shoulder with a thumb. “You can tell the passel of men out there that anyone who wants to claim Miss Jennings will have to come through me.”

“Angel.” Ellis sounded extremely frustrated.

Once again, the girl ignored her father. Not in a rude way, but with confidence she was right. “I’ll send word for you to post a sign when we’re ready to start interviews.”

“Interviews?” Link’s frown was back.

So was Constance’s.

Angel folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, interviews. If anyone wants to court Miss Jennings, they’ll be interviewed first. By me.”

“Link, get us a coat,” Ellis snapped and then turned to glare his daughter.

Angel grinned.

For the millionth time in the past months, Constance wished she’d never left England.

As if he couldn’t remain angry at the girl, a tiny grin flashed on Ellis’s face. Constance’s insides fluttered again. This time the man’s face had been transformed into a remarkable image that sparked a memory in her troubled mind.

Link shook his head, as if in disbelief, and then moved back to the curtain. “I’ll see what I got, but I doubt it’ll fit her. She’s not much bigger than Angel there.”

As quick as he’d disappeared, Link reappeared. With a flip of his thick wrists, he shook the folds from a garment. The coat looked similar to the one Angel wore. Light brown twill with what appeared to be a buffalo-hide lining. Not fashionable by any sense, but, oh, did it look warm. Constance balled her fists, trying to hold in a new wave of shivers as her body begged to have the garment cloaking it.

Ellis turned, looked at her expectantly. Her trembles increased, but she managed an agreeable nod. “It’ll do,” he said, taking the coat from Link and holding it up for Constance to slide her arms into the sleeves.

The weight was great, but the warmth heavenly. Angel rolled up the cuffs, and Constance quickly hooked the leather and wood frogs down the front. She should thank both the girl and her father, but something inside Constance—not the irritating little voice, but her own common sense—said Ellis Clayton wouldn’t appreciate that right now.

She held her silence even when he insisted Link retrieve a scarf and pair of mittens.

“How much?” Ellis asked Link.

The amount the store keeper said made Constance gasp. The glance Ellis shot her way had her lowering her eyes to the floor. It was almost as much money as Ashton Kramer had sent her, which had paid for the train from New York to Cheyenne, the stage ride to Cottonwood and all her meals along the way.

“That seems kind of steep considering the coat doesn’t even fit her,” Ellis replied.

The coat was several sizes too large, but Constance could deal with that. She’d dealt with a whole lot worse than ill-fitting clothes. Keeping her gaze off the men, she flipped the scarf over her straw hat and tied it beneath her chin before pulling on the thick, cozy mittens.

“It’s called supply and demand, Ellis. You know that,” Link answered proudly.

“Yeah, well, someday you’re going to demand yourself out of business. People are moving into the Territory every day. A new merchant, one not set on robbing his customers, will have you rethinking your prices.” Ellis counted out bills as he spoke.

Link laughed, taking the money. “Yeah, well it ain’t gonna happen today, is it?”

They left the small store then, but before Ellis pulled the door shut, after he’d held it open for Constance and Angel, Link shouted, “Be sure to send me word to post, Angel.”

“I will!” Angel’s words were cut off by the solid thud of the door.

The men now stood next to a long wagon parked beside the boardwalk. One man, the bean pole guy, asked, “You claiming her, Ellis?”

“Get in,” Ellis directed Angel before he turned to the crowd. “You men better head home.” Pointing to the weather-filled sky, he added, “There’s a storm moving in.”

Angel had climbed onto the seat of the wagon, and held a hand out, helping Constance up beside her. The back of the buckboard was loaded high, including her luggage. Ellis walked around the back, and Constance swiveled to stare straight ahead. When he planted himself beside Angel, the three of them were packed tighter than her trunks.

“But what about the bride?” another man asked.

“Don’t worry about her right now. Worry about your own hides.” Ellis threaded the reins between his gloved fingers and snapped the leather over the backs of the matching buckskins harnessed to the wagon.

Constance grabbed the little fluted edge near her hip as the wagon jerked forward.

Other questions filled the air from the men, some running beside the wagon as the horses picked up speed. Angel started to speak but Ellis insisted, “Be quiet, Angel.”

