The Cowboy's Cinderella

by Carol Arens

  It wouldn’t do to go far from the hotel. She was well aware now that she didn’t have a boatload of men seeing to her safety.

  Only one, and he would not approve of this outing.

  Behind the hotel there was a private courtyard with a bench.

  Following a short path, she came to an opening in the shrubbery. She sat on the bench, satisfied to see that the bushes grew taller than her head.

  If such a sanctuary did not currently exist at the Lucky Clover, it soon would.

  Little Mouse wriggled in her hand. Ivy opened her palm. “All right, go have your fun. Just watch out for owls and such.”

  With her arms braced behind her head, Ivy looked up. Millions of stars speckled the black sky, more stars than she could even see.

  As always, she felt small. But somehow, in her smallness, she knew her life mattered. There was a Creator. He had formed her the same as He had the stars.

  That meant there must be a purpose for her life taking the turn it had. She might not care for the road she was traveling, but sometimes the hardest roads led to beautiful places.

  This one was leading to the sister she had always dreamed of.

  Was Agatha looking at the moon right now? Did she have any blurry memories of Ivy? Had she shared the same longings over the years that Ivy did?

  Travis had told Agatha that he was leaving the ranch to try and find her. How would she feel about having a secret sister come home?

  There was so much that she wondered about when it came to her sister.

  Once Ivy got to the ranch she would know firsthand what was ailing her...figure out what was to be done about it.

  All of a sudden, she was impatient to leave Cheyenne, to get to the Lucky Clover.

  Truth to tell, she had been resisting becoming cultured because the sooner she became a society belle, the sooner she would be married.

  That did frighten her some.

  But Agatha was the reason she was doing this. It made no sense to fight the inevitable...the thing she had agreed to do.

  The sooner she learned what she needed to, the better.

  Come tomorrow, Antie would find a new student waiting for instruction...one who was as willing as it was possible to be.

  “Little Mouse,” she called, but quietly. “Time to go back inside. We need our rest if we are to become civilized.”

  It took a moment longer for the mouse to emerge from playing in the shrubbery than it normally did. With relief, Ivy heard the rustle of leaves. Tiny pink feet climbed onto her waiting hand then scurried up her arm.

  Passing under Travis’s window, she glanced up. During the time she’d been out, he had turned on his lamp. She didn’t worry that he was wise to her excursion. If he was, he’d be down here scolding her for being reckless.

  No doubt he was wakeful. He must be worried. So far his efforts to help her learn to be a lady were failing. She was a sow’s ear and no amount of mending was turning her into a silk purse. If she didn’t manage the change, he would lose his home. So would a lot of other folks.

  One of them was Agatha.

  Stars were made for wishing upon so she picked the brightest one.

  “Please make me acceptable for William English,” she said, then blew a kiss at the moon for extra insurance.

  Above her head, Travis’s window slid open. She pressed against a wall where the shadow was deep black.

  “Best put your shirt back on, Mr. Murphy,” she whispered, her mouth going suddenly dry.

  If she had any hope of having an acceptable marriage with William English, she had to forget a few things.

  Like how very muscular and attractive Travis’s naked buttocks were, like how his hand had felt on her breast, how his fingers had flexed ever so subtly when he and she were hidden in her petticoats. And how his lips made her go soft inside even when they barely brushed hers two nights ago.

  Learning to be a lady was going to be a whole lot easier than forgetting how to be a woman.

  Chapter Eight

  On the Fourth of July, Ivy focused her effort on giving away her independence.

  She sat dutifully on a chair while Antie curled her hair with a hot iron. Blond ringlets, stiffened by molasses tumbled from her crown to her shoulders. A twister could spin through the room and she doubted that those pretty springs would sway.

  While her teacher worked, she chatted on about Ivy’s duties as the wife of a prominent man.

  Becoming a lady, she was quickly learning, had much to do with appearing to be dependent on a man. From the way she spoke to the way she moved, it all added up to letting a fellow believe, falsely in her opinion, that a woman needed protecting.

  While she would never truly accept this, she would appear to. And she could hardly avoid the fact that she did need William English—or rather, the protection his money offered.

  She would do her best to give him what he wanted: a wife whose social skills were the envy of all. In return, he would give her what she needed: the funds to keep the Lucky Clover solvent and those who lived there secure.

  But gosh almighty, it wasn’t easy.

  She’d nearly worn the rug bare getting used to those narrow-toed, block-heeled shoes. After a day spent walking around and around in heavy fabric that bulged over her backside in a ridiculous way, she felt equal parts confident and worried.

  The most amazing thing she had learned today was a new respect for the ladies she had maligned over the years. The more delicate gender had overcome some serious challenges just to maneuver safely about.

  She could nearly eat and breathe wearing the dad-gum—the prettily decorated corset, that is.

  Turns out she wasn’t a whole lot different than a pony being broke to the saddle.

  The biggest challenge that Antie now faced in training Ivy, was teaching her to speak properly. Not just with appropriate words, but with those words delivered in the proper tone and at the appropriate time.

  Gosh almighty she was having a hard time taming her tongue. My word, mercy me, yes she was.

