The Cowboy's Cinderella

“Ivy tells me you’ve been looking for a woman named Eleanor. May I ask what her last name is?”

“Eleanor Magee, sir.” He swiped his hand across his face, trying to rub away some of the weariness. “It’s most urgent that I find her.”

The captain sighed, shook his head.

“You have found her, son.”

Chapter Three

The noon hour was later than Ivy liked to rise, but the sock in her drawer was stuffed with money so the late night spent on the River Belle had been well worth it.

While quickly plaiting her hair in a single braid, she imagined the happy look on her uncle’s face when she handed over her winnings. If gambling kept up like it was, the River Queen could sail the Missouri for years to come.

She was smiling and tying the red-flowered belt through the loops of her pants when there came a vigorous pounding on her door.

She opened up with a grin on her face, ready to greet her visitor.

“Captain wants to see you in the pilothouse.” Tom announced without his usual smile. “Like to know what you did to make him so out of sorts. We’re all paying for it, so you know.”

Generally, Uncle Patrick was a man of slow temper.

What in good glory could have happened?

She watched Tom stomp away without closing her door behind him.

Following him outside, she shut the door then climbed the stairs to the pilothouse two at a time.

“Uncle Patrick! Tom says you...oh, hello there Travis.”

Uncle Patrick did look as glum as Tom described. He stood beside the wheel with his fist gripped tight on a polished spoke.

Odd that he didn’t look up at her greeting. No...and neither did Travis.

That handsome fellow sat on the bench, his hands hanging between his knees while he stared at the high shine on the floorboards.

Something was wrong! Misfortune of some kind was about to rain down upon them. Sure did look like it had to do with Travis.

“Gosh almighty, Uncle Patrick, why the long face?”

Silence answered her question. Worry made her heart pound and her belly flip.

“Somebody sick?”

More silence.

“Dead?”

“We’ve located Eleanor,” Travis finally said with a sidelong glance at her.

Blamed if that glum look didn’t make her feel like she needed to run to the rail and vomit. His expression looked as miserable as hooves stuck in deep mud. Eyes that only yesterday shone bright green were the color of dull moss.

“She’s dead?” Poor Travis! He would lose his ranch.

Travis shook his head.

With a nod, Uncle Patrick indicated that she should come closer to him.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, he circled her shoulder, tugging her close. His fingers bit to the bone.

Gosh almighty, his touch had never bit to the bone, even when he was in a temper.

“She’s you.”

“And you’re the Queen of Sheba!” This was one grand joke that her uncle and Travis were playing, but she would go along, laugh out loud until they did too. “And I reckon Travis is your trained leopard.”

She slapped her thigh, guffawed...but...something was still wrong. Humor had not brightened the desolate mood beating against the walls of the pilothouse.

The men were not laughing.

Travis stood up, shoved both hands in his britches pockets.

And just there, at the corner of Uncle Patrick’s eye, a tear welled.

“When I went to bed last night, my name was Ivy...still was when I woke up this morning, far as I can tell.” As much as she willed it not to, her voice quavered.

“Eleanor Ivy Magee,” Uncle Patrick said, “is the name you were born with.”

“You’re making that up!” She gasped, but she couldn’t imagine why he would. Unless—

“I reckon you’re just wanting to get me married off to some rich fellow so I can’t be a river pilot.” Her voice was rising now...in anger, or panic, certainly denial.

She spun on Travis. “You can’t just make up an heir. I’m not her!”

“Take out your necklace, the one your mama gave you.” Uncle Patrick shoved his hand through his gray hair. “Read the back.”

“I don’t need to read it—I know what it says.” She folded her arms over the ache in her belly. It was exactly thirteen stairs down and twenty-seven steps to the rail and a temporary relief. “Anyone can have a trinket with letters.” Now she was grasping for solid ground and making no sense whatsoever.

She had always known the necklace was special. One of the memories she did have of her mother was of that necklace. She’d sit on Mama’s lap and twist it in her chubby fingers.

“The ranch is yours,” Travis murmured. The line of his jaw looked tight, tense. “All you need to do is claim it.”

