The Cowboy's Cinderella

by Carol Arens

  Ivy stood suddenly, her chair scraping across the floor.

  “Mrs. Brunne,” she said mildly, but Travis figured she was as hopping mad over Hilda’s rudeness to Laura Lee as he was. “If you want to keep your position at the Lucky Clover, you will treat your fellow employees with respect. If that meal is for my sister, you may leave it here. And bring Agatha down. She will dine with us tonight.”

  Hilda’s eyes narrowed at Ivy defiantly. That was something Travis had not seen before. He’d heard stories once in a while from others, but with him she had always been professional, even sweet natured.

  “I’m sure you mean well, Miss Magee, but routine is routine. I will not have my... Miss Magee’s stomach soured by the change.”

  “I insist,” Ivy answered, her smile sweet but determined looking.

  “Good evening to you.” With that, Hilda presented her back then continued down the hallway toward the back stairs.

  Ivy sat back down in her chair with a thump. She drummed her fingers on the table, her eyebrows arched high in her forehead, glancing between him and Madame.

  “Blisterin’ day! That woman gets under my skin.”

  “She has no culture,” Madame declared. “How is she to care for a young lady?”

  The big clock at the far end of the room ticked away two minutes of silence during which Ivy’s face became increasingly flushed.

  “I’ve been here for more than a day and still haven’t met my sister.”

  All of a sudden Ivy lurched to her feet, gathered up her skirt and looped it over her arm. With an abrupt spin, she went after Hilda Brunne.

  Blisterin’ day indeed!

  Chapter Twelve

  Hilda’s rush down the hallway was slowed some by the food clattering on the tray, but she was still a good distance ahead.

  And she was quicker than Ivy would have given her credit for. Maybe she was younger than she let on.

  Hilda made it to the door. While balancing the tray on one hand, she dug into the pocket of her stark black dress and retrieved a key.

  With a backward glare, she slipped inside.

  Ivy heard the lock slip into place.

  If she had to break down the door, she would not be denied seeing Agatha.

  She pounded on the door. The impact made her bones hurt, a splinter jabbed her palm. It didn’t matter. She’d chew through the blasted wood if she had to.

  “Open the dad-gummed—” Ivy caught herself, took a breath. She was the one in charge, the lady of the ranch. “I insist that you open the door.”

  The only answer was silence, then the sound of the tray being slammed down on a table.

  Ivy had never considered her temper to be out of the ordinary, no hotter than anyone else’s. But it flashed through her now as hot and quick as a boiler explosion.

  She raised her foot, ready for another attack on the door.

  She heard a jingle.

  “No need to break a foot, Ivy.” Travis handed her a ring of keys, the one she needed pinched between his fingers.

  She drew in a composing breath, went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Antie stood beside him, frowning. Ivy reckoned she ought to have kept that kiss in her mind, but she was downright grateful to have the key.

  A lecture was coming later, she saw it in her teacher’s severe expression.

  Ivy shoved the key into the lock, turned it. She shoved the door, felt the resistance of someone pushing. Suddenly, it swung open wide.

  “You have no right,” Hilda hissed.

  In the soft glow of the parlor lamp, Ivy saw her sister sitting in a chair—too thin, too pale and very frightened looking.

  Ivy had every right—and obligation—to protect Agatha.

  Still, setting straight who had what rights would wait for another time.

  “Agatha,” Seeing the apprehension in her sister’s eyes, she approached the chair slowly. She knelt down beside it. “It’s me... Ivy.”

  “Mother Brunne?” Agatha cast a frantic look at her nurse.

  Mother? If Agatha really had put Nurse Brunne in their mother’s place, Ivy would have to deal with the woman more subtly than she wanted to. She’d have to bide her time, send her packing when Agatha was ready for it. But oh, how she wished to do it now.

  “I’m your sister, Ivy.”

  Agatha’s hand trembled. Ivy touched it, stroked it gently. But her sister jerked away as though she had been burned. Then she started to weep.

  Hilda reached for a bottle on the table and took the stopper off.

  “Take your medicine like a good girl, Agatha.”

  Agatha tried to push it away. “No, mother, I don’t like it.”

  “You must. You are too frail for all this agitation.”

  Before Ivy could grab the bottle, Hilda pinched Agatha’s hollowed cheeks and forced her mouth open. She poured what was in the bottle down her throat.

  “Good girl,” Hilda crooned. “We’ll both sleep the better for it.”

  Sooner than Ivy would have expected, Agatha’s eyes took on a faraway look then her eyes fluttered closed.

  “What have you given her?” Ivy swiped the bottle out of Brunne’s hand and sniffed the rim.

  “Nothing harmful.” Hilda glowered at Ivy over the rim of her spectacles. “Laudanum is a common treatment for the frail of spirit.”

  “Ivy,” Travis took her by the elbow. “Your sister is asleep. There’s nothing to be gained by staying.”

  Sure would be if that balcony was not outside the window.

  But Travis was right. A confrontation with Hilda Brunne would help nothing at the moment.