  Not having had a woman’s influence growing up, she naturally learned language from firemen, deckhands and roustabouts.

  She’d never really paid attention to the fact that they were not the most cultured of souls. That she, a girl, had grown to be like them.

  In her opinion, it was not a horrible thing.

  But now it was time to live in the real world, to leave behind the carefree youngster and become a woman, a woman of impeccable social manners.

  Gosh almighty—drat it—mercy me, she hoped she could do it.

  “One week, ma chère.” With a frown of concentration, Antie formed curls and placed them just so. The woman sure was dedicated to making Ivy’s hair behave.

  Like the troublesome bustle anchored at her back, her hairstyle had to be of the latest fashion. “We dine at Porter’s. You will steal everyone’s heart.”

  “Last time I tried to eat there, a fellow ended up with a broken nose.”

  “That pompous Charles! This time he—Ohhh!” Antie dropped the iron.

  Ivy shot up from the stool and cupped Antie’s hand. A red welt crossed her palm. Time was important when it came to burns.

  Ivy dashed across the room and snatched up the pitcher of water.

  “Soak your hand. The water’s cold—it will help.”

  “You ran in your dress and shoes,” Clearly, Antie was trying not to admit to the pain. “Well done, ma chère.”

  “I’ve got some aloe salve in my saddle pack.”

  If she ran once, she could do it again. Hopefully she would not have to splint her own leg.

  Dashing across the large room, she pounded on Travis’s door. “Come quick!” she called.

  No sooner had she lifted her knuckles from the w
ood, than the door swung open.

  “Madame burned herself. Go fetch some clean bandages from the mercantile.”

  “I hope it’s still open. The fireworks are starting soon. The store might be closed.”

  “We’d be ever so grateful for your help,” she said, smiling sweetly, experimenting with seeming helpless.

  It was irksome to know that if she wasn’t wearing this restrictive dress she could be back from the store in a blink, and all on her own.

  In the end, she had agreed to wear the frilly trap of her own free will so she blinked and smiled at Travis.

  He looked at her in confusion for a second, but quickly gathered himself and hurried out of the room.

  A few moments after she’d spread the aloe salve on Antie’s hand, Travis ran back into the room, hands gripping a variety of bandages.

  “Thank you, ma chère. It feels much better already.”

  “It’ll smart for a while,” Ivy said, selecting one of the bandages Travis held. “But it doesn’t look like you’ll need to see a doctor.”

  “Travis, mon cher, you will deliver dinner to my room?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he replied.

  “You may dine here with our Ivy and practice mealtime manners.”

  She watched while Travis led the instructor from the room, so full of manly concern.

  Ivy was certain that Madame had not burned her hand on purpose, but she had delivered a lesson with the experience.

  Sure as shootin’, she’d used the situation to illustrate that by seeming in need—by making a man feel important—he would do whatever a lady asked of him.

  Blazin’ day! Ivy had been sweet as pie asking Travis to get the bandages and he’d been back in a heartbeat.

  Somehow, she didn’t like thinking that she could manipulate him in that way.

  But maybe she hadn’t. From all she knew of him, he was kind, dedicated to doing the right thing, even without female trickery.

  Going to the window, she watched folks walking toward the east end of town. That must be where the fireworks were going to be shot off.

  She always enjoyed a good Independence Day show.

  Below, a woman passed by, her gloved hand in the crook of a gentleman’s elbow. She glanced up at his face, her laugh light and twittering. The man seemed pleased and patted her hand.

  Antie hadn’t delivered a lesson on the proper way to twitter yet. Now, watching the woman’s bustle sway away, she knew it was coming.

  “Sure hope she doesn’t make me learn to sway like a flag in a breeze.”

  “You’re pretty enough—you won’t need to sway to get England’s attention.”

  She turned, surprised that she hadn’t heard Travis enter.

  “Howdy-do—gull-durn it—good evening, Mr. Murphy. It’s a lovely evening for a fireworks display. Would you care to join me in watching the show?”

  “It’s just me, honey.” For all the loveliness she was hurling at him, it left him frowning. According to Madame, that was not how it was supposed to work. “You don’t need to put on airs.”

  “In that case fetch us over a couple of chairs. I’ll end up sprawled all over you again if I try and haul them over in this getup.”

  A slow smile curled his lips. His eyebrows lifted. It was clear as a starry night that he remembered how he had touched her when she fell...and that it had only begun as an accident.

  His heated expression sent an odd shiver over her skin.

  A pleasant twisting sensation settled in the mysterious core of her.

  A boom exploded in the sky beyond the window.

  “What was that?” she asked without turning to look.

  “The beginning of the fireworks, I reckon,” he answered, but he was not looking out the window either.

  * * *

  Ivy looked elegant. From her posture to her practiced smile she could not have appeared more of a lady.

  And not just a common lady, but a beautiful one. With her blue eyes scanning the foyer of Porter’s Steak House, so full of humor and curiosity, with her tiny waist and the golden curls cascading down her fair neck, she was exquisite.

  If she was nervous about passing her first test in polite society, she didn’t show it.

