Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale (9 page)

That was as close to a compliment as Papa was likely to give, so she smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

His lips compressed in distaste, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. “I specifically asked her to show me what lace you added, after your second trip to town.” Ella swallowed, the pit in her stomach suddenly wide enough for the mule to fall into. “It matches the other lace remarkably well.”

He seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Ella had no idea what he expected, so she just said “Thank you” again, quieter.

“I find it interesting that you were able to go into town and find two such similar patterns.”
Why? I spent a week working with that lace. I knew what it looked like.
“Where did you find it?”

She flicked a glance towards Mr. Heyward, hovering over Papa’s shoulder, and was disconcerted to see that he was looking worried too.
Uh-oh
. “Pedlar’s Dry Goods had the first bolt, but I’d purchased all of it. Crowne’s Mercantile had the lace that I went back to get.”

“Crowne’s?”

“Yes, he had everything that I needed both times.” Even as the words left her mouth, Ella winced, knowing that she was admitting more to her stepfather than she should. And that wince was even more telling. He’d know there was something she was hiding.

Sure enough, he leaned forward in his seat a bit, looking thoughtful. And a thoughtful-looking Papa meant that Ella was in for a punishment of some sort. She held her breath.

“Crowne’s… Isn’t that the Yankee cripple’s store?” Ella cursed herself. She should’ve remembered her Papa’s fierce southern loyalties. They were the reason that Maisie didn’t work outside the kitchen.

Oh Lord
, she’d gone and done it this time.

But despite Papa’s anger—and she could see it simmering behind his eyes—she couldn’t make herself agree with him. Couldn’t relegate Ian to just a “cripple.” It was people who saw him that way—people like Papa and her sisters, and people like himself—who kept him locked in the past, instead of looking towards his future. He’d named his dogs after the battle where he’d lost his leg, for goodness’ sakes! If that wasn’t living in the past, Ella didn’t know
what
was!

But here and now, she just swallowed her words, and folded her hands in front of her dutifully, waiting for her stepfather to explode. When he did, he was colder than she’d expected.

“You have seen this cripple twice now, and didn’t think to mention it?” He jerked his chin, and Mr. Heyward came around the desk to take the full brunt of Papa’s glare. “You let her go into Crowne’s
twice
?” Before his lackey could speak, Papa’s anger swung back to Ella. “You were to go to Pedlar’s Dry Goods—” Mr. Pedlar had come west from Georgia, and her father always shopped there—“not to some
Yankee’s
store.”

She had to keep her voice calm. “I know, Papa. But Mrs. Pedlar ran out, with the picnic coming up and all of Everland’s ladies making new dresses. I had to go somewhere else. And like you said, Mr. Crowne’s lace matched well enough.”

Her soft tone did little to soothe him. Without warning, Papa slammed one fist down hard enough on his desk to make her jump. “You’re defending him?” Ella swallowed again, and started to deny it, but he cut her off. “He is
nothing
. A nobody. I will not have any member of my household consorting with him.”

It wasn’t until she got light-headed that Ella realized she was holding her breath. And it wasn’t until her stepfather sat back in his chair and stared at her contemplatively that Ella realized she was frightened. Papa had never raised his hand to her in anger, but he could be very inventive with his punishments. And she’d never transgressed quite this badly; she’d gone and fallen in love with a man.

Her knees went weak, and she had to grab the back of the leather chair to stay upright.
Fallen in love?
Don’t be silly, how could she be in love? She’d only met Ian twice, only a few conversations with him. She didn’t know a thing about him.

…Except that he was kind, and noble, and incredibly handsome, and polite, and…
Dear God, I
am
in love with him
.

She mentally scoffed. This wasn’t one of Sibyl’s fairy tales, where people fell in love at first sight. She couldn’t possibly be in love with Ian Crowne.

But she was. And now Papa was looking at her like he’d guessed her dirty secret.

“I believe that I am the one at fault, Ella.” Well.
That
was unexpected. “I have allowed you too much freedom, and like any senseless and rash young female, you’ve abused it.” Freedom? The last thing she had too much of was freedom. “I’ve allowed you to go into town twice in the last month, which is two times too many. I allowed my daughters’ foolish prattling about the perfection of their dresses to sway my long-held rule that you are confined to this ranch, and look what happened.”

It was all she could do to keep her voice steady. His announcement, coming so soon after her realization, felt like it would crush her. “Mabel and Eunice’s dresses need to be perfect.”

“Yes, I am as anxious for them to marry as I’m sure you are. But that does not excuse your actions.”