“You’ll be secure, have the home and family you ought to have.”

All of a sudden she could not feel her legs. She plopped down onto the bench. The hard wood slapped her bottom.

“I never wanted that, Uncle Patrick. You did.”

“Maybe, but given that I raised you, I figure I have the right to determine what is best for your future.”

“Gull-durn it, Uncle Patrick!” Yes, she did shout that. “If a home and family is all that grand, why didn’t you marry?”

“My life was on the river. It would not have suited.”

Suddenly her legs didn’t feel weak anymore. Anger made them stiff and twitchy. She leapt up.

“So is mine!” She braced her feet apart, anchored her balled-up fists on her hips. “I’m of age. You can’t force me to leave the Queen. You’d have to hog-tie me and—”

“I’m selling her.”

Words of defiance, of independence died in her sagging jaw.

“You aren’t! You love the Queen.”

“No, Ivy, I love you. This grand life we’ve lived...it’s dying. Captain Cooper of the River Belle has made me an offer. At this point in my life I’d be a fool to turn it down.”

“You can’t sell her. She’s our home.”

He shook his head. The sorrow in his expression crushed her heart. He loved this boat as much as she did.

“Mr. Murphy will take you back to your ranch. You’ll marry and give me lots of grandbabies. You’ll be surprised at how good your life will be.”

“I’m piloting a boat. Maybe not this one...but I’ll do it. Just you wait and see!”

She sounded like a twelve-year-old not getting her way; she knew that but could do nothing to act otherwise.

Uncle Patrick turned his back on her. Gripped the wheel he cherished in both fists.

“Be ready to travel at sunrise,” he stated.

She’d be ready to travel all right, but not to the Lucky Clover Ranch.

She spun about, nailed Travis Murphy with a glare.

“Why you low-down—” She caught her breath at the brokenness of his expression. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Ivy. I didn’t know who you were.”

She lifted the necklace from her throat and shoved it at Travis’s balled-up fist. It tinkled when it hit the floor.

While it hurt like a hornet’s sting to give up the remembrance of her mother, the past was the past and she was headed to a future of her own making.

* * *

What Ivy needed was time, Travis decided. Time to think things through. That’s why he didn’t go after her when she ran out of the pilothouse yesterday afternoon.

That’s why he’d spent fifteen minutes knocking on her door this morning only to discover that she had fled in the night.

Just when he thought his problem had been solved, he found himself chasing the heir to the Lucky Clover all over again...and rain was on the way.

Travis rode alongside the river, guessing that’s the way Ivy had gone. The Missouri was her comfort and chances were that’s where she would seek solace.

“I reckon if she’s set on piloting a boat, she’ll be looking for work on one,” he explained to the horse. It made sense, when he said it out loud.

Late in the afternoon he came upon a small paddle wheeler docked at the river’s edge. When he asked about Ivy, he discovered she’d been there.

It irked him that the men were still laughing at her...at a woman thinking she could do a man’s job.

But it worried him too. Ivy had been sheltered, had grown up under the protection of her uncle and the men on the River Queen. She didn’t know the dangers that could befall a woman alone. Sooner or later she would come upon a man who wouldn’t be laughing.

At twilight, the rain began to fall. He reckoned he ought to seek shelter, but he’d rather be wet than sit inside warm and dry, worrying about her.

Could be he was a fool and she was the one who had taken shelter, the one who was warm and dry.

“Well, hell,” he muttered, riding past an inn whose welcoming fire glowed through the big parlor window.

She might have taken shelter there, but he doubted it, given that she had left a note with her uncle, giving him all of her money and begging him to take it and not to sell the Queen.

In Travis’s opinion, money had nothing to do with the sale. Patrick Malone, captain, pilot and owner of the River Queen, would be well set financially. But the man understood that the river life was taking its last gasp. He wouldn’t want his niece wasting her future on it.

Travis took off his hat, shook out the water gathering in the brim. His coat was not yet soaked through, but it soon would be.

If Ivy hadn’t taken a room at the inn, she couldn’t be far ahead of him, given that she was on foot.

He’d ride another hour before he sought shelter.

