Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale (3 page)

And stopped short. He was smiling again. At
her
.

Ian watched the girl’s concentration melt into a look of wonder as she slowly stroked the black ribbon, and he smiled. When she’d entered his store—when she’d gazed at him like he was a chocolate cake with cream and berries on top—she’d looked every inch a woman. An
interested
woman. But now, seeing the way her face softened and her eyes went all hazy, Ian thought she looked younger. More innocent.

And, as he settled back on his stool, he had to admit that he liked her better this way. He was used to women looking at him like she had at first, seeing his broad shoulders and fine suits. But as soon as they got a look at his leg—or rather, where his leg had been—their expressions inevitably all changed to pity. Every single one of them.

Just like this girl’s had. Oh, he hadn’t needed to be looking into those bright blue eyes to see the pity there—he’d known it from the small gasp she probably hadn’t even noticed, and the way her lips had tightened.

If he’d been smart, Ian would’ve just stayed behind the counter, enjoying this stranger’s brief admiration, and pointed to the basket of fripperies. But he’d long ago promised himself that he wasn’t going to let his injury stop him from doing every single thing that a shop-owner should, and that included waiting on his customers.

Using his crutch in the store, however, was just silly; he hated having to maneuver around the displays. Instead, ropes ran around the store—he could use them for advertising, too—which he relied on for balance. Most of his customers had gotten used to seeing him hopping and shuffling and lifting himself around the store, but with the influx of people from the railway, he always got some stares.

He could swallow down the anger their pity left him feeling, and smile politely to make sales, because that’s what mercantile owners did. They made sales. And judging from the amount of ribbon and whatnot this girl was collecting, he was about to make a big one.

So he was still smiling when she finally turned to him, her arms full of rolls and spools. And stopped dead. The look of surprise and bemusement crept back over her face, and Ian’s smile grew. Yeah, maybe he was teasing her a little, but it shouldn’t matter. She couldn’t hide her pity at his leg; he wasn’t going to hide him amusement at the way she stared.

But almost a minute went by before he finally broke the spell. “Miss…?

“Ella.” That was definitely a blurt. She blurted out her name, and Ian hid his chuckle by clearing his throat.

“Nice to meet you, Ella.” Although they hadn’t officially “met”, that didn’t seem to bother her. “I’m Ian Crowne.”

“This is your store?” Her dark brows went up, and he wondered if she was impressed.

A nod, and Ian didn’t bother to hide his pride. “It is, indeed. Almost three years now, one of Everland’s staples.” She didn’t need to know that it was a struggle to maintain the place by himself through the summer rushes, or to make enough through the long winter months.

Almost hesitantly, she picked her way toward his counter. Each footfall made a heavy
clu-clunk
, and Ian’s trained eye picked out the boots—the kind the cowboys wore—peeking out from her worn blue dress. It was an odd choice of footwear for such a delicate little thing, but maybe she had a reason for wearing them. He’d heard from one of his regulars that the upcoming celebration had drawn a bunch of strangers—mysterious and otherwise—into town. And if she was coming through on the train—he’d definitely never seen her before—then maybe the footwear made sense.

He was thinking about the possibilities of ordering a few sets of sturdy boots for the women coming through when the girl dropped her purchases on the counter in front of him. He glanced up from them to find her smiling shyly, and he cursed himself for the sudden thickness in his throat—and his trousers. She was just a girl, passing through, who pitied him.

Still, he’d spent most of his life selling people things. “This ribbon will be lovely on you.” He might not have many young women who shopped at his store yet, but he knew that compliments always worked. “For a dress you’re making?”

She blushed. She actually blushed, and looked away, pretending great interest in a jar of hard candies. Ian studied her profile; skin pale enough that her cheeks pinked prettily, high cheekbones, a bottom lip a man might want to suck on, all capped with a head of black-as-coal hair. She’d pulled the mass of it back, but enough tendrils escaped around her forehead, ears and nape to prove that it was long and wavy. He’d always liked women with dark hair, and decided that—whatever her thoughts on him—he didn’t mind looking at Ella one bit.

“It’s not for me.” Her admission was almost a whisper.

“You’re a seamstress then?” That was a useful profession for a woman looking to start a new life out west—or wherever the train was taking her. Or maybe she was one of the unknown newcomers who were camped outside of town, and was hoping to one day set up shop here in Everland? He wouldn’t mind seeing her more often.

“Of… Of sorts, I suppose.” If he hadn’t been staring at her, he might’ve missed the flash of blue when she peeked at him; because he didn’t, Ian smiled gently and was rewarded with another blush. His chest puffed, thinking that he made a pretty girl blush. That was a feather in any man’s cap, cripple or no.

Her hands fiddled with the ribbon, so he picked up the small bolt of fringe. “How much of this do you need?”

“Um…” Her finger skimmed over the ribbon gently, reverently. There were calluses on that finger, which Ian hadn’t expected to see. A seamstress would have scars on her fingertips—his own mother had been one, and he remembered the way her fingers would be poked with needles and pins while making dresses for her clients—but not full calluses. Perhaps they were from her journey westward? “All of it, I think. Just to be safe.”

