Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

  Ella had convinced herself that it didn’t matter; she was unlikely to ever see him again, and he could just remain in her imagination and her dreams. Because in her dreams, he was very definitely not married, and he’d ride out here to the Miller Ranch and carry her off someplace, and then kiss her. And hooooooboy were the kisses nice ones. That first night, when his toe-curling, spine-tingling kiss had woken her from the most delicious dream, she’d laid there on her pallet, panting, and wondering where she’d gotten such an imagination.

  Ian Crowne could kiss, even if it was only in her dreams.

  Maybe she was distracted by the oh-so-real memory of his lips on hers, or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention, but the next thing she realized, Eunice was standing at the edge of the garden, one hand on her hip and a smug look on her round face. “Daddy said that you have to come to his study right now.”

  And so, ten minutes later, a resigned Ella stood in her stepfather’s study, staring at the bound books behind his desk that she didn’t think had ever been read, but that she dusted every day, watching him listen to Mabel list her faults. They started with “lazy” and “incompetent”, and Ella pretty much tuned them out after that. Mr. Heyward stood in his usual position behind her stepfather, practicing his glower and taking his job as his employer’s enforcer seriously.

  “So,” Papa’s deep rumble began, and Ella paid attention once more, “You’re saying that your stepsister has done an inadequate job of following the pattern?”

  Mabel was smirking when she nodded, and Ella managed not to show her irritation when she turned to her sister. “How have I not followed the pattern?”

  Brandishing the fashion magazine in one hand and the pink dress in the other, Mabel gestured with both. “Look at this piece of trash. There isn’t nearly enough lace on it!”

  Ella knew that she should’ve locked the door to the sewing room—the only room in the house beside the kitchen that she felt any real ownership over—but then her sisters would’ve gotten even more suspicious. So she just tamped down on her sigh. “You told me, last month, that the sketch looked like—and I quote—‘some kind of wedding cake with all those ridiculous frills’. So I cut the amount of lace in half.”

  “I would never say that. I love wedding cake!” It was true. Ella had been surprised at her sister’s good taste at the time.

  “I only bought enough lace to edge the three flounces, Mabel, because that’s what we agreed to.” Actually, she’d purchased enough for Sibyl’s curtains too, but since those were complete, there was no need to confuse the issue.

  Her stepsister gasped. “You’re lying! You’re lying to Daddy, to cover up your own incompetence. The picture has more lace, and I want more lace.”

  “Of course, baby. You want more lace, you can have more lace.” As always, her stepfather’s acquiesce to his spoiled daughter was enough to turn her stomach. But she hid her grimace when Edmund Miller turned his attention back to her. As always, he wasn’t really seeing her, but his hard glare was certainly convincing. “I should’ve known that you were too thoughtless for this responsibility, Ella. You really should have more care for your stepsister’s needs.”

  Needs. What about my needs? But she’d long ago given up on mama’s second husband being a real father to her, caring about what made her happy. So she swallowed, and hoped that her bland voice didn’t betray her bitterness—having been slapped more than once for that fault—when she said “I’m sorry, Papa.” The words twisted her stomach, but she forced herself to push through. “I can add more lace, with no problem.”

  Papa nodded, and she saw Mabel preen out of the corner of her eye. “Good. You can get started immediately.”

  “I don’t have any more lace. I’m sorry.” Apologizing, like it was her fault for only buying what they’d agreed to.

  “Well, go get some more.” Mabel’s shrillness was very unattractive, but in that moment, Ella’s heart lurched a bit. To get more lace, she’d have to go into Everland. And Pedlar Dry Goods was all out of lace; she’d purchased the last of it. But Crowne’s Mercantile… Ian had a bolt of lovely lace that matched this one very well.

  So she kept her expression carefully bland, this time to disguise her fierce hope rather than her disgust, and crossed to her sister. “Here,” she said, her arms extended. “Let me see the dress. I’m sure I can find something to complement the lace.”

  “More lace.”

