by Caroline Lee
Ella frowned as she began mixing the ingredients for the chicken’s batter. The Miller Ranch was the second-largest in the area, bordering Roy DeVille’s spread on one corner. She didn’t know much about the DeVille family, but some of the rowdier hands sometimes teamed up with some of Papa’s hands for some devilry. It rarely spread to their home, but Ella could remember one summer where a wild group had ridden around, shooting and hollering like a pack of savages. It had been scary, even to a little girl who’d expected the worst from men.
“What nonsense are they up to now?”
“Dog-fightin’.” Maisie’s tight answer caused Ella’s head to whip around, and her friend nodded. “Turns out they all been plannin’ it for a while. I went out there to see my man for lunch, and a big group o’ them is gathered behind the biggest barn.” Her lips were tight, her movements controlled, and Ella knew that her friend was angry. “They baitin’ and teasin’ them dogs, ‘til they angry enough to kill, and makin’ them run after each other. Sometime one-on-one, and sometimes all at once. They all drinkin’ and bettin’ and hollerin’ like it’s a holiday already.”
“That sounds horrible.” She was being truthful; it sounded worse than their normal mischief. She’d known her Papa’s hands to bet on fights or races, but pitting innocent dogs against one another? That was just plain cruel. Then she remembered the little dog in Ian’s store, Manny; he was missing a leg and was awfully skittish, and she had to wonder what happened to him. Had he been in an accident, or had something more sinister happened to the cute little animal? Despite the heat of the kitchen, a shiver travelled down Ella’s spine. Was this common? Did men often force dogs to fight for their entertainment, for sport? What happened to the losers? And where did they get the dogs to fight in the first place?
“Maisie, what dogs…?” She swallowed down the lump in her throat, suddenly not wanting to know the answer.
And it looked like her friend didn’t want to tell her the answer, judging by the stiffening of her shoulders, which made Ella dread it even more. “Maisie?” she whispered her plea, and watched the other woman let out a sigh.
“You know the puppy we been raisin’?” Oh no. Oh please, no! “They got their dogs, their working dogs. Leonard says that they been trainin’ them to fight and whatnot, but the pup…” She trailed off, and Ella braced her hands against the table, not caring if she trailed cornmeal and egg everywhere. This, after yesterday’s disaster? Human beings could be horrible!
“They’re using her to fight other dogs?” A few months before, one of the ranch dogs had whelped, and then disappeared. This pup was the last one left, and Leonard and Maisie had been taking care of her. Ella loved to go out and visit the little thing; she was still at that gangly puppy phase where her feet were too big for her body and she kept tripping on her ears. She was positively the most adorable thing Ella could imagine coming out of the Miller Ranch, and it made her ill to think that people could waste that so casually.
“Is she dead?” It hurt to ask, but she had to know. The dog was just a dog, but coming right on the heels of yesterday, this news just made her more upset at her family and the men they employed.
Maisie began to work the dough again, her sharp movements telling Ella that it wasn’t a good story. “The dog ain’t dead, but not for lack of tryin’. Leonard says she gunna be soon, anyhow. Her side is all tore up, and she breathin’ hard.”
Ella let out the breath she’d been holding, when she heard Maisie’s response. Of course. Of course the dog would die, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. And she wasn’t even sure if she could care; it was just a dog. Just a dog who’d had a rough start in life, but who was finally ready to take on the world. Just a dog who had made Ella smile a few times, when she didn’t have any other reason to smile.
Just a dog like Manny. Like Shiloh and Vicksburg and the other dogs Ian had loved.
Ian had loved.
Suddenly, Ella couldn’t stand the thought of the pup dying. She felt her gut clench and her chest tighten, and she knew—knew—that this wasn’t “just a dog”. This was a dog that had been abused and ruined by people who were supposed to be taking care of it. This was a dog that had been hurt by her family.
Just like she’d been.
