Iris

by Greenwood, Leigh

  But he couldn't do that with Iris. For God's sake, he could remember her as a madcap twelve-year-old, racing her pony across the countryside without regard for life or limb.

  But there was nothing of the child about Iris now. She had the body of a woman, the poise and assurance of a femme fatale who knows she's desired by every man she meets. Her effect on him was roughly equivalent to a tree falling on a grizzly's head or the force of a flash flood rushing down a mountain canyon. He felt a nearly overwhelming desire to whisk her off to some secluded spot and not emerge again for at least three days.

  Monty's body was tight and full, but he never once considered touching Iris. He mastered his impulses with difficulty.

  "I like women just fine, but not on a cattle drive."

  "Well I'm going to Wyoming, Monty Randolph, and you can't stop me."

  "I don't mean to try."

  Iris looked baffled. Monty figured she couldn't believe he had really refused to take her to Wyoming. He guessed she hadn't been told no more than a half dozen times in her whole life. And probably five of those didn't count.

  "This is the most important thing I've ever asked you to do. I've got to go."

  "Why?" There had to be some reason beside rustlers. If that were all, she'd be over playing her tricks off on Hen. "Tell me the truth. All of it."

  "I might as well. Everybody will know sooner or later," Iris said. The bitterness in her voice and expression banished all traces of the coquette. "The bank is taking the ranch. In less than two months, I won't have anywhere to live."

  Chapter Two

  Monty hadn't known that, but it didn't surprise him. Everybody knew Helena Richmond spent enough money for three people.

  "You can stay with us until you figure something out," Monty offered. "We've got plenty of room."

  "I don't want charity, Monty. I don't want your pity either. I just want you to help me get to Wyoming."

  Monty's resistance melted. All her life Iris had been the spoiled darling of a foolish father and a selfish mother. He doubted she'd ever stopped to think about where the money came from to support the lifestyle she took for granted. Now she was on her own with no one to guide her. He couldn't ignore her when it would be so easy to fix her up with a trustworthy drover.

  "Hen and I must know at least a dozen experienced men who'd be glad to head up your drive," Monty said. "Give me a couple of weeks, and I promise I'll find you somebody real dependable."

  "I'm not putting my herd in the hands of a stranger. That's all I've got in the world. If anything happened to it, I'd be as poor as any cowhand you ever saw."

  Monty could understand Iris's feeling desperate. He felt the same way. For different reasons, of course, but that didn't make it any less the same. He'd find her a drover, even if he had to pay the man himself.

  "You won't have to depend on a stranger. I'll find you somebody who will work with your own men. You won't even know he's there."

  "I want you to take me."

  "I've already told you I can't."

  "You said you wouldn't," Iris corrected. "You never did say why."

  "Yes, I did. You just weren't listening."

  Helena all over again. She could never believe she wasn't going to get what she wanted. Well, he wasn't going to tell Iris the rest of his reasons. They were personal, nobody's business but his own.

  "My offer to find a drover still stands. Now let me help you into your buckboard. If you don't get home soon, your dinner will be spoiled."

  "I can help myself," Iris snapped, twitching her skirt to one side so she could see to place her foot on the narrow metal steps.

  The sight of her slim, booted foot nearly caused Monty to forget that if he meant to say no to Iris on one thing, he couldn't very well say yes to another.

  "You can unhitch my horse," Iris said as she settled herself in the seat. She took up the reins from him. "And know this, Monty Randolph. I mean to go to Wyoming, and you're going to take me."

  With that she backed her horse away from the hitching post, turned it toward the trail, and cracked the whip over its head. It trotted away at a brisk pace, Iris's back stiff with defiance.

  Monty stared after her, feeling the mask of indifference slide from his face. So many emotions clamored for primacy. Relief he had survived the interview without letting Iris guess anything more lay behind his refusal than a dislike of women on the trail and the practical considerations of handling a herd of over six thousand cows. Concern she was gambling at too long odds by moving her ranch to Wyoming. Regret she had outgrown the charming child she used to be only to turn into a duplicate of her mother. Disgust that he wanted her anyway.

