Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale (11 page)

Over the last weeks, Max had introduced him to most of the townspeople, and they’d introduced him to everyone else. He’d known many of them by sight, watching them pass by his shop, but now he knew them by name, and knew their laughter and stories and homes. It hadn’t hurt that he’d had the support of Max DeVille, probably the most popular man in town.

Ian had even accepted a few invitations to dinner, and had been surprised how much he’d enjoyed himself. It wasn’t until after that he’d realized every single invitation had come from a family with an eligible daughter, who’d done her best to entice him with baked goods and witty conversation. Maybe now that he was a member of the community, these young ladies were seeing him with new eyes, like Max had said. Looking at the whole him, rather than just his missing leg?

But no matter how tasty the meals, or how pretty the ladies, none of them could compare to Ella. None of the dinners matched a simple shared picnic of fried chicken, none of the ladies had the same strength and compassion that he’d seen in her, and none of them had seen him as Ella had seen him, that very first time.

Sighing, Ian finally took a drink of the whiskey, and winced as it burned the back of his throat and stomach. Maybe he should’ve eaten dinner tonight, after all. But he’d lingered in the store, reluctant to face anyone else today, and then the thunder had started, and he’d just called in the dogs and retired upstairs to get ready for bed. It was late enough now that it’d be full dark outside even without the storm that had apparently decided to hover directly over this corner of the Wyoming Territory.

The lightening had moved off, at least, but the occasional burst of thunder still startled Vick enough to lift her heard and
wuff
. Manny was actually curled up on Ian’s lap, her shaking subsided now that his hand rested heavily on the little dog’s back. Shiloh always slept through storms, as if knowing he had nothing to fear, and judging from the canine snoring coming from the pile of blankets in the corner, tonight was no different.

But tonight was different for
Ian
. Tonight was the first July third in twelve years that he didn’t want to get drunk to forget. Instead, he found himself staring at the little amber trails down the inside of his glass, and
remembering
her. He didn’t want to forget her
.

He’d taken old Mrs. Zapato’s advice, and made himself part of the community. He’d made friends, and had been accepted, and even courted. But the whole time he’d been looking for a pair of turquoise eyes and coal-black hair. And he hadn’t found her.

Weeks of dreaming about her—her touch, her smile, her kiss—meant that he wasn’t likely to forget what she looked like. But he’d looked at every young woman in town—even the harlots who hung around the Gingerbread House’s main room, and had asked Max and Ox for their help, and… nothing. No one knew of a young woman who sewed and cooked and cleaned for her sisters, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d dreamed her entirely.

But he couldn’t have dreamed the perfection of her smile, or the shock that had gone through his entire body when they’d touched. He couldn’t have dreamed her compassion towards his crippled dog, or the way that she was impressed by the way he’d arranged his store to accommodate his own disability. He couldn’t have dreamed someone as perfect and gentle and
strong
as Ella.

Ella, whoever she was.

Ian scowled and took another drink, scratching Manny’s ears when the dog shifted slightly. Maybe he
had
imagined her. She hadn’t been back in weeks, and Ian hadn’t been able to find her. Tomorrow was the big Independence Day celebration—he’d donated a big barrel of pickles for the picnic—and maybe it was time to smile back at some of those young ladies. He’d told Max that he didn’t intend to bid on any of the baskets, and he sure couldn’t join in any of the dancing, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t laugh and joke and try his damnedest to impress a pretty lady.

When was the last time he’d done that? Back before the war, probably, when he’d been young and full of hope for the future. Maybe it was time, again.

At first, he thought that the rain had just picked up, rattling against his window. But then Shiloh lifted his head and growled, and Ian realized that Vick was staring at the door and Manny was staring at the window. Then the rattling against the panes came again, and Ian realized it wasn’t rain; it was something harder. Putting the whiskey on the small table beside the chair, he lifted Manny to the floor, and using the back of the chair and the wall, heaved himself over to the window. It was dark enough that he wondered what exactly he was hoping to see… and then a flash of distant lightening lit up a figure standing in the alley behind his store.

He only saw it for a moment, but that was all he’d needed. A rain-drenched woman in a dress, holding a bundle, pale face staring up at him, an oilcloth covering her hair and shoulders. She was lifting another handful of the pebbles from the alley to hurl at his window, when he waved to let her know he saw her.

She’d come back to him.

Without bothering to pull on a shirt—not even sure that he believed she was real—Ian threw himself towards the rail that lined the living room. He’d left his crutch downstairs, knowing that he could get around fine in his own house, and even now he didn’t regret it. Shifting himself into the stairway, he gripped both railings, picked up his foot, and swung himself down the stairs at a record rate. At the bottom, rather than turning left to go through the store room and into the shop, he turned towards the alley door, the one that he’d locked tonight, like every night.

Taking a deep breath, Ian laid a hand on the latch. This was it. Either he opened the door and she was there, or she wasn’t, and then he went back upstairs and checked the amount of whiskey he’d drunk. He opened the door.

She was real
.

Ella was standing on the small stoop behind his shop, the oilcloth around her shoulders, and covered in mud to her knees. Her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying, and the bundle she was clutching to her chest was dirty and bloody. She looked like a woman in desperate need of a prince, and Ian’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath.

