What she wouldn’t give for the red velvet cape lined with rabbit fur she’d left England with. She’d sold it, along with a few other of her more elegant pieces, hoping to find a way to financially support herself. The amount she’d gained had paid her room and board for the week, but hadn’t been enough to replace the overcoat, let alone anything else. That had contributed to her ultimate decision: become a mail-order bride.
The way Ellis Clayton glared down his nose at her made Constance doubly wish she’d never seen Ashton’s first letter.
Something she could only assume was disgust flickered in the man’s eyes as he scanned her shawl. When his gaze met hers, he asked, “Are you interested in coming home with Angel?”
Constance forced herself to breathe. The men across the road still leered, but other than the wind, it was deathly quiet. About ten buildings, built along both sides of the street, made up the town. Paint was nonexistent on most of the weathered boards, and only the two-story home, separated from the other buildings by a small yard, held the image of curtains on the inside. Since that was where Reverend Stillman had been escorted to, she assumed it was Mrs. Wagner’s. Besides herself, Angel was the only trace of a female she’d seen.
Knowing the man waited for an answer, Constance prayed the thickness in her throat would allow words to come out. “Perhaps, I …” Her mind couldn’t fathom a single suggestion. Fighting to hold an iota of dignity, she voiced her options, “I apologize, but at this moment, your generosity appears to be my only hope.”
The man’s expression softened and the sight did something to Constance’s insides. She couldn’t figure out exactly what, but then again she’d been greatly out of sorts since stepping off the stage.
His gaze went to his daughter, who smiled brightly. After shaking his head, he gestured to one of the men. “Put her stuff in my wagon, would you, Jeb?” When a young man moved toward her trunks, Ellis spun on one heel. “Come on, then.”
Angel grabbed Constance’s hand, and tugged her in the man’s wake. “He’s not as grumpy as he makes out to be.”
The girl’s assurance didn’t do much for the quaking in Constance’s limbs, nor the churning in her stomach. She willed her feet not to stumble as she matched Angel’s quick pace into the building. Shelves and tables held an array of goods and foodstuffs, making the tiny space cluttered and claustrophobic. Nonetheless, Constance sighed at the relief of being out of the wind.
A large man, in height and breadth, emerged from behind a curtained doorway. “What you forget, Ellis?”
“We need a coat, Link.” Ellis closed the door he’d held wide and moved toward the waist-high counter.
The man, Link it appeared, wrinkled his wide forehead as he stared at Constance with an all-consuming look. “So you’re Ashton’s bride. Poor sap. He’s probably kicking like a mule trying to get out of the pearly gates. He’d sworn you’d be a looker. We buried him yesterday. Had to do it before the ground froze, you know.”
Constance swallowed around the glob that had never left her throat, but now doubled in size.
“Just get us a coat, Link,” Ellis demanded roughly.
“You claiming her?” Link asked, lifting his spiky brows high on his glistening forehead.
Even covered with his thick coat, Constance noticed Ellis’s back stiffen, yet he didn’t answer. Probably because his daughter did. “I am,” Angel piped proudly.
Link guffawed. “You? You can’t claim a mail-order bride, Angel.”
“I’m not claiming her as my bride. I’m claiming her as my friend.” Angel pointed over her shoulder with a thumb. “You can tell the passel of men out there that anyone who wants to claim Miss Jennings will have to come through me.”
“Angel.” Ellis sounded extremely frustrated.
Once again, the girl ignored her father. Not in a rude way, but with confidence she was right. “I’ll send word for you to post a sign when we’re ready to start interviews.”
“Interviews?” Link’s frown was back.
So was Constance’s.
Angel folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, interviews. If anyone wants to court Miss Jennings, they’ll be interviewed first. By me.”
“Link, get us a coat,” Ellis snapped and then turned to glare his daughter.
Angel grinned.
For the millionth time in the past months, Constance wished she’d never left England.
As if he couldn’t remain angry at the girl, a tiny grin flashed on Ellis’s face. Constance’s insides fluttered again. This time the man’s face had been transformed into a remarkable image that sparked a memory in her troubled mind.
Link shook his head, as if in disbelief, and then moved back to the curtain. “I’ll see what I got, but I doubt it’ll fit her. She’s not much bigger than Angel there.”
As quick as he’d disappeared, Link reappeared. With a flip of his thick wrists, he shook the folds from a garment. The coat looked similar to the one Angel wore. Light brown twill with what appeared to be a buffalo-hide lining. Not fashionable by any sense, but, oh, did it look warm. Constance balled her fists, trying to hold in a new wave of shivers as her body begged to have the garment cloaking it.
Ellis turned, looked at her expectantly. Her trembles increased, but she managed an agreeable nod. “It’ll do,” he said, taking the coat from Link and holding it up for Constance to slide her arms into the sleeves.
The weight was great, but the warmth heavenly. Angel rolled up the cuffs, and Constance quickly hooked the leather and wood frogs down the front. She should thank both the girl and her father, but something inside Constance—not the irritating little voice, but her own common sense—said Ellis Clayton wouldn’t appreciate that right now.
She held her silence even when he insisted Link retrieve a scarf and pair of mittens.
“How much?” Ellis asked Link.
The amount the store keeper said made Constance gasp. The glance Ellis shot her way had her lowering her eyes to the floor. It was almost as much money as Ashton Kramer had sent her, which had paid for the train from New York to Cheyenne, the stage ride to Cottonwood and all her meals along the way.
“That seems kind of steep considering the coat doesn’t even fit her,” Ellis replied.
The coat was several sizes too large, but Constance could deal with that. She’d dealt with a whole lot worse than ill-fitting clothes. Keeping her gaze off the men, she flipped the scarf over her straw hat and tied it beneath her chin before pulling on the thick, cozy mittens.
“It’s called supply and demand, Ellis. You know that,” Link answered proudly.
“Yeah, well, someday you’re going to demand yourself out of business. People are moving into the Territory every day. A new merchant, one not set on robbing his customers, will have you rethinking your prices.” Ellis counted out bills as he spoke.
Link laughed, taking the money. “Yeah, well it ain’t gonna happen today, is it?”
They