She couldn’t go take back all the times she’d given in to her sisters over the years, or all the times she’d taken her stepfather’s punishments because she had no other alternative, no other home. She couldn’t erase the hurt and the pain that she’d endured for over a decade… but maybe, just maybe, she could make up for it. The pup hadn’t done any more to deserve her pain than Ella had, but she was strong enough to help the animal.
“Maisie.” The hardness in her tone caused her friend to whirl around. “I’ll finish that bread. You go tell Leonard to keep that dog alive as long as he can. You tell him that if he comes by in two hours, I’ll have something for her, and half of one of my fried chickens for your dinner.” She wanted to go herself, but knew that Papa would punish her if he found out she’d been to the barns, and with all the hands out there—DeVille’s included—she didn’t want to risk it today.
Eyes wide, Maisie was already wiping her hands down on her apron. “What are you thinkin’ now, Ella?”
“That it’d be a real shame to let that sweet animal die because of some fools who can’t have fun without hurting another creature.” Was she speaking about the Miller Ranch hands, or her own stepsisters? Ella wasn’t sure anymore, honestly. But she was already pulling out bandages from the cabinet in the corner, and trying to figure out what she could make to keep the pup’s strength up. Maybe an extra chicken? Lord knew that her fried chicken was tasty enough to heal a grown man… maybe it’d work on dogs too? “I know Leonard can’t work miracles, but you tell him that if there’s any way that he can stay around the barn today instead of going out on the range, I sure would appreciate it if he did everything he could to keep that dog alive.”
Smiling sadly, Maisie took the bundle from Ella. “You know he thinks the world of you, and so do I, girl. You finish up the biscuits for those fools’ dinner, and me an’ my man will make sure that dog’s still alive when you come by with the food.” But then her expression turned serious. “But no doctor is gunna fix up an animal, and you ain’t a healer. Best we can do is keep her comfortable ‘til she passes. You can’t fix her.”
“No.” Ella felt her shoulders straighten in determination. She thought about Ian, with his haunted eyes and his gentleness with his dogs. She thought about Papa’s ultimatum and her stepsisters’ cruelty. She thought about that poor animal, dying alone out behind the barn while Ella’s “guards” were drinking themselves stupid. And she decided that nothing her stepfather could do to her would be worse than what she’d do to herself, if she let the pup die without trying to help her. “No, but I know someone who can.”
July third was hard, as always. In the past, it’d been the day that Ian retreated to his apartment with a full bottle of whiskey, and tried not to remember. Twelve years ago today had been the day that his world changed forever. He remembered lying there among the boulders, staring up at the Pennsylvania sky—clear and open and blue—feeling his life soak into the pebbly dirt under him. He remembered hands, clutching and pulling him towards safety, but that they didn’t matter, as long as that sky was above him. He remembered the stretcher, and knowing that he was dying, and saying goodbye to his parents, and praying. He remembered the doctor bending over him with the saw, and then he didn’t remember anything else.
He’d woken up with one less leg, weak as a baby, and angry at not being allowed to die. Angry at being forced to relearn how to walk, how to live. Angry at the war, at the world. And then to get the letter from Mother, explaining that Uncle Albert had been killed at Vicksburg on July third, and that Father’s heart had given out when he’d gotten word about his brother’s death and son’s maiming on the same day… Ian’s anger had warred with his despair, and then both gave way to determination.
Sitting in his armchair, listening to the rain beating against the window, Ian just stared at the amber liquid in the glass clutched in his hand. He hadn’t taken a single drink, but he was already maudlin. But yet, this year didn’t seem as bad as last year, or the year before. Maybe the old saying was true; maybe Time did heal all wounds.
Or maybe he should just man up and admit the truth to himself; he was a different person than he was last year. Than last month, even. He had… friends now. He had a place in a community that he hadn’t even dreamed of, last July third. Last year, last month, he’d just been surviving, living week-to-week and trying to keep his parents’ dream of owning a mercantile alive. The dogs who were currently stretched around the room in various states of repose had been his only reason for living. He hadn’t been thinking of the future, then.
