had to respond, knew that’s what he expected. “Thank you, Mr. Clayton,” she said as evenly as possible. “Your generosity, what you’ve already provided, is more than I could have hoped for.”
His penetrating gaze was back, and it lingered until her heart pounded against her rib cage.
After another soft squeeze, he lifted his hand off her shoulder. “My daughter, Miss Jennings, is the most important thing in the world. I’ll do anything to see she’s happy.”
“I believe you will,” she whispered.
He didn’t move, yet the air in the pantry that moments ago had felt charged and heavy, grew light. Her heart still hammered, yet dread no longer shrouded her. Confused, Constance glanced around. The only thing that had changed was his expression, a soft smile now pulled on the corners of his mouth.
As he took a step back, out of the pantry, he pointed to a barrel of apples. “Angel loves applesauce.”
Something inside her flipped and stirred up a soft, gentle sensation that cascaded all the way to her toes. No one had believed her in a very long time, yet he did. He believed she only wanted what was best for Angel. “Then we’ll have applesauce for supper.”
Cooking, Angel’s never-ending chatter and the house full of men kept Constance busy the rest of the evening. The meal passed without an event, other than the men showering Angel with compliments on her cooking and applauding Ellis for having such an amazing child. Constance gave Angel a secretive wink, happy the girl was gaining acknowledgment outside of how well she could ride, shoot or rope.
After the meal, Constance insisted she’d do the dishes—alone, wanting the time to determine exactly how much she’d tell Ellis, and when. Of course, sooner would be better, but with a house full of men, she couldn’t very well insist they closet themselves in his office; yet it was her duty to tell him the truth—as much as possible, as soon as possible.
When the dishes were done, after a few interruptions from men offering to help, she made her way to the parlor, still not prepared with her next action step.
Faint music had made its way into the kitchen. She’d assumed it came from one of the men, but for some reason, seeing Ellis strumming on the guitar surprised her. Pausing in the doorway, she rested the side of her face against the arched framework and let the gentle tune fill her soul. She cherished guitar music, and hadn’t heard it in years. Her older brother, Edwin, had played guitar and often serenaded her to sleep.
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