by Carol Arens
She would marry William English and forget how good it felt to lay her hand in the crook of Travis’s strong arm.
Chapter Ten
The first thing that Ivy noticed when she entered the house was not the foyer’s high ceiling or the huge parlor beyond it.
It wasn’t even Travis’s sigh of relief at being home or Madame’s gasp of surprise at the fine surroundings.
While the surroundings were impressive, it was the scent of dinner being prepared that caught Ivy’s attention.
An aroma that made her stomach growl drifted from somewhere out of sight. She pressed her belly, hoping no one had heard the inner ruckus. Especially Madame du Mer. No amount of training in ladylike behavior would prevent her body’s reaction to good food.
Aboard the Queen, a hearty rumble meant a compliment to the cook. She didn’t reckon that was the case here at the Lucky Clover.
“Gosh almighty, Travis. This is a big house.” She let go of his arm, turning in a circle to take it all in. “A girl could get lost.”
“There’s always someone about who will point you right. Besides, it’s an easy place to figure out.”
Travis led her from the foyer to the parlor. While the room was huge, it did not feel vast. It was decorated to look cozy, just like the saloon aboard the Queen.
No wonder William English wanted to live here. A territorial legislator could hold some big soirees in this room.
There were plenty of windows with views to the yard. Late afternoon shadows cast a pattern of twisting leaves and blowing branches across rugs of red and brown.
First thing upon coming into the room, one was greeted by a huge stone fireplace.
She reckoned she’d enjoy sitting beside it on a winter’s night. Those soft-looking chairs would make a body feel like she was lounging on a cloud.
There were plenty of other tables and chairs arranged casually about the room. Large and small groups of visitors would feel welcome here.
What she wondered was, did Agatha ever come down? Did she ever get to warm her feet by the fire on chilly nights and watch the pretty glow of the flames?
“Where is my sister’s room?”
“Agatha’s quarters are right overhead.”
“Point me the way up.” The need to see her sister was more powerful than seeing another inch of the house.
“Down this hall, there’s a staircase. I’ll take you—” Travis glanced away from her when a woman carrying a tray of food passed by the parlor. “There’s Hilda Brunne, now.”
The woman with the tray was dressed in black, her thin graying hair knotted in a bun that looked so tight it had to pinch. She nodded at them then continued on her way.
“Mrs. Brunne!” Travis called after her. “Wait one moment and meet Agatha’s sister.”
“Why, in my hurry, I nearly didn’t see you, Mr. Murphy. It’s good to have you home.” Mrs. Brunne cast him a warm, twinkling smile.
“Welcome home, Miss Magee!” A cowboy strode into the room, hat in hands and nodded at Ivy. “Mr. Murphy, I hate to trouble you just coming in, but there is a question I have about one of the young hands. If you could speak with me in the hall?”
“I won’t be a moment, ladies,” he said then walked away with the cowboy.
Ivy walked toward the nurse gracefully, her elegant motion sure to make Antie proud.
“How do you do, Mrs. Brunne?” Ivy nodded her head, the way she had been instructed to do when meeting a member of the staff. She smiled just so. It was important to start things off appropriately with Agatha’s nurse. “I’m Ivy Magee.”
“Yes, I assumed it must be you, given all the hoopla happening outside.” Mrs. Brunne’s lips curved, but it was odd. The gesture seemed friendly, but only until Ivy looked deeply into her eyes. What she saw in the depths made her feel ill at ease. Something about the woman seemed a bit off, harsh even in spite of her smile.
“Everyone was most welcoming,” she said, puzzled because Travis had never mentioned anything about Mrs. Brunne being thorny.
“No doubt,” the nurse said.
“I understand that you’ve been caring for my sister for some time. I—”
“Since she was born.”
Gosh almighty! That would mean she’d cared for Ivy, too.
Ivy’s misgivings must be unfounded. Surely her father would not have put his daughters in the care of anyone who was not of sterling character.
“I’ll visit my sister now, if you will kindly lead the way.”
“That is quite impossible.” Hilda jerked her head. Her black-rimmed glasses inched up her nose, but there was a hump that they were not able to slide past. “It’s meal time and then bed. I won’t have Agatha’s routine upset.”
“The sun’s still up,” Ivy pointed out. In fact, judging by the length of the shadows streaming in the long windows, there was still a half hour of daylight. “I’m certain we have a few moments to get reacquainted.”
“Routine is routine. It shall be observed.”
Ivy believed a person could not help the way she looked—especially when it made her look like a witch—but she sure could help acting like a one.
Ivy wasn’t certain Mrs. Brunne’s feet even touched the ground when she walked. She glided down the hallway carrying her tray, stiff as a starched sail.
“Why, she must have been weaned on lemons.”
“What makes you say so?” Travis asked, coming back into the parlor. “Agatha is quite attached to her.”
“I’m not sure I trust her, Travis. Can’t say why, exactly, since I only just met her.”
“Maybe it’s just that you are tired and hungry. Things will look better after you have eaten and rested.”