Now, though… now he felt like he actually belonged someplace. Like he had people who might notice if he wasn’t at church, or didn’t join the now-weekly poker game at the Gingerbread House. All it had taken was a few nights of not going back to the shop after dinner at Spratt’s, of going outside of his… his comfort zone. But his “zone” had now expanded, and included Everland and Everland’s people. He hadn’t realized just how secluded he was, until he wasn’t.
Over the last weeks, Max had introduced him to most of the townspeople, and they’d introduced him to everyone else. He’d known many of them by sight, watching them pass by his shop, but now he knew them by name, and knew their laughter and stories and homes. It hadn’t hurt that he’d had the support of Max DeVille, probably the most popular man in town.
Ian had even accepted a few invitations to dinner, and had been surprised how much he’d enjoyed himself. It wasn’t until after that he’d realized every single invitation had come from a family with an eligible daughter, who’d done her best to entice him with baked goods and witty conversation. Maybe now that he was a member of the community, these young ladies were seeing him with new eyes, like Max had said. Looking at the whole him, rather than just his missing leg?
But no matter how tasty the meals, or how pretty the ladies, none of them could compare to Ella. None of the dinners matched a simple shared picnic of fried chicken, none of the ladies had the same strength and compassion that he’d seen in her, and none of them had seen him as Ella had seen him, that very first time.
Sighing, Ian finally took a drink of the whiskey, and winced as it burned the back of his throat and stomach. Maybe he should’ve eaten dinner tonight, after all. But he’d lingered in the store, reluctant to face anyone else today, and then the thunder had started, and he’d just called in the dogs and retired upstairs to get ready for bed. It was late enough now that it’d be full dark outside even without the storm that had apparently decided to hover directly over this corner of the Wyoming Territory.
The lightening had moved off, at least, but the occasional burst of thunder still startled Vick enough to lift her heard and wuff. Manny was actually curled up on Ian’s lap, her shaking subsided now that his hand rested heavily on the little dog’s back. Shiloh always slept through storms, as if knowing he had nothing to fear, and judging from the canine snoring coming from the pile of blankets in the corner, tonight was no different.
But tonight was different for Ian. Tonight was the first July third in twelve years that he didn’t want to get drunk to forget. Instead, he found himself staring at the little amber trails down the inside of his glass, and remembering her. He didn’t want to forget her.
He’d taken old Mrs. Zapato’s advice, and made himself part of the community. He’d made friends, and had been accepted, and even courted. But the whole time he’d been looking for a pair of turquoise eyes and coal-black hair. And he hadn’t found her.
Weeks of dreaming about her—her touch, her smile, her kiss—meant that he wasn’t likely to forget what she looked like. But he’d looked at every young woman in town—even the harlots who hung around the Gingerbread House’s main room, and had asked Max and Ox for their help, and… nothing. No one knew of a young woman who sewed and cooked and cleaned for her sisters, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d dreamed her entirely.
But he couldn’t have dreamed the perfection of her smile, or the shock that had gone through his entire body when they’d touched. He couldn’t have dreamed her compassion towards his crippled dog, or the way that she was impressed by the way he’d arranged his store to accommodate his own disability. He couldn’t have dreamed someone as perfect and gentle and strong as Ella.
Ella, whoever she was.
Ian scowled and took another drink, scratching Manny’s ears when the dog shifted slightly. Maybe he had imagined her. She hadn’t been back in weeks, and Ian hadn’t been able to find her. Tomorrow was the big Independence Day celebration—he’d donated a big barrel of pickles for the picnic—and maybe it was time to smile back at some of those young ladies. He’d told Max that he didn’t intend to bid on any of the baskets, and he sure couldn’t join in any of the dancing, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t laugh and joke and try his damnedest to impress a pretty lady.
When was the last time he’d done that? Back before the war, probably, when he’d been young and full of hope for the future. Maybe it was time, again.