  Pushing aside a feeling of frustration, Monty headed toward the house George had built for Rose after the McClendons burned their dog trot. The big house sat on a rise up from the creek, its two stories nearly as tall as the towering pecans that lined the streambed. A huge kitchen, an even larger dining room, three sitting rooms, and several store rooms occupied the lower level. Eight bedrooms filled the upper floor. Rose had told George she didn't mind everybody living in the same house, but she wanted enough room so she could be by herself once in a while.

  Monty found Hen sitting on the porch.

  "What did Iris want?" Hen asked without bothering to get up.

  "Wanted me to take her to Wyoming."

  "What'd you tell you?"

  "I told her no," Monty answered, surprised Hen even had to ask. "I don't want to baby-sit a female on a trip like that. I mean to get this herd to Wyoming without losing a single head. I'm going to set up a ranching operation even George will envy."

  "George is still in your craw, isn't he?"

  "You're damned right he is."

  "He doesn't mean to be."

  "Well he is. I haven't done one thing since he came home from the war he hasn't had something to say about. He's always got some suggestion, some idea how to do it just a little better."

  "He's usually right."

  "Maybe, but I'd think of it myself if I didn't have to worry about him looking over my shoulder all the time. It nearbout drives me crazy."

  "It doesn't bother me."

  "Nothing bothers you," Monty said, nettled. "I know we're supposed to be identical, but sometimes I don't understand you at all."

  Hen shrugged.

  Monty stared out over the greening countryside. It was hard to imagine that he would soon be grazing cows on land barren of the familiar cactus, mesquite, and thorn-filled vines. He had become so accustomed to the harsh country of south Texas he could barely remember the rolling, lush green Virginia hills of his birth. But he remembered the wide open spaces of Wyoming. They spoke to him of freedom, of a future he could shape to fit his own dreams.

  "I want my own place where I can be my own boss and make my own decisions," Monty told Hen.

  "George is agreeable," his brother replied, as imperturbable as ever. "Now what are you going to do about Iris? She doesn't seem like the kind of woman to give up on something she wants."

  "She's not. I told her I'd find her a drover, but I've got a feeling she won't accept one."

  "What do you think she'll do?"

  "I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm sure I'm not going to like it."

  * * * * *

  Iris allowed her horse its head. She had more important things to do than guide it along a route it already knew. She had to figure out some way to make Monty Randolph change his mind.

  She had used nearly every trick her mother had taught her, and nothing had worked. Monty was attracted to her -- she couldn't miss the signs -- but he was immune to her blandishments. As she cast her mind backward, she remembered he had always been the one man she couldn't twist around her little finger.

  She felt like crying from frustration, but she hadn't cried when that heartless lawyer told her she was practically a pauper. She hadn't cried when she discovered her position in St. Louis society, along with her friends, had vanished with her fortune. She hadn't cried
when that wretched little banker had positively gloated over getting his hands on her ranch. She wasn't about to turn into a blubbering idiot now that she needed all her wits to stave off disaster.

  She had to find a way to convince Monty to take her to Wyoming. She had no other choice. She would die before she went back to St. Louis, desperately hoping some man would marry her. She might be a spoiled beauty, but she had few illusions. She knew the list of suitable husbands would shrink dramatically once they discovered she was no longer an heiress.

  Besides, she wasn't ready to get married. She'd never cared two figs for any man except Monty. And while that had been no more than a young girl's infatuation with a handsome cowboy, no one had yet come along to oust him from her dreams.

  At least, not for long.

  For a moment she considered accepting his offer to find her a drover but decided against it. She had too much at stake. For two thousand miles through wild, untamed territory, she would be entrusting everything she had in the world to a stranger. And that included herself.