“I too must be tired and hungry. Not a lady of quality, that one,” Antie said. “No matter her low station in life.”
“Mrs. Brunne?” came a voice from the foyer. Mrs. Morgan bustled into the room, her apron a bright, happy burst of yellow and orange. “I do wonder myself, lately, Travis. She’s always had her times, but since you’ve been gone...”
Mrs. Morgan shrugged, shook her head.
“And our Agatha has lost weight instead of gaining it. I prepare the best of food and still she is weak.” Mrs. Morgan wiped her hands on her apron. “But now you all will eat. Especially you, my sweet señorita, you are also too thin.”
Ivy would like to argue. She was not too thin. It was only the dad-gummed corset pulled tight that made her look like a wasp.
Since Antie was looking at her with such pride, she held her tongue.
“Dinner would be most welcome,” she said instead.
She even said it with a smile so sincere that no one would know what was really paddling about in her mind.
Given that this was her home and she’d been reassured she was in charge of it, she ought to be able to climb the stairs to her sister’s room and walk boldly inside.
But she’d only been the “Mistress” for a few minutes and was not comfortable with...well, with anything yet. Most especially asserting authority.
For now she would have dinner—and smile.
* * *
Even in the dead of night, finding Agatha’s room had been easy. It was on the same floor as Ivy’s, but all the way down a long hallway, on the south side of the house instead of the north.
It rankled that she was creeping along unfamiliar passages in the dark of night. This was her home, now. She had no need to sneak about.
But she was sneaking, barefooted and in a sheer gown covered by a ruffled robe. She reckoned the sleeping attire would have looked revealing to anyone she encountered, but the point of making this excursion at this late hour was to make sure she did not encounter anyone.
Wasn’t it odd that she felt less exposed while swimming naked
in the river than she did tiptoeing about a shadowed house with everything but her feet covered?
Must be because she was among so many strangers.
When it came right down to it, modesty didn’t count for much when she wanted to see her sister so badly.
And she wasn’t about to give up her nightly hours of freedom from tight clothing just to venture from her bedroom decently dressed.
Now, standing in front of Agatha’s door with her hand on the knob, she was nervous. She didn’t recall ever feeling nervous on the Queen. Must be because on board everything was as familiar as her own face.
Here, not only was she surrounded by the unfamiliar, but she was about to meet a person who should be familiar but was not. Someone she had not seen since babyhood, and yet loved.
No wonder it felt like fish were spawning in her belly.
Since nothing was to be gained by standing here with her fingers sweating on the knob, she turned it.
It was locked. Not so surprising, she reckoned, given the hour. Sure wouldn’t do to knock and wake the house, especially Miss Brunne if she was nearby. Ivy would rather see Agatha alone.
It was a lucky thing she was a fair hand at jimmying a window.
Three rooms back down the hallway she’d passed by doors that opened to the upper-story deck.
Walking toward Agatha’s windows, Ivy pulled the fabric of her nightclothes away from her skin. The air was muggy enough to mistake for hot tea.
Coming to the first window she peered inside. This was a well-appointed parlor.
On one wall was a fireplace. The wall opposite had two doors—bedroom suites, she figured. Unless she missed her guess, Hilda had a room in Agatha’s suite.
She walked to the other window. Peering in, she saw a slender figure in a bed. Red hair peeped over the coverlet.
Ivy tried the window. To her surprise, it slid open without a whisper.
Something tickled her memory. A picture flashed across her mind so quickly she nearly didn’t catch it. She saw a blue blanket, sunshine and a small girl with red hair. Ivy’s chubby hand reached for the curls. But then again, maybe it had only been a wish or a dream.
On tiptoe, her breath held, she approached the bed. The swish of fabric about her legs was too loud. She stopped, listened for sounds coming from the sitting room.
Tic, tic, tic, went a clock, but nothing else disturbed the silence.
Agatha slept on her back, her hair flared out on the pillow. She wore a heavy nightgown buttoned to her chin. In this heat her poor sister had to be uncomfortable.
How was a soul to breathe in such constrictive sleepwear? Ivy touched her own throat, traced her fingers down her chest to the swell of her breasts, more than grateful to be blessedly free of fabric.
Slipping down to her knees, she leaned over the still form in silence. She did not want to speak out loud and wake her suddenly. Surely Agatha would be frightened by the appearance of a stranger in her room in the middle of the night.
Ivy hovered her fingers over the arch of her sister’s brow, down the line of her cheek. What should be plump and firm was gaunt, shadowed.
I’ve come home for you, Ivy thought. She didn’t know she had begun to cry until a drop fell onto Agatha’s nightgown.
Ivy swiped at her cheeks with her bare arm.
Close by, a door opened and closed. Hilda coming out of her room!
Ivy went still. She held her breath, listened.
The squeak of springs being compressed told her that Hilda Brunne had settled into a chair. Lamplight suddenly flared under the doorway.
While the sitting room had appeared stylishly decorated, she could now see enough to know that Agatha’s room was sparse. Not even an interesting picture decorated the walls. The only items in here were a bed, a wicker wheelchair and a bedside table with a book on it. A book, well, that was something, at least.