At first, he thought that the rain had just picked up, rattling against his window. But then Shiloh lifted his head and growled, and Ian realized that Vick was staring at the door and Manny was staring at the window. Then the rattling against the panes came again, and Ian realized it wasn’t rain; it was something harder. Putting the whiskey on the small table beside the chair, he lifted Manny to the floor, and using the back of the chair and the wall, heaved himself over to the window. It was dark enough that he wondered what exactly he was hoping to see… and then a flash of distant lightening lit up a figure standing in the alley behind his store.
He only saw it for a moment, but that was all he’d needed. A rain-drenched woman in a dress, holding a bundle, pale face staring up at him, an oilcloth covering her hair and shoulders. She was lifting another handful of the pebbles from the alley to hurl at his window, when he waved to let her know he saw her.
She’d come back to him.
Without bothering to pull on a shirt—not even sure that he believed she was real—Ian threw himself towards the rail that lined the living room. He’d left his crutch downstairs, knowing that he could get around fine in his own house, and even now he didn’t regret it. Shifting himself into the stairway, he gripped both railings, picked up his foot, and swung himself down the stairs at a record rate. At the bottom, rather than turning left to go through the store room and into the shop, he turned towards the alley door, the one that he’d locked tonight, like every night.
Taking a deep breath, Ian laid a hand on the latch. This was it. Either he opened the door and she was there, or she wasn’t, and then he went back upstairs and checked the amount of whiskey he’d drunk. He opened the door.
She was real.
Ella was standing on the small stoop behind his shop, the oilcloth around her shoulders, and covered in mud to her knees. Her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying, and the bundle she was clutching to her chest was dirty and bloody. She looked like a woman in desperate need of a prince, and Ian’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath.
She was real, she was here, and he was ready to do absolutely anything he could to help her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Vaguely, Ella was aware of the rain pelting her shoulders and scalp, and the heavy breathing of the pup in her arms, and the distant sound of thunder… but all she could focus on was the expanse of skin in front of her. Goodness, his chest just stretched on and on, didn’t it? Unconsciously, she licked her lips, her eyes following the curve of his shoulders down his thick arms, wondering why she felt so light-headed.
Oh yes, breathe.
She sucked in a deep breath, and tried not to cough when the much-needed air hit her l
ungs. Dragging her attention back to his face, she saw his smile. He wasn’t smiling at her like he was laughing at her inattention; rather, that he was just happy to see her. His chest may have stolen her breath, but his smile stopped her heart. Seeing him, his pale eyes lit with pleasure just because she was there… well, it was enough to make any girl weak-kneed.
No wonder she’d fallen in love with him; he was the first man who’d ever looked at her like that.
There was no way of knowing how long they stood there, staring at one another. Eventually a particularly loud crack of thunder caused the dog in her arms to jump and let out a pitiful whine—whether from fear or pain, Ella wasn’t sure. Ian’s eyes dropped to the bundle she was holding, and she saw his rust-colored brows draw in over his glasses. Bracing himself on the door handle and the wall, he swung himself back out of the doorway.
“You’d better come in, Ella.”
Her name on his lips was beautiful, enticing. As she stepped into his domain, she thought that she might follow that voice anywhere.
But soon she was dripping in the back foyer of his shop, shivering despite the heat, clutching the pup against her. She could see the entrance to the storage room through the door, and the stairs that presumably led up to the apartment he’d mentioned. His hip was braced against the wall by the stairs, and his arms were crossed in front of that magnificent chest.
“I’m not going to say I’m not thrilled to see you, Ella, but you picked an odd time to come visiting.”
There was no censure in his voice—only laughter—but she was quick to blurt, “I need you.”
Was it her imagination, or did his expression soften? “Anything you need.” It wasn’t an offer; it was a promise.
Oh good Heavens, there went her knees again. Ella had to swallow, and look down at the pup she carried, before she could still her treacherous heart and remember why she was here. “I found her. Well, I didn’t find her, I knew where she was, but she was hiding. She needs your help. She needs someone’s help, and I can’t help her, and I didn’t know who else could, and then I remembered Manny, and I thought…”