  Helena had warned Iris of what could happen to a woman without protection. She had lived on a ranch long enough to know why women never traveled on trail drives. Under the circumstances, she didn't trust anybody but Monty to protect her and not take advantage of her.

  Besides, she liked Monty. He used to complain about her following on his heels all the time, but he included her in pranks that would have caused her mother to lock her in her room had she known. He had treated her like a little sister -- a fact that never failed to annoy her, even now -- but he had been fun to be with.

  But his whole attitude toward her had changed. It was almost as though he was angry at her. And it wasn't because she had asked him to take her to Wyoming. He had looked like a thundercloud the minute he clapped eyes on her at that party. Iris had no idea what had caused this change, but she intended to find out.

  In the meantime, she had to get to Wyoming. And she had just this minute figured out how she was going to do it. She slowed the buckboard as she drove into her yard.

  "Find Frank and tell him I want to see him," she said to the man who ran out to hold her horse's head.

  "He just went inside looking for you."

  "There you are," the big foreman said to Iris when he emerged from a house newer and larger than the Randolph's. "I was wondering where you could have gotten to."

  "Tell the crew I want them ready to ride out at dawn tomorrow," Iris said, as she climbed down without waiting for the help her foreman didn't offer.

  "What's up?" Frank's alert, grey eyes seemed to narrow.

  "We're going on a roundup. We're moving to Wyoming."

  * * * * *

  The chill of the early April morning caused Rose Randolph to pull the shawl more tightly around her shoulders as she waited in the buggy. Her sister-in-law, Fern, sat next to her, complacently gazing out over the limitless expanse of grass and brush.

  The last week's warm weather had turned the prairie into a paradise of wild flowers. Whole meadows had turned blue with thousands upon thousands of bluebonnets. They seemed to stretch as far as she could see. An unseen hand had sprinkled white poppies, red Indian paintbrush, and phlox across the hillsides like floral confetti. Rose's four-year-old twins, anxious not to miss a single bit of the excitement, occupied their time picking a bouquet of gaily colored Mexican hats. The bright sun promised a warm day, a good day to begin a cattle drive.

  For weeks, as the men worked their way through the early spring roundup, they had cut out cattle and held them on this grassy prairie between two branches of the creek about a mile from the house. Another crew had captured and broken horses until twenty-five hundred longhorns and more than a hundred horses were ready to leave for Wyoming. A thin cloud of dust rose from beneath ten thousand restless feet.

  Everything waited for the signal to begin.

  "Don't go far from the buggy," Rose Randolph spoke firmly to her daughters. "You could get trampled out there."

  "But you let William Henry go," complained Aurelia, who wanted nothing more than to follow her eight-year-old brother into the melee of horses and men.

  "Your father let him go," Rose corrected. She tried to ignore the fear that clutched at her throat whenever she saw William Henry astride his cutting pony in the middle on a herd of temperamental longhorns. George was determined he should be brought up like every other boy born on a ranch. Rose agreed in principal, but she knew only too well how dangerous longhorns could be.

  "Let them go," Fern whispered in Rose's ear. "There's not a man out there who wouldn't break his neck to make sure nothing happened to them."

  Rose looked at Fern. Married less than four years Fern joked that she had come for a long visit so she wouldn't be expecting a third son before Christmas. Rose tried not to feel jealous that she hadn't been able to have a child since the twins.

  "I'll let you go when they're ready to leave," Rose relented, speaking to her daughters, "but if I do, you're not to go near those cows."

  "They won't be in any more danger than Madison would be," Fern said with an indulgent laugh. "He hasn't been near a cow in ten years, but if he were here, he'd be roistering about with the rest of them, just like he knew what he was doing."

  "If it comes to knowing cattle, you ought to be out there."

  Fern laughed contentedly. "You won't find me chasing cows again. I miss my vest and pants, but wearing a dress is a small price to pay for so much happiness."

