by Carol Arens
“Got us a big fat one, Travis!” She held up her catch, waving it victoriously in her fists. Little Mouse slipped but caught Ivy’s shirt with four pink paws and scrambled inside her breast pocket. “Want one more?”
“That one’s big enough for three!” he called back.
For a moment, he tried to picture her in a frilly dress nipped tight at the waist like the ladies wore them. She would look lovely. There was no denying it. But would it make her happy?
From what she’d had to say about fashion so far, he doubted it.
All he could hope for was that she would learn to be comfortable with it. The future of everyone at the Lucky Clover depended upon her being willing to become elegant.
“Heat up the pan while I gut this critter,” she said, standing beside him now, her calves and ankles spotted with water that sparkled on her skin with the final rays of the setting sun.
He glanced up at her; the satisfaction of catching dinner bare-handed made her blue eyes light up with pleasure. The mouse crept out of her pocket then crawled up her shirt to sit on her shoulder.
Was it even possible for Ivy to become elegant? Would she end up with a crushed spirit, the same as had happened to her mother?
There would be no divorce for Ivy, though. No second chance at life. William English was not a cruel man, but he was ambitious. His wife would be a reflection of him. Perfection would be required of her.
Given who he was, William would be a perfect husband, a match to his perfect wife, at least in the public eye.
If that did not turn out to be the case privately, William would never allow divorce to ruin the ideal image.
“Better get that pan going!” This time Ivy’s voice came from beside the stream. “I’m so hungry I’d fight a bear for this fish!”
He watched her while he fetched the pan from his saddle pack.
Kneeling beside the water, she sliced the fish down the middle. Scooping out the innards, she tossed them into the stream.
They had spent thirteen nights on the road to Cheyenne. The first three had been sleepless misery, but not the last ten. In fact, night before last she had only woken him once, fearing that she heard a bear rustling in the shrubbery.
Which, she had. But the small brown critter had fled when Travis banged the fry pan and the kettle against each other.
“Gosh almighty, you’re brave!” she’d declared, grinning at him in clear admiration.
Then she’d slept on his side of the fire the rest of the night without waking. But last night she’d slept on her own side of the fire.
Funny how he’d been the one to wake up, hoping the sounds in the night would be Ivy Magee coming to lie beside him again.
As much as he knew it was wrong to want that, he’d continued to toss about, seeing images of her in his mind and wondering if...wondering nothing. Unrestricted wondering would be a big mistake.
Watching her now while the pan heated, smiling with pride at her filleted fish, he knew it was a damn good thing that they would reach Cheyenne in two days.
That was when he would need to begin making a lady out of Miss Eleanor Ivy Magee. She wouldn’t feel so friendly toward him then, and he might find it easier to resist her earthy charm.
There was no doubt that she was going to resist the restrictions on her dress and behavior. Looked at fairly, who was he to force them upon her?
Only the man fighting for the survival of the Lucky Clover and everyone on it.
He could only hope that after a time, she would come to see that this new life was for the best.
Given time, she would forget the ways of the river and embrace being a fine lady.
Curse it, that thought ought to put him at ease. All it did was turn his belly sour, keeping him from anticipating eating his share of that hand-caught fish.
Chapter Five
There were some things Ivy had gotten used to, even come to enjoy.
One thing was the sway of the horse’s gait beneath her was no longer frightening. So far, she hadn’t tumbled out of the saddle. She reckoned she wouldn’t, now that she was better used to things. Besides, it really wasn’t that far to the ground.
Another was—and this did surprise her—as long as Travis was close by, she was able to fall asleep beside the campfire. It didn’t appear, after all, that she was going to be eaten by a wolf or torn to pieces by a marauding bear.
Also, the folks they had met along the way were as friendly as pie.
But gosh almighty, just when she’d begun to think she might get by living away from the wide and wonderful Missouri River, she’d set eyes on the South Platte.
“This ain’t no river, Travis!” She’d stood at the bank, staring in dismay at the ribbon of brown cutting the land. “Why, a body couldn’t even paddle a canoe down the middle of this mud puddle.”
In her mind, a respectable river ought to gurgle and ripple. It ought to be overhung with trees. For as far as she could see, those green beauties were scarce.
Land stretched out forever, unbroken by anything but the skyline of Cheyenne, which Travis had called the Magic City.
It was their destination today and even though they were still a couple of hours away, she could see tall buildings against the bright blue sky.
“This river is the life blood of your ranch,” he explained. “It’s what keeps your cattle watered.”
He looked nervous. Could be he thought she might hightail and run, given how ugly things were compared to where she had come from.
Here she was, though, and she would have to make the best of things. In the end, it was her sister she’d come to be with and the sad state of the water didn’t count for much by comparison.
Maybe she’d get used to looking up and seeing an ocean of rolling hills instead of a mountain range. As long as she had Agatha, she’d be happy enough.
But that was some miserable looking water.