  Her emotions seemed as tucked away as any seasoned socialite’s would be.

  When Charles’s head popped up from whatever he was doing behind the counter, Ivy’s only reaction was to clench her fingers on Travis’s sleeve. In spite of the fact that she must be wondering if the pompous fool was going to call her out as a fraud, her smile did not waver.

  Splintered light from the chandelier winked upon her, but in Travis’s opinion, the sparkle came from within Ivy.

  He had every confidence she was going to charm everyone she met. He’d bet a month’s wages that the folks in the dining room would flock to meet Cheyenne’s newest landowner.

  “Allons, ma petite,” Madame du Mer murmured. “Let us slay the dragons.”

  Charles, the first of her challenges, brushed a bit of dust from the lapels of his coat and shot Travis a tight smile.

  As far as greetings went, this one had to be as insincere as they came. A man just didn’t forget someone busting his nose any more than Travis forgot the reason for it.

  “Good evening, Charles,” he stated coolly. “My usual table.”

  Charles gave a curt half bow then came out from behind the desk.

  “This way, Mr. Murphy, ladies.”

  He walked before them, his posture straight as a nail. No doubt he considered himself king of the steak house.

  Travis sure wouldn’t mind knocking him down a peg or two. But this was Ivy’s moment to practice all she had learned. He would not make it more difficult by giving the fellow his due...again.

  “Charles?” Ivy called, her tone sweet as a summer melon. “Haven’t we met before?”

  Charles turned, his brows raised. “I don’t believe so, miss.”

  “Odd. You do look familiar to me.”

  Madame du Mer deserved more than he was paying her. Ivy’s smile appeared nothing if not sincere, which he guessed was far from the truth. And the way she spoke with such refinement?

  If he didn’t know who she was, he would not know who she was.

  “I have an excellent memory for faces. I would not forget yours.” Charles, clearly putting the subject behind him, turned and led the way to the table.

  With a bit of flair, Charles pulled out Ivy’s chair for her. She glided onto it lithely.

  Madame’s smile beamed. Travis felt a good bit of pride in Ivy, too.

  She had worked hard, learned what she did not want to learn. In the moment, she left Travis breathless...and grateful.

  “That’s it. Your face.” Ivy folded her hands demurely in her lap. “You have a distinctive nose, but it wasn’t purple when we met before. You poor man, I hope the break was not too painful.”

  “I do appreciate your concern, miss. It wasn’t a break, though. I simply got hit by a swinging door.”

  “My word, something so simple to leave such a mark.” Ivy sighed, blinked her eyes once.

  With a half bow, Charles pivoted then strode back to his station in the foyer.

  “Gull-durned worm didn’t even know who I was!” Ivy half whispered. She started to grin, glanced about then narrowed her mouth in favor of a ladylike smile. “Reckon that’s a good thing.”

  “That is a marvelous thing, ma chère.” Madame patted her hand. “You have done well.”

  She had done more than well. Only weeks ago he had despaired of her being willing to make the change and now, as far as appearances went, she was a proper lady.

  The problem was, he liked the outspoken Ivy. The one who said what she meant and lived who she was.
<
br />   He liked her more than he ought to.

  “I believe,” Madame said, her voice low so as not to be heard at nearby tables. “That after a successful visit to the dressmaker and one to the mercantile, your testing will be concluded. You may take your heir home, Travis.”

  * * *

  “We’re going home tomorrow, Little Mouse.”

  Ivy sat beside her open bedroom window naked. It was after midnight and while a body couldn’t swim in moonlight, she could let the pure white light bathe her skin.

  She’d been tied up in clothing and fancy manners for too long. For just an hour, she wanted to breathe deeply and allow air to touch her instead of stiff underclothes.

  “Not home to the River Queen, I don’t mean that. I reckon she’s gone by now. But to hear Travis talk, the ranch is a step shy of paradise. Might be it could come to be home.”

  A breeze slid in through the window, drying the sweat that the hot July night had slathered her in.

  “I’m nervous, but reckon I’m ready to go. Didn’t do half bad on my lessons, I’m proud to say. I only tripped on my dress and cursed the one time. Even a born and bred lady would cuss if she found herself suddenly neck-deep in a smelly horse trough.”

  And it was a shame about the gown. Antie hadn’t raised much of a fuss about it though. Travis had even laughed.

  “Felt like there was pond scum all over my skin. I can’t say I minded using that lavender soap for my bath. Can you smell it still?”

  She lifted her hand to Little Mouse who was exploring the windowsill. The mouse sniffed then sat and cleaned herself.

  “I do like fancy soap. Makes me smell like a flower. Say, you look a mite pudgy around the middle. Too much bread I reckon. Once we get to the ranch it’s seeds and fruit for you.”

  Ivy rested her arms on the sill then cradled her chin on them.

  “Just look at all those stars...and the moon so round and bright. You reckon Agatha is watching them right now, too?”

  Finished with her cleansing, Little Mouse hopped off the windowsill then hurried across the floor. Ivy turned on her stool to watch her scramble up the quilt and into her small house.

  “What are you doing up there, Ivy?”