Making a mad dash to the buggy to give Rose a hug, Zac nearly stumbled over Juliette and Aurelia who had at last been released from their confinement. They raced to give Monty and Hen hugs before finding safe purchase in their father's arms.
"Try not to fight with Monty so much," Rose whispered in Zac's ear as she leaned out of the buggy to return his hug. It was hard to believe this young giant was the dirty-faced gamin she had first seen peeping into the kitchen nine years ago.
"I will if he doesn't shout at me," Zac replied and raced away.
"A lost hope," Rose sighed as she turned to Fern. "Monty would shout at God."
* * * * *
"Is there enough water ahead?" Monty asked when Hen rode into camp.
"Yeah," Hen replied, "but the grass is looking thin."
The afternoon sun had sunk behind low hills turning the air the blue-green color of the distant oak trees. The day's warmth still lingered, but the temperature would drop quickly now the sun had gone down. Dust from thousands of hooves hung in the air so thick you could see and taste it. The incessant bawling and clicking horns formed a backdrop to any conversation.
Tyler had backed the chuck wagon up to the campfire and thrown open the back to reveal a network of storage chambers. He moved between two Dutch ovens and two fires as he prepared supper for the crew. The smell of coffee, bacon, and hot bread cooking over mesquite fires tantalized Monty's appetite.
"Just as long as there's enough water and grass for us," Monty said. He didn't mean to sound callous, but any drovers following behind him would have to worry for themselves. Besides, he was worried already. Things were going too well.
For ten days everything had gone like clockwork. The herd had taken to the trail without hesitation and had bedded down every night without a single stampede. The hands knew their jobs without him telling them what to do, and the herds that had already passed up the trail hadn't used up all the grass.
Moreover, Tyler hadn't turned sullen, the food had been good and plentiful, Zac hadn't argued with him, and the horses were ready every morning.
"This is almost boring," Monty complained. "Either all hell is going to break loose any minute, or we're going to reach Wyoming after a trip Zac could ramrod."
Hen unsaddled is horse and ran it into the rope corral Zac had set up between some trees and the wheel of the chuck wagon. Hen poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Tyler kept on the fire.
"I don't think you're going to be all that bored," he said, looking at his brother over the rim of his cup. "In fact, I predict things are going to be right lively sooner than you think."
"What are you up to?" Monty asked. He and his twin had always been close, but he never could tell what Hen was thinking. It was as though Mother Nature had created two entirely different people and made them look exactly alike just for the fun of it.
"I'm not up to anything."
Monty didn't trust Hen. He rarely laughed. When Hen's eyes crinkled with amusement, you'd better watch out. "The last time I saw you look like that, you'd just killed two McClendons and stolen their milk cow. You're up to something. I just know it."
"I'm not up to a thing. Zac!" Hen called to his youngest brother as he rounded the corner of the chuck wagon with an armload of wood. "Saddle a horse for Monty. Make it Nightmare. He's going to want to travel fast."
"I'll do no such thing," Zac said. "If George ever found out I saddled that horse for Monty to ride like a cutting horse, he'd blow his stack."
"I'll ride any damned horse I please, no matter what George says," Monty snapped at Zac, "but I'm not riding Nightmare at a gallop over any prairie." He turned back to Hen. "You must think I'm crazy."
"Naw. I just thought you'd be in a hurry once you learned there was a herd on the trail in front of us."
"I know that. I've been seeing their tracks for two days."
"But you don't know who it belongs to."
"It doesn't matter."
"Not even if it belongs to Iris Richmond, and she's riding with it?"
Monty rose to his feet with a roar that sent half the horses in the remuda skittering against the ropes.
"Saddle Nightmare!" he shouted at Zac. "I'll strangle that woman, even if I hang for it."
Chapter Three
Iris saw him coming astride his huge, black gelding. Between trees, around thickets, over a carpet of red and yellow flowers, he emerged from a low place in the land where trees grew thicker, where the green was more intense. She could hear the angry squeak of leather, the muffled thud of hooves.
