by Carol Arens
Even though he no longer had his hands on her, his gut twisted. Ivy would be completely unaware of the fact that with each step she took toward the door, the fabric of her nightclothes swayed over the round curve of her bottom.
“Sure do wish there was a swimming hole close by.” Ivy turned, grinned and winked at him.
Hell in a basket! he cried out, but only inside his brain. Ivy Magee could no more be his than the moon.
Chapter Eleven
Walking into the kitchen before daylight, Ivy kicked the hem of her gown with her fancy shoe. How a body was supposed to go riding about a ranch in this getup was hard to imagine.
As soon as the horse started to trot, the dad-gummed bustle was going to spring her out of the saddle. It only made things worse that the dress was yellow. Every bee and hornet on the Lucky Clover would mistake her for a daisy.
But today of all days, Antie had insisted, it was important to look the lady.
Gathering proper manners, Ivy smiled at the women bustling about the kitchen by lamplight.
“Good morning.” She nodded, thinking that they must have been up and busy for a long time since the kitchen was already filled with delicious aromas. Kind of reminded her of the Queen in that way. The boat’s cook was always up well before daylight.
Now there was a comfort.
“Good morning, Señorita Ivy.” Mrs. Morgan returned her smile. “What brings you here so early?”
“Food. I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.” Oh, no, that was not a ladylike response. Antie would take a switch to her if she knew. “I’d like a bite to eat if it’s not too much trouble. Mr. Murphy is taking me riding about the ranch this morning and we are getting an early start.”
“Ah, and you look so pretty. But you are going to visit ranch families, not neighbors. Your gown will be ruined.”
Isn’t that exactly what she’d told Antie an hour back? Looked like Antie was no more used to ranch ways than Ivy was.
“Laura Lee,” Señorita Morgan said to a girl removing a tray of biscuits from the oven. “Fetch your spare riding skirt, and a blouse for your lady boss.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Laura Lee turned to Ivy with a smile. “I do believe we are of a size.”
Laura Lee returned a moment later with a grin and an armload of clothes.
Gosh almighty if there wasn’t a skirt cut like pants so a woman didn’t have to break her neck trying to ride with both legs on the same side of the saddle. Ivy was only now beginning to get the feel of riding a horse as it was.
“I thought you’d need these, too.” Laura Lee handed her a pair of tall black boots, polished to a shine.
Her first inclination was to hoot out loud but she caught herself. Still, clothing that was commonsense and pretty at the same time was something to hoot about, maybe even dance a jig over.
“Thank you, Laura Lee. I’ll return them to you clean and unharmed.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Miss Magee. This is a gift and a little thanks for all you are doing for us. I can replace these clothes easy enough, but our ranch, our home, it can never be replaced.”
“I’m mighty—” Dash it! “Quite grateful. Thank you.”
Being one person in her mind and another coming out of her mouth was plum difficult.
But dunk her in the muddy river if she wasn’t going to do her best to become a lady for the sakes of these women who were freeing her from the dainty gown and helping her into the amazing trouser-skirt...and feeding her while they did it.
She understood why they seemed so happy.
Ivy, of all people, knew how important home was.
* * *
The last thing Travis expected when he’d knocked at Mrs. Flairty’s front door was to hear a scream, to see blood running from the woman’s hand when she opened it to them.
Ivy recovered from the shock quicker than he did and led the injured woman to a chair.
Pulling up a stool, she sat down across from the cowboy’s wife.
While he watched, his stomach rolling over, Ivy turned the wounded hand this way and that, examining the gash that the kitchen knife had made. She didn’t flinch or turn green, like he reckoned he was doing.
“I should have been paying better attention,” Mrs. Flairty said, grimacing.
“I know it hurts, but after a good cleaning and a few stitches it will heal fine. I’ve seen much worse leave barely a scar.” Ivy smiled while she spoke, giving reassurance to her. And to him.
“You have?” Mrs. Flairty’s eyebrows rose in her pale face. “I wouldn’t think a lady like you would have occasion to.”
“Well I...” Ivy glanced quickly at Travis. “This won’t take long. Tell her a funny story, Mr. Murphy, while I work.”
“Once upon a time...” There was a river nymph swimming naked in the river—“There was a horse who—well he...”
“That’s all right, Mr. Murphy...I’ll just remember what it felt like to give birth to Sally. This will seem like a scratch compared to that.”
Just as well, he had no idea what funny thing the horse was going to do. Unable to watch Ivy stitching the wound, he looked out the front door at clouds gathering in the western sky.
The tour of the ranch was going better than he could have hoped for. Ivy played the part of a lady well. But she was who she was. No matter how refined she acted, her friendly spirit, her kindness, shone through.
At the schoolhouse she had played tag with the children. When she assured them they need no longer worry about losing their homes, she accepted their sticky hugs and kisses with genuine happiness.
When he took her on a tour of the bunkhouse, she didn’t turn up her nose at the ripe scent of so many men living close together.
Out on the open range, cowboys tending their herds spotted her and came galloping in to express their gratitude. When occasionally they punctuated their joy with a cussword, her cheeks did not flame. Travis wondered if maybe masculine language made her homesick for the roustabouts on the River Queen.
