The Cowboy's Cinderella

by Carol Arens

  The thought shouldn’t stab her heart. She had accepted the loss and moved on.

  “I’m right glad of it, uncle.”

  “What I’m saying is that it might help you save the ranch without you having to sell your heart.”

  “It’s in too much debt and the note is nearly due. The Queen can’t save the Lucky Clover.”

  “Maybe not, but she should have been yours. I came to give you your inheritance.”

  “And to stay?” Please, please stay, she thought. Now that he was here she could not imagine being without him again.

  “And to stay.”

  “The Queen was yours, Uncle Patrick. You worked all your life for her. I can’t take the money.”

  It was useless to argue with the captain. She didn’t recall ever coming out on the top side of an argument with him.

  “Have any of the ladies caught your eye?” A change of subject was in order.

  “One in particular. But she’s a fine one. You can tell it from a distance. Too fine for this old man, I can tell you.”

  “Antoinette du Mer, you must mean.”

  “Antoinette!” Her uncle’s gaze turned soft in a way she had never seen. “Sounds as pretty as a freshwater pearl peeking out of a shell.”

  “She’s sweet on you.”

  “Bah!”

  “It’s true. She told me so herself. I reckon she looks as moonstruck as you do.”

  “So, tell me niece, how does a crusty old fellow go about courting in these parts?”

  She sighed past the jab to her heart. “Just follows his heart I reckon.”

  What wouldn’t Ivy give to be able to do the same?

  “Reckon I better do some fast sailing in those waters. These old bones aren’t getting any younger.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sitting in the dark, Travis drummed his fingers on the office desk.

  William English was coming.

  Tomorrow there would be no party, just a private dinner to welcome the possible future legislator and someday governor. Then later, as much as his stomach clenched as he thought of it, there would be a private moment where Ivy would become officially engaged.

  The way Foster had arranged things, Ivy would accept the proposal and English would hand over a sizeable gift. The Lucky Clover would remain solvent.

  The only thing that might postpone his late boss’s scheme was the weather.

  Something wicked was brewing. It could delay William’s arrival.

  Not forever, though.

  Through the open office window Travis heard wind howling low across the land. It moaned through the trees, shifting the leaves with its humid breath.

  Travis wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve then yanked open the collar of his shirt. It was hot as a branding iron in here. He had to get out.

  Not wanting to walk through the house at this hour and wake sleeping folks, he climbed out the window.

  Once outside and walking around the building toward the patio garden, he figured it wasn’t much better out here as far as the temperature went. At least the wind dried his sweat some.

  In the end it wasn’t cool air he was seeking so much as peace of mind, a bit of solitude to set things right in his mind.

  Far in the distance, cattle called to one another. He couldn’t hear the cowboys on midnight watch singing to calm the beasts, but he knew what the songs would be.

  Close at hand, crickets chirruped. A nightingale perched on the porch rail went through her song list, not seeming to be bothered by heat or wind.

  Sounds of home surrounded him. The familiar lullaby ought to be bringing him comfort and yet—

  “Travis?” From behind, a hand lightly touched his shoulder.

  “What are you doing out here, Ivy?” he asked without turning around.

  It was a damn foolish question. From the first he knew she found freedom in the dark of night. It could be that he’d climbed out his office window hoping he would come upon her.

  Was she even wearing a stitch? She hadn’t been that first time on the River Queen.

  “Little Mouse was restless. I brought her out.”

  He felt the tickle of her touch as her fingers trailed over his shirt along his backbone.

  Slowly, he did turn, found she was dressed, but not in much.

  She had hiked the filmy fabric of her sleeping gown up about her thighs and tied it in a knot at one hip.

  There was a lamp sitting on the bench. In the dim glow he saw sweat glistening on her long, lovely limbs.

  Her hair shimmered, tumbling over her shoulder and down her chest. He wondered if the gleam was caused by heat or lamplight.

  He touched it. Wasn’t heat or lamplight to his way of thinking. It was magic—the midnight enchantment of a prairie nymph. One who was not yet committed to another man.

  Twining his fingers in the curling mass, he drew her close to him. Felt the tickle of the fine strands that the wind blew against his face.

  He lowered his mouth, skimmed her cheek with his lips and caught the scent of prairie grass on her skin as much as he did river water. His heart rolled over.

  “Ivy?” He’d never heard his voice so harsh with anguish.

  He felt the hitch in her breathing, the pressure of her fingers on the back of his neck.

  Damned if he was going to go the rest of his life regretting that he had never tasted her passion. For this one moment he was going to pretend she was his.

  He nipped her bottom lip—tasted woman, earthy and wanting. Drawing her close, he felt the curves of her body, plush and hot.

  He kissed her softly, then deeply. So deeply that it might be his heart caressing her as much as his mouth.

  Ivy tasted so damned female, completely sweet and—salty?

  A teardrop moistened his lips. Cut his heart to the quick.

  Ivy spun away. She dashed for the bench where she had set the lantern. Kneeling, she opened her hand. The mouse scampered out of a bush and into her waiting palm. She tucked it into the pouch and drew the string closed.

