Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale (6 page)

“Oh.”
Keep talking, keep talking.
“Well, I’m not married…” Ian breathed a little sigh of relief. “And I didn’t come by train.” She looked down at her hands. “Actually, I rode my mule here.”

She lived here in town? Everland had grown just in the three years since he’d been here, but Ian had never seen her before, not in church or out and about on the streets or at any of the admittedly few socials he’d attended. “I didn’t realize that we had a seamstress here in town.”

Ella’s hands were flat against the counter in front of him, bracketing the now-paper-wrapped bundle. But judging from the tension in them, she was thinking about something besides her purchases. “I’m… I’m not a seamstress.” She took a deep breath, and Ian pointedly did
not
glance at the way her breasts pushed against the thin blue cotton, afraid of what the sight would do to him. “I make dresses for my stepsisters. Papa believes that they should be very finely outfitted.”

Only a fool could miss the bitterness in those words, and Ian was no fool. He took in her plain work dress, with the patches and the repairs made with small stitches. He thought of her work boots, and the calluses on her hands. Her father thought that her sisters should be well-dressed, and judging from the amount of money Ella had spent on decorations for their gowns, he was willing to provide. But for her? For Ella?

He remembered the sparks that had flown up his arm the last time they touched, but Ian could no more stop himself from touching her than stop breathing. Without hesitation, he engulfed one of her hands in his, and met her eyes.

Had she thought it shocking when Ian had accidentally brushed against her, earlier? When he took her hand in his, and turned it over to rub the pad of his thumb across her palm, Ella felt her knees give out. Thank the Lord she was already clutching the counter; it was the only thing that kept her upright.

His touch was sending alternating waves of shivers and heat up her arm and across her chest. She felt her nipples harden against her chemise, and thought that she might’ve died of shame if she wasn’t already dying from sheer pleasure.

But then his thumb traced the calluses at the top of her palm—years of gripping a broom—and on the tips of her fingers—cooking burns, mostly—and reality came crashing back. No matter
how
deliciously good it felt to be touched by him, it wasn’t right. He was a successful, respectable member of Everland society, and she… she was just Ella.

She’d already revealed too much about herself, and knew from the pitying look behind those spectacles that he’d figured out her secret shame. Her family was wealthy, but she was treated like a slave—he was touching the callused proof right now.

If he asked her anything else, if she
answered
any more of his questions, if he learned anything more about her… Ella knew that she’d start to dream the impossible. Dream of finally having a way to leave her family. Dream of Ian Crowne, offering to rescue her. Dream of marrying
him
.

If he knew what she was thinking—dreaming—he would’ve locked his door with her on the outside. But now… now, she just wanted to make him smile again.

Pulling her hand from his had the opposite effect, though. Good Heavens, he was handsome, with the faint freckles across the tops of his cheeks, even when he frowned. She wanted to smooth away the little lines at the edges of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, but couldn’t.

Instead, she pulled down the large drawstring satchel she’d strung over one shoulder, and held it up. His lovely blue-green eyes followed it, questioningly. Suddenly, she felt shy, nervous about what she’d planned last night. “I brought lunch. Would you… share it with me?”

Rust-colored brows shot up in surprise. “You would do that? For me? Sharing your food?”

Ella shrugged, a little embarrassed that he was making such a fuss over it. He didn’t need to know that she’d made extra fried chicken last night for just this purpose. “Of course. I have extra…”

Was it her imagination, or did his eyes soften a little? She could feel his gaze caressing her face—could feel it even with her eyes closed!—and she loved the delicious little shiver that ran down her back. Apparently the promise of food was the way to make him forget other concerns. And that would be important to remember, except that Ella wasn’t sure if she’d be able to see him again after this. As it was, she wasn’t sure how much time Mr. Heyward would give her before he got bored and came into the store looking for her.

“Yeah.” One corner of his mouth quirked up, and he didn’t look quite so serious anymore. “I’d like that a lot. Thanks.”

