Sold to the Viking Warrior

by Michelle Styles

  But another daughter? In the moment he’d demanded that Foster tell him why this girl’s existence had been kept a secret, why she had not been raised at the ranch.

  The reality was, he’d had no right to demand anything of Foster. But in that moment he had been a stunned son, not an employee.

  The reason turned out to be a divorce agreement. He’d learned the full story while watching tears drip down his mentor’s disease-ravaged face—his stand-in father’s face.

  He’d given up Eleanor in an agreement with Mollie Clover Magee.

  “She was a beauty, my wife,” he’d admitted.

  The proof of that, her portrait, still hung over the mantel of the huge fireplace in the great room back at the ranch.

  “She was a wild flower, a free spirit, the plain opposite of me. Fire and ice I reckon.” he whispered, his voice hoarse, weak from the effects of his illness.

  It was true. Foster Seamus Magee had been a man of purpose. His desire to have the largest and most influential ranch in the state had consumed him. A proper life of social niceties, all the rules of etiquette observed, this was what he’d striven for.

  “My Clover, she was never cut out for that kind of life. I watched her dry up in front of my eyes. My pretty wife... The life I sought sucked the life out of her.

  “Son, you understand that I never stopped loving her, but I had to let her go when she wanted to...just not all of her. I wouldn’t let her have Agatha because of the two girls she’s the one who reminded me of my Clover, with that blaze of red hair and those emerald-colored eyes. Turned out, though, she didn’t have her mother’s high spirit. The girl is sickly...well, you grew up with her, you know.”

  He did know. Agatha was a shut away. She was frail, retiring, and lacking the vigor that the demands of inheriting the ranch would place upon her. He only hoped that Eleanor was different from her twin.

  A lot of livelihoods depended upon her being strong, but even more, that she was willing to step into her role.

  Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, not with stressful thoughts of past and present, but because the heat of the day lingered on the land and shimmered over the water. In the mountains nearby the temperature would be different. He reckoned just a short distance away the night was getting cold.

  Well, not the night so much anymore, but the wee hours. Even the gamblers had taken to their beds.

  He swiped the ticklish moisture from his neck while he strolled to the side of the boat facing west. Maybe there would be a breeze off the water.

  There wasn’t a breeze...but there was a woman.

  A naked woman.

  Naked women weren’t so unusual in Coulson. But here on the riverboat at this hour? Perhaps she’d been entertaining a gambler.

  Propriety told him to look away. Nature urged him otherwise.

  The woman stood on the lower deck, her back toward him and her arms reaching for the night sky. When she lifted her face toward the moon, he saw the slim line of her nose but nothing else.

  He smiled, wished he was the moonglow. That elusive finger of light touched the curve of her hip, shimmered in the fall of blond hair tumbling down her back. It cupped the lovely round orbs of her bottom.

  She bent her knees, pushed off the deck, and dove headlong into the water.

  She came up, grinning, then went under again. Her fair-skinned body skimmed inches below the surface of the water as she swam alongside the boat.

  Hell, now he wished he was the river, with the right to touch her so intimately.

  Spinning about, he strolled toward the other end of the boat, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

  Whoever the woman was, she was not Eleanor Magee. From what he’d learned from the Pinkerton he’d hired, Miss Eleanor was watched over by her uncle. It was hard to imagine the guardian who would let his niece loose at all hours of the night, who would allow her to leap into a river naked.

  The fact that Patrick Malone was Eleanor’s guardian, and that she’d grown up on this boat, was all he knew of Miss Magee. He couldn’t be certain that she even lived here any longer since the Pinkerton had never actually laid eyes on her. For the price Travis had been able to pay, all he’d got for his investment was a bunch of the man’s “educated guesses”...leads that may or may not find the Lucky Clover’s heir.

  If the investigator was wrong in his information, Travis had wasted a valuable month away from the ranch.

  * * *

  The nosey gambler was supposed to be abed but Ivy felt his gaze between her shoulder blades...and lower. She longed to twitch, to ease the burn on her back.

  Gosh-almighty, she wouldn’t give the voyeur that satisfaction. This was her boat and her time. To her way of thinking, swimming bare was no sin. Eavesdropping was. Let him be the one to squirm before the preacher of a Sunday.

  Doing her best to ignore the intrusive gambler, who was probably too drunk to really see her anyway, Ivy dove into the cool murky water.

  She burst the surface of the river, grinning. Wasn’t this as close to paradise as a body could get?

  Treading water, she inhaled, savored the scent of damp mud, of verdant plants growing at the water’s edge.

