Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale (12 page)

Ian watched her swallow, the lamplight playing across the pale skin of her neck as her muscles contracted. He could tell that he’d made her nervous, and knew that she was thinking of the slip-up she’d made a while ago. So focused on the poor dog’s injuries, he hadn’t been able to devote much of his mind to the riddle she’d posed, but he fully intended to.

To his surprise, though, she accepted his challenge. “What’s your condition?”

He smiled slowly. “That you come back and visit her.” Visit the dog, not him. See? Everything is perfectly reasonable here.

But when her face fell, his stomach dropped too. He hadn’t realized how strongly he’d been hoping she’d say yes, but it was obvious that she was going to say no. Rather than letting her see his disappointment, Ian shifted forward off the stool, picked it up, and used it to hobble towards the kitchen counter. With his back to her, he washed his hands in the basin, and tried not to swallow down the hurt her denial had caused.

“I’m sorry, Ian.” Her voice was small, weak. Nothing like her. “I… I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?” His hands, resting on either side of the basin, fisted, and he stared at the wall in front of him.

“I can’t.” God, he hated how pitiful she sounded. He would do anything to take her fear away.

Ian let his head drop, felt the pull along his neck and down his spine, and exhaled slowly. She was
here
. She was in his home, talking to him, and she was
real
. He wasn’t going to let her go without a fight, this time.

“I dreamed about you, you know.” He hadn’t intended to admit that. Why had the confession slipped out?

He held his breath until he heard her quiet response. “Me too.”

Feeling like the world was somehow balancing out again, but not exactly sure how, Ian turned to face her, propping his hip against the counter. He folded his arms across his chest, and felt a thrill when her eyes followed the movement and lingered on his forearms. “You dream about me?”

She was still staring at his arms, and Ian resisted the urged to flex his muscles. “Yes.” She swallowed and lifted those gorgeous clear eyes to his. “Every night.”

Every night.
The same as him. What were the odds? “In your dreams, what are we doing?”

Was it his imagination, or did she pale even further? “We’re talking.”

“Just talking?”

He could tell that she was uncomfortable with the topic, from the jerky movements she made as she stroked the young dog’s head, but he wouldn’t let her look away. He held her gaze, willing her to answer him, to stay with him. Always.

“Sometimes…” She swallowed again, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Sometimes we’re kissing.”

Well now…
Ian raised one of his brows, as if he didn’t believe her. “Kissing, eh?” In his dreams, they were doing a heck of a lot more than kissing, but he’d take her admission for what it was worth. “Just kissing?”

Had he thought that she was pale? Suddenly color bloomed in her cheeks, bright enough to rival her lips. “Just kissing.” And he knew that she was lying.

“In these dreams of yours, when we’re kissing…” Was it his imagination, or was she leaning forward slightly in her chair? Her lips were parted, her turquoise-blue eyes were wide, and in that moment, he loved everything about her. “What were we wearing?”

He had to press his lips together to keep the laughter from escaping at her reaction. She sat up quickly, and must’ve dug her fingers into the dog’s fur or something, because it gave a strangled yelp she didn’t even seem to notice. Her cheeks pinked even more, and she looked ready to bolt. Ian took pity on her. “Because in
my
dreams, we’re not wearing much of anything at all.”

She bolted. With a strangled noise, Ella launched herself out of the chair, and took a few jerky steps towards the window, as if not sure why she was headed there, but needing to move. He felt safe letting a few satisfied chuckles escape. He’d rattled her, all right, but it’d been the truth. Even now, he had to shift his hips slightly to get comfortable in his own trousers. Even the memory of those dreams were potent.

He watched her shoulders expand slightly with each breath, the thin material of her worn shirt still slightly damp. Everything she was wearing was slightly damp, in fact. The oilcloth that she’d thrown over herself and the dog hadn’t done a perfect job, but at least she wasn’t soaked. His gaze traveled down her frame, his experienced shopkeeper’s eye taking in the out-of-date cut of the blouse she wore, the ragged hem of her skirt, and her bare feet under it. Her boots—the same pair that she’d worn the last times she’d visited—had been old to begin with, and being soaked through and slogged through mud probably wasn’t going to help them. He thought of them, sitting beside the back door to his shop, and thought of her trying to put them back on to walk out of his life again.

He wasn’t going to let her do that. This time, when she walked out on him, she’d be obligated enough to come back. Ian was willing to do anything to keep her in his life.

But for now, he made small talk as they cleaned up together, making her laugh with stories of other dogs he’d fixed up. They discussed the pup’s prognosis, and she seemed relieved that it would not just live, but live well. He called Shiloh and Manny and Vick over to meet the new pup, and he and Ella fussed over the animals for sitting so quietly and patiently during the operation. Ian boiled water for some tea, and shared it with her at the kitchen table.

Being here, with her and the dogs, felt
right.
Seeing her smiling and laughing with him, scratching Vick behind the ears while she sipped her tea, felt
right
. Making the pup a new bed to keep her safe and secure, and watching Ella fuss over her while they worked together… it all felt
right
.

And Ian knew: This is what he wanted. Forever. He wanted her here with him, seeing him for who he really was. He wanted her compassion, her industry, her loyalty, in his life. He wanted to protect her, to provide for her, to come home every evening to her and the dogs and maybe, someday, a child, a full home that she would help him build. He wanted
her
.

He was going to marry her, and keep her forever. And he knew how to do it.

When, at almost midnight, Ella finally said that she had to go, Ian didn’t fight her. He just gestured for her to follow him, and he swung down the stairs to the back foyer. Rather than letting her out the door, though, he turned to the store room, and she picked up the lamp and followed.

