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. I figured you’d remember them.”
Before he went out the swinging door, his gaze settled on Constance again. The silence grew thick and heavy. She stared back as long as she could, but shame made her lower her eyes before he looked away. He must know there was more to her story, just as he’d known there were more details to her past than she’d shared last night. An ugly glob of regret settled in her stomach. Stella hadn’t been wanted by the law, that much was true. The girl couldn’t be more than a few years older than Angel. She’d stolen Ashton’s letter from a stack of others that had been delivered to Rosalie’s—the large home down the street from the New Street Boarding House where Constance had first purchased lodging. Later, when her funds had become depleted, she’d washed laundry for room and board.
Stella had said Rosalie had dozens of letters from men who’d paid her to post notices for them. Rosalie never posted the advertisements. Instead she sold the letters to girls who thought becoming a mail-order bride would be better than working in one of Rosalie’s second floor rooms. Constance had no doubt as to what went on in those upstairs bedrooms even before meeting Stella. The young girl had stolen the letter, thinking she might like to travel west, but upon reading Ashton’s description of Wyoming, changed her mind. Stella said she didn’t dare replace the opened letter, but wasn’t going to part with it free of charge, either.
Constance had read the description,