  “Sure, sure. More lace,” she muttered, peering at the silk in her hands, much more concerned with how much damage Mabel had done by pulling it off the dressmaker’s dummy and dragging it through the dirt than what type of lace she’d used. Luckily, the dress appeared okay. “I can go into town and get some more.”

  “Going into town?” Of course Papa wasn’t going to like that, not with his successful campaign to keep her here on the ranch, and out of the townspeople’s minds.

  She plastered a vaguely admiring smile on her face and turned to face her stepfather. “I bought all of this exact type of lace, but I’m fairly certain that I saw a bolt that would match at one of the other stores.” Fairly certain, as if she didn’t remember every glorious moment of that trip into Crowne’s Mercantile. Fairly certain, as if she was the only one capable of picking out the right lace.

  He narrowed his eyes, and she held her breath, hoping that her stepfather would agree. After a long moment, he waved impatiently, and she knew that she’d won. “After breakfast tomorrow. Heyward—” His lackey smirked at the responsibility he knew was coming, “—will accompany you again.”

  “But, Daddy—“

  Edmund interrupted his daughter’s whine. “Tomorrow, Mabel. Ella can finish in the garden and work on your sisters’ dresses before dinner today.”

  Oh joy, all in the next two hours? But Ella smiled. “Certainly, Papa. I’d be happy to.”

  And through the rest of the day—in the garden, adding the fringe to Eunice’s green dress, fixing the chicken and cleaning up after—Ella knew that she was telling the truth. No matter if Ian Crowne was happily married, she was happy to be able to see him again. She just hoped that, when they met again, he wouldn’t see the evidence of her deliciously naughty dreams on her face.

  Because her dreams of Ian’s kisses were the best part of her day.

  Two weeks. It’d been two weeks since he’d seen her, and Ian couldn’t get the sight of her out of his head. Worse, because of the incredibly realistic dreams he’d been having, he couldn’t get the taste of her off his lips. It was galling, to know that he’d only met her once, exchanged a half-hour of pleasantries, and now dreamed of kissing her, of laying her back on his bed, and…

  Embarrassingly, his dreams hadn’t stopped there. He’d seen every inch of Ella—felt every inch of her—and he had his imagination to blame. He didn’t know her family name, didn’t know where she’d been from or where she’d been going, didn’t know anything about her… but his sleeping mind didn’t seem to care. More than once he’d woken up, panting, on the verge of making her his own. And when he’d fall back on his pillow with a groan loud enough to wake the dogs, he didn’t know if he was pleased or disappointed.

  Two weeks of not enough sleep. Two weeks of Mr. Spratt at the eatery telling him that he looked sick, and getting uneasy looks at church. Maybe he was sick. Sick with desire for a woman long gone, for a dream he couldn’t have. For a future.

  Last night’s dream had been so real that he was having trouble concentrating on his customers this morning. Just kept thinking of the way she’d beckoned him with that smile, and raked his chest with her gaze. Mr. Grimm kept having to repeat his questions, and finally joked about the shopkeeper’s distraction. Ian took it in good humor, but was still glad when the older man gathered up his foodstuffs and left.

  Breathing a little sigh of relief, Ian swung his way into the back room. It was cooler back here, without the windows, and more private. He told himself that he was going to check the supply of flour—Mr. Grimm had purchased more than us
ual—but suspected that it was just for a chance to clear his head. He was looking forward to lunchtime, when he could close down for an hour and come back here to sit and relax a bit. Maybe he’d nap.

  A few deep breaths later, and he decided that his state of mind wasn’t going away. He might as well close the shop now and take that nap, because he sure couldn’t get his head on straight.

  He pulled open the door again, grasped the railing he’d had installed, and was swinging himself out into the store when something caused him to look up. A change in the air? Some innate shopkeeper’s sense that told him when a customer was around?

  At that moment, it didn’t matter. Because she was there.

  She was standing in the middle of his store, a bag dangling from one shoulder. Ella was standing in his store, just like she had two weeks ago, looking at him like he was the most wonderful thing in the world. Not looking at his missing foot, or even his shoulders, but right at his face. At him.