  Grabbing the lamp, she stood. She held his gaze for only an instant. Just long enough for the lamplight to reveal tear tracks.

  She swiped them away with the back of her hand. She touched her heart then pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.

  Then she and her light were gone, leaving him to stand alone in the darkness.

  * * *

  Sitting in the dining room the next morning with Uncle Patrick and Antie—two people she loved dearly—Ivy had never felt more alone.

  The dismal sensation made her push her breakfast away, get up from the table and pace.

  Travis never missed breakfast. In spite of the fact that Señora Morgan said he’d gone to tend some skittish cattle, she knew there was another reason.

  One passion-filled kiss had doomed them. Given them a taste of life’s beauty, a wonder that would be forever haunting and forbidden.

  “Chère petite,” said Antie, as she sat beside Uncle Patrick, a foot closer to him than she had last time they dined. Her uncle must be sailing that vessel of his swift and true. “Pacing will not bring your young man here any quicker.”

  This was true. But pacing was a release for strangled energy.

  Stopping in front of an open window, the curtains blowing inward, she stared out. She couldn’t recall ever seeing clouds so inky black and churning. Blazin’ days if they didn’t look angry.

  Glancing back, she saw Antie and her uncle exchange a look...a tender look.

  “I don’t expect him at all...not with the cattle so riled.”

  “I believe Madame du Mer was speaking of Mr. English, my dear.” Uncle Patrick’s ham-speared fork paused inches from his mustache while he wagged his bro
ws at her.

  “Of course I mean William...” she said, even though in the instant she had nearly forgotten he was due to arrive this afternoon. “The weather is bound to make him think twice about venturing out, especially when a herd of spooked critters could trample him.”

  “My guess is he will be here. He wants to ensure he wins the election. And you, my little love, are the insurance.” Uncle Patrick chewed the ham, swallowed.

  Thunder rolled in the distance, still far off but coming closer.

  “Mr. Morgan claims that with you on his side, it’ll put our man out front. Did you know, Madame,” he said, turning his attention to Antie. “That Mr. Morgan claims to have never made a wrong prediction in an election?”

  “Mais oui? This must be true then with two such intelligent gentlemen in agreement. I can only wish to have your knowledge.”

  Had Ivy not been in such a turmoil, she would have laughed out loud. Antie was turning the very charm that she instructed on Uncle Patrick!

  “This thing I do know,” she said with a perfect smile and elegant nod. “Our chère Ivy will be a competent future first lady for Wyoming.”

  A competent first lady? All of a sudden she wanted to hightail it for the simple life aboard the River Queen.

  She could not, of course. The River Queen was gone—now a part of her past. William English was her future.

  Ivy pressed the curtain to the sill to keep it from flapping at her.

  She ought to bring Agatha down for breakfast, but her sister hadn’t slept well last night; she had complained of her muscles aching and feeling nauseous. Agatha’s body would go through difficult times, getting rid of Brunne’s “tender” touch with laudanum.

  As if thinking of the woman had made her appear, she did, sweeping into the dining room as dark and roiling as the clouds.

  “Miss Agatha is asking for the mouse.”

  “Bring her to my room, if you will. She can play with her there.”

  “She wants her in her own room.”

  This was unusual. Mrs. Brunne did not allow the mouse in Agatha’s quarters.

  “I doubt if that’s wise.”

  “Agatha needs calming. The storm’s got her fidgety. Since you disposed of her medicine, it’ll have to be that vermin to do it.”

  “How do I know you won’t stomp on her?”

  “And make an unholy mess under my shoe?” Mrs. Brunne huffed in disgust. “I think not.”

  It didn’t feel right leaving Little Mouse in Brunne’s care, but Ivy could not spend time with Agatha right now. She had to devote the morning to getting gussied up for her suitor.

  A bolt of lightning hit close by. The house shook. Mrs. Brunne grabbed her chest, stifled a cry. She rallied quickly, though and straightened her shoulders.

  “Tell my sister I’ll bring her to her in a moment.”

  The nurse glided out of the dining room like her feet weren’t touching the ground.

  “I reckon she’s riding a broom under that skirt,” Ivy grumbled.

  “I have a moment.” Uncle Patrick slid Antie a quick wink. “I’ll take the mouse to her. You ladies go get ready for Mr. English’s arrival.”

  “You are our knight, our hero, Mr. Malone.” Madame’s chest lifted demurely. Ivy still hadn’t gotten the right of that trick yet. “Our chère petite will be the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.”

  * * *

  At one in the afternoon, Ivy gazed at her reflection in the long mirror. She did look beautiful, but it was all due to Antie’s skills.

  Her mentor had been quicker fussing over her than usual. She didn’t need to guess why. She’d lay a big wager that Antie was meeting Uncle Patrick in one of the many secluded rooms in the big house.

  Ivy had felt a bit guilty being pampered and gussied up, given that out on the plains the cowboys would be soaked to the skin while trying to keep the cattle calm.