She couldn’t help but admire the play of muscles across his forearms as he grabbed the rope overhead and the shelving behind him, and heaved himself through the back door of the shop. It really was ingenious, the way he’d arranged the store so that he didn’t need his crutch to get around; he could reach everything by balancing and supporting himself on the ropes, the rails, and the tables or shelves. Ian Crowne was an intelligent—and obviously very powerful—man.

She slipped around the counter and followed him to the back room, where she found him turning over a barrel for an extra seat, and calling stern instructions to his dogs, who tried to climb all over her.

Laughing, Ella fended them off, even though the largest was big enough to knock her over. “They’re probably just smelling the fried chicken.”

“You made fried chicken?” Was it her imagination, or did he sound as eager to eat as she’d been to spend time in his company? “Shiloh, get down. That’s my chicken!”

The big hairy beast that had been lying on the front porch during her last visit was trying to plant his front paws on Ella’s chest, but she managed to keep the satchel out of the reach of his jaws, laughing and pushing him away. Ian was laughing too, and had she thought his smile was nice? Goodness gracious; his laugh was pure
Heaven
!

He finally hoisted himself onto the barrel, calling the dog to him with a whistle. “Shiloh! Come here, boy!” He pulled down a bundle from one of the shelves, and unwrapped a full loaf of bread. She watched as he broke off a piece for himself, and then a tore the remainder in half. Shiloh sat on his haunches and watched the loaf eagerly, and she giggled when Ian made the poor thing wait patiently. Finally, after a stare-down—it was amazing how the big animal did what Ian wanted, even without commands!—he relented, and tossed the larger hunk of bread to the beast.

Ian seemed more relaxed back here than he’d been in his store, with her. “Sorry for his manners. He was hungry.”

She’d sat in the only chair, and unpacked the food on the small table beside it. Fried chicken, cornbread and a miniature blueberry pie in a small tin were soon laid out, and she noticed that Ian was eying the meal hungrily as he apologized for his dog. She waved away his excuse. “The poor thing had to make do with bread when he could’ve had my chicken? No wonder he was fussing.” She noticed that Ian smiled over her boast, and that Shiloh seemed content to chew on his bread.

Ian took the piece of cold chicken she passed to him, and shrugged sheepishly. “This is our usual lunch.” With his free hand he opened the bundle beside him on the shelf, and Ella saw what looked like salt pork or bacon, and a shriveled apple. “Dogs know they don’t get meat until dinner.” He’d looked like he was going to say something else, until he bit into her chicken; and then he just hummed in what she hoped was pleasure. She watched his eyes sink shut behind those spectacles, and he chewed in silence. Taking a bite of her own piece, Ella enjoyed watching him.

Finally, he opened his eyes and pierced her with a serious look. “Miss Ella, I don’t think I’ve ever had chicken this good.”

She covered her discomfort with the compliment by taking another bite herself. A hasty chew-and-swallow, and he was still staring, so she tried a smile. “It’s not that big a deal, Mr. Crowne.”

“Ian, please.” She thought that she might’ve nodded, but it was hard to say, with her chest so tight at the regard she saw in his expression. “And it
is
a big deal. We’ve never had company for lunch before, especially not such pretty company. And the food is… well, it’s a welcome treat. Thank you.”

Oh my
. He had this way of staring at her that left her… stared at. It was like his glasses focused all of his intensity to one spot, which entered through her soul and settled into her stomach, where he made it hard to breathe. She was embarrassed by his praise, but also secretly thrilled by it.

And now he was waiting for her to say something—
anything
—so she latched onto his last statement. “’We’? You eat lunch with the dogs every day?”

He chuckled. “I do almost everything with the dogs. I’d end up eating dinner with them, if Mr. Spratt didn’t chase them out whenever they try to follow me.” Wasn’t Spratt’s the eatery she heard Eunice speaking about last year? Most of Ella’s knowledge of the town came from eavesdropping on her sisters’ conversations about their social engagements.

She handed him most of the cornbread, loving the way that he enjoyed her cooking. It was nice to see someone appreciating her hard work… especially a
someone
as handsome as Ian. “So this big guy here is Shiloh—” the large dog lifted his head from where he was contentedly gnawing on the hard loaf and gave a little
woof
at hearing his name. “—and the little one is Manny.” Ian tossed the three-legged animal a bite of bread, and it yipped excitedly. Ella tossed her chin at the third animal. “Who is that?”