“How’s a body to swim in the natural?” She wagged her finger at the sluggishly flowing water.
Travis Murphy’s jaw sagged. “Life is different now, Ivy. You just can’t go freely around like you did before.”
“I reckon I can if there’s miles of land that’s mine. I suppose I can do what I want to on it.”
“Maybe.” His frown set deep in his brow. “I guess I can send one of the help with you if you’ve got your heart set on bathing in the Platte.”
“Help?” Her heart flipped over on itself.
“Hired women? Ladies who work in the house?”
“I hope I’m not supposed to be in charge of them.” She’d never been in charge of anyone but Ivy Magee. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about that. I reckon they know what to do fine all on their own.”
“They do.” Poor Travis looked more worried by the minute. “But they might need your opinion, or advice once in a while.”
“Don’t know that I can advise anyone who already knows what they’re doing better than I do.” This whole business troubled the daylights out of her.
Travis walked to the shoreline. He stood shoulder to shoulder with her, staring at the water slogging slowly past.
“I reckon you wish someone else was the heir.” It bothered her to think that he did, but she couldn’t blame him for it. “I’ll do my best not to shame you.”
“Shame? I’m so damn grateful for you, Ivy.”
He turned to face her. Those lush green eyes all but made her weak in the knees. They reminded her of home...of the river and the trees. He tugged gently on her braid then let go so quickly that it was as if her hair had burned him.
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he said.
“I’m plum obliged.” She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I reckon I never had a better friend.”
* * *
Ivy had kissed his cheek at noon. Here it was three o’clock on a hustle-bustle street in Cheyenne and he still imagined the warm impression on his face.
If she considered him a good friend, she would not for much longer.
Life as she knew it was about to end and he was the one who was going to snuff it out.
“There’s not a false storefront on the whole block.” Ivy remarked about the city of Cheyenne, as they walked from the livery to the hotel. She looked like a little girl on her first visit to a candy store. Somehow he could not look away from the wonder quickening her expression. “It’s like every one of these buildings is a palace.”
It was clear why she might think so. Cheyenne was among the richest cities in the nation. Some were wealthy cattlemen, some were even titled Englishmen who spent summers in Wyoming and winters on their estates in England.
“You see that building up the street?”
Ivy nodded, her eyes round as full moons.
“That’s the famous Cheyenne Club.”
“I’ll be snakebit! I might know a few of those gents from the Queen. Some of them come to gamble regularly.” She started toward the building. “Let’s stop in and say howdy-do.”
He caught her arm, halting her step. She turned, her eyebrows arched, an inquisitive smile curving her lips—her very pretty lips, he was beginning to notice more and more.
“The wind’s beginning to blow. I think we ought to get to the hotel.” The last thing he wanted was for William English to encounter Ivy before she was ready.
“Maybe in these parts a breeze counts for wind.” She snickered.
“It’ll get worse.”
A train whistle sounded in the distance. She clapped him on the shoulder. “Say! I’ve never seen a train before. Sure would like to.”
Since the train station was in the opposite direction of the social club, he agreed. There was no point in not making her happy in as far as he could.
The trouble was, the closer they got to the train station the more people there were out strolling...and staring.
A woman who dressed as though she obeyed every whim of fashion passed them by, clutching the arm of her rich gentleman.
The woman stopped, gawked openly at Ivy.
“Howdy-doo,” Ivy greeted.
The woman gasped, swished her fancy skirt and hurried on her way.
“Must have got pinched by her corset.” Ivy shrugged, not seeming to recognize the affront the “fine lady” had suffered at her greeting.
Anger frizzled up his spine. He tamped it down, reminding himself that one day soon, Ivy would be the envy of them all.
“You’re right about the wind, Travis.” She clamped her hat to her head. “Good thing Little Mouse is safe in her pouch, otherwise she might blow clean away.”
The train whistle blew again when it pulled into the station. Big wheels screeched on iron rails. A cloud of steam blew away in the wind.
“That’s a thing to behold,” Ivy stated, the reverence in her tone speaking her awe. “Sure would like to ride it one day.”
“From what I’ve heard, by August, the rails will go all the way to Coulson.”
“Might be an easier way to visit Uncle Patrick.”
A woman got off the train just then, her arms laden with baggage. A big gush of wind whooshed along the platform and she lost her balance.
Ivy, being only a couple of steps away, put a hand under her elbow, steadying her.
“Thank you, sir,” the lady said, then hurried on her way.
“Sir?” Ivy laughed, slapped her knee. All at once her smile vanished. “Say...come to think of it, that ain’t so funny.”
She glanced down at her flannel shirt, her worn denims. Her dismay kicked him in the heart.
“You are a lovely woman, Ivy...never think otherwise.” He meant that. The angst he felt for Ivy at the woman’s comment cut him to the quick. “Women dress a bit different here in Cheyenne, that’s all.”
Another gust whipped the hat from Ivy’s head, spun it end over end down the platform.
