Unclaimed Bride

He could only hope the man Angel would eventually fall in love with would be interested in living in Wyoming. Maybe not right on Heaven on Earth, but close by would be the next best thing.

Someone tapped on his door. He glanced at the mantel clock and was surprised by the length of time he’d been wallowing in thought. “Come in,” he instructed.

Angel stuck her nose in. “Lunch is ready.”

“Enough for everyone?”

She grinned, entering the room. “Yes. Constance could out-cook Beans.”

“Oh?” He slapped shut the notation book he hadn’t made a mark in. “She could, could she?”

The door closed behind her. “Yup,” Angel said confidently. “You already tasted her breakfast. She knows how to make fancy holiday candies and cookies, too, beside lots of other stuff.”

“How do you know that?” He rose and pushed his chair in, but didn’t move to the door.

“She told me.” Angel skipped across the room and jumped up to sit on the edge of his desk. “We were planning the holiday party when Mr. Homer arrived.” She rolled her dark eyes to the ceiling. “Followed by the rest.”

“You like Miss Jennings, don’t you?” He held in his other thought, that of asking his daughter if she was looking for a mother. The thought clung to the back of his mind like a pesky cobweb.

“Yes. And you will, too, once you get to know her. She’s lived in England and has lots of recipes from there. And she promised to teach me all about the kings and queens over there.”

“Kings and queens?” He ruffled her hair. “You’re interested in that kind of stuff?”

“I suspect.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I promised to teach her all about Wyoming, and in exchange she said she’d teach me about England. It would have been rude to not accept her offer.”

“I suspect it would have been.” He’d already spent too much time mulling thoughts, so took a hold of Angel’s hand. “Come on, scamp, let’s go get some lunch before our guests eat it all.”

“Why do you think she goes by Miss Jennings instead of Mrs. Jennings?” Angel asked as they walked to the door.

The question brought Ellis to a skidding halt. He planted a hand on the wood, keeping Angel from pulling the door open. “Because she’s not married?” It was a question, but he hoped it sounded like a statement.

“Not now, but she was.”

“No, Ashton died before she arrived,” he argued.

“Not Mr. Kramer.”

“Who then?”

“I don’t know. But when I helped her unpack there was a ring in one of her trunks. She said it was a wedding ring.” Angel stared up at him with open, honest eyes.

“Maybe it was her mother’s or grandmother’s. Women often pass their wedding rings down in the family.” The bubbling in his stomach said no matter how plausible that sounded, he didn’t believe it.

Angel shook her head. “Nope. She said it was hers, but that her husband died.”

His hand slipped from the door.

“I don’t think she meant to tell me though, since she clammed up right afterward.” Angel had pulled the door open and was crossing the threshold when she spun about to whisper, “Oh, and if any of the men ask, I cooked lunch. Constance doesn’t want to encourage them. Something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach.”

Ellis rubbed at the invisible hammers pounding against his temples, drumming up a headache like he’d never known. Constance Jennings was becoming more than he’d bargained for. Much more. What kind of woman keeps a dead husband a secret?

Chapter Four

Feeding the men without letting them know she was the cook was not an easy thing when a blizzard held everyone indoors. It wasn’t as if Constance thought herself an excellent cook, but years of preparing meals for Aunt Julia and Aunt Theresa had provided her with the ability to create very palatable dishes. She didn’t want the men to think she would make an acceptable wife just because she knew how to cook. Actually, the more she encountered the men roaming the house, the more she questioned her ability to marry anyone ever again.

She snuck a peek to the group sitting at the table. There was no doubt Ellis had said something. The guests were practically tripping over themselves attempting to help with any and all household chores. Two of them had washed the lunch dishes, and had managed to not break a single plate, which was a relief considering how awkwardly they’d gone about the duty.

Constance put aside the dust rag and walked across the room. “Angel,” she whispered near the girl’s ear. “It’s time to check the ham.”

The girl scooted her chair away from the table. “It’s time you boys cleared out. I gotta check the ham and show Miss Jennings how to peel potatoes.” There were times, especially in how Angel framed her words, that made it crystal clear she’d been raised in a man’s world.

“We can help,” Jeb offered. The man had hobbled into the kitchen earlier, and knowing how badly his feet must hurt, Constance hadn’t had the heart to shoo him out. His attendance had encouraged others to gain entrance, and before she knew it, all the men sat around the kitchen table. Angel had taken control of the situation by pairing them up and dealing out a game of whist. Constance had feigned interest in removing dust from the far corners of the room, while wondering where Ellis had gone.

“Nope.” Angel handed the deck of cards to Constance. The girl also knew when to play a trump card. “Pa wouldn’t want you in here underfoot. Skedaddle now.”

The men listened, pushing in their chairs before they left. When the door clattered shut behind the last one, Constance turned to Angel. “You know, sometimes a lady makes a subtle suggestion rather than giving orders.”

Angel cocked her head, as if deeply contemplating the suggestion. “Does it work?”

“Most of the time.” Constance picked up the pot-holders and opened the oven door. “For instance, you could have said, ‘Excuse us, gentlemen, but Miss Jennings and I have things we need to complete. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the parlor.’”

Angel laughed. Not just a little giggle, but an outright hee-haw.

Constance lifted a brow, attempting to chide Angel with a stern look.

“Do you honestly think those fellers would have listened to that? They’d still be sitting here telling us how comfortable they are,” Angel said, shaking her head and huffing out extra giggles.

Hiding her smile, Constance basted the ham before pushing the large roasting pan back into the oven. “You may be right. It’s just food for thought.”

“I’ll chew on it for a while,” Angel responded.

This time Constance couldn’t help but giggle. She playfully tossed a pot holder across the room. “You are going to be a challenge, aren’t you?”

Angel plucked the knitted pad out of the air with one hand. “Yup.” Eyes sparkling, she tossed the potholder back. “Life’s full of challenges. They make us stronger.”

Constance tossed the pot holder onto the counter and leaped forward. “You are full of it,” she teased, tickling the girl’s sides.

Twisting and giggling, Angel spun about and dug her fingers into Constance’s side. It had been years since she’d joked around. Her brothers had been masters at tickling. Joyful prickles shot up and down her sides and in and out of her heart as she and Angel playfully attacked one another.

The tickling match continued as they twirled from one end of the kitchen to the other. While both of them were whooping with glee the back door opened.

Ellis shed his coat and stomped the snow off his boots by the door. “Every time I find you two together, you’re giggling up a storm.”

His entrance had stalled their fingers, but while smoothing the wrinkles from the flour sack tied around her waist, Constance bit her lips at the fading bits of laughter now mingling with the flutter flipping her insides.

Angel, still openly giggling, wrapped an arm around Constance’s waist and laid her head on her shoulder. “I know. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

Touched deeply, Constance hugged the girl back. It was quite profound, this tenderness she felt for Angel.