Unclaimed Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  “It smells wonderful in here. What are you making now?” The door swung on its hinges as Angel sauntered into the room.

  “How’s your father?” Constance asked.

  “Still sleeping, just like he was when you sent me up there fifteen minutes ago.” Angel stuck a finger in the bowl and twirled it deep in the batter. “Mmm.” She licked her lips thoroughly before asking again, “What are you making this time?”

  The kitchen smelled of bananas. For good reason. She was working as fast as she could, but still hadn’t found a good use for all of the fruit. A platter of cookies sat on the open shelf of the pie cabinet beside a layered cake covered with boiled frosting, and a pan of what she considered to be banana cobbler baked in the oven. “I’m creating what I’m naming banana bread right now.”

  “Banana bread?” Angel asked from where she plucked a cookie off the platter.

  “Yes.” Constance used the spoon to point at the pile of bananas on the table. “These bananas will rot right there on the table if I don’t figure out what to do with them.” She was not about to let that happen. If she lived to be a hundred she’d remember the pride in Ellis’s eyes when he pulled out that first banana. She wanted to see that pride again—when he told Link about the delicious things she’d made out of those “frozen” bananas.

  Angel swallowed and held up the other half of the cookie. “These are good.”

  “Thank you, but they are a bit too soft and crumbling for cookies. Besides, we could never eat enough cookies, or cake, to use up all these bananas.” The pantry had plenty of spare jars, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how she’d go about canning bananas.

  “Want me to try the cake? See how it tastes?”

  “You can try the cake after supper.” Using her spoon again, Constance waved it at the stove.

  Angel bent down to sniff at the pie sitting there. “Pie? We’re having pie for supper? Is it banana, too?”

  “No, it’s beef.” Constance poured the batter from the bowl into two bread pans. There was also a small pan of broth, just in case Ellis did wake enough to eat something.

  “Beef?” Angel asked.

  “Yes.” Her answer was automatic, while her mind was upstairs. Once the bread was in the oven, she’d check on Ellis herself. And this time, she promised, she wouldn’t kiss him. Would not. No matter how hard her lips begged to touch his again.

  “You don’t make pies out of beef. You make pies out of berries or apples or pumpkin. I like pumpkin pie.”

  “In England we make pies out of lots of things besides fruits.” Constance carried the bowl to the sink. Perhaps she should send Angel up to check on him again. That would be safer.

  Angel peered closer at the pie. “Beef, uh?”

  Constance walked over and kissed the top of Angel’s head. Not only did she love the girl, she was very grateful for the distraction. Otherwise, Constance would already be in Ellis’s room. “Yes, with carrots, potatoes and onions.”

  “Hmm, like stew between the crusts?”

  “I suppose so. It needs to set for a few more minutes.” Constance walked back to the table. “You can help me clean up.”

  Angel gathered things from the table, carrying an armload to the pantry. “Constance, how do you know how to make all these things? Did your aunts teach you?”

  “Some. Some I learned from experimenting,” she answered off-handedly. Her aunts had taught her many things, but nothing she could use right now. They’d known less about men than she did. Which totaled nil.

  Angel picked up one of the bananas. “So what else are you going to make with bananas?”

  “Well.” Constance let out a sigh. “That has been my dilemma all day. I’m hoping this banana bread recipe works. If it does, I can bake the loaves, then wrap them and set them in a crate outside. It’s cold enough that they’ll freeze. That way we won’t have to eat it all right now.” She peered at the looming pile on the table. “If it doesn’t work, we are going to be so tired of bananas we’ll never want to see another one the rest of our lives.”

  “Do you think Pa will feel up to joining us for supper?”

  “No.” Constance drew a breath at the way her heart somersaulted. “I think he’ll sleep right through until morning. Which will be best. By tomorrow, I’m sure he’ll be fine and dandy.”

  Angel repeated, “Fine and dandy,” with an exaggerated flair. “Oh, Constance, some of the things you say make me want to giggle.” She wrapped her arms around Constance’s waist.