The last dog was medium-sized, with big floppy ears, short legs, and a belly that almost touched the ground. It was chewing on another hunk of bread, and when it lifted its head, Ella could see the long gray hairs around its muzzle and chin. “That’s Vick. She’s a good old dog, aren’t you, girl?” The animal gave a half-hearted thump of her tail before going back to her meal, and Ian shrugged apologetically. “She doesn’t hear so well anymore. Among other things.”

Ella had to laugh at his exaggerated eye-roll. “So, Shiloh—” another bark, “Vick and Manny?”

“Vicksburg and Manassas.”

“Ah.” Northern victories in the War. “You were a soldier?”

“I was a quartermaster’s assistant with the 28
th
Pennsylvania in the Twelfth Corps.” He dropped his gaze to the chicken in his hands. “I thought that it would be a good way to use my skills.”

“Were you a shopkeeper before the war?” Ella took another bite, but the food wasn’t nearly as compelling as his history.

“Yeah. My parents owned half-interest in a store in Philadelphia. It was in my blood, and I figured I knew it inside and out.” He took a bite, and said around it, “Quartermastering was more fun than soldiering, anyhow. But…” He swallowed, and she could tell it was more than just his food. “But I guess I had to pick up a rifle someday.”

Unbidden, her gaze dropped to his missing foot, wondering what kind of horrors he’d seen during those battles. When she glanced up again, he was staring at her, and it wasn’t a nice stare. He looked… bitter. Expectant. “After, I came home to try to learn how to do everything again, and I found that dogs were… helpful.” He tossed a piece of meat to Manny, who snatched it out of mid-air. Ian’s expression didn’t change. “I named my first one Culp, and the next gal to make her way to me was Getty.”

“Gettysburg.” She’d read everything that she could on the battle where her real Papa had lost his life.

His chin jerked once, agreeing. “It was a rebel sharpshooter who did this to me.” He thumped his right leg against the barrel he was sitting on, and Ella winced for him, although it didn’t seem to hurt. “Either he had the worst aim, or was on his way down already, or something.” Another bite, another moment of silence, another yip from Manny. “I felt the bones in my foot shatter. Actually felt them.”

That’s when he looked at her again, pinning her with his stare expectantly, like he wanted her to react. “Maybe they could’ve done something, had I been in Philadelphia. But out there, the best they could do was cut it off and hope I didn’t bleed to death.”

“I’m sorry.” What else could she say? What else was he expecting her to say? “You must’ve had to be very strong, to survive that.”

He looked almost…disappointed by her observation. When he shrugged, she saw the muscles rippling across his shoulders and down his bare arms at the movement, and thought about his rails and ropes and crutch. “I was never a small lad.”

“No, I mean…” She wiped her hands on the napkin she’d wrapped the bread up in, not sure how to make him understand. “I mean,
you
were strong. Your will, your mind. Your heart. That sort of thing broke lesser men.”

“I was seventeen.” His whisper was so faint, she barely heard it, and had to look away so that he didn’t see the tears that came to her eyes at that admission. So young, to have endured so much! To overcome so much!

She had to clear her throat before she trusted her voice. “But it didn’t break you. You came out here, started your own store…?” She had to change the subject, or she’d break down, thinking of his pain.

“Not before losing everything in Philadelphia.” He sighed then. “My father died while I was gone, and my mother had to deal with a crippled son and half of a store. I had to get better to help her. She lasted another five years before she gave up, and I sold the share I inherited and saved up to come out here. There’s more opportunity out west, and I knew with all the settlers coming through, there was demand.”

Ella passed him the pie. He took it without looking, watching her face. It wasn’t until he glanced down to see what he held that his expression changed, softening to an easy grin. “Blueberry pie? How’d you know my favorite?”

“I guessed.” She stifled her giggle, pleased that he was smiling again. “I am impressed with your strength, Mr. Crowne.”

“Ian.”

“You have a successful store, Ian, and you’re living your dream.” If only she could live some of her dreams… maybe even the ones that involved him?