As luck would have it, fifteen minutes later, he spotted a campfire among the trees. He tethered his mount to a bush beside the river, then walked fifty feet through the woods toward the fire.

Ivy sat with her back toward him, huddling under the shelter of a tarp that she had strung across some branches. She must have heard him crunching across twigs and fallen leaves, because she turned her head, glanced at him then back at the flames.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“I reckon I was harsh on you. This isn’t your doing.”

It felt to him like it was all his doing.

Maybe he should go home and try once again to convince William English to marry Agatha instead. She was a Magee, just as Ivy was.

But Agatha was not the heir. She was an invalid and not the sort of woman the neighbor needed to promote his political career.

“I’ll take your word that she is a lovely person, Travis,” William had argued the last time Travis suggested Agatha instead of Ivy. “But as far as I can tell, she never comes out from the shadow of her balcony. The couple of times I’ve seen her she just sits in her chair watching the world go by. There is no spark of animation in her. I need a woman who is genteel, gracious—ready to get out among the people, shake hands and win votes.”

And have children. It was William’s firm belief that a man without children was unelectable. All of Travis’s arguments ended there. No one would expect Agatha to fulfill that demand.

“There’s an inn a ways back,” he said, crouching beside her. “It’ll be warm and dry. We can talk.”

“I’m dry enough where I am.” She looked at him then. “But you aren’t...if I were you I’d scoot closer to the fire.”

“All right, I reckon we can talk here. But if you start to shiver, I’m hauling you back to the inn whether you want to go or not.”

She glanced at the dreary sky and shook her head.

“Did my uncle change his mind about selling the Queen?” Her eyes seemed red and swollen. It cut him to the quick to know she’d been weeping. “I reckon he was threatening to sell in order to get me to leave with you.”

“I’m sorry, Ivy. He went to the captain of the Belle this morning...they made an agreement, shook hands on it.”

Rain tapped on the tarp. Ivy drew her knees to her chest and hid her face. When she looked up a single tear rolled over the curve of her cheek.

“The Queen is his life.” She wiped her sleeve across her face. “Can’t imagine what he’ll do now.”

“Look, Ivy, I spent a long time talking to your uncle the other night. The boat is not his life...you are. The decision he made, it was because it was best for you.”

“That’s not for anyone but me to decide.”

“As right as that sounds, sometimes life decides for us.”

She reached across the distance separating them and squeezed his hand briefly. Maybe she forgave him...a little bit anyway.

“Reckon you didn’t feel so in control of life when your folks died and left you alone.”

“I wanted to crawl in the grave with my ma and pa.” Even now it was hard to think about the desolation he’d felt. “But your father was there with his big hand on my shoulder. After a while I was glad to be alive after all.”

“Well, ain’t I a sniveling ninny?” She straightened her shoulders, flashed him an unreadable glance then wriggled her fingers at the flames. “Boohooing like a spoiled child.”

“Not a spoiled child, Ivy. The life you wanted has just been taken from you. You’ve a right to your grief.”

“I tried to get a job on a boat, got laughed at all the way back to shore...and all because I was a woman.”

“I know...I spoke with the crew. I believe you could put their skills to shame seven days a week—I reckon that’s what scares them...having a woman do a better job would shame them. It’s easier to hide behind laughter.”

“Sounds like you know something about that.”

“Your father raised me like I was his son. There were some early on who thought I got my position because of it. Thought my job ought to have been theirs.”

“I bet you worked twice as hard just to prove them wrong.”

“And you know something about that.”

She nodded, gazing quietly at the fire.

“I have a sister?” she murmured at last. “I ought to have known it...the way I always felt a part of me was missing. Sort of like, a person standing in the sunshine and not seeing her shadow...if that makes any sense. All those years I thought it was just dreams and child’s play because I wanted a sister so badly. Now I know all along I was missing Agatha.”

Ivy’s hat lay beside the fire, she turned it so that the pouch was away from the heat.

“Even hearing her name...it doesn’t sound like a stranger’s name. Uncle Patrick should have told me.”