  Dear God, he’d gone and fallen asleep without realizing it. He was asleep, and this was another dream, although even more realistic than the others.

  But then she shifted slightly, and her hand twitched in what may have been a wave, and her lips curved halfway up on one side. “Hi, Ian.” She looked hesitant, unsure, and he knew that this wasn’t a dream. His Dream-Ella never hesitated, but gave herself to him body and soul. No, this was the real Ella. She was really standing there in his shop, in her beat-up cowboy boots and the same blue dress from her last visit.

  He knew, at that moment, that he couldn’t let her walk out again. Not without knowing so much more about her, and why she was haunting his dreams. Maybe once he chatted with her, he’d be able to sleep better. Or at all.

  Grabbing his crutch—he always kept it propped behind the counter in case he had to move quickly—he clumped past her, not caring that he was being rude. He had to make sure that she wasn’t going to disappear on him again! When he reached the door, he used his crutch to push the rock holding it open out of the way, briefly wondering at the dangerous-looking man scowling at him from atop a horse outside his store. Dismissing the stranger, Ian took a deep breath and turned, afraid that she wouldn’t be there.

  She was. Her dark brows were drawn down over those lovely eyes, and a little frown marred her face. She seemed confused. “What are you…”

  When she trailed off, he had to take a deep breath. She really was there. “I didn’t want you to disappear on me again.”

  “Disappear?”

  “After you left…” I haven’t stopped thinking about you. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t admit that. “I was sorry to see you go. I didn’t think you’d be back.” I thought you’d be long gone.

  A one-sided shrug, and she looked down at her linked hands. “I needed more lace.”

  Oh. She needed more lace. That’s why she’d come back? A part of Ian—a part that had been buried for over a decade, a part that had come back to life in the last two weeks—wilted. Of course she’d come back for more lace. He was a shopkeeper. He sold things that people needed. People didn’t come here to see him.

  “And…” She peeked up at him so fast that Ian would’ve missed it, had he not been staring at her face. “And I wanted to see you again.”

  Just like that, everything was all right again. A lightness filled his chest, and he felt like he could fly. She’d come to see him. Him. Ian’s hand clenched around the crutch. Why did this woman and her reasoning matter so much to him?

  She needed more lace. He hobbled towards the fabric table, hating the sound of the crutch on his shop floor, as always. “I think that the only lace I’ve got left is the stuff you looked at before.”

  “Good.” He caught her smile as she gracefully navigated the maze of tables and counters and shelves, ′til she was by his side. And why did that thought make his heart beat faster? “That’s exactly what I need.”

  He lifted up the basket, and when he poured out the trimmings, they both reached for the pile. And their hands touched.

  It should’ve been nothing. A simple brush. It shouldn’t have felt like liquid fire, running up his arm, as sharp and clear as the pain in his missing foot. It shouldn’t have left him breathless and aroused and utterly incapable of speech.

  But it did, and when he figured out how to move again, and turned to stare at her, she looked as shocked as he was. She cradled her hand in her opposite palm, as if she’d been burned as well. When their eyes met, Ian forgot to breathe.

  He was leaning towards her, actually leaning in for a kiss, when she inhaled sharply, and the spell was broken. Ian reined in his desire and quickly turned back to the table. No matter what you’ve been dreaming of, Ian lad, she doesn’t want to kiss you. Doesn’t want to kiss a cripple.

  It took a moment to find his voice. “So you didn’t have enough lace after all?” Why did he sound like he’d swallowed his tongue?

  She cleared her throat. “I guess not.” Then a pause, and she took a deep breath. “No, actually, I did. I bought the perfect amount.”

  Confused, Ian picked up the bolt of lace in his free hand, and maneuvered his crutch to face her. She’d taken a step away from the table, but was frowning down at it with her hands on her hips now. “So, do you need…?”