She had been waiting for him. In fact, if she were completely honest with herself, she had been hoping for his arrival. Only the knowledge Monty would be right behind her had given her the courage to leave home.
Yet she felt a sense of unease settle at the base of her spine. She really didn't want to hear what Monty was going to say. It wouldn't be flattering. Still worse, she had a suspicion she deserved it. Still, she felt a certain degree of satisfaction. She had told him she would go to Wyoming, and he had ignored her. She'd show him.
Iris tapped down her excitement. Her easy-going father had always teased that her red hair and Irish blood gave her a perfect right to her temper, but her temper was nothing compared to Monty's. Even though he was as blond as ash wood and as blue-blooded as old Virginia and South Carolina families could make him, there were almost as many stories about Monty's temper floating around Guadalupe County as there were ranchers willing to slap their brand on a maverick.
She tried to tell herself she didn't really need him -- she already had a foreman and a crew -- but no man had ever inspired her with the same confidence. He could raise more cane than a wild longhorn bull, and he was probably more dangerous than a lobo wolf, but her father had always said he was the kind of man a girl could depend on.
So Iris settled into a chair under the dappled shade of a cottonwood. A light breeze cooled the blush in her cheeks and caused the leaves overhead to rustle noisily. She considered the more picturesque setting of a fallen log across the sluggish stream but decided it would probably ruin her dress. A year ago she wouldn't have given a moment's thought to such a mundane consideration. But she was a supremely practical creature at heart. Until she got to Wyoming and was able to sell her first crop of steers, she wouldn't have any money to buy new clothes.
In fact, she wasn't sure she had enough money to last that long. That was all the more reason to have Monty hovering reassuringly in the background. Only from the reckless gallop at which he was riding, he didn't look much like he wanted to hover. It was more likely he would thunder and crash all around her.
Look at her. Dressed like she's out for a Sunday stroll in some city park. Monty guided his horse around a clump of mesquite. Prickly pear cactus would rip her flowered dress to shreds in minutes, but it was the parasol that caused his anger to boil over. He'd never seen anybody use a parasol out on the Texas prairie, not even Helena. It seemed to sum up the folly of Iris's decision to go on this drive. Yet there she sat like a spider spinning her web.
But webs could be broken, and he was about to show her how. Monty rode Nightmare so close the dirt from under his hooves flew all over Iris's dress.
"What the hell do you mean putting your cows on the trail ahead of mine?" Monty thundered as he threw himself from the saddle. He planted himself in front of Iris as though he were a physical obstacle she must overcome. "I told you to stay home."
"How nice of you to come see how I was getting along," Iris said. Her welcoming smile strained to smother a spurt of irritation as she shook out her dress. "I hope you'll stay for dinner. We're having apple crepes for dessert."
"Crepes!" Monty exclaimed, incredulous. "You're feeding men who've spent sixteen hours in the saddle on apple pancakes?"
"Not just that," Iris said, clearly having a hard time preserving her smile in the face of Monty's rudeness. "I've asked the cook to prepare chicken fricassee, potatoes julienne, and hot rolls."
"You're crazier than
an Indian drunk on bad whiskey. I'm surprised they haven't quit. I sure as hell would."
Iris lost her temper. She sat erect, all suggestion of relaxed dalliance gone from her attitude, her inviting smile replaced by an indignant glare. "How dare you speak to me like that?" Her silky voice was rough as new wool. "Just because the men are driving cattle doesn't mean they have to eat like Mexican peasants."
"Men need food that will stick to their ribs, not party food," Monty said, scornfully, forgetting the object of his visit in face of this heresy.
"What's so hard about trailing a herd of cows? I've never been so bored in my life."
"If you'd stop hiding in that fancy wagon of yours, you'd know," Monty said. He recognized the travel wagon Robert Richmond had built for Helena. He was certain Iris traveled ahead with the chuckwagon. There was too much noise, dust, and stench with the herd to suit her.
