and Angel, Link shouted, “Be sure to send me word to post, Angel.”
“I will!” Angel’s words were cut off by the solid thud of the door.
The men now stood next to a long wagon parked beside the boardwalk. One man, the bean pole guy, asked, “You claiming her, Ellis?”
“Get in,” Ellis directed Angel before he turned to the crowd. “You men better head home.” Pointing to the weather-filled sky, he added, “There’s a storm moving in.”
Angel had climbed onto the seat of the wagon, and held a hand out, helping Constance up beside her. The back of the buckboard was loaded high, including her luggage. Ellis walked around the back, and Constance swiveled to stare straight ahead. When he planted himself beside Angel, the three of them were packed tighter than her trunks.
“But what about the bride?” another man asked.
“Don’t worry about her right now. Worry about your own hides.” Ellis threaded the reins between his gloved fingers and snapped the leather over the backs of the matching buckskins harnessed to the wagon.
Constance grabbed the little fluted edge near her hip as the wagon jerked forward.
Other questions filled the air from the men, some running beside the wagon as the horses picked up speed. Angel started to speak but Ellis insisted, “Be quiet, Angel.”
The girl listened this time, but the smile she gave Constance said she wasn’t miffed. Actually, Angel seemed quite satisfied.
Constance couldn’t return the grin. Though she was thankful to the girl and her father, the day had quickly escalated into a predicament that left her deeply indebted to the Claytons—with no imaginable way to repay them.
Ellis flexed his chin. His jaw was set so tight, his teeth ached. Angel, at times the daughter every man could only hope to have, made him question her parentage today. Hauling home injured animals was one thing, but a woman—a mail-order bride, no less—was out of the ordinary even for her. He also had to agree with Link. Ashton Kramer was probably screaming from his grave. Constance Jennings was about the best-looking woman the Wyoming Territory had ever seen. The contrast between her coal-black hair and summer-sky-blue eyes could make a man stop dead in his tracks. He, himself, who’d never been overly affected by a woman’s looks, had been half afraid to take a second gander at her. She’d barely uttered a word, but her stance, and the way she walked, gave the impression she was no ordinary gal. Nope. Miss Constance Jennings had been born and bred as a lady. How she’d ended up Ashton Kramer’s mail-order bride should be investigated. Not by him—he wasn’t that curious. Yet, if whoever did take her on didn’t do a bit of researching they might find themselves in a whole mess of trouble.
He’d always had a sixth sense about such things, and knew when to listen to his gut. Right now, the milk he’d had at breakfast was churning itself into butter. The only thing that had ever overridden his instincts was his daughter. And she knew it. The little scamp. Asking him how he’d feel if that had been her in a strange place, with nowhere to turn for help. That had hit home, so had her words about not knowing if it would ever happen. He’d known it for a long time, but today Angel once again proved she was much too smart for her thirteen-year-old hide.
Angel was also more like her mother than she knew. She’d been too young when Christine had died to imitate her behaviors, but she’d inherited them just as she had her mother’s looks, and used them to rule him on a regular basis. Christine would have hauled the mail-order bride home, and she’d have made him buy her a coat before doing so. Which he’d gladly done. The tiny shawl Miss Jennings wore wouldn’t warm a flea.
The snow now fell in huge flakes, the kind that would cover the brown ground within no time, and more than likely, stay until next spring. Ellis tugged his coat collar up to cover his ears and then reached down to pull out the woven blanket from beneath the wagon seat. He flicked it open with one hand, splaying the edges over his passengers’ knees. Miss Jennings caught the other end and quickly tucked it under her thigh after straightening it to cover them all evenly. He switched driving hands, and stuck his end of the blanket beneath his outer leg.
While the snow fell, collecting in tiny drifts along the sides of the road, they traveled onward, straight west into the foothills of the Big Horns. His ranch, Heaven on Earth, was nestled there, right where the earth rose majestically into the sky. It was good land. Rich soil, an unending water supply and more acres of sweet grazing pastures than anywhere else in the nation. Come June, it would be fifteen years since he and Christine had topped the little ridge of the valley still a few miles ahead for the first time. She’d shouted for him to stop the oxen. He’d done so of course, wondering what had caught her attention. She’d jumped from the seat, and with her blond hair twisting and turning in the wind, she’d declared, “This is it, Ellis! This is our heaven on earth.”
She’d been right of course, as always, and they’d set to building their new lives together. A right fine life they’d had, too, until the birth of their second child eight years later had taken her and the babe from him forevermore.
He’d mourned the great loss, still did, but in the same right, he held thankfulness for what their years had given him. Happiness, joy, one of the largest ranches this side of the Mississippi and more precious than all else, his Angel.
As if she understood his thoughts, his daughter leaned her head against his shoulder and settled those big brown eyes on him. Warmed, he winked. She grinned, and as the snow continued to pile up on the trail, the horses clomped onward.
By the time they topped the little ridge an hour later, the sun, which hadn’t quite given up trying to brighten the gray winter sky, broke through for a moment to grace the homestead below with a welcoming glow. Even the wind stilled when the horses stopped, as was their normal routine, giving Ellis the opportunity to appreciate home from his favorite overlook.
Swirls of smoke spiraled out of the house and bunkhouse chimneys. The other buildings, the barns, sheds and lean-tos, sat quietly as snow-flakes landed on their shingled roofs. Steam rose around the cattle near the barns, and men mingled between the buildings and pens, making the ranch look like a miniature city. It practically was. There were few things the ranch didn’t provide. The only reason he and Angel had gone to town today was to pick up the fixings for the holiday gathering they’d host next month.
“That’s it, Miss Jennings,” Angel said, staring at the site below. “That’s Heaven on Earth.”
The woman turned slowly, as if trying to keep one eye on the homestead. “What?”
“Heaven on Earth,” Angel repeated. “That’s the name of our ranch.” Angel looked at him before she turned back to the woman. “Welcome home.”
Ellis sucked in air as if he’d just been stomach punched. He actually braced a hand to his abdomen, wondering where the sudden lurching had come from. Swallowing, he realized it was from the way Miss Jennings’s blue eyes stared at him.
He tucked the brim of his hat down, and flicked the reins over Jack and Jim, encouraging the animals to begin the final mile—all downhill—of their journey. He kicked the edge of the blanket away from his left foot, making a clear path to the brake if needed. He had no reason to be nervous, he’d traipsed the trail a million times over, but for some reason his nerve endings were dancing a jig beneath his skin.
The decline went as usual, swift and uncomplicated, and the unloading of the wagon happened just as smoothly. The ranch hands were used to unloading Angel’s purchases, and since ninety percent of what they hauled went into the house, it didn’t take long