  “Howdy-doo, all you fine crickets...good evening, all you fat old frogs.”

  She stroked through the cool water, feeling the day’s sweat and grievances wash off her skin. It was her custom to float on her back, watch the twinkle of the stars while feeling weightless, but the gambler was still up there.

  It wasn’t likely that he’d come out intentionally to spoil her solitude—chances were, he only wanted a bit of fresh air.

  All at once, the man spun away. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he slowly walked toward the other end of the boat.

  She stroked along through the water, this time she was the one watching him. There wasn’t a whole lot she could learn in the dark, not until he passed under one of the lanterns hanging from the roof over the cabin deck.

  Then—gosh all-mighty, he was handsome! Fine of figure, he had the stride of a man of authority, a fellow who knew where he wanted to go and how to get there.

  He didn’t seem drunk.

  “Hey, mister!” she called up to him while treading water.

  He stopped, looked down at her then came to the rail. Resting his arms on the balustrade, he gazed toward her.

  “This here’s my private time. I don’t hanker to spend it with a Peeping Tom.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” Well, now she wasn’t sure his smile said sorry or not. “I didn’t know. I was only cooling some sweat, walking away some worry.”

  That was probably the truth. On a gambling boat, for every winner there was a loser worrying over his loss. Not that the wealthy clients of the River Queen needed to worry over the loss...most of the time.

  As far as the knowing went, he probably didn’t. There were no signs posted about Ivy’s private time—it was just something that the men who lived on board knew and respected.

  This fellow didn’t live on board so she ought to allow for that.

  And the river was a balm when one wanted to wash away a day’s stress. She couldn’t imagine living her life away from its soothing embrace. Often, she pitied land folks who never knew the feel of the river against their skin.

  One more thing she ought to allow for was that the fellow up there was a paying customer. According to Uncle Patrick, those were soon to become scarce.

  “I reckon you lost money tonight.” It was not unpleasant carrying on a conversation with this handsome fellow. Not when she was hidden in the cool kiss of the inky water and he was up there sweating in his fancy duds.

  “If it’s a woman you’re looking to sooth yourself with, I ain’t her, but over yonder in Coulson you’ll find what you need.”

  “I doubt it, ma’am.” />
  He was still smiling in the way that let her know that in this moment, his stress was relieved, but under that half-lifted mouth, life was not grand. She saw this to be true even in the dim light of the boat’s lamps.

  It was her duty to make sure the passenger was happy so that tonight he would take a seat in the casino again.

  “Look here, mister, if you agree to keep to the paddle side of the boat, I’ll share the water with you.”

  “I’ll need to strip bare. You don’t mind?”

  “I reckon I’ve got a peek coming since you were ogling me. Just keep to your side of the boat and we’ll get on just fine.”

  The fellow pushed away from the rail. She heard his boots tripping down the stairs. He reappeared on the lower deck, his shirt in hand and his chest bare.

  It wasn’t uncommon for Ivy to see a man bare chested. The roustabouts often worked shirtless.

  But there was something different about this man, something curious. He made her insides feel fluttery.

  Why was that? Men were men. One was not so much different than another. Two arms. Two legs.

  Two muscled buttocks. She could not help but notice when he turned his back to her and stepped out of his trousers.

  He was giving her the same glimpse of him that he had taken of her.

  That was not quite true. He turned his head to flash her a mischievous smile before jumping feet first into the water, his back still presenting.

  “Looks like we’re even, mister,” she said when his face broke the surface of the water.

  She felt safe enough even though she kept only a twenty-foot buffer between them instead of the boat length. If he made an untoward move, she’d be off as quick as a minnow.

  “What’s your name, gambler?” she asked then ducked under the water, surfacing a foot closer to him.

  “Travis.”

  Travis went under the water then came up a yard closer to her. His handsome face was dotted with water. He shook his head, splattering droplets from his short brown hair. It stood up in spikes all over his scalp—gave him a real boyish, friendly look. That sure was contrary to her first impression of him being a no-nonsense man of authority.

  “What’s yours?”

  “Ivy.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ivy.”

  Naked sure was an odd way to meet a fellow, but the night was dark and so was the water.

  “So, how much did you lose to keep you restless so late?” She ought to swim to the other side of the boat and float about gazing at the stars, but she was enjoying gazing at Travis’s face instead.

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t do much gambling.”

  “Most folks aboard the River Queen come just for that.” A fish nibbled her toes. She kicked it away. “There’s some who just need transportation, but mostly they’re gamblers. Big money gamblers.”