  Constance hugged her back. An eerie bout of fear tingled her spine. Her time was limited. Forgetting that, as she seemed to have done regularly, could cause more problems than kissing Ellis. She released Angel, asking, “How’s your book coming?”

  “I’m almost done, but…” Angel stepped away, sighing heavily.

  “But what?”

  “Little Women is such a wonderful story. I want to finish it. I want to know how it ends. But at the same time, I don’t want to finish it, because then the story will be over.” Her eyes grew somber. “Does that make sense?”

  It made perfect sense. Actually, that was just how Constance felt about her time at the ranch. She never wanted it to end. “Yes,” she agreed, yet didn’t want to shadow Angel’s joy. “But, don’t fret. Your father’s office is full of other wonderful books you’ll enjoy just as much as this one.”

  Angel shook her head. “I don’t know if there’ll ever be another one to compare to this one.”

  Unable to meet Angel’s inquisitive gaze, Constance moved to the sink. No matter where she went, where she lived, nowhere would compare to what she had right now. It was idiotic to become so infatuated with a place—and the people residing there—in such a short time, yet, she had. England had never really been home to her. And New York most certainly hadn’t been. But here, it was as if she’d put down roots the minute she’d arrived. Part of her said it was because of the people, which only made it worse. Angel didn’t need that much schooling, and once that was completed, the people here wouldn’t need her services, for she truly had nothing else to offer them.

  * * *

  Stiffness cracked and popped in his joints as Ellis stretched and flipped around. No water basin sat beside his bed. There was no cloth. Had he dreamt it all?

  No, he’d been sick, clearly recalled feeling it come on as he rode home. He brushed the back of his hand to his nose. The constant drip was gone. The tightening and sting in his throat had left as well.

  Only a few embers glowed in the hearth, and sunlight, though hazy, penetrated the window and brightened the room.

  He tossed aside the covers and went to the window. Due to the fog, it was hard to tell what time it was. Pausing near the bed, he drank from the glass of water sitting on the table, swishing his mouth well before swallowing. At least the illness had left as quickly as it had arrived.

  His gaze went to Christine’s picture. A light, optimistic sensation washed over him. “It was all a dream,” he whispered. “Just a dream.” A soaking is what he needed, a good washing to refresh his body and mind.

  With a full set of clean clothes draped over one arm and his shaving gear in the other hand, he left his room for the back stairway. A wondrous scent filled the air. His stomach reacted, grumbling like a miner seeing gold.

  If waking up with no after effects of his illness hadn’t been enough, a wave of homecoming—that of cheerful giggles floating up the stairway—had his chest welling with satisfaction.

  “Hey, Pa,” Angel greeted as he stepped off the final stair. “How you feeling?”

  A spoon hit the floor, clattering as it bounced. Constance, with her long hair twirling to catch up, spun from the table. “El— Mr. Clayton, you’re up.”

  For a moment he couldn’t pull his gaze from her. She was a remarkably beautiful woman. The gown melded to her curves was the same sky blue as her eyes, and more fashionable than anything Link sold. Not even the flour sack tied around her waist lessened the stunning pictur
e she made. Her cheeks were bright pink, and the smile she flashed his way before she bent to retrieve the spoon made him think of springtime and a field of daisies.

  “Yes, I’m up,” he assured. “And I feel fine.”

  “Sit down,” Constance said. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

  His stomach growled, but he ignored it, and hoisting his arm covered with clothes, he explained, “I thought I’d take a bath first. I feel a bit grizzly.” Fire burned his ears. Grizzly? Daisies? Maybe he’d been sicker than he thought. Why else would his mind be flapping around like it didn’t have the sense God gave a duck.

  “I have two pots of water heating for dishes. You can start with those while I heat more,” Constance offered, already rushing toward the door under the back staircase that led to the small bathing chamber. “Sit down, and I’ll get everything ready.”

  He stepped into her path. A hint of a memory flashed in his mind, drawing his eyes to her lips as if he knew how they felt, or wanted to. He blinked, clearing his mind of a vision that most certainly had been a dream. “No, I can do it.”

