The Cowboy's Cinderella

by Carol Arens

Hearing a rustle of skirts, he turned, looked up.

  Princess, queen, angel in blue—all of these words fit the vision coming down the steps toward him.

  When the lump in his belly grew heavier, he knew why.

  It wasn’t for dread that William would not find Ivy acceptable. It was dread that he would.

  With a death grip on his self-control, he extended his hand to Ivy.

  She lay her fingers across his palm. He quashed the urge to pick her up and carry her away to—Hell, anywhere but here.

  “You ready to meet William?”

  “If I don’t throw up all over his shoes, it’ll be by the good Lord’s own grace.”

  Going outside, Travis wanted to yank his collar open. It was one of those hot August afternoons when clouds pressed so close to the earth that a soul could hardly breathe.

  If he knew Ivy at all, she would be mentally cursing a blue streak at her dress and the stifling underclothes.

  Outwardly though, she smiled. She greeted guests who gathered about the food-laden tables. She nodded to the kitchen girls running here and there while they kept the platters filled. She patted the heads of the children of the hands who had been warned to stay away, but willfully dashed up to grab treats.

  He supposed that William would be where the men were gathered to hear music and drink. When a man had his eye on the territorial legislature, he’d need to shake a lot of hands.

  Come late September, very likely Ivy would be standing beside him.

  Travis had promised her that he would be there to help, to run the ranch for her like he’d always done, and he would. But damned if it wasn’t going to be the hell of a hard thing to see her with English, to know that one floor above his office she would be sharing a bedroom with the man.

  He must have cussed under his breath because Ivy gazed up at him, one brow arched and half a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  “Is something amiss, Mr. Murphy?” she asked.

  Is something amiss? This was not the voice of the Ivy he knew. His Ivy would have asked if he had a bee in his drawers.

  Which he most definitely did and it felt damned amiss.

  “There’s William, standing over there by the punch bowl.”

  Her fingers clenched on his arm. “Here we go then, Travis. Wish me luck.”

  * * *

  William English looked up from a conversation he was having with another dapperly dressed fellow.

  His gaze held Ivy’s as though he already knew who she was.

  And why wouldn’t he know, she wondered? How many strangers would be clinging to Travis’s arm in a death grip? Although he wouldn’t be able to tell it was a death grip from this distance, but it was nonetheless.

  He also wouldn’t know that Travis held on to her just as tight.

  Mr. English smiled at her, nodded.

  Ivy glanced up at Travis, subtly shaking her head. Run away with me was what she was thinking.

  Travis blinked. Just there at the corner of one eye was the slightest hint of moisture. Then he nodded, just as subtly, reminding her they must do this.

  Drawing upon weeks of training, she summoned the prim and proper Ivy. She returned William English’s smile, mouth closed and lips sweetly curved. He would never know how hard it was to ignore the tickle of sweat dripping down her ribs.

  Mr. English excused himself from his companions and made his way across the yard toward her.

  Sure was a handsome fellow with his dark hair and deep blue eyes. He was taller than most of the gents gathered about. If duded-up good looks could win a legislative seat, he’d probably get every vote.

  Travis shook hands with him, gave him a tight-lipped smile. Ivy figured he ought to look more welcoming than that since William English was about to save the Lucky Clover from ruin.

  Everyone liked to give her credit for that happy event, but she was not the one with the money—her intended was.

  “Ivy, this is our neighbor, William English. William, this is Miss Eleanor Magee.”

  She wondered if the politician noticed how clipped Travis’s words were while he...while he gave her away.

  “Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. English.” She extended her hand. He bent over it.

  “I am honored, Miss Magee.”

  “Mr. English is running for office, territorial legislature of Wyoming.”

  This was a fine dance of words. She knew who he was, where he lived and why he was here. He knew why he was here as well, and he knew that she knew.

  “I hope to serve our territory with dedication.” It had to be a trick of light, but it looked like one of his eyes twinkled. Or maybe just a plain trick, one that politicians were accomplished at. “I hope I can count upon your support?”

  “I’m certain you can, as long as you convince me that we stand on the same side of the issues facing our wonderful territory.”

  “Perhaps later on we can take an hour and I’ll tell you about my views.”

  “There’s Peter Pottsmith waving at you,” Travis said. “Looks like he wants your attention, William.”

  “Will you save a dance or two for me after dinner, Miss Magee?”

  A dance or two tonight was a small demand of her time. But what he was really asking for was her life—every living, breathing moment of it.

  She could give him this, she had to give him this! Lives would be ruined if she did not.

  A pair of laughing children brushed past her skirt then snatched a treat from the pastry table. At four years old, the boys hadn’t a care in the world.

  “There’s nothing I would like quite as much, Mr. English.”

  If her actions kept those little ones secure in their homes, then her statement was not a lie. There truly was nothing she would like more.

  But looking up at the tense set of Travis’s mouth while he watched William walk away to greet Mr. Pottsmith, she knew there was one thing she wanted as much...though she couldn’t have it.