  As soon as she had William’s money behind her, she would make sure they got extra pay for their dangerous work.

  There was no doubt that this afternoon, it was highly dangerous. Children were forbidden out of doors, women as well. The only cooks working today were the ones living in the house.

  Chances were, the struggle Antie had gone through getting her poured into this elegant blue gown with tiny pearls sewn at the neckline and the hem was wasted. All the pretty loops and whirls she had spun into Ivy’s hair would be for naught.

  If William did show up she’d be more surprised than a hen hatching a duckling.

  Turning from the mirror, she walked to the window and stared out.

  Miles away, she saw a funnel drop from a cloud. Sure did look like an elephant’s trunk gracefully swaying this way and that. The tornado didn’t quite reach the ground, but if it did it would be anything but graceful.

  She’d never actually seen a tornado before, but their reputation was horrific. She feared for her cowboys, for her cattle and for William if he really was out in the elements.

  But her hands nearly shook for fear of what might happen to Travis. Even with the money to keep the ranch solvent, the Lucky Clover would be nothing without him at the helm.

  She would be nothing. Without her friend—no, not her friend—she might as well be honest with herself. Not that it made a whit of difference to what her choice must be.

  She would marry one man, be fond of him even, but she would love another.

  Agatha would be safe, the children and their families would remain secure and William, according to those who “knew,” would win his election.

  The price to be paid would be her heart—and Travis’s. Last night, without a word being spoken, they had made the final choice.

  Their kiss had begun as temptation, but ended as goodbye. Not goodbye, as in never seeing each other again. But as in, they had counted the cost and found it too high. This goodbye meant laying to rest any small dream of the life they might have shared.

  In the end, by the silent language of touch and glance, they had admitted their feelings for one another then backed away.

  The love they felt for one another, they would give to others.

  A soft knock rapped on her door. She opened it to find Laura Lee standing in the hall.

  “Mr. English has come, miss. He’s drying off in the parlor.”

  “I’ll be down directly.” She closed the door and heard the young woman’s steps hurrying away.

  Returning to the mirror, she looked herself over one more time, adjusted a curl that had escaped its pin in an attempt to be free.

  “Not for you, my friend, and not for me.”

  It was time. She was as ready as she was ever going to be.

  That didn’t mean her hands weren’t shaking, her nerves as jittery as the lightning scattering over the ranch.

  In moments she would give William her answer and never look back.

  When she opened her door, Laura Lee was standing there, breathless from a run back down the hall.

  “I nearly forgot this, Miss Magee, in all the excitement of Mr. English’s arrival, but Mrs. Brunne asked me to give you this note.”

  * * *

  Travis closed the front door on weather that was more beast than element of nature. He kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his coat, then wiped his face on the towel that the housekeeper always hung on the coatrack for rainy days.

  He’d sent many of the cowboys to the safety of their homes. God willing, the hands farther out would make it to the shelter buildings. While protecting cattle, keeping them from panicking and becoming injured was vital, the safety of the men was even more so.

  At least the storm would keep William from coming today. He didn’t know what difference a day made, why the delay made him happy, but it sure damn did.

  He crossed the parlor ba
refoot on his way to the kitchen. Coming in he smelled coffee. A good strong cup would be the thing to balance his emotions.

  Lightning blanched the room in bright light. Thunder pounded nearby, probably hitting land between the big house and the cowboys’ homes. The livestock in the barn would be plenty spooked.

  Within seconds, the room’s light returned to the soft illumination of lamps.

  A man sat on the couch. Laura Lee was handing him a cup of steaming coffee.

  “William?” What the—? “What are you doing here?”

  “Good afternoon, Travis.” The man stood, extended his hand.

  “You look half drowned.” Travis returned the handshake. “Why didn’t you wait for the weather to clear? Can I trouble you for a cup of that, Laura Lee?”

  “I said I’d be here today.” He shrugged.

  “That was a risky trip. It wouldn’t do anyone good to find you drowned in a gully.”

  “I’ve got a surefooted horse and here I am, no more than waterlogged, extremely waterlogged.”

  “Legislature’s not going to vote for a foolhardy fellow.”

  “Neither will they vote for one who does not keep his word.”

  Laura Lee laughed, handing Travis the coffee. “The both of you look like half-drowned cats. But if I had the power, you would have my vote, Mr. English.”

  “Thank you, miss. Keep that vote for when we become a state. I’ll need all I can get when I run for governor.”

  “Where’s Ivy?” Travis thought she would have been here in the parlor accepting a marriage proposal.

  “I let her know Mr. English was here.” Laura Lee said, frowning. “It was some time ago.”

  “Will you run up and check on her?” Travis asked.

  It sure wasn’t like Ivy not to come down promptly. She had to know what William had risked to get here.

  His heart soared and sank at the same time, wondering if she had changed her mind about marrying English.

  The front door crashed open, driven on a gust of wind. Agatha leaned against the frame, sliding slowly toward the floor while she tried to catch her breath.

  Travis dropped his coffee on the floor, turned to go to her.