He knew exactly what he was looking for; it had come in last week’s delivery. Sure enough, in the ladies’ ready-wear section, he pulled them out. Holding onto the shelves with one hand, he turned to Ella.

She stared down at the shoes in his hand. They were black, and unadorned, and not at all the kind of thing that a suitor should give the woman he was rapidly realizing he loved. But when she turned breathless, bright eyes up to him, he knew that he’d made the right choice.

“For me?”

“Your boots are ruined. Leave them here, and I’ll do what I can to fix them up for you.” Dry them, scrape them, reshape them—if possible—and oil them. Maybe he could take them to Micah Zapato, who’d taken over his grandfather’s cobbling business. “This way you don’t have to walk home in wet boots.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched one of the shoes, running her finger down the smooth dark leather. They were serviceable, with a simple sort of beauty. But her beauty—when she smiled up at him—was anything but simple.

“You’re giving me shoes?”

Ian was hit with a wave of self-doubt. What if this wasn’t what she needed? What she wanted? He hadn’t courted a woman before; what if
shoes
were a terrible choice of gifts? “I… Do you want them? You don’t have to take them.”

Her fingers stroked along the insole, and Ian shuddered, remember those fingers doing the same to his skin in his dreams. “I think…” She inhaled slowly. “I love them. No one...” She looked up, and met his eyes, and he was done. “No one has
ever
given me such a wonderful gift.”

If she let him, he’d give her gifts—even more wonderful than this—for the rest of her life. He felt like his heart was in his throat when he asked, “You’ll take them?”

Their fingers brushed when she wrapped her hands around the shoes, and the thrill shot up his arm, as always. What was it about this woman’s touch that could affect him so? Ian didn’t care; as long as he had plenty of more chances to touch her.

“Thank you, Ian.”

Anything for you
. He couldn’t make his throat work.

“I can’t pay you for them, but I will return them as soon as possible.”

“No!” He managed to choke it out. “No,” he repeated, softer. “They’re a gift. But…” He wrapped his free hand around hers, which was still holding the shoes. “But I need to see you again. Please.” She looked away, and he felt his stomach clench. “Please tell me your family name. Tell me where I can find you.”

He didn’t care that he was pleading. He didn’t care that it made him sound weak, desperate; when it came to her, he
was
desperate. He didn’t care about anything, as long as he had a way to find her again. He hoped that the shoes would provide that opportunity.

But as she pulled her hands from his, he was afraid that he’d lost her yet again. “I can’t, Ian.” She clutched the shoes to her chest. “For your sake, I can’t tell you my name.”

She’d mentioned her stepfather earlier; was he the one who had this mysterious hold over her? Was he the one who was preventing her from even sharing her name, preventing them from working towards a future? It was her voice—sad and defeated—that told him she wanted to confess, but couldn’t. Ian wanted to fix it, to make it better, but he warned himself to take it slowly.

So he touched her; he couldn’t stop himself. He stroked one finger down her smooth cheek, and imagined what it would feel like to cup that cheek, to pull her closer to him. To kiss her. He watched her close her eyes on her shudder, and knew that she was as affected by their connection as he was.

“I won’t push you, Ella. But promise that you’ll come back to me.”

“I… I can’t.” He barely heard her whisper. “I shouldn’t have even come here tonight, but I had to see…”

“Promise me. If you don’t, if I don’t know that I’ll see you again soon, I’ll go crazy. I’ll follow you tonight, I swear I will.”

She glanced up at him then, probably to see if he was teasing her, and he caught and held her turquoise gaze. He kept his expression neutral, and nodded. “Just imagine me stumping after you, in the mud. My crutch will probably get stuck and I’ll fall.”

Was that a hint of a smile there, on her lips? Her eyes were carefully serious when she finally said, “I would hate to be the cause of that.” And there wasn’t an ounce of pity in her gaze. She accepted him as he was.

He nodded solemnly again. “I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”

That did it. She burst into laughter, and
God
was she beautiful, all lit up like that. Ian vowed then and there to make her laugh as much as possible. Ella deserved to have laughter and fun and beauty and ease.

She was still chuckling when she touched his arm. “I’ll come back.”

“Promise?”

“I shouldn’t, but yes. I can’t imagine not seeing you again.”

He shuddered theatrically. “Thank God.”

“I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to come after me.”

“Come tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure where the demand came from, why he made it. “Come to the picnic tomorrow. I can’t promise to dance with you,” he hadn’t danced in twelve years, “but I want to see you. To put you on my arm and parade you in front of Everland and show them how beautiful you are.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her gaze shuttered again, and she drew away—physically and emotionally. He
watched
the joy drain out of her eyes, and wondered at the sorrow that replaced it. He hated feeling so helpless to help her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Thank you very much for the shoes, Ian.” She sat down on the bottom step and made quick work of pulling on her stockings and the simple black shoes. “They fit perfectly.”

Of course they did. That was his job; knowing what goods each person needed. For instance, he knew that she needed healing, peace, and laughter. And right now, he couldn’t give her any of that.

Then she was standing at his door, a good ten feet from him, her hand on the jamb. “Thank you for taking care of the pup.”

He didn’t want her to leave on a sour note. “You sure you won’t help me name her?”

She shook her head, sadly. “No. That’s for you to do. But…” She opened the door, and backed towards it. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t name her after a battle, Ian. That’s your past.” And then she was gone.

Ian stood in his store room for a while, thinking about what she’d said. For twelve years, he’d been caught up in the memories of that one day. His life had changed forever on July third, and he’d hadn’t let it change again. He’d named his dogs—his closest companions—for those battles, to remind himself of what he’d lost, and what he was.