The girl listened this time, but the smile she gave Constance said she wasn’t miffed. Actually, Angel seemed quite satisfied.

Constance couldn’t return the grin. Though she was thankful to the girl and her father, the day had quickly escalated into a predicament that left her deeply indebted to the Claytons—with no imaginable way to repay them.

Ellis flexed his chin. His jaw was set so tight, his teeth ached. Angel, at times the daughter every man could only hope to have, made him question her parentage today. Hauling home injured animals was one thing, but a woman—a mail-order bride, no less—was out of the ordinary even for her. He also had to agree with Link. Ashton Kramer was probably screaming from his grave. Constance Jennings was about the best-looking woman the Wyoming Territory had ever seen. The contrast between her coal-black hair and summer-sky-blue eyes could make a man stop dead in his tracks. He, himself, who’d never been overly affected by a woman’s looks, had been half afraid to take a second gander at her. She’d barely uttered a word, but her stance, and the way she walked, gave the impression she was no ordinary gal. Nope. Miss Constance Jennings had been born and bred as a lady. How she’d ended up Ashton Kramer’s mail-order bride should be investigated. Not by him—he wasn’t that curious. Yet, if whoever did take her on didn’t do a bit of researching they might find themselves in a whole mess of trouble.

He’d always had a sixth sense about such things, and knew when to listen to his gut. Right now, the milk he’d had at breakfast was churning itself into butter. The only thing that had ever overridden his instincts was his daughter. And she knew it. The little scamp. Asking him how he’d feel if that had been her in a strange place, with nowhere to turn for help. That had hit home, so had her words about not knowing if it would ever happen. He’d known it for a long time, but today Angel once again proved she was much too smart for her thirteen-year-old hide.

Angel was also more like her mother than she knew. She’d been too young when Christine had died to imitate her behaviors, but she’d inherited them just as she had her mother’s looks, and used them to rule him on a regular basis. Christine would have hauled the mail-order bride home, and she’d have made him buy her a coat before doing so. Which he’d gladly done. The tiny shawl Miss Jennings wore wouldn’t warm a flea.

The snow now fell in huge flakes, the kind that would cover the brown ground within no time, and more than likely, stay until next spring. Ellis tugged his coat collar up to cover his ears and then reached down to pull out the woven blanket from beneath the wagon seat. He flicked it open with one hand, splaying the edges over his passengers’ knees. Miss Jennings caught the other end and quickly tucked it under her thigh after straightening it to cover them all evenly. He switched driving hands, and stuck his end of the blanket beneath his outer leg.

While the snow fell, collecting in tiny drifts along the sides of the road, they traveled onward, straight west into the foothills of the Big Horns. His ranch, Heaven on Earth, was nestled there, right where the earth rose majestically into the sky. It was good land. Rich soil, an unending water supply and more acres of sweet grazing pastures than anywhere else in the nation. Come June, it would be fifteen years since he and Christine had topped the little ridge of the valley still a few miles ahead for the first time. She’d shouted for him to stop the oxen. He’d done so of course, wondering what had caught her attention. She’d jumped from the seat, and with her blond hair twisting and turning in the wind, she’d declared, “This is it, Ellis! This is our heaven on earth.”

She’d been right of course, as always, and they’d set to building their new lives together. A right fine life they’d had, too, until the birth of their second child eight years later had taken her and the babe from him forevermore.

He’d mourned the great loss, still did, but in the same right, he held thankfulness for what their years had given him. Happiness, joy, one of the largest ranches this side of the Mississippi and more precious than all else, his Angel.

As if she understood his thoughts, his daughter leaned her head against his shoulder and settled those big brown eyes on him. Warmed, he winked. She grinned, and as the snow continued to pile up on the trail, the horses clomped onward.

By the time they topped the little ridge an hour later, the sun, which hadn’t quite given up trying to brighten the gray winter sky, broke through for a moment to grace the homestead below with a welcoming glow. Even the wind stilled when the horses stopped, as was their normal routine, giving Ellis the opportunity to appreciate home from his favorite overlook.