“Right now, I guess he wishes he had. But all he ever wanted was to protect you and honor his sister’s last wish for him to be the one to raise you.”

“Don’t see why he couldn’t have done both,” she grumbled then sighed deeply. “Can’t see the harm in telling the truth.”

“At first, when your parents divorced, there were plenty of hard feelings. Your father wouldn’t let your mother take both of his girls. Your uncle says that your mother was afraid that if your father knew where you were, he’d take you back. He had the money and the power to do it. It was your mother’s dying wish that Patrick raise you...so he kept your past a secret from you and everyone else.”

“All I ever knew was that my pa was a good man, a rancher who died young. How is it that you know so much when the only thing I know is a bald lie?”

“Like I said, your uncle and I talked for a long time. Everything he did was out of love for you. Even selling the boat. He didn’t come to his decision to do it without a lot of thought. I told him all about the ranch and about William English.”

“Who’s that?” she asked, her expression suddenly wary.

“The man who hopes to marry you.” There was no point in denying it.

“Gull-durned fellow, doesn’t know a whit about me!”

No he did not...and when he did, would the deal be off? William was expecting a high society bride, one of impeccable manners to charm voters and help accomplish his political ambitions.

Travis’s stomach felt hollow at the thought. Ivy was not the type of bride English was expecting.

In the end, it might not matter since there was every chance that Ivy would refuse to come with him.

“I got any other relations I don’t know about?”

“Only Agatha, but the folks at the ranch, they all feel like family.”

“Tell me about them, might help if I know.”

Help what? Her decision, he hoped.

“It’s like we’re a big family...there’s a lot of people involved in running the ranch. In the house we have Maria, she’s the head cook. Then there’s the girls who work under her, mostly the daughters of the hands. There’s Rebecca, the housekeeper who keeps things neat and tidy with her crew of girls. There’s Master Raymond, the schoolteacher for the children...the adults too, when things slow down for the winter. There’s Hilda Brunne, Agatha’s nurse. We’ve got cowboys, most with families and we have caretakers who keep the ranch in running order. Arthur runs the stable along with the three boys he’s training. Wouldn’t want to forget Elise, she does the household laundry. We’d be ripe smelling without her, then—”

“I think I’m getting dizzy. That’s a lot of folks. Reminds me of the Queen with everyone having a part to do.”

“It’s a lot like that, but on the land not the water.”

“Got any rivers for swimming on all that land?”

He hated to dash the hope suddenly lighting her eyes, but, “There’s water, we call it a river, but it’s not anything like your Missouri.”

“Don’t reckon it’s my Missouri anymore.” She picked up a stone beside her foot, tossed it into the fire. “Tell me more about Agatha.”

“Your uncle says it broke your mother’s spirit when she had to leave Agatha behind. Later on, your father told me he loved your mother, for all that they didn’t suit. It wasn’t for spite that he kept Agatha, but through her he hoped to keep part of his wife.

“I never met your mother. The two of you were gone when Foster took me in. From what he’s always told me about her, I reckon you take after her.”

“I don’t recall much about Mama, just flashes of memory...a picture here and an image there. I want to know about my sister. What is she like?”

“She’s something of a recluse...and shy. Not much for conversation. I’ve tried to engage her but she’s just not interested in much of anything...especially lately.”

“Was she always withdrawn?”

“When I was a boy, I never paid attention, really. She was just a little girl and I had my own growing to do. But I do recall one day asking your pa if she could ride with me. He said she was sickly and he would not risk her health for a bit of fun. Mrs. Brunne, her nurse, agreed with him. A few years ago, Agatha nearly died of a fever. It left your father shaken and even more protective than he had been. According to Mrs. Brunne, she became unable to walk. The things she likes are reading and sitting on her balcony.”

“Gosh almighty, I know something about fevers, but I never heard of one leaving a person lame.”

Ivy stared at the flames without speaking. Rain tapped on the tarp. Travis’s heart beat triple time because he figured Ivy was going over what he had told her—possibly making up her mind about things.

“Unless I agree to go with you to marry that man...” Ivy’s voice was barely above a whisper. It almost seemed as though she was talking to herself. “...the ranch will be lost and my helpless sister will have no home.”