  “We’ll speak of this in the morning, Mrs. Brunne,” Travis said before going into the hallway.

  “Oui.” Antie shot “Mother Brunne” a scowl then followed Travis out of the room.

  Ivy lingered behind in the doorway.

  “I suspect that you do not have my sister’s best interests at heart. I will not allow you to harm her.”

  “Harm my sweet Maggie? You are the one who used to pull her pretty red hair, Bethy.” All of a sudden Hilda Brunne frowned, shook her head then blinked. “Ivy I mean... I simply misspoke, but the truth remains that even as a baby you were a troublesome one.”

  “I reckon you are going to find me even more troublesome now.”

  * * *

  Guilt kept Travis from falling into bed and into the arms of oblivion where, he imagined, he had been for too long.

  Why was Agatha really frail? It was true that the near-fatal fever had left her bedridden and the doctor warned them that it would take her a long time to recover. But had Hilda Brunne kept her weak intentionally? It made no sense why she would have, and it wasn’t unheard of for women to be kept content by a dose of laudanum now and then.

  With a good night’s sleep impossible, he did what he often did when worried. He walked.

  Out among the trees and the stars, he listened to the wind blow the treetops, seeking peace of mind.

  “She’s scared of me, Little Mouse.”

  Ivy’s voice came from behind a tree a short distance away. The white ruffle of her nightgown peeked out from behind the trunk where she sat on the ground.

  He ought to do the sensible thing and hightail it for the house. He knew how sheer that gown was, even covered by a robe but—

  “It’s festering me, wondering how long Agatha’s been getting poisoned.”

  That very thought was festering at him as well. Had he been blind when it came to Agatha’s care? Had he simply assumed that Brunne knew what was best for the young woman she’d raised?

  “Ivy?” he called, but quietly. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Grumbling to my furry friend.”
<
br />   “You decent enough for company?”

  Wind shuffled the leaves of the trees but Ivy remained silent.

  “My clothes are dry,” she said at last.

  Taking that as consent for company, he walked around the tree trunk, sat down beside her.

  If he kept his gaze on the full moon peeking through the leaves, maybe he could sit here without feeling things he had no right to feel. Remembering things that would only cause him heartache.

  Things such as how his river nymph had looked, naked in the moonlight that first night. He tried not to recall how she had smelled fresh and green with the Missouri as her perfume.

  “You’re worried,” he said.

  “Would be, I reckon, if I wasn’t planning on taking charge of my sister’s care.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Sure am. There’s some things I don’t understand.” He heard the fabric shift across her chest when she shrugged but didn’t dare look at her.

  “Like how we didn’t notice what was happening with her?”

  “My pa...he should have.”

  The mouse crawled upon his knee. He touched the small white head with his thumb.

  Odd that a wild creature could be so tame, so charming even.

  In a way, the critter was like Ivy. A free spirit who had come to abide by the rules of society.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if English would ever know who Ivy really was, if he would come to love her like he—

  With a start, he jerked back from finishing that thought.

  Hell’s beans! Just because he refused to think something didn’t mean that he didn’t feel it.

  Double damn hell’s beans!

  “Your Pa began to take sick a short while after Agatha’s fever. It was a slow sickness, but as he got weaker he trusted Agatha more completely to Brunne’s care.”

  “Sounds to me like she’s always been sickly.”

  “That’s what everyone said. I was just a kid and accepted it. But I remember thinking maybe she was overprotected more than sickly. When I became a cowhand, all I saw were cattle for long periods of time. I’m sorry, Ivy, we all just trusted what Hilda told us, that Agatha was frail and the excitement of being out and about would harm her. It could be true, I reckon. I’m just sorry I never questioned anything.”

  “It was my pa’s place to worry, not a boy finding his own way.” Ivy shook her head. Her hair shimmered in the moonlight when the strands shifted. “Wonder how long she’s been taking that laudanum. It could be to blame for her sorry state as much as the fever.”

  “I ought to have paid more attention, Ivy. I’m not a boy any longer.”

  She punched him in the side with her elbow. The wind caught a wisp of her hair and blew it across his chest.

  “I reckon I noticed that, Travis.”

  It would be so easy to reach for her, feel what was barely hidden under her nightclothes and show her the man he had become...but that way lay disaster for everyone he loved.

  If he had betrayed Agatha by his inattention, he would not do so again by forfeiting the only home she had ever known.

  Ivy was meant for William English, not Travis Murphy. He made this a litany in his mind, repeating it over and over.

  Because day by day, it felt more like Ivy was meant for him—for Travis Murphy and no one else.

  “If you want to terminate Hilda’s employment, I’ll do it.”

  “Can’t rightly see how we can. Looks like my sister thinks the witch is her mother. I wonder what the sudden separation would do to her.”

  “I’m sorry for that, Ivy.”

  “Why? I don’t hold it against you. I just can’t figure how my father could have quit seeing her when it seemed he cared so much for everyone else.”

  She lay her head on his shoulder, sighed. “Folks are just complicated I reckon.”

  “I think his true love was this ranch,” he said.