She was real, she was here, and he was ready to do absolutely anything he could to help her.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt
. Vaguely, Ella was aware of the rain pelting her shoulders and scalp, and the heavy breathing of the pup in her arms, and the distant sound of thunder… but all she could focus on was the expanse of skin in front of her. Goodness, his chest just stretched on and on, didn’t it? Unconsciously, she licked her lips, her eyes following the curve of his shoulders down his thick arms, wondering why she felt so light-headed.

Oh yes,
breathe.

She sucked in a deep breath, and tried not to cough when the much-needed air hit her lungs. Dragging her attention back to his face, she saw his smile. He wasn’t smiling at her like he was laughing at her inattention; rather, that he was just happy to see her. His chest may have stolen her breath, but his smile stopped her heart. Seeing him, his pale eyes lit with pleasure just because
she
was there… well, it was enough to make any girl weak-kneed.

No wonder she’d fallen in love with him; he was the first man who’d ever looked at her like that.

There was no way of knowing how long they stood there, staring at one another. Eventually a particularly loud crack of thunder caused the dog in her arms to jump and let out a pitiful whine—whether from fear or pain, Ella wasn’t sure. Ian’s eyes dropped to the bundle she was holding, and she saw his rust-colored brows draw in over his glasses. Bracing himself on the door handle and the wall, he swung himself back out of the doorway.

“You’d better come in, Ella.”

Her name on his lips was beautiful, enticing. As she stepped into his domain, she thought that she might follow that voice anywhere.

But soon she was dripping in the back foyer of his shop, shivering despite the heat, clutching the pup against her. She could see the entrance to the storage room through the door, and the stairs that presumably led up to the apartment he’d mentioned. His hip was braced against the wall by the stairs, and his arms were crossed in front of that magnificent chest.

“I’m not going to say I’m not thrilled to see you, Ella, but you picked an odd time to come visiting.”

There was no censure in his voice—only laughter—but she was quick to blurt, “I need you.”

Was it her imagination, or did his expression soften? “Anything you need.” It wasn’t an offer; it was a promise.

Oh good Heavens
, there went her knees again. Ella had to swallow, and look down at the pup she carried, before she could still her treacherous heart and remember why she was here. “I found her. Well, I didn’t find her, I knew where she was, but she was hiding. She needs your help. She needs someone’s help, and I can’t help her, and I didn’t know who else could, and then I remembered Manny, and I thought…”

Ella stopped herself, and took a deep breath, knowing that she was completely mangling the explanation, but unable to help it. She slowly peeled back the now-soaked towel she’d hoped would protect the pup, and the animal let out a faint whine when the light from the lamp hit its face. She risked a glance up at Ian, wondering what he thought of her boldness.

He was frowning down at the dog. Slowly, gently, he reached out a hand to stroke the pup’s head, and his frown deepened when she whined again. Ella could tell that he was being careful not to startle her or frighten her any more than she already was. The animal’s breathing quickened, but she made no move to squirm away; Ella hoped it was because she trusted Ian, rather than because she was too weak to move.

“I think,” Ian met her eyes, “that you’d better tell me everything.” She let her relief show in her face, and knew that he’d seen it when his frown faded. “Let’s get her upstairs—you’ll have to carry her.” Of course. He needed both of his hands free to navigate the stairs. “But first, I think that you’d better get out of those wet clothes.”

…What?
He wanted her to ... to what? To take her clothes off? Here? In his shop?

Maybe her horror showed, because his lips quirked upwards. “I meant, take off your boots and stockings down here.” He pulled the oilcloth from her shoulders, and hung it on a peg by the door, where it dripped onto a small rug. Then, before her heartbeat had even returned to normal, he was holding out his arms towards the pup. “You’d better give her to me.”

The idea of removing
any
article of clothing in his presence was horrifying and thrilling all at once. But she couldn’t very well stomp through his apartment in ruined boots, not after the kindness he’d showed her already. So, with a sigh that acknowledged the inevitability of revealing her imperfect skin to this perfect prince, she handed him the dog, and bent over.

Luckily, he kept up a murmured litany of comfort to the animal, as he peeled back the towel to look at her injuries, and Ella was almost able to pretend that he was ignoring the way her ankles, and then her knees, were exposed to the gas light.

When she stood barefoot and self-conscious before him, he just smiled slightly, and had her leave her stockings draped over the railing to dry. Then he handed the dog back to her and turned to lift himself up the stairs. She noticed the way his eyes lingered on her worn—now-muddy—work boots, and tried to tamp down the burn of shame that made her toes curls under her damp, frayed skirt.

He led the way to his apartment, and Ella had to swallow down the fierce thrill of longing that swept through her when she saw his cozy home. Despite the fact that it should’ve been hot and muggy in the July storm, the little space felt welcoming. He had a large armchair beside one of the windows, and a small table stood next to it with a half-full bottle of whiskey. A kitchen table was pushed up against one wall, with a single chair under it, and the kitchen was small and serviceable and utterly wonderful. A door on the other side of the large black stove—obviously the source of heat in winter—led to what must be his bedroom. Everything was strategically placed so that he could support himself using only his arms, and railings lined most of the walls. There were frames on a few shelves, a large braided rug on the floor, cheerful curtains around the windows, and all-in-all, it looked like the sort of home Ella had always dreamed of having.