She didn’t show it if it did.
“There now,” Ivy said. “Keep your hand clean and it will heal just fine. Mr. Murphy? Would it be all right if we send over dinner from the main house for the next week? I don’t want these stitches coming loose.”
“That would be fine, Miss Magee.”
If Foster was looking down, he would be right proud of his heir for watching out for the families of his cowhands.
Ivy stood and removed the blood-soaked apron she had put on but did not return it to Mrs. Flairty.
“I’ll bring it back in a few days when I check on your hand.”
They left a few moments later with a cake wrapped up in a towel and a bushelful of thanks.
“You were wonderful, Ivy. Cool as a stone in cold water.”
“I wasn’t the one being sewed up. She was the cool one.” Ivy grinned, her smile free of mannerly restraint. “I’ve seen worse on the Queen. Are we ready to head home? I want to see my sister in the light of day.”
“I’d like to show you one more thing.”
“There’s more?”
“I think you’ll like it and it’s not far—less than an hour’s ride.”
Half an hour in, the clouds lowered, blackened. Fat warm raindrops pelted down. The ground smelled fresh and damp. He breathed in deep, saw Ivy doing the same.
The trouble was, this time of year a refreshing rain could turn dangerous in a hurry.
“See that tree off yonder? There’s a shelter shed.”
By the time they reached it they would be soaked to the skin. He only hoped they would miss the bruising hail that was probably coming.
* * *
“Better shed those wet clothes, Ivy.” Travis shucked his boots off, then his pants and shirt.
&n
bsp; Ivy’s mouth went a little dry; her cheeks warmed. Even though he kept his red underwear on, it was plastered against his skin, so as far as modesty went, they didn’t provide any.
Not that she hadn’t already seen his backside in the natural, but here, confined in this tight little room, everything seemed more intimate.
Since her underthings were sheer to start with, she figured she better leave her clothes on.
“I don’t mind being wet.”
Travis worked on building a fire in the small hearth. Try as she might to look away from his backside, shifting with his movements, it was plum impossible.
“You’ll mind being sick.”
That was the gull-durned truth. She didn’t much cater to being sick.
“You just keep your head turned that way, Travis Murphy.”
“I’ve seen you in less.”
“From a distance...and I wasn’t beholden to another man then either.”
“You aren’t beholden to him yet.”
“Might as well be, with all these folks depending on me.”
Travis sat down on the floor near the hearth, his back dutifully toward her.
“Join me.” He beckoned a moment later with a wave of his fingers.
“You hungry? We can eat my cake.” She’d made sure to bring it inside after they secured the horses in the shelter attached to the shed.
“I could eat the last crumb.”
“It’s my cake, Travis Murphy. Don’t try and take more than your fair half.”
Lightning scattered overhead, followed by pounding thunder.
Ivy sat down, facing away from him. The heat of the fire warmed her right side, smoothing away the bumps that the chill had pebbled under her skin.
She broke the cake then handed Travis his share.
“How long do you reckon we’ll be stuck here?” she asked, as if this wasn’t a downright cozy place to be.
“An hour, maybe two.”
“No reason not to be comfortable, then.” Sitting on the hard floor for two hours was bound to cause backache.
Pressing back, she leaned into a cushion of warm, firm muscle.
“It’s better this way, don’t you think?”
She felt his lungs expand. He grunted an answer, which could mean yes or no. After a moment of staring at the flames, he nodded.
“Are you homesick, Ivy?”
It took a moment to answer over the lump swelling in her throat. She tapped her fingers on the floor, noticed it then forced them to be still.
“I miss my uncle something fierce.”
“Are you sorry you came? Now that you’re here and have seen the place?”
Hail beat suddenly on the roof, pinging so hard she wondered if it was sturdy enough to hold off the storm.
Travis moved his hand along the floor. His long pinkie finger lined up with her slender one, grazed it.
For some reason that made her heart feel all plush, like it was a cat lying in the sun, stretching and content.
No one could accuse them of inappropriately holding hands, but—gosh almighty—they might as well be for all the awareness there was in the touch.
So no, she wasn’t sorry for this time to be alone with Travis before everything changed. She cherished it.
“Sometimes, there is no going back, as much as we might think we want it.” She leaned her head back. His shoulder blade shifted. With her eyes closed she listened to hail drumming the roof, to wind moaning under the eaves. “I used to look out at the Missouri, with the green trees reflecting on the water, dragon flies darting about and the sky so clear and blue...then I’d think, Dear Lord, have you ever made anything so beautiful? Well, a minute later we’d round a bend and there would be snowcapped mountains so tall and majestic looking, and I’d know that He had. Yes, I am homesick but I wouldn’t change the choice I made.”
“I only hope you always feel that way. I’m responsible for bringing you here. I don’t take that lightly, honey. I want you to be happy.”
“You did what you had to do, same as I did.” His finger stroked the top of hers. “And you never know, Travis. Maybe William English is the one man meant for me. And you can take the credit for my happiness.”
