Carol Arens - The Cowboy's Cinderella

Well, not the night so much anymore, but the wee hours. Even the gamblers had taken to their beds.

He swiped the ticklish moisture from his neck while he strolled to the side of the boat facing west. Maybe there would be a breeze off the water.

There wasn’t a breeze...but there was a woman.

A naked woman.

Naked women weren’t so unusual in Coulson. But here on the riverboat at this hour? Perhaps she’d been entertaining a gambler.

Propriety told him to look away. Nature urged him otherwise.

The woman stood on the lower deck, her back toward him and her arms reaching for the night sky. When she lifted her face toward the moon, he saw the slim line of her nose but nothing else.

He smiled, wished he was the moonglow. That elusive finger of light touched the curve of her hip, shimmered in the fall of blond hair tumbling down her back. It cupped the lovely round orbs of her bottom.

She bent her knees, pushed off the deck, and dove headlong into the water.

She came up, grinning, then went under again. Her fair-skinned body skimmed inches below the surface of the water as she swam alongside the boat.

Hell, now he wished he was the river, with the right to touch her so intimately.

Spinning about, he strolled toward the other end of the boat, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Whoever the woman was, she was not Eleanor Magee. From what he’d learned from the Pinkerton he’d hired, Miss Eleanor was watched over by her uncle. It was hard to imagine the guardian who would let his niece loose at all hours of the night, who would allow her to leap into a river naked.

The fact that Patrick Malone was Eleanor’s guardian, and that she’d grown up on this boat, was all he knew of Miss Magee. He couldn’t be certain that she even lived here any longer since the Pinkerton had never actually laid eyes on her. For the price Travis had been able to pay, all he’d got for his investment was a bunch of the man’s “educated guesses”...leads that may or may not find the Lucky Clover’s heir.

If the investigator was wrong in his information, Travis had wasted a valuable month away from the ranch.

* * *

The nosey gambler was supposed to be abed but Ivy felt his gaze between her shoulder blades...and lower. She longed to twitch, to ease the burn on her back.

Gosh-almighty, she wouldn’t give the voyeur that satisfaction. This was her boat and her time. To her way of thinking, swimming bare was no sin. Eavesdropping was. Let him be the one to squirm before the preacher of a Sunday.

Doing her best to ignore the intrusive gambler, who was probably too drunk to really see her anyway, Ivy dove into the cool murky water.

She burst the surface of the river, grinning. Wasn’t this as close to paradise as a body could get?

Treading water, she inhaled, savored the scent of damp mud, of verdant plants growing at the water’s edge.

“Howdy-doo, all you fine crickets...good evening, all you fat old frogs.”

She stroked through the cool water, feeling the day’s sweat and grievances wash off her skin. It was her custom to float on her back, watch the twinkle of the stars while feeling weightless, but the gambler was still up there.

It wasn’t likely that he’d come out intentionally to spoil her solitude—chances were, he only wanted a bit of fresh air.

All at once, the man spun away. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he slowly walked toward the other end of the boat.

She stroked along through the water, this time she was the one watching him. There wasn’t a whole lot she could learn in the dark, not until he passed under one of the lanterns hanging from the roof over the cabin deck.

Then—gosh all-mighty, he was handsome! Fine of figure, he had the stride of a man of authority, a fellow who knew where he wanted to go and how to get there.

He didn’t seem drunk.

“Hey, mister!” she called up to him while treading water.

He stopped, looked down at her then came to the rail. Resting his arms on the balustrade, he gazed toward her.

“This here’s my private time. I don’t hanker to spend it with a Peeping Tom.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” Well, now she wasn’t sure his smile said sorry or not. “I didn’t know. I was only cooling some sweat, walking away some worry.”

That was probably the truth. On a gambling boat, for every winner there was a loser worrying over his loss. Not that the wealthy clients of the River Queen needed to worry over the loss...most of the time.

As far as the knowing went, he probably didn’t. There were no signs posted about Ivy’s private time—it was just something that the men who lived on board knew and respected.

This fellow didn’t live on board so she ought to allow for that.

And the river was a balm when one wanted to wash away a day’s stress. She couldn’t imagine living her life away from its soothing embrace. Often, she pitied land folks who never knew the feel of the river against their skin.

One more thing she ought to allow for was that the fellow up there was a paying customer. According to Uncle Patrick, those were soon to become scarce.

“I reckon you lost money tonight.” It was not unpleasant carrying on a conversation with this handsome fellow. Not when she was hidden in the cool kiss of the inky water and he was up there sweating in his fancy duds.

“If it’s a woman you’re looking to sooth yourself with, I ain’t her, but over yonder in Coulson you’ll find what you need.”

“I doubt it, ma’am.”

He was still smiling in the way that let her know that in this moment, his stress was relieved, but under that half-lifted mouth, life was not grand. She saw this to be true even in the dim light of the boat’s lamps.

It was her duty to make sure the passenger was happy so that tonight he would take a seat in the casino again.

“Look here, mister, if you agree to keep to the paddle side of the boat, I’ll share the water with you.”

“I’ll need to strip bare. You don’t mind?”

“I reckon I’ve got a peek coming since you were ogling me. Just keep to your side of the boat and we’ll get on just fine.”

The fellow pushed away from the rail. She heard his boots tripping down the stairs. He reappeared on the lower deck, his shirt in hand and his chest bare.

It wasn’t uncommon for Ivy to see a man bare chested. The roustabouts often worked shirtless.

But there was something different about this man, something curious. He made her insides feel fluttery.

Why was that? Men were men. One was not so much different than another. Two arms. Two legs.

Two muscled buttocks. She could not help but notice when he turned his back to her and stepped out of his trousers.

He was giving her the same glimpse of him that he had taken of her.

That was not quite true. He turned his head to flash her a mischievous smile before jumping feet first into the water, his back still presenting.

“Looks like we’re even, mister,” she said when his face broke the surface of the water.

She felt safe enough even though she kept only a twenty-foot buffer between them instead of the boat length. If he made an untoward move, she’d be off as quick as a minnow.

“What’s your name, gambler?” she asked then ducked under the water, surfacing a foot closer to him.

“Travis.”

Travis went under the water then came up a yard closer to her. His handsome face was dotted with water. He shook his head, splattering droplets from his short brown hair. It stood up in spikes all over his scalp—gave him a real boyish, friendly look. That sure was contrary to her first impression of him being a no-nonsense man of authority.

“What’s yours?”

“Ivy.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ivy.”