  She let out a sigh, making him wonder if she’d been holding her breath. “Nonsense, you’ve been ill. Now go sit down. I’ll get the bath ready.”

  Her practical attitude had surprised him from the beginning. Though she looked like a lady, with the delicate cameo pinned near her throat and her graceful posture, her sensibility and straightforward approach said she wasn’t used to others doting on her. Which was sad. Every woman deserved to be taken care of. He side-stepped at the same time she did and took his clothes back. “I’ll do it. You sit down. It looks like you could use a rest.”

  Her hands flew to her face. She wiped her pink cheeks and then smoothed tendrils of ebony hair behind each ear.

  He could have kicked himself. Accepting the urge filling his chest, he trailed a knuckle along one perfectly formed cheekbone. The skin was downy soft, and enticed his touch to linger. “You look fine,” he whispered. “I was referring to the kitchen.”

  A wispy gasp escaped her slightly parted lips, and then she twisted her neck, giving him the view of her stunning profile as she peered over her shoulder at the array of baked goods covering the counters and cupboards.

  “Are we having a party?”

  Her blush deepened. “No. I—I didn’t want the bananas to go bad.”

  “I’d forgotten about those,” he said as his hand slid to her slender shoulder. “I wondered if half the town hadn’t showed up again while I slept.” Though the words were meant to tease her, they sent a ball of fire through him.

  She trembled beneath his touch, as if she feared more visitors as deeply as he loathed the thought. He squeezed her shoulder. “It smells wonderful. I can’t wait to sample the fare.”

  Slow and thoughtful, she turned back his way. Looking into her eyes was like gazing into a mountain lake, where the clarity allowed one to see deep beneath the surface, yet not all the way down to discover the secret treasures that lay buried below. He couldn’t stop himself from staring, wondering what her secrets were, and wishing he had the right to ask.

  Too quickly, she dipped her chin, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I’ll get the water for you.”

  The bones beneath his fingers felt as fragile as a sparrow’s wing. “I can haul my own water. You go back to your baking.”

  As if she were a small bird, she flitted away, leaving an empty space where she’d stood and a tiny one inside him. Ellis turned, frowning at the knowledge Constance affected him more than he would like—and had since she’d stepped off the stage. The memory of when she’d come to his office, to offer a solution, appeared then. He hadn’t mailed the letter to Eli yet, but would, as soon as he took his bath. Perhaps she still had family; someone who’d survived the war but didn’t know how to contact her. That would solve all their problems.

  In no time the bath was full of steaming water. He closed the door to the washroom, and stripped down. The commotion brought about since her arrival had left him with little time to focus on anything else. That must be what triggered his insides. Women evoked protectiveness in men, and he was no different. Constance needed someone to look out for her. Comparing her to a little bird was accurate—a tiny blue bird, alone and lost in the vast open range of the Territory.

  He cupped his hands and splashed water on his face in an attempt to chase away the image. Next he grabbed the stool holding his shaving utensils and pulled it closer. The tasks consumed him, held his attention as he scraped away the whiskers and then scrubbed from head to toe. But his ears practically heard the charming tweets of an elusive blue bird.

  Cleanliness was rejuvenating. Donning fresh clothes, he straightened up the room and exited, ready to face whatever lay before him. He oversaw thousands of cattle and dozens of men. How much trouble could one little bird be?

  His stomach grumbled again, so while walking past the cupboard he picked up a cookie. Flavorful and moist, it melted in his mouth. He took another before moving to the table.

  “Good, aren’t they?” Angel asked as he finished the first one.

  “Yes,” he agreed before biting into the second one.

  “Wait until you taste the bread,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

  The word bread sparked a tiny little light inside him. Fighting the urge to catch sight of Constance, he kept his gaze on his daughter. Her blond curls were smoothed away from her face and tied on the top of her head with a neat bow. The style was very becoming. She had on a dress he’d seen before, but it looked nicer. A closer inspection attested it had been neatly pressed. A smile tugged at his lips. Little things he hadn’t noticed before now corroborated: Angel did need the influence of a woman. He planted a kiss on the top of her head and sat at the table.