Swirls of smoke spiraled out of the house and bunkhouse chimneys. The other buildings, the barns, sheds and lean-tos, sat quietly as snow-flakes landed on their shingled roofs. Steam rose around the cattle near the barns, and men mingled between the buildings and pens, making the ranch look like a miniature city. It practically was. There were few things the ranch didn’t provide. The only reason he and Angel had gone to town today was to pick up the fixings for the holiday gathering they’d host next month.

“That’s it, Miss Jennings,” Angel said, staring at the site below. “That’s Heaven on Earth.”

The woman turned slowly, as if trying to keep one eye on the homestead. “What?”

“Heaven on Earth,” Angel repeated. “That’s the name of our ranch.” Angel looked at him before she turned back to the woman. “Welcome home.”

Ellis sucked in air as if he’d just been stomach punched. He actually braced a hand to his abdomen, wondering where the sudden lurching had come from. Swallowing, he realized it was from the way Miss Jennings’s blue eyes stared at him.

He tucked the brim of his hat down, and flicked the reins over Jack and Jim, encouraging the animals to begin the final mile—all downhill—of their journey. He kicked the edge of the blanket away from his left foot, making a clear path to the brake if needed. He had no reason to be nervous, he’d traipsed the trail a million times over, but for some reason his nerve endings were dancing a jig beneath his skin.

The decline went as usual, swift and uncomplicated, and the unloading of the wagon happened just as smoothly. The ranch hands were used to unloading Angel’s purchases, and since ninety percent of what they hauled went into the house, it didn’t take long before one of the hands led Jack and Jim off to the barn.

Ellis entered through the open front door, carrying the last of the bundles. The foyer, though piled with boxes, crates and bundles, was empty. A faint voice, Angel’s, filtered down from above—no doubt she was showing Miss Jennings to a room. He set the last package on top of the others, silently admitting he was clueless as to what Angel had purchased, even though she had given him a full accounting of what she needed.

Miss Jennings’s trunks were not amongst the other stuff, which meant Angel must have directed they be carried upstairs. His daughter was like her mother in that sense, too, good at giving orders and expecting them to be followed.

Shrugging out of his sheepskin coat, Ellis walked across the foyer and down the hall that led to his office. He’d purchased a few things himself and had some accounting to do—now was as good of a time to do it as ever.

Settled into his high-backed steerhide chair, he flipped open the ledger sitting on top of his desk and reached for the inkwell. A loud thud shook the ceiling. The scream accompanying it sent him flying out the door. Taking the stairs three at a time had him at the top of the steps and shooting down the hallway before his ears picked up the sounds now filling the house. He skidded to a stop in front of the first open bedroom door.

Angel and Miss Jennings were on the floor, covered in an assortment of women’s underthings. The lid of one of the round-top trunks rocked back and forth on the floor. It had been years since giggles had echoed off the walls of the big house, and the way these two were going at it, the men in the bunkhouse had to hear it. An unusual fluttering happened in Ellis’s insides.

Angel plucked a few frilly garments off her head. Seeing him, she giggled harder. “Oh, Pa.” She covered her snickering mouth. When she caught air again, she continued. “You should have seen it. As soon as we released the latch, the top flew off like a blasting cap.”

Miss Jennings had one hand covering her lips, and her tiny shoulders shook with mirth. Lace hung over her head. He couldn’t tell if it was a petticoat or a pair of pantaloons, but the sparkling gaze of those unique eyes and the flush of her dainty cheeks sent a shiver racing up his spine like a mini bolt of lightning.

Chapter Two

Constance had put it off long enough. She’d been scrounging up courage all evening. Squaring her shoulders, she walked down the dark hall to Ellis Clayton’s office and, before she lost her nerve, rapped on the door. He hadn’t joined them for dinner, nor had he been back from the barn when Angel showed her where she could take a bath—which had been heavenly. But an hour ago, while staring out her bedroom window, she’d seen him cross the yard, once again hoisting his coat collar up against the snow. After checking her image in the mirror and making a few minor adjustments to her hair, she’d left her room. The past half hour, she’d paced the upstairs hall, listening to his downstairs movements. She may have found an ounce of courage, but a solution to her current situation remained as far away as England.

The opening of the door made her flinch. She’d knocked, so the action shouldn’t have startled her, but it did.