  Rose marveled at the change in Fern. For a woman who had been afraid of having babies and leaving Kansas, she had acclimated to Chicago and her role as wife and mother with surprising swiftness. Her two little boys were taking a nap -- they were too small to be around the herd -- but already three-year-old Madison Junior had his own pony. Madison had built a house on Lake Michigan with enough land around it to have their own herd if they wanted.

  "It'll be awfully quiet around here with everybody gone," Fern said. "Will you miss them?"

  "Yes," Rose answered, her gaze searching out the two youngest Randolphs. "But it'll be nice to have George to myself."

  Rose watched as Tyler fussed with his chuck wagon, making last minute adjustments in the pile of fifteen bedrolls, going over his list to make sure all the supplies he had ordered were in their proper places, checking to see that the water barrel and tool box were securely fastened. She could remember when Monty would rather starve then eat Tyler's cooking. Now at twenty-two, and nearly as gaunt as he had been at thirteen, he had been accepted as the trail cook with no more than half-hearted opposition.

  Sixteen-year-old Zac hovered near the corral, ready to throw back the bars and release the remuda the moment Monty gave the signal. Four years of boarding school had polished his manners and improved his grammar, but Rose knew the old Zac still lurked just beneath the surface.

  Monty, clearly anxious to be off, stood with George waiting for Salty to start the herd across the creek. George, unaware of Rose's adoring gaze, was giving Monty some last minute instructions. The bawling cattle made such a din she had to strain to hear what they were saying.

  "If you need any money, don't hesitate to contact Jeff," George said.

  "I won't need to contact anybody."

  "And if you have any questions--"

  "I won't. You've already given me enough instructions for three trail herds."

  Rose could tell Monty was having trouble keeping his temper in check.

  "It's not like I've never been to Wyoming before," Monty said. He gave up on an unsuccessful attempt to smile.

  "I just want to make certain--"

  "You have, George, over and over again. What you haven't told me, you've told Hen and Salty."

  "Do you think they'll ever be able to live together without getting on each other's nerves?" Fern asked Rose.

  "No," Rose said. "They're too much alike. I'll miss Monty -- sometimes he can be the most difficult brother of all though he's really terribly sweet -- but it's time for him to go out on his
own. He probably should have done it two or three years ago."

  "Why didn't he?"

  "George didn't think he was ready."

  "The Mexican affair?"

  "That was part of it. Monty's good with cows and the men, but he's too impetuous. He never thinks."

  "Hen will be with him."

  "That's no help. Hen does think, and he does even worse things."

  "George will always worry about his brothers," Fern said as she gave her sister-in-law's hand a squeeze. "I'm surprised he hasn't come to Chicago to check on Madison and me."

  "He probably would if it weren't so far away," Rose said. They both laughed. "I keep telling him they're all grown men, even Zac, but he still thinks of them as helpless children he has to protect from their awful father."

  "Madison won't even mention his father's name," Fern said. "I don't think he even thinks about him anymore."

  "I wish George could forget him. It would make it easier on the boys." She looked to where her husband stood with Monty. "They've been talking too long. If they don't leave soon, there'll be trouble."

  "Just wire me when you arrive." George glanced at his two youngest brothers. "Let me know when they head for Denver."

  "Don't worry," Monty said. "I'll take good care of them."

  "I'm sure you will, but it's the first time Zac has been away this long, and Rose is worried that--"

  "I still think you ought to let William Henry come." Monty didn't mean it, but he knew it would make George forget any worries he had about Zac.

  George's eyes twinkled. "You know if he went, Rose would go, too."

  Monty pulled a face. "I'd move to Chicago with Madison before I'd go on a drive with a woman."

  Just then the sound of galloping hooves heralded Salty's arrival. "The lead steer has just crossed the creek. It's time to move out."

  The noise became deafening. Tyler climbed into the seat of the chuck wagon and cracked the whip over the head of the four sturdy oxen. The wagon started forward with a lurch which set the Dutch ovens clanging like dissonant bells.