Unless, of course, that one man turned out to be Travis Murphy. Blisterin’ day! If he was, she was in some kind of terrible trouble.
“I—” Travis seemed to lose track of what he wanted to say because he was quiet for a long time. “I want that for you. It’s more important to me than you know.”
Oh, great blisterin’ day!
“I promise he won’t be unkind to you.” Travis wrapped his finger about hers, squeezed. She felt his deep inhalation. “If I hear he is, I’ll shoot him.”
Of course, he didn’t mean it about shooting anyone, but the sentiment made her feel reassured. Travis was a good friend.
One who held her finger to finger, who didn’t turn to gawk at her soaked underthings when he could do so, one who she suspected would return her to her uncle if she asked it of him.
Of course, William English would have to be some fiendish soul in order for her to ask that of Travis.
Now, more than ever, she knew that Agatha needed her, that Mrs. Morgan needed her, and Laura Lee and the schoolchildren, the stable boys and—
Thunder sounded more distant now, like it was moving toward the east. Folks in the main house would be directly under the worst of it. She wondered if her sister was frightened. Did her nurse reassure her or ignore her?
“Where was it you were taking me?” she asked in order to send her thoughts another way.
“That’s a surprise for another time. I won’t ruin it by telling.”
“Did you eat all your cake? I plumb forgot to save some for Little Mouse. Like any sensible soul, she’s partial to cake.”
“How is she adjusting to life on the ranch?”
“She’s happy enough exploring my room. For her, home is in her little cage or my hat. Doesn’t matter much where they are.”
“I wonder what will happen once you share a room with Engl—” Suddenly, he turned. She felt his eyes upon her back. Felt it when his fingers brushed her neck as he shifted her hair from her back to her shoulder. “...to your mouse, I mean. Don’t know how he’d feel about a rodent.”
The heat of his breath grazed her ear. Scoot away, scoot away, her brain screamed. Fickle female that she was, she turned her head so that her mouth was close to his lips.
“I’m good at keeping secrets,” she whispered, her breathing oddly shallow. “He’ll never know...about my mouse.”
Gosh almighty he smelled good. So manly and virile.
With a deep inhalation then a long exhale, he slid away from her, only keeping hold of the hair still twined through his fingers.
“Some secrets just show, even though we don’t mean them to,” he murmured.
He was right of course, so she unwound her hair from his fingers and scooted farther away.
But his gaze glanced quickly over her, just as hers lingered on him.
“I think the storm’s moving on,” he said.
But he was wrong. She feared that it was only beginning.
* * *
It had been a long time since Travis had taken dinner in the formal dining room.
While Foster was alive, dinner in this vast room was commonplace. Travis often ate here with his boss and whatever guests he was entertaining.
After Foster passed away, though, meals at this table became dreary. More often, he ate in his office or in the kitchen with the Morgans.
But this afternoon, when he’d blown in the front door with the wind at his back and Ivy clinging to his arm, he’d found Mrs. Morgan merrily setting the table with all the best china and silver.
Th
e house now had a mistress. Apparently, Mrs. Morgan was determined to fuss over her.
This evening Travis, Madame du Mer and Ivy at her mannered best, gathered at one end of the long table.
“How do you do, Mr. Murphy,” Ivy greeted him with a nod as though they had not just spent the afternoon together in their underclothes.
“I’m delighted to be having dinner with two such lovely ladies,” he answered in kind.
“I trust you had a pleasant day?”
“You ought to know, Ivy, I spent it with you.”
Ivy sighed. Madame frowned.
“I reckon I know you did, but tarnation, I need to make polite talk or Antie will skin me alive.”
“Antie will be disappointed.” Antie arched an eyebrow. “The staff must understand that their mistress is a lady.”
“The staff is not present, Madame du Mer,” he pointed out. “Perhaps Ivy can be herself for a while.”
“This is who our petite is now.”
“Antie is right, Travis...that is, Mr. Murphy. If I am to make a success of things. I need to live this role.”
He ought to be glad of that. It’s what he wanted, but for some reason dinner didn’t seem as appealing as it had a moment ago.
For some reason? He damn well knew the reason. Eleanor Ivy Magee, his river nymph, was changing into William’s prairie queen.
All of a sudden the gravy on his potatoes seemed lumpy, the meat tough. Something wrong was wriggling in his heart—a vain hope that William would change his mind.
Eleanor Ivy Magee had come to mean too much to him.
One of Mrs. Morgan’s serving girls carried in a dessert tray. She set a piece of cake in front of each of them.
“Thank you, Laura Lee,” Ivy said with a formal, but warm smile.
“My pleasure, miss.”
Laura Lee, blushing from the apparent gratification of serving cake to the boss lady, half skipped from the dining room and into the hallway.
In a bit of bad timing, she nearly collided with Hilda Brunne in the hallway, carrying a tray of food.
“You clumsy oaf! Have a care for your betters!” Hilda glanced sidelong into the dining room, spotted Travis and smiled at him as though she had not just scolded the kitchen girl. “Sweet thing that you are, Laura Lee.”