It was a smart idea, to buy it all so that she wouldn’t run out; after all, when the train left tomorrow morning she’d be unable to return to buy more. But the businessman in him was pleased to hear the amount. “Excellent.” He began to wrap the small bolt of fringe in brown paper. “Whatever you’re making will certainly be lovely. I’m glad that I had enough for you.”

She glanced up at him, and when she saw that he was smiling, relaxed a little. That same callused finger tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. “Honestly, you were my last stop, Mr. Crowne. Mrs. Pedlar told me that since this shop was run by a man, you were unlikely to have the right fripperies.” Ian wasn’t surprised; he had very few female customers, and assumed it was because of gossip. Pedlar Dry Goods was run by a husband and wife, with almost-grown children, so they had no end of help, and apparently most of the customers too. It was galling.

Ella continued airily, obviously not realizing the importance of her little confession. “But she must tell all the women that, because her fabrics were well-picked over.”

“Not mine, though.” He felt a little silly, defending his store to this stranger who was passing through, but it was instinctive. He wanted her to think well of him.

“Not yours.” A smile, and Ian’s breath caught. Had she been pretty when she was staring at him in awe, or when she blushed? When she smiled brightly like this, she was downright beautiful.

He felt the thickness climb up his throat again—the way it always did when he was attracted to a woman who would only pity him—and build in his trousers, and this time he didn’t tamp it down. He was too busy looking, admiring, wondering at Ella’s bright smile.

It was like a ray of sunshine had sneaked in through the door and wound its way around to the back of the store. Ian’s heart felt
lighter
, somehow, staring at her. She was stunning.

And then something
did
sneak in through the door. Manny had been out on the porch with Shiloh and Vick, but he tended to not stay in any one place too long. Now he did his little hop-shuffle towards the counter, and caught Ella’s attention. And she smiled again, when she saw the scrawny crippled dog. “Hello there. Who’re you?”

She squatted down, right there in the middle of his store, and put her hand out for Manny to smell. The dog whined, and if he’d still had a tail, would’ve tucked in between his legs. Ian whistled quietly, and Manny’s haunches lowered trustingly. As he lifted himself around the edge of the counter, Ian spoke to Ella. “This is Manny.” The dog’s tongue lolled out when he heard his name. “He’s not fond of strangers.”

Still with her hand out, Ella patiently smiled. “Hello Manny, I’m Ella.” The dog took a cautious shuffle forward on its three legs, until he could sniff at Ella’s hand. “See? Now we’re not strangers, are we? Good boy, Manny.” By the end of her soothing chatter, the dog let her scratch under his chin.

Ian, who’d been in the process of lowering himself down to assure Manny that Ella wouldn’t hurt him, was surprised. Manny didn’t often tolerate anyone’s touch besides Ian, and Ella hadn’t hesitated to make friends with the crippled animal.

And he’d been watching her face the whole time… there’d been no pity there. Just friendship.

So maybe he was a little confused, trying to second-guess himself, as he wrapped up the rest of her purchases. Manny sat on the opposite side of the counter with her, and she occasionally reached down to absentmindedly scratch behind the dog’s ears. He’d never seen a woman do that with a dog as ugly as Manny.

“Manny doesn’t usually let people touch him.” He’d found the bloody and beaten dog tied near the DeVille ranch last summer, so it was understandable that Manny didn’t trust anyone besides Ian himself, and that trust had taken months to build. “He’s shy.”

She was still smiling when she glanced down at the dog, but this time it was tinged with sadness. “Maybe I’m special.”

Maybe she
was
special. But Ian didn’t say anything more; just bundled up her wrapped purchases, took her money and handed back her change. It wasn’t until she was walking out the door, those out-of-place boots clunking against the floor with each step, that he realized he wasn’t going to see her again.

“Miss Ella?” She turned expectantly, and he lifted himself to his foot. “If you need anything else, I’d be happy to help you.” He meant
if you need anything else to buy
but when her lips curled up again, he realized he’d help her with anything else she needed, too.

“Thank you, Mr. Crowne.”

“Ian.” He adjusted his glasses, more for something to do with his hands than a real need.

A slight nod, and those turquoise-blue eyes raked his shoulders and his forearms again. He watched her tongue dart out and swipe her upper lip, and knew that the sight was going to haunt him tonight. “Ian.” His name was low and delicious on her lips, and he figured he wasn’t going to get any sleep at all, imagining her saying his name over and over again.

And then she was gone, and Manny barked once. Ian sank down on his stool again, and dropped his hand to the dog’s head to scratch. “You and me both, lad,” he muttered.

Maybe she was special
.

He didn’t think of her again for the rest of the day; not while cross-checking his ledgers, not while waiting on his customers, and not even when he put the trimmings basket back under the fabric table. He didn’t think of her while he fed the dogs some meat from the ice box in the back room, or when he gave them each a pat and locked up the store. He definitely didn’t think of her during his quiet meal at Spratt’s Eatery—the daily indulgence he allowed himself—or when he lifted himself up the back stairs behind his mercantile, using the double railing he’d had installed.