  God, she had the most adorable wrinkle between her brows when she frowned. Ian wondered if it appeared at other times, and if she’d be around long enough to find out. “Oh yes, I do need. Because it turns out that the perfect amount wasn’t what I needed after all.”

  It fell into place. “Your client wants more lace?” It was a style choice that most shopkeepers approved of; the extravagant use of too much lace might make the wearer look ridiculous, but it meant more sales of the expensive trim.

  Ella snorted slightly, and Lord help him, even that noise was enthralling. “You could say that. I thought she was being unusually frugal when she only wanted three of the flounces trimmed.”

  He couldn’t help it; she was beautiful when she was perturbed. Ian smiled, and when she noticed, her frown deepened. “Are you laughing at me?”

  His shrug was one-sided, as the crutch was still under his right arm. “I’m just glad that she wanted more, so that you had to come back.”

  This time she didn’t blush and look away. This time, her frown eased, and her eyes cleared, and she stared at him. Openly, honestly. After a long moment, she confessed, “I am, too. I’m not usually allowed.”

  He filed that last statement away for future consideration. Who wouldn’t allow her? “I’ve been thinking of you. Dreaming—” He almost bit his tongue, so fast did he clamp down on that confession. In his embarrassment at almost admitting his secret, he clumped past her—careful not to touch her again—and moved behind the counter.

  But as he was putting his crutch back in its corner, and swinging himself towards his habitual spot on the tall stool, he swore that he heard her whisper “Me too.” It was enough to make him close his eyes on an inarticulate prayer. Please. Oh please.

  He focused on wrapping the lace, forgetting to ask her if she wanted all or just a length. Shoot. Glancing up to ask her, he found that she’d moved directly to the other side of the counter, and was smiling at him. Whatever he’d planned on saying ran right out of his mind.

  “I’m glad that you still had that amount. With the July Fourth celebration coming up, I was terrified it’d be gone.”

  In the last week alone, he’d had six women come into his store, looking for ribbon for their gowns. That was four more than usual. Apparently, a ribbon-and-lace shortage was enough to make the ladies of Everland brave his presence. “Well, I sold about six feet of it a few days ago, but looks like there’s plenty left.” As if he had any idea how much lace a dress required.

  “That’ll be fine, thank you.”

  No. No, they couldn’t be wrapping up their conversation as he wrapped up her purchase. He had to think of some way to keep her talking. “Truthfully, I assumed that you’d be long gone by now with your hu
sband or family. The railroad is always bringing people in and out of Everland.” Mr. Grimm mentioned that the group who’d been camped outside of town had also moved on, but that there were a few mysterious strangers still in town—like that man out front—and Ian had hoped that she might be one of them.

  “Oh.” Keep talking, keep talking. “Well, I’m not married…” Ian breathed a little sigh of relief. “And I didn’t come by train.” She looked down at her hands. “Actually, I rode my mule here.”

  She lived here in town? Everland had grown just in the three years since he’d been here, but Ian had never seen her before, not in church or out and about on the streets or at any of the admittedly few socials he’d attended. “I didn’t realize that we had a seamstress here in town.”

  Ella’s hands were flat against the counter in front of him, bracketing the now-paper-wrapped bundle. But judging from the tension in them, she was thinking about something besides her purchases. “I’m… I’m not a seamstress.” She took a deep breath, and Ian pointedly did not glance at the way her breasts pushed against the thin blue cotton, afraid of what the sight would do to him. “I make dresses for my stepsisters. Papa believes that they should be very finely outfitted.”

  Only a fool could miss the bitterness in those words, and Ian was no fool. He took in her plain work dress, with the patches and the repairs made with small stitches. He thought of her work boots, and the calluses on her hands. Her father thought that her sisters should be well-dressed, and judging from the amount of money Ella had spent on decorations for their gowns, he was willing to provide. But for her? For Ella?

  He remembered the sparks that had flown up his arm the last time they touched, but Ian could no more stop himself from touching her than stop breathing. Without hesitation, he engulfed one of her hands in his, and met her eyes.

  CHAPTER FOUR