  “Are you familiar with the ship?”

  “A bit.” She didn’t want to say she knew every inch of it, every board and shadow. That she was training to be a pilot. A lady pilot tended to be frowned upon and for some reason she did not want Travis frowning upon her.

  “I’m looking for a woman named Eleanor.”

  Her swim time was about up. If she didn’t rap on Uncle Patrick’s door telling him she was safely aboard, he would come looking.

  “A sweetheart?” Gosh almighty she couldn’t swim away without knowing about that.

  “No...not a sweetheart.” Oh? For some reason she was relieved to know it. “She’s inherited a ranch. I’ve got to find her and let her know.”

  “And you believe she’s aboard?”

  “I have reason to think so,” Travis answered, parting the water between them.

  Only ten feet of sparkling river lay between them. Just because the water was dark did not make her any less naked.

  Her imagination saw a dozen things that her eyes couldn’t.

  It was time and past for her to be in her room.

  She ducked under the surface and swam away. When she came up for air she looked back to see Travis on the deck, knee-deep into his britches.

  Whoever this Eleanor was, she was a mighty lucky woman to have him looking for her, even if they were not sweethearts.

  * * *

  With the exception of one gambler, still in his chair but dead asleep with his head lying on the poker table, the saloon was empty.

  The man’s pockets were turned inside out. His heavy breathing stirred the cards in front of his mouth.

  Travis figured the fellow must have fallen asleep over the losing hand in front of his nose. No doubt, the smile tugging his mouth meant he was dreaming of the winning hand for tonight’s competition.

  A lingering scent of cigars hovered in the corners of the large room. For all its size and elegance, the saloon was still cozy. The overstuffed chairs near the windows, the padded stools about the gaming tables, all invited one to stay and enjoy an evening.

  With the piano covered for the night, the lamps turned low and everyone abed but the lone sleeper, Travis decided to continue his restless night right here, with his butt snuggled into a plump brown chair and his feet up on a gold ottoman.

  For comfort, it beat the hell out of the cot he’d put up beside his horse on the main deck.

  He’d taken only a small amount of money on his quest to find Eleanor. The more he left behind for the ranch to keep going, the better.

  Since he was on his own, it would not be a problem to live frugally for a time. Even the little bit of gambling he’d done had been for the purpose of gaining information about Miss Magee. It sure hadn’t hurt that he’d won a few dollars.

  Hadn’t gained a thing by way of discovering anything about Miss Eleanor, though.

  At daylight, the boat was going to turn south. If the lady was not aboard, it would cause him all kinds of trouble. He only hoped the Pinkerton knew his business.

  If Travis didn’t come up with any information by nightfall, he’d try and get a moment of the captain’s time, not an easy thing to do, he’d discovered, with such a busy man. But if he couldn’t find out something about Eleanor from her own uncle, he despaired of finding it at all.

  That was a notion he couldn’t let his mind dwell on. Futures depended upon him bringing her home.

  Hell, what he did want to dwell on was the magical water nymph.

  Ivy. Even her name conjured up things fresh, green and growing with abandon, having no regard for rules.

  He closed his eyes, reliving the memory of her diving into the water, of her face as she surfaced, so full of the joy of just plain living.

  If only he could be more like her. Not that he wanted to run from his responsibilities, but if he could rise above them from time to time...

  When Ivy invited him to strip down and join her in the water, he’d felt ten years old again.

  He’d liked being ten. By then he was past the constant grief that his parents’ deaths had caused and had come to love his life on the Lucky Clover Ranch.

  For a few moments last night, he had been that boy again because looking at Ivy—and he didn’t just mean in appreciation of her lovely body, but her smile and the love of life that shone from her eyes—he’d felt fresh. Renewed.

  He’d come from the water full of hope and now he sat in this chair because the only way to hold on to that feeling was to hold her memory fresh. To keep her in his mind so that he could draw on that brief moment out of time.

  When life was not so fresh, he would remember Ivy.

  Too bad he would never see her again. No doubt by now she was back in Coulson doing whatever a free spirit like her did in the wee hours.

  Turning frogs into princes, coaxing butterflies from their cocoons, maybe even leading a symphony of light with fireflies as her instr
uments, that’s what he would like to think, even though he knew reality was certainly far different.

  Reality or not, he was good and sorry he would never see Miss Ivy again.

  Copyright © 2017 by Carol Arens

  ISBN-13: 9781488021145

  Sold to the Viking Warrior

  Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Styles

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