  The thought was unsettling because English was much like Foster in his dedication to a goal. Would Ivy be someone that her husband barely noticed?

  If he were free to wed Ivy, Travis would be aware of her every moment of his life.

  * * *

  Coming downstairs the next morning Ivy found Travis pushing the parlor furniture against the walls.

  “Antie’s ordered dance instruction before breakfast.”

  “I already know how to dance.”

  Dance lessons were not on her mind just now. Her sister was.

  “Show us, ma petite,” Antie said, coming into the parlor carrying a tray filled with coffee and sweets. “We will see where to begin.”

  Wasn’t this a waste of time? She was nearly as good a dancer as she was a gambler. All the men on the boat said so.

  “All right, give me room.”

  Travis and Antie took a few steps back.

  “More room than that.”

  Antie placed the tray on a table then the pair of them backed up to the wall.

  If dancing was what they wanted, dancing they would get. The sooner they witnessed her skills, the sooner she could deal with her sister’s welfare.

  She began as she always did with a wide grin and her toe tapping. Next, she slapped her thighs and stomped out a rhythm, which was plum hard to do in this dress. When she shouted her ending “Yee-haw,” she was nearly breathless. Dancing a jig was a world easier in trousers.

  “That was...” Madame stammered. “It was quite...”

  “Rousing.” Travis clapped three times. “Lovely...energetic.”

  “Seems to me the pair of you wouldn’t have your mouths hanging open if you thought so.”

  “So full of youth and energy,” Antie said. “But when you become Mrs. English, the dances you will need to know are a bit, well, different.”

  Fancy is what she meant. She’d heard of elegant dances, even seen them done a time or two. Right now it all seemed so frivolous given that Agatha was upstairs being drugged.

  “Monsieur.” Antie nodded to Travis. “You will show your partner the position to begin.”

  Travis stepped forward, gave her a polite nod, then placed his big, warm hand on her waist. If she didn’t have other things on her mind, she might enjoy learning to waltz, after all.

  Next, he took her hand, placed it on his shoulder and smiled. She could hardly object to that and was surprised that her instructor in all things respectable was not raising a fuss.

  He trailed his fingers down her other arm, his touch as soft as a secret whisper. This did make Antie tsk-tsk. But when Travis took her hand, held it out and up, her teacher nodded her approval.

  “I didn’t reckon a cowboy knew how to waltz.”

  “It’s the Westernized version. It wouldn’t do in royal circles.”

  “I doubt we’ll be dancing with the king of England anytime soon.”

  Antie began to count out time. Travis led her this way and that. She stumbled into his arms two times by accident, then twice more on purpose.

  It hadn’t been a lie when she said she was a good dancer, so she caught on to the cowboy version of a waltz quickly.

  After an hour she was comfortable, feeling the count of the steps, imaging them to music.

  It seemed as natural as a bee gathering pollen to be held in Travis’s strong arms, to let him glide her about the parlor in a melodic embrace. Well, melodic in her mind since there was no fiddler at hand.

  She could only wonder if getting lost in one’s partner’s gaze was a common part of the waltz, or perhaps this was special to her and Travis.

  More than special. Compelling, intimate, and something she doubted she would feel when the time came to dance with her future intended.

  “Très bien, ma petite.” Antie shooed them apart. “Mr. English will b
e pleased. Now you may eat.”

  Ivy blinked twice, clearing the dreamy haze swirling in her brain. She’d been so caught up in Travis that she’d plum forgotten this morning’s goal.

  “Gosh almighty!” She grabbed three pastries off the tray. “I’m having breakfast on the east porch with my sister.”

  “I’ll help you bring her downstairs.” Travis followed her up the rear stairway. “What did Mrs. Brunne have to say about this?”

  “I reckon we’re about to find out.”

  It sure did feel reassuring to have him at her back.

  * * *

  If Ivy still had trouble maneuvering in the restrictive clothing, it was not apparent in the moment.

  She looked like an avenging angel in red plaid charging up the steps and brandishing croissants.

  Couldn’t rightly say she sounded like an angel. With every step she built up a bigger head of steam. Words that she must have learned from her river friends trailed behind her.

  Approaching the door to Agatha’s room, she balled her fist, raised it to pound on the door.

  Half a second before impact she dropped her hand and spun toward him.

  “Better calm me down before I scare my sister again.”

  He wasn’t sure calming was possible, or if he should even try. It was becoming apparent that whatever fury Ivy released upon Hilda Brunne, the woman probably deserved.

  It angered him that her smile had deceived him over the years. The woman he’d known was congenial. Although, thinking about it now, she had become that way after Foster died and he took over.

  Had her smiles all been a ruse to make sure he did not see the person beneath it? A twinkle to blind the eye of the boss?

  Taking Ivy by the shoulders, he drew her away from the door. It might not be wise to let the nurse know they were outside.

  “Act like you would around your mouse. Calm voice, tender touch.”

  “I feel more like a lion than a mouse, but I’ll try.”

  The sound of Brunne’s voice came through the door, muffled, the words indistinct.

  Quietly, Ivy cupped her hand and put her ear to the door.