I went into town, like a normal person! I met a new friend, that’s it!
But Ella clamped her lips together firmly, afraid that if she said what was in her heart, Papa would find a way to make her punishment worse than what it surely already was.

“Heyward, you’ve been my right-hand-man for years, and I’ve trusted you.” The man’s habitual lewd smirk had been replaced by a vague look of terror, but Ella couldn’t make herself pity him. “Because of that, I’ll wait for my stepdaughter to leave before I issue your punishment.” Heyward’s face paled as the blood drained away, and his dread heightened Ella’s.

“As for you…” Papa turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. “I should’ve known better than to think that you’d abide by the rules I set when your useless mother died. You will remain on my property. You will never,
ever
be allowed into town again.” His words—his decree—sent a stab through her heart, and pressed a weight on her chest that crushed her. “Is that clear, girl?”

She couldn’t answer, couldn’t agree, couldn’t say anything. He was planning to keep her here forever.

“What’s more…” His evil tone drew her head up, her eyes seeking his pale ones glistening with malice. “If I
ever
hear your name linked with that cripple’s again, I will
end him
. Do you understand?” No, no, she didn’t. How could she? She didn’t understand half of what was happening. “I am a powerful man, and DeVille and I own most of this town. Ian Crowne could lose his shop, his home, and his livelihood, if we told people to stop shopping there.” Papa leaned forward threateningly, but Ella didn’t respond. She couldn’t; she’d gone completely numb. “I can do that to him, and I will, if I ever hear his name in this house again. Do you understand?”

She might have nodded. There really wasn’t any way to know. Her stepfather
would
do something that cruel, just because he could, because a man happened to support a different side in the last war, or because he wasn’t good enough for the Miller name. But Ian was different, and so was Ella. What did it matter if the two of them…?

But there
wasn’t
a “the two of them”. Would never be “the two of them.” Not now. Papa had made sure of that.

Two minutes ago, Ella had realized that she loved Ian. One minute ago, Papa had threatened everything he’d worked so hard to build, just because she’d met him. She couldn’t love him, not now. Not when her loving him would ruin his life.

The ups and downs were too much; Ella thought that she might be sick. Maybe something showed on her face, despite years of practicing neutral expressions in front of her stepfather, because Papa just nodded, satisfied, and waved one hand dismissively. “Good. Go start on dinner.”

She made it out of his study and down the hall and out the back door and halfway to the garden before she was sick. As she clutched her stomach in the hot Wyoming sun, tears streaming down her face, Ella prayed that no one would see her. She couldn’t stand to see Maisie’s pity or her stepsisters’ smugness right now.

She’d lost Ian, before she ever really had him.

“Good to see you, Ian! How’ve you been?” Max DeVille slapped his back hard enough to spill Ian’s lemonade, but it didn’t matter. Ian just moved his foot away from the lemony puddle in the dirt and smiled, still a little amazed by the warm welcome the people of Everland had given him.

“Can’t complain, Max. How about you?”

His new friend’s usually energetic smile slipped just a bit when he shrugged, but Ian didn’t think anyone else noticed. “Oh, you know how it is. Can find plenty to complain about, but it’s too nice a day, so why bother?”

The two men shared a grin, and Max slipped into the open seat beside him. Ian had been chatting with three other men, but Gaston, Ox, and Hank welcomed Max enthusiastically. It was easy to welcome Max; the dark man had an open and affectionate personality that made everyone around him feel valued. Ian had felt himself falling under the other man’s spell, but couldn’t help it; it was hard not to smile and laugh around Max. He had a gift of making everyone’s lives a little brighter.

The men continued their discussion about next week’s parade and picnic, and Max chimed in. Ian, however, sat back and sipped his lemonade.
Abuela
Zapato had been right; he’d made an effort to get to know his neighbors, and suddenly he
was
a neighbor. He was accepted and acceptable and welcomed. He’d always attended church regularly, but had gone right back to the store to stock the shelves on Sunday afternoons. For the last two weeks, though, he’d stayed after the service for the weekly social with the cakes and lemonade, and had been amazed at the difference it made.

Suddenly, men that he’d known for three years—like Max—as just faces in the crowd were becoming
friends
. He’d visited the saloon another few times, and Max had introduced him to Ox Bunyan and a few others who welcomed him into their twice-weekly poker game. It was still a new sensation to Ian, to not feel like he had to hide himself… but it was nice.

Very nice.