  A cup of coffee as well as a plate of scrambled eggs was set before him. He brought his tumbling mind to a halt and nodded toward Constance. “Thanks, this looks good.”

  She slid another plate across the table. It held a few slices of dark bread. “I’m sure you’re hungry,” she said, fluttering away before he could catch her gaze.

  Eyeing the bread, he wondered if she’d been up baking half the night, and wished he’d joined her. He took a piece and popped it in his mouth; a savory burst of sweetness teased his taste buds.

  The back door flew open with a clatter. Beans, thrusting his way over the threshold, waving a long spoon with one hand, carried the expression of a badger on his whiskered face. “What the Hell’s the meaning of this?” the cook shouted, pointing the spoon at Constance.

  “Beans!” Ellis shot to his feet, admonishing the man with a harsh glare. No man, no matter whether he’d worked here for years or not, had the right to approach his family with hostility.

  The man bowed his head, accepting the reprimand, but Angel, like a mother hen defending her chicks, flew across the room to stand in front of Constance.

  The shock of the startling entrance lessened, and knowing neither was in danger—Beans was all bark and no bite—Ellis watched as Constance gently set Angel aside. She then walked past Beans and calmly closed the door. When she turned about, a tender smile graced her lips.

  “What seems to be the matter, M— Beans?” she asked soothingly.

  Ellis bit the inside of his lip. If he’d learned one thing about women from his marriage, it was when to step into an argument and when to watch. Right now, he witnessed the gruff old Beans melt like a chunk of ice in the April sunlight.

  “I—I—I—” Beans stuttered. He lifted a chin covered in more whiskers than Rip Van Winkle had, and held out his other hand. “This.”

  “You don’t like the banana bread?” Constance asked, reaching for the crumpled piece of bread.

  Beans pulled his hand back before she took the food. “I don’t mind you cooking for Ellis and Angel, they need good food, but—” the cook turned to Ellis “—sending something this tasty out to the bunkhouse could start an uprising.”

  Ellis grinned and gave an affable
nod as he sat back down at the table. “It’s mighty tasty, I’ll give you that.” He amplified the statement by taking another bite of his banana bread.

  “Too tasty if you ask me.” Beans ate the piece in his hand. “The men are asking why I can’t make something that tastes like this.”

  Constance pulled a chair away from the table, indicating with a gracious nod for Beans to sit down. As if she expected his company, she handed him a cup of coffee as soon as he settled on the chair.

  “I’m sorry, Beans,” she started. “I didn’t intend to have the men question your fine cooking abilities. I simply made more banana bread than the three of us can eat. I thought the men in the bunkhouse might enjoy some.” She set a plate of the bread, with several slices precut, within reaching distance of Beans. “I promise not to do it again.”

  Beans set his spoon down and took another piece of bread. Something very close to affection sparkled in the man’s eyes. “Maybe you could just warn me first,” he said, devouring the slice in one bite.

  Pondering the gaze, since Beans rarely showed warmth of any kind, Ellis glanced beyond the old man’s head. The scrambled eggs setting on his tongue stuck there as he caught the shine in Constance’s eyes. Her smile was smug, not conceited nor arrogant, but humble and content in the fact she’d calmed Beans’s rant so effectively. It wavered as she found his stare.

  His approval was easy to give. Ellis winked one eye and then bowed his head, returning to his meal. A wave rolled inside his chest, not unlike a strong gust of wind. She was no little bird. Constance Jennings had a backbone and knew how to use it perfectly. But then, he’d already seen that in the way she handled the house of men seeking her hand. Ellis forked eggs in his mouth, but discovered his last thought had stolen his hunger.

  “You gonna teach me how to make this?” Beans sliced another strip from the loaf since he’d already consumed the other three pieces.

  Constance drew in a deep breath. The storm of Beans was nothing compared to the flipping and flopping going on in her chest. When Ellis had first descended the stairs, she’d feared he’d remember their kiss, and then her heart threatened to burst when he’d touched her cheek, but the flurry of activity caused by his wink had her reeling as if she’d just run a good three miles—uphill.