“Little Mouse!” Ivy cried.
Travis chased the hat down the platform, fearful that the tiny critter would not survive the jouncing.
He knew he wouldn’t be in time to save it from falling over the edge. Only a foot from the drop to tragedy, a hand reached out and caught the tattered hat brim.
“Lose something, Murphy?” William English handed the hat to him, his smile polished but sincere. “Not your usual style.”
“It belongs to a friend.” His nod toward Ivy was brief. In fact, it could have been directed at any one of a dozen people.
“Good to see you back in town.” William’s glance passed over Ivy without really taking note of her. Funny how Travis felt insulted and relieved at the same time. “Did you find our heir?”
“I found her.” Hopefully she was not walking this way.
He glanced back again to be sure. Another fashionable woman was staring rudely at Ivy. This time Ivy was frowning back.
“I’m anxious to meet her.”
“Let’s let her settle in a bit.” Another glance over his shoulder verified that Ivy was coming his way. “We’ll meet up later.”
He hurried back with the hat, nudging the pouch and hoping to feel movement.
“I think she survived,” he said.
“She’s an agile little girl.” Ivy opened the pouch. A white nose emerged, sniffing the air. “Who was the handsome fellow who saved her?”
“Me?”
“You’re as handsome a hero as ever was, but who was it who grabbed the hat?”
“William English.”
“My William English?”
“Same one.”
“Blazin’ day! Why didn’t you say so? Let’s go get acquainted.” She turned to hurry after him, but Travis snagged her by her red-flowered belt.
“Not yet... I mean, it’s getting windy and he’s late for an appointment.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want him to miss it.”
With wind now gusting through town like an insane banshee, folks were beginning to take shelter.
He got Ivy to the hotel with only a single rude stare cast at her—this one from a polished and well-buffed gentleman.
Only the fact that Ivy hadn’t noticed kept him from punching the fellow’s arrogant face.
* * *
Here in her grand hotel room, Ivy was passing the time more regally than the queen of England. Of that she hadn’t a single doubt. Funny that Travis would spend so much money on the room when the ranch was in a bad way. Then again, it seemed her father had been all about impressing folks. Travis must be trying to hold the image together.
She wouldn’t mind opening the window to gaze down at the business going on down below. It would remind her of leaning on the rail of the River Queen and seeing life unfold.
The trouble was, there was not much business going on beneath her window. Travis had been right about the wind getting worse. She’d never seen such a blower.
Travis had the room next to hers. There was even a connecting door. That was a comfort since he was the only friend she had within four hundred miles.
For propriety’s sake the door would remain locked, Travis had explained, but if she needed him she only had to knock three times and they could meet in the hall.
That all seemed a bunch of nonsense since they had slept by the same campfire for more than a week with the only wall between them a curtain of flames.
Sometimes, she thought, while fingering the lace curtain at the window, social rules made no sense. Not when it came to travel or to the manner in which a woman was required to dress.
Earlier today, those fancy ladies who had looked down upon her for her clothing had no id
ea that she enjoyed a kind of freedom they could not understand.
Outside, sand pelted the window. It had to be near sundown, but she couldn’t tell for sure with the horizon being obscured.
She figured she still had an hour before dinner at the elegant place that Travis frequented.
“Little Mouse?” she called. “Where’d you get off to?”
The rodent’s sweet white face poked out from under an embroidered pillow on the huge four-poster bed.
Ivy hopped up onto the mattress and held out her palm. “How’s your little leg tonight?” The mouse crawled onto her hand. “That tumbling must have hurt something fierce.”
Little Mouse had been injured when she was attacked by an owl a few months back. Ivy’s makeshift splint had done the job, even though Ivy’s only medical training had come from the books that Uncle Patrick kept in his office, but she did what she could, even when it was on a small scale.
Aboard the Queen, she had come to be known as the healer. She wasn’t really, but when one of the crew needed patching up, they came to her. Anything beyond cuts, bruises and bumps, they would call on the nearest doctor.
“Well, my small friend, you seem to be exploring without a problem.” Ivy set a square piece of cloth on the floor. “Don’t forget to do your business here.”
Ivy walked across the rug barefoot. Plush strands of wool tickled her toes.
“I reckon since dinner is at a high-class place, I should dress high-class. Sure did get a lot of funny looks this afternoon. Ladies would have been fainting all over the boardwalk if they knew you were riding in my hat.”
She sat down at the desk where there was paper, pen and ink.
“It’s a funny picture to imagine. Say...I ought to write to Uncle Patrick, let him know I got here fine and dandy. And that my intended is quite a handsome fellow. It ought to make him feel comforted since I reckon he’s worried.”
She began to scratch some words on the paper, but then remembered that she did not know where to send the letter. Her uncle did not know where he would be settling when they had bid each other goodbye.
She should not have left without knowing. Without her being aware that they had begun, tears dripped on the sheet of paper. How would she find him when she wanted to?