Ellis lifted a brow. “Miss Jennings? Is there something you need?”

Tugging the shawl about her shoulders and twisting her fingers deep in the yarn, she nodded. “I’d like to speak with you, if you have a minute.”

His lag increased her anxiety. She curled her toes to keep them from twisting her about for a fast exit. After what seemed like an eternity, he stepped back, holding the door wide, and waved an arm for her to enter.

Thick carpet softened her footsteps. The office was as elaborate as the rest of the home. Totally unexpected in the wilds of Wyoming Territory, but in some ways, so similar to her childhood home in Richmond, she wanted to sigh with memories. Shelves stacked with books from the floor to the ceiling covered two walls, and a large fireplace not only warmed the room, but provided a friendly glow. A massive desk sat in the center of the room, positioned so one could gaze out the large windows framed with olive-colored drapes that were tied back to sway along the glass panes from ceiling to floor. The familiar scent of leather-bound books filled the air and had Constance taking a deep breath.

“Have a seat,” he offered, pointing to the set of matching armchairs in front of the desk while he walked behind it.

Memories snuck forward, of her father stationing himself just as Ellis was. She’d often sat on the corner of Papa’s desk, thudding her heels against the wood. Now wasn’t the time for childhood recollections. She had to quell her nerves, and offer her proposition, which would include sharing some of her past. Ellis deserved an explanation in exchange for his kindness if nothing else, but there were some things she’d never be able to tell anyone.

The mantel clock ticked away, mindless to the noise its steady movement created. Constance took another deep breath before she began, “I’d like to start by saying thank you. I know Angel put you in a predicament by offering me lodging, and I appreciate how you handled the situation.”

Ellis leaned back in his chair, eyeing her in an interesting way. Almost as if he was cautious or surprised. Even without his thick coat and big brimmed hat, he was a large man. As he folded his arms, the dark brown shirt stretched over the bulk of chest, straining the buttons holding it together.

He didn’t offer an acknowledgment. Her mouth had gone dry, she wet her lips before continuing, “I would like to explain my situation, and hopefully work out an agreeable arrangement.”

One dark brow, the same rich shade as his hair, arched, but he quickly relaxed it. Ellis was good at hiding his emotions, and reactions, but she’d already seen that. “I—” she started again.

“Excuse me, Miss Jennings,” he interrupted, “where exactly are you from?”

She wasn’t surprised. He’d want facts not justifications. “I was born and raised in Richmond, Virginia. My family owned a tobacco plantation. Prior to the war, that is.”

“And afterward?”

“There was nothing left afterward.” She’d never been back to Virginia, but had heard everything was gone and believed her source.

“Your family?”

“Nothing left, Mr. Clayton. They all—my father, mother and three brothers—perished in the war. My brothers died on the battlefields and my parents during the raid that left our home nothing more than ashes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said respectfully.

She nodded. Years had eased the pain, but the loss would forever live in her heart. Memories of a happy childhood helped. As did her belief someday she’d find a place she could call home again.

He leaned forward and rested both elbows on the edge of his desk. “How did you survive? If you don’t mind my asking?”

“I survived because I wasn’t there. When the war broke out, my parents sent me to England. I had two great aunts in residence there and I lived with them.”

“When did you return to the United States?”

So this is how it would be, him asking questions, her answering. It wasn’t as she had planned, but it might be better. Once in a while she tended to ramble and could accidentally say more than she meant to. She’d already done that once today. “A few months ago.”

“Really? The war ended a dozen years ago.”

“I know. After my family perished, there was no reason for me to return. Besides, my aunts were elderly and depended on me to care for them. One died in December of last year. The other in January of this year.” Constance hoped that was enough to satisfy his curiosity, but not so much that he’d want to know more.

“I see,” he said. “It’s my understanding you lived in New York?”

A quiver rippled her spine. Ashton must have shared that bit of information. Keeping her chin up, she nodded. “Yes, that’s where I saw Mr. Kramer’s request and responded to his call for a wife.”

His expression said he wasn’t satisfied with her answer, but once again, he didn’t ask specifics. Instead he offered, “I’m sorry about Ashton’s untimely accident.”