Even now, they pulled him into the conversation about the basket bidding. He hadn’t bothered to attend the last two years’ celebrations, telling himself that he needed to man the store, just in case. So he was enjoying hearing all about the town’s traditions. “So the gals, see? They pack a lunch in their basket, right? And you bid on ‘em, the baskets I mean, ‘cause you want the gal or the food she’s got in there, whichever.” Ian kept a carefully neutral face, but could see Max laughing silently behind the earnest Ox. “An’ sometimes her food
is
better, right? I mean, the rest of us are eating whatever is spread out—all sorts o’ dishes and treats an’ they’re roasting two whole pigs this year—and it’s real good. But when there’s that special gal who’s caught your eye, then her picnic basket don’t matter atall, you jest gotta have it so you’re eatin’ with her, you know?”

Ox’s earnest explanation made Ian smile. “I think I do.” He was remembering a lunch shared with a “special gal” who’d “caught his eye”, and that fried chicken had been the best thing he could remember tasting. But it was hard to imagine that Ella would be at the picnic with her basket. In the two weeks that he’d been asking around among his newfound friends, no one knew of a coal-haired beauty who sewed for her sisters.

“Well, I’m out. I’ve got all the woman I could possibly want.” Hank Cutter stood and dusted off the denim of his trousers, while looking around for his petite wife. Ian found her chasing after four of her grandmother’s youngest orphans, and jerked his chin in her direction, smiling at the way his usually stoic friend’s eyes lit up at the sight. “And I’d better go help her, if I want to have any chance alone with her.”

There was a bunch of laughter at that, and then a round of hand-shakes, and Hank ambled off towards the shrieking children and his exasperated wife.

The rest of them returned to the topic of the picnic. “You are planning on bidding on a basket, yes?” Gaston’s accent was negligible after so many years in the country, but his sentence structure was still very Gallic. “There are many new women in Everland this year. They have come in by train for the celebration, and I have heard, maybe, of a
bel étrange
r
I would not mind meeting.” Ian’s attention was caught at the mention of a “beautiful stranger”, but Gaston’s next words dashed his hopes. “She has hair as dark as Ian’s mysterious
amour,
apparently, but dresses as an old woman does, and drives a stagecoach.” The Frenchman began to laugh, and when he jabbed Ox with an elbow and their friend scowled in return, Ian knew that there was more to the story. “Apparently, our friend here has seen this imaginary—I mean,
mysterious
woman.”

Ian couldn’t help chuckle when Max’s guffaws started. “Yeah, but it was after a poker game, and Ox’d helped finish a bottle of whiskey, as I recall.”

“Yes.” Gaston tried for a serious nod. “So maybe it is not likely she will appear for the auction, yes?” He turned to Ian. “Just as well. You should wish to bid on a real woman.”

Ian shook his head slightly, but kept his grin in place. “Not this time around, I think. There’s no one in particular who’s caught my eye.” Since they were still in the church yard, he felt a little guilty at uttering that lie, but tamped down on the urge and told himself it was true. Ella wasn’t going to be one of the gals up there on that stage, waiting for a bid. She’d be the one who would tempt him; he’d pour all of last month’s profits into making sure she shared her basket with him.

“No one who’s caught your eye?” Max’s good-natured grin was teasing. “Are you blind, even with those glasses?” He slapped Ian on the back again, and Gaston joined in his laughter. When was the last time he’d been teased by a friend? Ian couldn’t remember. Probably in the army.

So he was grinning when he shrugged off the insult. “No, I just figured that I’d sit this year out, to give you another chance to bid on whatever young woman interests you. If
I
were bidding, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, I make a living knowing what people like. I’m refined, and well-dressed, whereas you…”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Are you insulting me?”

“I’m sorry, was I too subtle?” Ian’s grin grew. “
You’re ugly
.”

Ox’s uproarious laughter was infectious, and soon all four of them were chuckling and slapping their knees and tossing insults. Max’s dark complexion might’ve bordered on “swarthy” when compared to his golden brother, Roy Jr., but Ian had seen the way the town ladies eyed his new friend, and knew that he was considered a catch. Gaston had just pointed that out—probably to tease him—when Max turned their attention once more.

“I’m not the only catch! Do you see the way they’re staring?” He jerked his chin subtly to the group of well-dressed young ladies standing on the other side of the yard. The five of them were spinning parasols and twittering at each other behind their fans, but Ian could see them staring, as Max said.

Poor Ox was nervous, not wanting to turn around and be caught staring back. “Are they really starin’ at us? Which ones?”

“Rose and her sister Snow, and the Miller girls.”

Ox’s sigh was part satisfied, part dreamy. It would’ve been funny, if Ian hadn’t sighed just like that a few times over the last month while thinking about Ella. “Them White gals is somethin’ else.”