"I don't hide in my wagon," Iris protested. "Frank reports to me every morning and evening. I know everything that goes on."
"You don't know a thing unless you see it with your own eyes."
Without warning, he grabbed Iris's hand and pulled her up from her chair. Caught off balance, her parasol struck him in the face barely missing his eye. Monty touched his fingers to the stinging spot on his cheek. They came away bloody. Hell, the damned thing had broken the skin. Muttering a particularly virulent curse, he wrenched the parasol from Iris's hands and broke it across his knee.
Iris gasped at the red streak her parasol had dug across Monty's cheek. She wanted to apologize, to do something to show how sorry she was, but the violence of his reaction shocked her. She stared dumbfounded at the broken remains of her parasol. No man had ever treated her like that. Just thinking about it made her angry. She cast aside all thoughts of him as a kind and benevolent protector.
He took her by the shoulders and pointed her toward the sunburned plain rather than the cool shade of the creek bottom. "Now maybe you can see," he said. The unrelenting heat had wilted the early spring flowers leaving only brown seed pods and faded foliage. "Men who ride this land are tough and hard, and they need a boss who's tough and hard."
"You're the one who's crazy," she snapped, pulling away from his grip. "What makes you think you can charge in here telling me what to do, destroying my property, insulting me, trying to-"
"You've got no business on this trail. You don't know anything about trailing a herd or handling men. In fact, you don't know anything about cows at all."
"You are the rudest, most insulting, pigheaded man I've ever met," Iris shouted at him. "I have every right to be anywhere I please. I don't have to ask your permission. This is my herd and those men are my crew. I'll thank you to know that under my direction we've had no trouble at all."
"I don't suppose you have, being less than two weeks from home, but you'll find trouble soon enough. There's still time for you to turn back."
"I told you before," Iris said, furious at having to make the humiliating admission once again, "my father lost the ranch. The bank foreclosed today."
"Then let your foreman go on ahead."
"No."
"Then go in San Antonio or Austin until next summer. Maybe you can find a husband by then. You surely need somebody to get you under control."
"I have no intention of finding a husband," Iris told him, her green eyes ablaze with fury. "And no one is going to get me under control. I'm not a child, and I won't be treated like one."
"You won't find me trying," Monty said, laughing so heartily Iris wanted to hit him. "I wouldn't mind taking you in hand for a day or two, or a couple of nights," he added with a wink, "but I'm not getting legshackled."
"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth," Iris said, determined to ignore Monty's insinuation. "You're nothing but a common cowhand."
But there was nothing common about Monty. He was the most attractive man Iris had ever met. And since she had come back home, just about the most unapproachable.
Monty laughed again. "You'll marry somebody. I don't like to say it -- it's liable to make you think more of yourself than you already do-- but you're a damned fine-looking woman. Shapely, too. I bet you have men falling over themselves to please you."
She was lovely. That dress might be a silly choice for the plains, but in it her femininity reached out and grabbed him like an eagle grabs its prey. If she had worn it to distract him, she had succeeded. How could he remember he wanted her to turn back when just looking at her made him want to keep on looking at her for a long time? He guessed he hadn't been created capable of ignoring a woman, certainly not one as beautiful as Iris. Even now he longed to reach out and touch her. He could practically feel her in his arms. And that feeling was sure making itself evident in the fit of his pants. If he didn't start thinking about something else, he was going to embarrass himself.
"They don't exactly fall over themselves," Iris admitted, modestly, "but men do like to please me."
"I'll bet they do," Monty said, with a chuckle. "You'll snare some poor devil and have him so crazy inside a year he won't know whether to slit his throat or yours."
Iris's tolerant humor vanished. "You are the most obnoxious and rude man in all of Texas."
Monty hadn't meant to make her angry. He was just thinking out loud. Beautiful women always seemed to drive men crazy, maybe just to prove they could.
"I can be anything you like," he said, pulling his thoughts away from the inviting curve of her mouth, "as long as you get those cows out of my way. I'll send some men over to help you get them headed back."
