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The Cowboy's Cinderella
Carol Arens
His Fair LadyThe only life Ivy Magee has known is aboard a gambling boat. Until cowboy Travis Murphy arrives with the startling revelation that she’s inherited a ranch. Ivy must now leave her home behind and put aside her tomboyish ways.To save the ranch, Travis knows Ivy must marry a wealthy stranger. And if that means teaching her to become a lady, then so be it. Except, being a part of Ivy’s transformation makes Travis wish he could be the prince to this unlikely Cinderella!
His Fair Lady
The only life Ivy Magee has known is aboard a gambling boat. Until cowboy Travis Murphy arrives with the startling revelation that she’s inherited a ranch. Ivy must now leave her home behind and put aside her tomboyish ways.
To save the ranch, Travis knows Ivy must marry a wealthy stranger. And if that means teaching her to become a lady, then so be it. Except, being a part of Ivy’s transformation makes Travis wish he could be the prince to this unlikely Cinderella!
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.
Author Note (#ulink_6503d2f7-6c92-52ed-a2b4-ee12fdc258d0)
Do you sometimes feel like Cinderella, staring out of your kitchen window and watching your dreams ride off without you? I think we all do in one way or another. Perhaps you didn’t get a job you had your heart set on? Perhaps your prince was not charming? Did the home you made an offer on go to someone else?
Ivy Magee knows for certain what she wants from life...until the dream of her heart is snatched from her. Like Cinderella, she never cries, “Oh, poor little me!” She doesn’t jump into a lake, full of woe. She smiles, she works hard, and one day her cowboy prince notices her...and falls desperately in love with her. Not that he can claim her, of course. Travis Murphy is a man bound by obligation. He understands that the woman he loves is meant for another. This is a problem that not even a fairy godmother can fix. But true love can. Given the courage of Ivy, and the devotion of Travis, old dreams fall away and new ones blossom.
Life happens that way sometimes. The things we want most don’t happen, but something better does.
So, my friend, be open to new dreams—because you never know when the glass slipper will fit.
The Cowboy’s Cinderella
Carol Arens
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book. Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.
Books by Carol Arens
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
The Walker Twins
Wed to the Montana Cowboy
Wed to the Texas Outlaw
Linked by Character
Rebel Outlaw
Outlaw Hunter
Stand-Alone Novels
Renegade Most Wanted
Rebel with a Cause
Christmas Cowboy Kisses
‘A Christmas Miracle’
Rebel with a Heart
Dreaming of a Western Christmas
‘Snowbound with the Cowboy’
Western Christmas Proposals
‘The Sheriff’s Christmas Proposal’
The Cowboy’s Cinderella
Visit the Author Profile page at www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Dedicated to the memory of
“the luckiest man in the world”...
my father, Glenn Lester Ebert.
“love you I.”
Contents
Cover (#u54062875-3e06-5b8c-9180-0590d71582b1)
Back Cover Text (#u0573ef8a-b9a4-59f1-9050-8967f8661ef2)
Introduction (#u42067882-f0c5-52ed-9820-aa6f81b8db2d)
Author Note (#ulink_862f0878-2dcc-52a0-bcb9-58a4ce4eb798)
Title Page (#u6a7e3c1b-01fe-52fb-8913-f892e6ddda26)
About the Author (#ubeed9b02-b0dc-58e5-8f3d-d3e5c6aa9c31)
Dedication (#u9ba840ab-5175-5d60-ab53-bea81de9ad5e)
Chapter One (#ulink_fd3adc24-5c2c-5c7f-a8d2-01adec4cb2e0)
Chapter Two (#ulink_96f8a55d-9fd2-521e-b8a1-39145db0b4b7)
Chapter Three (#ulink_675e17c4-913a-5bc7-bab7-7951a3e982da)
Chapter Four (#ulink_79c5852f-2ec8-5b1f-bf48-6d27392434d9)
Chapter Five (#ulink_9dfb2a1c-6831-5242-bc8d-71760ae79e98)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_078334c0-6bb0-52c9-b9b7-d9ed629bf400)
Coulson, Montana, June 1882
“Gull-durned female traps!”
Ivy Magee watched three women dressed in all manner of frippery stroll across the gangplank of the River Queen.
Leaning over the rail of the upper, hurricane deck, she observed their slow, sashaying mosey from the boat to shore.
With all the fussy petticoats, there wasn’t room for all of them to walk side by side. They were trying, though, arms linked and giggling. One wrong step and someone would tumble headlong into the river.
While the image playing in her mind presented a humorous picture—with flailing legs getting all tangled up in ruffles, elegant hair dripping water and mud weeds—Ivy could only pity the woman who would have to launder the muck from the clothes. Sure as shootin’ wasn’t going to be those fancy ladies.
Wasn’t going to be Ivy, either.
Just because she was a female didn’t make her honor bound to clean up after folks. Uncle Patrick was training her to pilot the River Queen. She was happy as a fish in deep water to be his “cub.”
For the life of her, Ivy couldn’t figure the female species out.
Gosh all-mighty! Why would a soul want to stuff her body into whale bones and yards of heavy cloth that would only make her sweat and stumble? If she guessed right, the whole of female creation could not breathe.
“Gull-durned female duds...worst kind of a trap,” she repeated, this time with a dash of scorn.
Sometimes she thought her fellow sex were touched in the head to willingly—even happily—submit to such abuse.
Once again, she was grateful for the soft cotton shirt she wore, for the durable denim pants. Even the belt that held her trousers up was just a strip of red cloth. Its flower print and the bow she fastened it with was all the adornment she needed.
The oldest of the three women, the one walking in the middle, lost her balance when the plank heaved with the current. The young ones tried to set her to rights but they all listed toward the water.
Just in time, young Tom, a deckhand, dashed across the plank to help them rebalance.
Ivy had grown up on this boat. In her twenty-two years, she’d seen that not all of the ladies maneuvering the plank were so lucky. Last fall, one had gone over and washed up half a mile downriver. A couple of roustabouts fished her out a second before her waterlogged skirts dragged her to the Great Beyond.
These ladies were luckier than some. At least they might be, were they not destined for a life of selling their bodies in this wicked town.
Ivy was glad the boat would dock here only one night before turning east toward respectable towns...more profitable ones, too.
The River Queen was unique among the boats that did business along the Missouri. Most of them were workhorses, transporting goods and passengers.
But Patrick Malone, her uncle and the man who had raised her, had a different vision for his boat. The River Queen did transport people and their goods, but it was also a high-class gambling boat.
Like Ivy, Uncle Patrick had spent his life on a riverboat, but a grand one on the Mississippi.
Oh, the stories he loved to tell of a night, when the after watch took over and the boat grew quiet. He’d spend hours spinning yarns about the glory of the old days when floating palaces plied that great and perilous river.
He’d started as an apprentice, a cub. He’d gone on to become the highly respected pilot of the Jewel of the Mississippi.
The tales he’d spun about that huge boat left her breathless. The glitter of crystal chandeliers, the orchestra playing and lots of folks becoming instantly rich, then just as fast, poor again...it was as though she’d seen it all herself.
The events she witnessed through his eyes had been beyond grand, the gentlemen and the ladies all rich and refined, the firemen and roustabouts not refined but strong as bulls, their mighty muscles glistening with sweat in the reflected heat of the fire that kept the floating palaces moving.
Ivy’s favorite stories involved the river pilots, whose uncanny intuition sensed how the river changed, noticed every ripple in the current that might foretell disaster, could see below the water in their mind’s eye, even on a pitch-dark night.