“Indeed.” Max jabbed Ian in the ribs. “But I hate to tell you; I’m pretty sure they’re staring at our friend Ian here.”

“Me?” It must’ve sounded like a squeak to his friends too, because they all began to laugh again.

“Yes, Ian.” Gaston’s huge mustache made him look like he was still laughing. “You are a catch, I have heard.”

“
Me
?”

Ox was scowling. “He’s not so great. Rose and Snow wouldn’t want him.”

The other man’s words sent a shot of reality through Ian’s good humor. “Because I’m a cripple.”

“Nah, because you’re a red-head.”

Well,
that
was ridiculous. Ian’s mood lifted as suddenly as it had soured. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Max leaned a little closer so that he could lower his voice, and gestured with his chin. “See the three blondes? They’re the Miller sisters. Their father owns the second-biggest ranch in the area, behind my pa. The two on the left, though…” Ian sucked in a breath when the red-head turned his way. She was
gorgeous
. “Yeah. That’s Rose, and her sister is Snow. I thought that might’ve been who you meant, when you were looking for your mysterious black-haired beauty. But Snow, bless her heart, can’t sew worth a damn. And they’re determined to have lots of golden-haired little babies, so that means you and me are out.” He smiled again. “Ox still has a chance, though.” 

“And I aim to use it this year, long as you pretty boys don’t get in my way!”

Ian chuckled and held up his hand, palm out. “I won’t stand in your way, my friend.” Rose was lovelier than Ox deserved, but there was no accounting for taste. “Why such an odd requirement?”

Gaston shrugged. “A curse, I once heard. Who can say, what a woman is thinking, yes?”

That earned another round of laughter and agreement, Max loudest of all. It… it felt good. Ian had no reason to be sitting here, laughing about women… but it felt
right
. Like he belonged.

“So Miss Rose is looking at Ox, here. Not me.”

Max waved off his objection. “They’re all staring at you, Ian. They
know
Ox. Look at Zelle standing over there with her father, Doc Carpenter; I’m glad he’s let her out for this, she needs the chance to let her hair down every once in a while. Or Arabella Mayor, she’s supposed to be watching her boy play with Mrs. Boone’s twins. They’re all staring pretty hard.” Moving only his eyes, Ian flicked his eyes around the church yard, noticing all of the eligible young women looking his way.

“You’re the mystery man, Ian. The one who’s been hiding in his shop. Yes you have,” Max said when he started to protest. “You’ve got your own business, your own house. Not one of us cowboys, bunking with a bunch of smelly animals.” He nodded at Ox, who scowled good-naturedly. “Trust me, I know women. Hell, I’m friends with Snow—since I’m off-limits as a potential husband—and even Arabella. Women want a man who’ll keep ‘em here in town, so that they can parade around to all their social events.” Was it Ian’s imagination, or was there just a hint of bitterness in his friend’s voice?

He decided not to push it, but thought about Max’s words instead of his tone. After years of hearing women’s pity, it was hard to accept that he might have something to recommend him. But sure enough, the five lovely ladies across the yard, as well as others, had been smiling in his direction since he sat down here. Could Max be right?

But why would they be interested in him? They didn’t know him; didn’t know anything about him.

It wasn’t until Gaston chuckled that Ian realized he’d said that last part out loud… and worse, had sounded like a whiny child in the process. “You wish to know plenty about them, I think though, yes?”

No. None of them had thick, coal-black hair and a skittish smile and a heart big enough to see
him
. But if he was going to make an effort to fit in here in Everland, he really should be polite. “All right. Tell me about them.”

“Better yet, I’ll introduce you!” Max slapped him yet again on the shoulder, and jumped to his feet, offering his hand to Ian. Without thinking, Ian let his new friend pull him upright, and didn’t object when Max handed him his crutch. It hadn’t felt pitying, it hadn’t felt shameful. It was just a simple gesture of friendship, and Ian doubted that Max knew how much it had meant.

When they were both standing, Max smiled. They were of a height, but the other man’s shoulders weren’t as broad. “Sibyl Miller is too young for you, and Mabel Miller is too horrible, and Gaston already has a claim on Eunice.” Ian heard the Frenchman mutter darkly. “And their father is a dyed-in-the-wool Confederate, so he wouldn’t have you anyhow. The White girls, though…”

His new friend walked slowly enough that Ian had no problem hobbling along beside him. Despite his gait—or lack of it—he hadn’t felt this
equal
to another young man in… well, probably since this day, twelve years before. It was an odd feeling. It was a good feeling.