  * * *

  Watching rain drip down the window, Travis turned his back on the party going on behind him. There was nothing he wanted more than to scour away the image of William holding Ivy in his arms while they two-stepped about the parlor room.

  The dancing was meant to be done on a wood dance floor set up in the paddock, but the sky had opened up right after dinner so they’d moved the party inside and pushed all the furniture to the walls.

  Beyond the trees, he watched lightning spread over the land. He prayed that his cowboys would find shelter and the cattle not scatter. It wouldn’t be the first time a herd had been spooked by a storm.

  Suddenly the scent of the Missouri River and a dash of lavender filled his senses.

  He turned, hoping to see Ivy coming toward him with her smile bright and aimed at him.

  But no, the dance had just spun William and Ivy past him.

  Her smile was for English, and his was for her.

  Looked like they were getting on just fine. He ought to feel happier about that since it had been his idea to transform Ivy into a mesmerizing society belle.

  He’d sure as hell accomplished his goal, but damned if he was pleased about it.

  Glancing away, his gaze settled on Agatha where she sat in a dim corner watching the dancers whirl past.

  Ivy had been the one to dress her for the party rather than Hilda. The difference showed. Not just in the brighter colors, but in Agatha’s expression.

  She was still too pale to look healthy, but just now, watching the dancers whirl past, the emotionless gaze that was typical for her was replaced with interest.

  Ivy had been right to toss out the laudanum, to insist on taking Agatha outside and into the sunshine.

  Could it be possible that Foster’s daughter was not destined
to live life as an invalid as everyone had been led to believe?

  Would someone so irreversibly feeble be tapping her toe along with the music?

  Hilda Brunne emerged from the deep shadow behind Agatha, looking dour, as usual. With a frown she pointed at Agatha’s tapping shoe.

  Hurriedly, Travis cut across the floor through a dozen couples who hopped, stepped and glided about the parlor.

  “Agatha.” Stepping between her and Brunne, he nodded and extended his hand. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

  “You know she can’t, Mr. Murphy. Why torment her?”

  Hilda leaned close to Agatha’s ear and whispered, but not so quietly that Travis didn’t hear.

  “You will break your leg if you try. They will blame it on me and send me away. Do you want to lose the only person who loves you? Answer me—say the words.”

  “Mrs. Brunne, fetch Miss Magee a glass of punch.”

  She had better not try and lace it with laudanum. Now that he had the measure of her, he would be sniffing to be sure.

  “Why I’d be delighted to do so if that is what Agatha would like.” Brunne shot Agatha a brief glance, clearly warning her to refuse the punch. “Would it please you, my pet?”

  “No...I...I don’t believe it would.”

  “Fetch some for both of us, Mrs. Brunne.”

  “Oh, yes, my pleasure.” Nurse Brunne hurried off. He doubted that she knew he heard her mumble a curse.

  “Why would you say you didn’t want the punch when you did, Agatha?”

  “Oh, but I didn’t want it. Not much anyway. Mother says—”

  “I overheard Mrs. Brunne say that she is the only one who loves you.”

  Agatha looked hard at her hands folded in her lap.

  “That’s not true. Many people love you, Agatha. They always have.”

  Agatha glanced up, frowned at him. Apparently she didn’t believe him.

  And why would she? Her mind had been poisoned and under his watch.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that Agatha depended upon Hilda Brunne, clung to her and put her in the place of her dead mother, he would have sent her packing weeks ago.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try a dance...just a step or two?”

  “Oh, no...I couldn’t.”

  “May I sit beside you, then?” Without waiting for an answer, which might be a refusal, he pulled over a chair.

  “You seem improved. I’m happy to see it.” One had to look hard to see the improvement, but it was beginning to show.

  On the far side of the room he watched Ivy and William finish their dance. It took only half a second for another neighbor to slip in and whirl her on to a polka.

  English began a circle about the room, shaking hands and courting votes.

  “I’d like to ask you something, Agatha.”

  “Yes?” She clenched her fingers together in her lap.

  “It has to do with your nurse.” Green eyes, pretty green eyes—he noticed for the first time—glanced at him then away. “When you are alone, is she kind to you?”

  “Mama Brunne wants what is best for me.”

  “We all want that. But I wonder if I’ve failed you over the years...allowed Mrs. Brunne—”

  “I can be difficult but Mama takes good care of me.”

  “I’ve been thinking. Now that Ivy is here and caring for you, I’d like to terminate your nurse’s employment.”

  “But...you can’t!” Her cheeks blanched of the little color they had. “I might die without Mother’s care.”

  “This is what she tells you?”

  “Yes. Everyone knows it.”

  “Ivy doesn’t. You trust her don’t you?”

  “I’m beginning to, yes. But Mama Brunne has been with me my whole life.”

  “All right.” It went against every good instinct he had, but he said, “As long as you want your nurse here, she will stay. But the moment you change your mind, or you feel uncomfortable with her, will you tell me?”

  “I would not want to say anything wicked about Mother, but yes, I will.”

  “Sure you don’t want to dance?”

  “No, I—Look, here comes Mr. English.”

  All of a sudden the blush returned to her cheeks, brighter than before.

