Constance’s heart sank, and then jolted. Quickly, she stepped around and between the men. Though his face held an astonished look, Ellis must be furious. Rightfully so. This was all because of her. Stalling until she could come up with an appropriate explanation, she asked, “Mr. Clayton, can I get you some hot coffee?”
He glanced at the steaming cups set beside some of the men. “Is there any left?”
“Yes, I just put on a fresh pot.” Constance froze midstep. His broad frame filled the doorway and she didn’t dare squeeze around him as Angel had. “It should be about done,” she offered, glancing toward the kitchen door on the other side of the arched opening.
He stepped aside, providing the space she needed to slip through the doorway. His attention remained on the parlor. “This explains the horses that showed up at the barn door.”
Constance scrambled across the foyer to the swinging kitchen door. Once beyond it, she took a breath and slowed her pace, wishing she could slow her pulse as easily. The pot was perking loudly on the stove, and she grabbed a cup from the cupboard along the way. The last thing she’d expected was a horde of men traveling through a blizzard to claim her hand in marriage. A heavy foreboding once again pressed on her chest. Besides being overly disconcerting, it gravely added to the long list of debt she owed Ellis. He’d probably send her back to town with the men—tired of the problems she caused in such a short span of time. Heat stung her palm and she pulled her hand away from the hot pot.
“Did you burn yourself?”
Shy of jumping out of her skin, Constance shook her head. How had he come to stand right beside her and she not hear him? Ignoring the smart in her palm, she grabbed a towel before attempting to lift the pot this time.
“Thanks.” He took the cup and moved a few steps away to drink the coffee.
Constance sought solace in the space separating them.
His silence lasted several minutes. “How many are there?”
Her relief was short-lived, if it had existed at all. “Five.” She set the pot on the back burner, wishing she could make the unexpected visitors disappear as fast as they had arrived. An apology seemed trivial, and the justification she hadn’t expected the men sounded like a flimsy excuse.
His gaze was on the door. “At least all their horses are accounted for.” He spun around. “Unless there are more?”
Despondent, she shrugged. The action made the weight on her shoulders grow heavier. “I have no idea”
He held out his empty cup. She filled it. Flimsy excuse or not, it was all she had. “Mr. Clayton, I …” Another sigh left her chest. “I apologize. Please understand I had no idea—”
“I know you had nothing to do with this.”
Shocked by the gentle undertone of his voice, she glanced up.
His gaze was on the coffee in his cup. “You didn’t invite them. I was there yesterday. You have nothing to explain.” He set the cup down and shrugged out of his coat. “It appears there’ll be a few more than just the three of us for lunch, and supper.”
Constance pressed a hand to the fluttering in her stomach. She could have sworn there had been humor in his voice, and from his profile, it appeared a smile sat on his lips.
The most remarkable thing happened then. He laughed. A sincere, deep baritone. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like it,” he said, still staring at the closed door.
The image of the packed parlor flashed before her eyes. It could appear rather comical to some, Constance had to admit, through trying not to. An unexpected giggle slid up her throat. She pressed a hand to her lips, but it was too late. He’d already heard it.
The fine lines around his eyes deepened as his smile grew. “Don’t upset yourself, Miss Jennings. It’s truly not your fault.” Shaking his head, he laughed harder. “They are a sorry looking bunch, aren’t they?”
The giggle in her throat escaped, and along with it went some of the tension eating at her insides. His reassurance felt good. Really, really, good.
As their laughter died down, she chided herself, “Oh, goodness. It’s not funny. I shouldn’t be laughing. Those men could have perished.”
“Yes, they could have,” Ellis agreed. “But they didn’t.” He picked up his cup, emptied it in one swallow, and then set it back down on the counter.
Constance grasped he was an understanding man, his relationship with his daughter was proof of that, but she couldn’t help but admit, “I was afraid you’d be upset.”
“I could be, and I hope no one else is out there in this storm.” He folded his arms and leaned back against the table. “But my wife was a very wise woman. She taught me years ago not to get angry over the little things. To save it for the things that matter. Angel is a lot like her.” He glanced to the door again, as if he could see beyond the wood and into the parlor filled with men. “Besides, I expected it. I didn’t think they’d arrive in the middle of a snow storm, but I knew they’d come.”
It dawned on Constance that Ellis used his dead wife as a shield. The past affected him as much as it did her. Maybe there was no hope she could get beyond it. If he couldn’t, how could she?
She pushed the coffeepot to the very back of the stove. “How did you know they would come?”
“Miss Jennings, surely you’ve noticed the lack of women in Wyoming. Or heard of it. Out here a woman is worth more than her weight in gold. The ad you saw from Ashton, that’s just one of hundreds that have been posted places. Very few are responded to, and if they are, not many women actually show up after the man sends her money.”
The thought of keeping Ashton Kramer’s money and not upholding her end of the bargain had never crossed her mind.
His gaze was apprehensive. “You didn’t know that?”
She shook her head.
“Where did you see Ashton’s post?” There was a touch of skepticism in his voice.
She bit her lip, wondering just how much would be revealed by her answer. Several explanations rolled in her head, she chose one. “Someone in New York gave it to me.”
His brows furrowed. “Gave it to you?”
“Mmm hmm,” she murmured, trying to sound indifferent. His silence waited for more, so she added, “I traded some used clothes for it.”
“Traded used clothes?” The doubt in his voice increased her apprehension.
She folded her trembling fingers together, squeezing them tight. Though she wasn’t lying, the bubbling in her stomach made it feel like she was. “Yes, I had several things I no longer needed, and a woman offered to sell them for me. She gave me Mr. Kramer’s letter for a dress she wanted to keep for herself.”
“Was she wanted by the law?”
His question knocked the air right out of her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, let alone respond.
As her ears buzzed, he said, “More than one woman’s become a mail-order bride instead of going to jail.”
She had to breathe or she’d faint. Sucking in enough air to get by, she managed to answer, “Stella wasn’t wanted by the law.”
Just then the kitchen door opened and Angel strode into the room. Constance had never been happier to see someone. “They’ll all live,” Angel said offhandedly. “I do wonder about Jeb’s toes though, they’re already turning black.”
Ellis pushed away from the table. “I’ll go take a look.” He chucked Angel under the chin. “We even fed your animals, so don’t consider going out there today.”
“I won’t, Pa.