"I'm going to Wyoming," Iris enunciated from between clenched teeth, "and nothing you can do can stop me."
Monty never had much hope Iris would give up the drive. That made him angry, but he couldn't abandon her. Whether he liked to admit it or not, he had a soft spot for her.
He could never see her without remembering the young girl who would go anywhere, dare anything, as long as she was with him. She had jumped a canyon on her cow pony because he'd jumped it on one of his big rawboned geldings. He could still hear her laugh as her pony scrambled frantically to keep from sliding into the twenty-foot deep ravine.
Much to his disgust, for a split second, he actually considered letting her travel with him. She would be safe, and he could stop worrying about her.
But even if her presence didn't upset the crew, it would upset him. It already had. And right now the most important thing in the world was proving to George he had mastered his temper and had learned to think before he acted. So far, being around Iris had caused him to demonstrate just the opposite.
It wouldn't do any good to tell himself to ignore Iris, or to tell her to stay away from him. She didn't take advice any better than he did. He had no choice but to convince her to leave.
Iris didn't trust the look in Monty's eye. She liked it even less when he closed in on her. She was used to anger, even outright rage, but this was pure, predatory hunger. And there was nothing covert or gentlemanly about it. She was used to being in control, but she was no longer in St. Louis or her mother's parlor.
She had positioned her wagon some distance from the camp site so she could have some privacy. Now she was virtually alone in the middle of wild country with a man she couldn't control.
"It's not safe for you to be here and you know it," Monty said. He placed his left palm against the wagon, blocking her retreat.
Iris thought she could detect a hint of menace in his voice. He had drawn so close she could feel his breath. For the first time in her life she felt unsure of herself. "How many times do I have to tell you--"
"Men are under a lot of strain on a drive." Leaning on his left arm, Monty let the fingers of his right hand trail down Iris's arm. "Days and nights in the saddle can impair their judgment."
How could such a simple stroke make her skin so sensitive? This was a dangerous man.
Iris pulled away from his touch. "I-I-I have no intention of encouraging--"
"They need all th
eir concentration just to keep from getting themselves hurt," he said, trailing his fingers along her shoulder and up the side of her neck. "They don't have time to be worrying about a female."
His touch left a trail of fire in its wake. And it seemed to be having a strange effect on her breasts. They felt full and tingly. How could that be? Monty hadn't touched her there.
Iris attempted to move away, but he hemmed her in. She looked into Monty's face. He didn't look like the big, friendly man she had been counting on to help her. He looked like a dangerous man hungry for something only she could give him, something he would have whether she wanted to give it to him or not.
For the first time, Iris felt a little afraid of Monty. This was a side of him she hadn't seen before, an aspect she foolishly hadn't anticipated. She had expected his attitude would change toward her now she had become a woman, but she hadn't calculated the change correctly. She had been planning on a man who was so besotted he would do anything she wanted. What she got was a man who looked willing to take what he wanted. She didn't know how to handle a man like this. And her own body had turned traitor. She couldn't be sure she wanted to handle him.
"I can't have them panting after you like stud bulls," Monty said. "Somebody would get hurt."
"Can't you think of anything but cows?" Iris asked. Monty brushed her question aside.
"You can't put temptation in front of a man day after day without him breaking sooner or later."
His fingertips moved across her lips, but it was his elbow brushing her breast that caused Iris's body to go limp. It was as though someone had suddenly removed all her bones. Iris could hardly believe his brief touch could cause such a powerful reaction.
"You don't seem to have any trouble ignoring temptation," Iris said.
"I'm not now."
His fingers caressed her neck once more. "You're probably just pretending to like me so I'll go away and leave you with your cows."
"What I would like has nothing to do with cows," he said, fingering one of the ruffles on her dress, his fingers less than an inch from her bosom. "No man could be with you and think of cows." He put his hand under her chin. "I never saw a cow with eyes as green as yours. Skin as soft and white."
Iris Page 3
