“Yes, sir, we understand,” Fred Westmaster assured. The man was the size and shape of a grizzly, and the gaze he shot around the room said he’d be enforcing the ground rules. “Don’t we?”
Agreeable nods and comments guaranteed everyone understood.
Ellis gave a single head bob, accepting their responses. “Good enough, then. I’m sure lunch will be ready shortly.” He rose, prepared to seek some thinking time in his office.
“Mr. Clayton,” Sam McDonaldson said. “Are you interested in claiming Miss Jennings?”
The man owned a farm between Heaven on Earth and Cottonwood. Ellis didn’t know him well, but had no reason to dislike him. Prior to this moment, that is. Ellis didn’t answer right away, not because he didn’t have one, but because he didn’t think anyone needed to know his business.
McDonaldson must have made his own conclusion from Ellis’s silence. “It seems a bit unfair to the rest of us, if you are, with her living here and all.”
Ellis met the man’s stare. McDonaldson had to be well over forty, and it appeared the man had less sense than he had hair. “Do you have a daughter, Sam?”
“No, you know I don’t,” Sam answered. “I ain’t never been married.”
Ellis turned, making a wide sweep of the room with a steady stare. “What about anyone else? Does anyone have a daughter or a female that could befriend Miss Jennings?” The room was full of negative gestures. “Then wouldn’t you agree the most appropriate place for Miss Jennings is here at the ranch—with Angel?” Some of the men nodded, while others simply stared at him. His throat wanted to swell up, as if it, too, wondered about his explanation. “Besides,” he added, “I’ve hired Miss Jennings to be a tutor to Angel for the time being. You all know the girl needs some formal education.”
No one dared argue that point. His daughter—as much as he loved her—could be considered a little rough around the edges at times, not to mention a bit domineering.
Ellis spun on his heels and left the room, not willing to answer the array of questions his last statement might conjure up.
The fire in his office needed to be stoked. Understandably, he’d told Thomas not to worry about the house fires after his morning visit, and Angel and Miss Jennings had their hands full with unexpected guests. Ellis crossed the room, threw in a couple of good-sized logs, and then strolled to the window. The blizzard raged on. The hands had been prepared for it. Most of the cattle had been brought close to the ranch and a good supply of hay had been laid out. The brunt of the morning chores had been for the homestead animals, including Angel’s flock. He’d stayed outside as long as he could—contemplating his house guest all the while.
Ellis made his way to his desk. Every time he encountered her, Constance said or did something that had his mind and guts rolling with questions. A smile played on his lips. She certainly had a sweet laugh. It hadn’t been funny—those men could have died—but once it was known everyone was fine, there probably wasn’t a person around who wouldn’t have broke out laughing upon seeing his front parlor. It resembled a Civil War infantry, a comical looking one.
He’d told her the truth: he had known they’d come. Once word got out that there was an available female in Cottonwood, men from as far away as Montana would descend on the town. He’d have to prepare for it, but hadn’t thought it would start today, in the middle of a blizzard.
There was also the consideration of how to prepare her for the onslaught of suitors. He’d expected to someday have this chore ahead of him, but assumed it would happen in a few years, when Angel became of age.
That thought lurched his stomach to his heels. When melancholy hit like this, he grew more thankful he’d only been blessed with one child. He’d have loved them all as much as he did Angel, of that he had no doubt, but the older she grew, the more he understood why his mother had cried when he and Christine had left the Carolinas.
He could only hope the man Angel would eventually fall in love with would be interested in living in Wyoming. Maybe not right on Heaven on Earth, but close by would be the next best thing.
Someone tapped on his door. He glanced at the mantel clock and was surprised by the length of time he’d been wallowing in thought. “Come in,” he instructed.
Angel stuck her nose in. “Lunch is ready.”
“Enough for everyone?”
She grinned, entering the room. “Yes. Constance could out-cook Beans.”
“Oh?” He slapped shut the notation book he hadn’t made a mark in. “She could, could she?”
The door closed behind her. “Yup,” Angel said confidently. “You already tasted her breakfast. She knows how to make fancy holiday candies and cookies, too, beside lots of other stuff.”
“How do you know that?” He rose and pushed his chair in, but didn’t move to the door.
“She told me.” Angel skipped across the room and jumped up to sit on the edge of his desk. “We were planning the holiday party when Mr. Homer arrived.” She rolled her dark eyes to the ceiling. “Followed by the rest.”
“You like Miss Jennings, don’t you?” He held in his other thought, that of asking his daughter if she was looking for a mother. The thought clung to the back of his mind like a pesky cobweb.
“Yes. And you will, too, once you get to know her. She’s lived in England and has lots of recipes from there. And she promised to teach me all about the kings and queens over there.”
“Kings and queens?” He ruffled her hair. “You’re interested in that kind of stuff?”
“I suspect.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I promised to teach her all about Wyoming, and in exchange she said she’d teach me about England. It would have been rude to not accept her offer.”
“I suspect it would have been.” He’d already spent too much time mulling thoughts, so took a hold of Angel’s hand. “Come on, scamp, let’s go get some lunch before our guests eat it all.”
“Why do you think she goes by Miss Jennings instead of Mrs. Jennings?” Angel asked as they walked to the door.
The question brought Ellis to a skidding halt. He planted a hand on the wood, keeping Angel from pulling the door open. “Because she’s not married?” It was a question, but he hoped it sounded like a statement.
“Not now, but she was.”
“No, Ashton died before she arrived,” he argued.
“Not Mr. Kramer.”
“Who then?”
“I don’t know. But when I helped her unpack there was a ring in one of her trunks. She said it was a wedding ring.” Angel stared up at him with open, honest eyes.
“Maybe it was her mother’s or grandmother’s. Women often pass their wedding rings down in the family.” The bubbling in his stomach said no matter how plausible that sounded, he didn’t believe it.
Angel shook her head. “Nope. She said it was hers, but that her husband died.”
His hand slipped from the door.
“I don’t think she meant to tell me though, since she clammed up right afterward.” Angel had pulled the door open and was crossing the threshold when she spun about to whisper, “Oh, and if any of the men ask, I cooked lunch. Constance doesn’t want to encourage them. Something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach.”
Ellis rubbed at the invisible hammers pounding against his temples, drumming up a headache like he’d