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she realized she was standing in his front door, staring. Blushing, she stepped into his apartment, making sure that the muddy hem of her skirt didn’t make too much of a mess. He gestured towards the kitchen table as he moved towards the bedroom. “Why don’t you sit down, and put her on the table? Try to clean off as much of the mud as possible, and you hold her while I look her over.”

Pleased to have some direction, Ella hurried to the table. The towel hadn’t kept the pup dry, but at least it had kept off the worst of the mud. She whispered soothingly as she cleaned the dried blood from the animal’s coat as well as she could, and it seemed to help. She was so intent on keeping the animal calm that Ian’s sudden presence beside her—he put down the small box of supplies by her elbow and pulled up a tall stool from the kitchen—made her jump. He was wearing a shirt, now, but it wasn’t tucked in or buttoned all the way up, and he was rolling the sleeves up to reveal those magnificent forearms when she finally gathered the courage to look up at him.

He just nodded down at her and settled himself on the stool. It looked like he was used to dragging the stool around the house, and she supposed that he must have difficulty standing for too long. Tugging on the towel, he pulled the dog towards him, and Ella shifted so that she could keep stroking the animal’s head. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

As he carefully examined the dog’s wounds—which still made Ella cringe when she saw them—she told him the story of the dog-fight and how she’d bribed Leonard to hide the pup, and keep her safe. She told how, after dinner, she cleaned up and told her family that she was retiring early, but really snuck out to the barns and past her stepfather’s sleeping men, and finally found the poor creature, torn-up and in desperate pain. She told how she didn’t know how to save her, but how she’d hoped Ian would, and how she was halfway back to the house with the dog wrapped in the towel when the storm started. Even that hadn’t been enough to deter her; not when she was determined to save the animal.

“Hmmmm,” Ian agreed, bent over the pup’s side with a cloth and some kind of liquid that made her whine when he dabbed it on her wound. “You could’ve been struck by lightning. And you probably ruined your boots.” 

“Honestly, I was more worried about the dog. I’ve visited her since she was born, and loved watching her play. I was just so
furious
when I’d heard what they’d done!”

“Dog fighting is a cruel sport.” She heard his anger in the tightness of his reply.

“It’s not the first time the DeVille hands have come over to make trouble with my stepfather’s men.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Ella bit her tongue.
Oh, shoot!
Had she given away too much? Did he know who her stepfather was? Judging from the way his hands stilled momentarily, and the muscles in his forearm tightened, he’d noticed her blunder, and was trying to place the clue she’d just accidentally revealed.

But all he said was, “I recently met Max DeVille,” in a neutral tone.

Oh dear
. How to respond? She stared down at the pup’s head, and continued to stroke her ears. “I’ve never met the family.” She wasn’t allowed to.

“Hmmmm.” Was all he said to that, and Ella hoped that meant that he was too intent on the dog’s injuries to follow through on the questioning. When he threaded a needle and began to stitch the animal’s wounds together, Ella breathed a little sigh of relief. He’d asked about her family last time too, and she’d refrained from telling him because she was ashamed. But now, with Papa’s threat hanging over her, she couldn’t tell him for his own good.

Ian had worked so hard to make Crowne’s Mercantile a successful business, and he didn’t have the same standing in the community that Papa did. Edmund Miller was a wealthy man, and if he and Roy DeVille agreed on something, they could work together to bring Ian down. She wasn’t about to allow that to happen, not if she had any say over the matter. And the only thing that she could do was make sure that Papa didn’t have a reason to work against Ian. He could never know that she’d snuck past the men he’d set to guard her tonight to see Ian; could never hear their names linked.

She cared about Ian too much to ever let that happen.

By the time that he was finished stitching the dog up, Ella was breathing normally again, confident in her decision. Ian was washing the dog’s fur out when he spoke again. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t think she has one.”

He glanced at her, a flash of green behind the glass. “She’s not your dog?” The surprise in his voice made her cautious when she answered. She couldn’t drop any more hints, or let him know that she lived on a prosperous cattle ranch.

“No. I’ve just been visiting her from time to time.”

“Well, I can wrap her up well enough for you to take her home, since the storm’s stopped.” Sure enough, Ella realized that she hadn’t heard any rain against the windows. At least tomorrow’s celebration wouldn’t be ruined. Not that it mattered, since she couldn’t go.

“Actually, I was hoping that I could leave her here, with you. If you don’t mind. You’d get to name her.”

Ian patted the dog softly, and sat back on his stool, eying her seriously. She wasn’t sure why this pup mattered so much to her; all she knew was that if she returned the animal to the Miller Ranch, she was unlikely to survive, and Ella might have to explain who stitched her up.

But the longer than Ian stared at her, the deeper she felt him in her own soul, and the more she understood that this wasn’t about the dog. This was about her. About him. About
them
.

“On one condition.”