With the added light, she could see how pale Agatha’s skin really was. Any whiter and she’d look like a mound of snow.
Ivy stroked her sister’s thin hand where it lay across her chest. That ought to have made her stir, but did not.
Probably because she was prostrate from the heat in that absurdly wrong nightgown.
“Let’s cool you off.” Ivy said moving her lips but uttering no sound.
She unbuttoned the gown from throat to chest, fanned the lapels to cool the sweat on her skin. Agatha’s chest lifted in a deep sigh that Ivy took as relief.
She oughtn’t to be skinny, not with the rich food Mrs. Morgan prepared.
Ivy was sure she’d gained a full inch around the waist after a single meal. Come morning, Antie was going to have the devil of a time harnessing her into her clothes.
The springs of the chair squeaked again, this time in a rhythmic way. It seemed that Hilda Brunne was rocking back and forth. She mumbled something in a tender voice but Ivy could not understand it. Then she began to sing a child’s lullaby...but at the same time, it sounded like she was weeping.
“Things are going to change, sister. I’m here now. Don’t you worry.”
Many things were going to change, she vowed while backing toward the window. This oppressive room being one of them.
* * *
Even after midnight, a band of sweat dampened Travis’s collar.
Sitting at his desk and staring down at the account books, he opened his shirt then yanked it out of his britches.
Familiar sounds drifted in through the open window. The summer song of crickets, the twitter of night birds and a breeze rustling the leaves outside made him roll his head back on his neck and sigh.
It was good to be home.
Picking up a pen he returned his attention to several weeks of neglected work piled beside his elbow. With a long, loud yawn, he scraped his palm over his face.
As sleepy as he was, he needed to spend a few hours in his office, setting things to order.
Dipping his pen into the ink bottle, he continued entering invoices and receipts into the ledger.
One invoice was from the new schoolteacher he had hired. The fellow came at a high price, but it seemed like he was worth the money. Along with the invoice, he had attached a progress report of each student.
Foster Magee would have approved, given the value he placed on his employees’ well-being.
Focusing again on the figures before him, Travis scratched his head. It was a good thing Ivy had agreed to come home. From what he was seeing, yes, what he had expected to see, the Lucky Clover would not be able to operate much longer.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Ivy was doing. Was she exhausted and sleeping, or restless over the upheaval in her life. Things had to be overwhelming for her. The way of life she had known until now would be nothing like the one she was taking on.
The carefree river nymph he had first met now carried the fate of many on her shoulders. He would meet with a lawyer next week and make sure that even after her marriage to English, every inch of this ranch would remain her sole property and under her control.
He doubted English would fight that condition. All he wanted was the political advantage that being linked to the Lucky Clover would bring him.
“Thank the good Lord!”
Travis spun in his chair to see an angel standing outside his window.
“Ivy?”
“Yep, it’s me.” She lifted one leg over the windowsill, not seeming concerned that her sheer sleeping clothes slid up over her knee. “Sure am glad you’re up late.”
“What are you doing out there?”
“Getting dad-gummed lost, is what.”
“But it’s after midnight.”
She shifted her other leg into the room. When she stood the gown settled modestly about her bare toes.
Not so modestly, it hugged
the curves of her womanly shape.
“I just sneaked into my sister’s bedroom. Got lost trying to find my way back inside the house.” Placing her hands on her hips, she stared down at him with a frown. “Didn’t much like what I saw in there.”
“Is Agatha ill?”
Since Foster had passed, he hadn’t seen much of Agatha. Being busy running the ranch, he’d relied on Hilda’s reports.
There had never been any reason to doubt her judgment. She always seemed dedicated to Agatha.
“Can’t rightly say if she’s sick or not. It was dark and she was asleep. But she was skinny as a minnow.”
Travis stood up, rolled his shoulders to stretch.
“Señora Morgan sends up plenty of food.”
“Anybody ever see Hilda give it to her?”
“She takes meals in her room. But, Ivy...” For a moment his attention wandered, watching the play of lamplight on her hair. Gold shimmers weaved in and out among the strands falling over her shoulders. “If she’s overprotective I’m sure it’s out of concern.”
“I still don’t trust her. She was up there rocking back and forth and mumbling something. Then she sang a baby’s lullaby to no one at all.”
“She lost twin babies before she came to the Lucky Clover. Could be she was just looking back and remembering.”
“It was downright odd, is what it was. And my sister looked like a ghost. When was the last time she was out in the sunshine?”
He didn’t know.
The thing is, Ivy’s sister had always been sickly, even as a child. It didn’t seem so odd that after her fever she was even more so.
“Speaking of health.” He took her by the shoulders, turned her toward the door. The urge to spin her fully toward him, to press her close and trace the curve of her waist, made his fingers itch. “You...umm...need to get some sleep. Tomorrow I’m showing you around the ranch and there’s a lot to see.”
She reached up and patted his hands. He wondered if she could feel how tense they were. How they nearly twitched with temptation.
“Good night, Travis.” She stepped beyond his reach.