  “Good evening, Miss Magee,” William said, stopping before her and extending his hand as he had to everyone. “You look fetching this evening. Just the sight we need to chase away this dreary storm.”

  Travis saw the ghost of a tremor shake Agatha’s hand when the politician closed his fingers about it.

  “I believe this dance was meant for us.”

  “I’m not fit enough. I’d only fall and everyone would see it.”

  But she would be fit enough if it weren’t for Hilda Brunne’s dark care. Anger built a slow throb behind his temples.

  “I won’t let you fall. I promise.”

  Agatha shook her head but English did not relinquish his hold on her hand.

  “Come now, Agatha. It will please your sister to see you enjoying yourself.”

  “Oh, just for a moment then...”

  William placed one hand under her elbow and lifted her carefully from her chair.

  She wobbled a bit but William kept a steady hold on her. To Travis’s astonishment, Agatha smiled. Brightly, genuinely smiled. From across the room, he saw Ivy take notice. He felt her elation.

  Returning, punch cup in hand, Hilda’s mouth creased, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

  I blame you for this, was what her expression declared.

  “How nice to see Agatha having fun,” was what she said to him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gull-durned shoes were making her feet numb. If only she could get away for a moment and set her toes free.

  Looking about at the folks having a lively time in the parlor she knew that was not going to happen. A gully washer of rain pumping down outside sure didn’t dampen the spirits inside.

  Folks seemed happy as could be, eating and dancing, making her acquaintance. Or at least the acquaintance of the woman they thought she was.

  Even though the hour was late, no one seemed ready to take to their beds.

  Especially Agatha. One brief dance with William, only a few gentle steps in time to the music, had pleased her to the point where she actually defied Brunne’s attempt to make her go upstairs. The defiance was not great and it didn’t last long, but it was the first time Ivy had noticed her sister genuinely strain against her nurse’s control.

  There was no holding back a grin about that. She did cover her mouth though so no one would know the real Ivy was dancing a jig inside her corset.

  “Miss Magee?” William English’s rich, cultured voice came from behind her. “Might we speak in private?”

  Schooling her smile, she dropped her hand and turned.

  “Of course, Mr. English.” They could speak, but privately? That seemed unlikely with so many people about. “If you don’t mind going through the kitchen, I know a spot where we will be able to hear one another.”

  “Actually, I’m partial to kitchens. Especially on rainy evenings. Please lead the way.”

  Ivy led the way past half a dozen busy cooks to the back porch where a double-sized swing was sheltered from the rain by a wide overhang.

  When they were seated with a polite distance between them, William cleared his throat.

  “First, I’d like to say that your father was a good man. You have my condolences.” Rain pattered beyond the porch. A breeze carried the scent of wet mud and freshened shrubbery.

  Ivy tried not to ache for the Missouri, but it was a plum hard thing to do.

  “Thank you. I wish I had known him.”

  “
We spoke of things...of the Lucky Clover’s future, before he passed.”

  “Yes, that was why Mr. Murphy brought me here. I understand what is at stake.”

  The hopeful future legislator let out a sigh.

  “Are you agreeable to the proposition then?”

  “It’s an unusual situation, Mr. English.” The faces of cowboys, their wives and children—and her sister’s face, flashed through her mind’s eye. Travis’s grin pushed at the corner of her consciousness. She slapped it away. “But yes, I am agreeable.”

  He nodded. “I’m grateful. Would you mind calling me William? I think it is appropriate under the circumstances.”

  William. This was the beginning then.

  “I imagine you have questions about me?” That interesting twinkle flashed in his eye. “Ask me anything.”

  “Well, William, I do have a question. I understand that you need an appropriate wife. One who will increase your chances of winning this legislative election and in time the one for governor. My property will give you that. I just wonder—do you really think people will vote for you because of me and my ranch? You’re gambling quite a lot on the possibility.”

  He laughed, the sound deep and rich. “You are an elegant and lovely woman. I’ve noticed how people are drawn to you. Even without the ranch’s reputation, I think you would garner more votes than I would.”

  Elegant? Lovely? An imposter was what she really was. How long into the marriage would he realize it?

  “Why do you want to hold office so badly that you would marry someone you don’t even know?”

  He had said that she could ask him anything.

  “Once you’ve heard a few of my speeches, you’ll see it’s because I want to represent the people of Wyoming, to lock horns with established government and make my constituents’ lives better.” He shrugged, arched his brows.

  “And?”

  “And I like being in charge. It used to drive my mother to distraction.”

  Could be he expected to be in charge of her, too. Some husbands did.

  “Before you tell me you want to back out of the arrangement like your expression says you do, I’ll make a few things clear. I’m grateful that a woman of such uncommon grace and beauty will be standing beside me. Beyond that, I won’t ask much of you. I won’t ask you to live somewhere other than the Lucky Clover. I’ll make sure that you have the funds to keep the ranch going. You will act as my hostess. I would like children, but I would never force myself on you. Maybe once we are no longer strangers? But I will be faithful to you—I would not bring you shame. All I ask, for now, is that you put on a good show for the sake of my career.”