“Thank you. I am, too. Though I had never met him, I mourn his loss.” It was the truth. Without Ashton, her future looked pretty bleak. “Could you share with me how he—it happened?”

“Angel didn’t tell you?”

Fighting the urge to fidget, Constance refolded her hands in her lap. “No, but then I didn’t ask her to. I apologize, Mr. Clayton, Angel is a wonderful girl. Very bright and compassionate and understanding, but I do not feel it would be appropriate for me to ask her about such things.”

A faint grin curled the corners of his lips and a shine appeared in his eyes. “Don’t apologize, Miss Jennings. Angel can appear more mature than she is. I appreciate you recognizing she is still a child.”

This man loved his daughter above and beyond all. Constance remembered a time when she was such a daughter. History made her warn, “She won’t be a child for much longer though.” She often wondered if she’d “grown up” the instant she’d arrived in England.

His smile increased, but was accompanied by a somber nod. “Unfortunately, I’m aware of that.”

Her heart pitter-patted, acknowledging the brief connection she and Ellis Clayton shared. There would come a time when this man would have to say goodbye to his daughter, and it would affect both him and the girl—deeply. The only time Constance had seen tears in her father’s eyes was the day he’d set her on the ship to sail for England. Though she had many other memories—happy and good ones—that was the one that stuck in her mind like a splattered drop of paint. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn’t dissolve. It had barely faded over the years.

With one hand, Ellis wiped his face, as if erasing the smile. It worked, because when his hand went back to rest on the desk his face was serious. “I guess I should tell you, since you’ll no doubt hear it from half the territory.”

She frowned, utterly confused for a moment.

“About Ashton’s death,” he said, eying her critically.

“Oh.” Her cheeks stung. She wiped her palms, which all of a sudden had grown clammy, on her skirt. “Yes, Mr. Kramer’s death. How did it come about?”

“He took a fall off a horse.” Ellis’s gaze settled over her shoulder for a moment. When it returned to her, he added, “Doc said a broken rib punctured his lung.”

She pressed a hand to the thud behind her breastbone. “Oh, my.”

“He was bedridden for three days before he died. Some may tell you he hung on because he knew you were on your way.”

She gulped. Ellis Clayton certainly didn’t mince words. Sorrow that she’d never meet Ashton Kramer, nor get to know a man who’d awaited her arrival made her sigh heavily. “The poor man.”

Ellis didn’t linger nor stay on one subject for an extended length. “So, are you going back to New York? Or Virginia perhaps?”

His question caught her slightly off guard. Her mind was still processing Ashton Kramer’s untimely death. “No.” She shook her head. “No, I left New York for good. And I haven’t been back to Virginia since I was eleven.”

“Eleven?”

“Yes, that’s when I went to live with my great aunts.”

His frown was back, tugging his brows deeply together. “So you’re twent—”

“Six. I’m twenty-six.” There were days when she felt a hundred and six. Hoping to avoid any further questions about herself, she asked, “Have you always lived in the Wyoming Territory?”

“No, my wife, Christine, Angel’s mother, and I came out here shortly after we married. Before the war broke out. She died when Angel was six.”

“How?” She bit her lip at how fast the question shot out.

“Childbirth.” He pushed away from his desk and walked to the fireplace where he removed the grate, stirred the flames with a gold-handled poker and then added a couple split logs. He replaced the poker and the grate before he turned back around. “What are your plans, Miss Jennings?”

He still mourned the loss of his wife. Constance easily saw it—for it was the same thing she’d seen in the mirror for years. She’d already witnessed enough to understand Ellis’s depth and character. He must have treasured his wife. Once, not so long ago, Constance had thought she might have that—a husband who’d cherish her, and had married the man. But Byron hadn’t treasured her, nor had he bothered to tell her he was already married. The truth, and the way she’d discovered it, had been demoralizing and humiliating.

The memories, painful and degrading, made a heavy sigh escape before she could stop it. “To be perfectly honest, Mr. Clayton, right now I have no idea what I’m going to do.” For the past nine months she hadn’t had a concentrated plan that propelled her forward. She’d thought she had, more than once, but fate had stepped in and left her reeling in another direction over and over again.