Travis nodded his head. Losing the ranch would be hard on everyone but it would be especially ruinous for frail Agatha.

“I can’t rightly say I want to get married, especially to some stranger.” Ivy gazed over at him, her eyes narrowed. “Can’t quite figure why he’d want to marry me either. Maybe he’ll just give you a friendly loan, being neighbors and all.”

“He needs the ranch. He’s running for territorial legislature of Wyoming so being the owner of respected property will buy him votes.”

“Gosh almighty,” she murmured then gazed out at the rain dripping from the tree branches all around.

“All day long I’ve been walking and thinking, thinking and walking, my head all abuzz...and, Travis, I want to be with my sister.”

His heartbeat raced, he began to sweat even though he was cold.

“And I sure don’t want the two of us living in a tent beside the road.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Looks like you’ve got yourself an heir, Travis Murphy. As long as I can bring my mouse.”

He hugged her quick and hard, couldn’t help it. “Bring a dozen if you want to!”

“One’s trouble enough.”

“Let’s go back to the inn. It’s not far.”

“Your horse would appreciate it. Poor thing’s getting soaked.”

He stood, placed her hat on her head then gathered up the tarp.

“You won’t be sorry, Ivy. I swear on my life you won’t be.”

“I’ll ask one thing.” She touched his arm. He liked the feel of her fingers there. He liked the way her eyes looked extra blue with raindrops spattered on her lashes. “Will you take me back to the River Queen? I need to make peace with my uncle. I promise I won’t carry on and beg to stay. Just... I need to say my goodbyes.”

“I’ll do anything, Ivy...anything you ask.”

Whatever was in his power, he would do it.

* * *

She’d vowed not to wail and carry on, but the promise was proving hard to keep.

“Goodbye, Tom,” she said. Tom was the last of the crew she embraced in a hug. She held on a little longer than the boy might be comfortable with, but there was still one person to bid farewell to and she was putting it off.

Uncle Patrick. She was not sure she could do it.

The weakling in her wanted to run away and wave goodbye from a distance.

The one and only way she would be able to manage was to remember that this was what he wanted for her. What he wanted so badly that he was willing to give up what he loved the most...all right, what he loved nearly the most.

It had taken some time, and some talking with Travis on the way back to the River Queen, to be able to accept it because the way she had first looked at things, the selling of the Queen was a betrayal.

Ivy had always considered the boat to be her legacy...but maybe something else was her legacy instead.

Something big and vast. Acres upon acres of land. To hear Travis go on about it, the whole time his voice filled with wonder.

And it was all hers until she married. Then, she reckoned, it would belong to her husband. That didn’t set well.

A husband could do what he wanted where his wife was concerned. If he decided that she and Agatha ought to live in the barn he had the power to send them there.

Gull-durn it, that was a worry for another time. In this moment she had her heart full of saying goodbye.

Standing on the main deck, she looked up to see her uncle gazing down at her. He pushed away from the rail then began his descent down the steps. She listened to his footsteps, picturing where he was by the creak that each board made. Every sound this vessel uttered was carved on her heart.

She strained to hear because it was like the boat was talking to her, saying its own goodbye.

Travis stood on the shore with a pair of horses. All her worldly goods, which were not many, had been stuffed into the saddle packs.

Travis waved. She nodded back.

Too soon, Uncle Patrick was there, holding his arms wide for her to rush into them.

His embrace swallowed her, was nearly her undoing, but she held together, remembering that she was going to Agatha.

She wanted to say that she forgave him for keeping the secret of her past but her throat was too tight for words.

“I love you, Uncle Patrick,” she managed to whisper against his chest.

“And I love you, my brave little love.” He set her at arm’s length but didn’t let go. “This is for the best.”

She nodded because her voice might betray her and she did not want him to think she believed otherwise.

“What will you do, uncle?”

At least Ivy was headed to a new future...whatever it ended up being. For Uncle Patrick, he’d never lived any place but on the water.

“I’ll think of something.” He patted her head and smiled. “Now that I’ll be a landlubber, maybe I’ll get married.”