"It won't be when I get sunburned because you broke my parasol." Iris tried to sound sharp, but she sounded breathless. She wasn't thinking of sunburn or parasols. All her attention was on the hardly discernable distance between them. No man had been this close to her, not this way. She had always been the one to decide how close, when, and where. Now there was no doubt Monty was in control.
His touch was driving her crazy. She had never experienced such sensations. She had been held in a man's arms, she had been kissed. Neither experience approached in any way the effect of Monty's fingertips brushing her skin. She felt consumed by the fire, yet each touch seemed to leave her yearning for another. It took all her concentration to maintain her resistance. She wasn't fourteen anymore; she refused to swoon at his touch.
"There's no knowing what can happen to a woman surrounded by men," Monty said, his lips tauntingly close. "I won't always be around to protect you."
"You're trying to scare me. You think I'm just a kid trying to show off, but I'm not. I'm a woman." She hoped she sounded calm and unruffled. "You don't have to worry about me."
"It's because you're a woman I do worry about you," Monty said, slipping an arm around her.
Iris didn't know what Monty meant by putting his arm around her -- she didn't trust him one bit -- but she couldn't summon the will to remove it. She felt engulfed by him. She tried to back away, but it was too late. His other arm slipped around her waist. His lips were so close now she could almost feel them brush her own.
Monty knew he should back away, that he had proved his point, but he couldn't summon the will to release Iris. From the moment he first saw her at the party, from the instant he realized she had changed from the girl he remembered into this gorgeous woman every man in the room lusted after, he had been losing the battle with his desire to hold her in his arms, to cover her with kisses, to make love to her on a summer night.
He had never let himself get close until he decided to try to frighten her into going back home. Now he had overreached himself. He was the one who couldn't step back.
Iris opened her mouth to tell Monty that being a woman meant she could take care of herself, but his arms tightened around her and his mouth captured hers in a searing kiss.
Iris had never been kissed like this. There was nothing respectful or reverential about the way Monty's lips ravaged her mouth. There was nothing tender or comforting about the way he held her in his arms. She felt consumed.
For years she had dreamed of being held in his arms, of being kissed with delicious abandon, of being wrapped in the aura of manliness that rode with him like a second skin. Achieving this nearly sacred ambition so unexpectedly left her breathless.
On the verge of surrender.
Iris felt the beginning of panic. She had never meant to let things go this far. Now that they had, she didn't know how to stop.
"You ought to go back to your camp." She managed to say the words, but they lacked conviction. "You don't like me, remember."
"I don't like it when you go chasing after men. Certainly not on a cattle drive. It's too dangerous."
Iris could hardly believe her ears. Anger drove out any feelings of weakness or desire. Wrenching her lips from his, she pushed him away.
"I have never chased after men," she said, her voice shaking. "But if I were ever so desperate for attention I had to tag along with a bunch of cowhands starved for the sight of a female, I still wouldn't have anything to do with you."
Monty's rumbling laugh made her angrier. Wrenching herself from his embrace, Iris dealt him a slap she hoped would cause his ears to ring for hours. In an instant, Monty was transformed from an impetuous lover to a raging bull. His anger frightened Iris so much she dashed behind the chair.
It didn't do any good. Monty jumped the chair in one effortless leap. Iris tried to run around the corner of the wagon, but Monty was upon her before she had gone two steps. She pounded her fists into his chest. But taking cruel advantage of his strength, he captured her arms and held them down by her side as he forced her body against his.
Humiliation and anger caused tears to come to Iris's eyes. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Nobody had ever treated her in such a brutal fashion. Yet she realized, with a kind of sick horror, she might have pushed Monty beyond the bounds of control. He was no hothouse mannequin she could take off the shelf and put back according to her whim. Unlike the men she was used to, he was a well-spring of elemental force that could snap the bonds of civilized behavior as easily as match sticks.
Monty watched fascinated as the tears swam in Iris's eyes then rolled down her cheeks. His astonishment turned to horror when he realized he was hurting her. He jumped back, cursing himself. He hadn't meant to. He had just reacted to her slap.
Monty dropped his hands to his side. "Go home. You don't belong out here." The edge to his voice was the only indication of the effort it took to rein in his temper.
"Let's get one thing straight right now," Iris barked, trying to think of her anger rather than the attraction which was like something tangible. "I'm not your responsibility. Neither am I your property. I'm going to Wyoming, and you'll have nothing to say about me, my herd, my men, or anything I do."
She wanted to leave him standing, to stalk away, but she couldn't, not when he looked as though he had received the shock of his life. He had hurt her. He deserved to feel rotten, but it had been her fault as much as his. If she hadn't kept after him to do something he didn't want to do, if she hadn't tried to taunt him, if she hadn't--
"Dammit to hell!" a furious male voice exploded. "What are you doing here?"
Chapter Four
Seconds earlier Iris was so angry with Monty she'd have been glad for anybody to drive him away. But now Frank was here, she was irritated he had intruded.
"We're just having a disagreement. Mr. Randolph thinks I have no right to be on this trail. He has just ordered me to go back home."
"You have no say over the Double-D," Frank said, hostility in every aspect of his attitude. "Now you'll be the one to be ordered back."
Iris had only spoken as she did because she was too angry to think. She hadn't meant to set the two men against each other. Too late she remembered the antagonism that simmered between them.
"My business is with Miss Richmond," Monty said, making no attempt to hide his contempt for Frank, "but it concerns you as well. Turn back while you can. You don't know any more about trailing to Wyoming than she does."
"If Miss Richmond wants to go to Wyoming, then I'm taking her. You and your whole crew can't stop us."
"We won't have to. You'll stop yourselves."
Frank looked so mad that for a moment Iris thought he was going to attack Monty. But that would be crazy. Everybody knew Monty was a brutal fighter. No one talked about it when any of the Randolphs were around, but the story of that fight in Mexico had been told hundreds of times in the year since it happened.
Iris stepped between the two men. "Go back to your camp, Monty."
"Go home while you still can. If you don't die of thirst or lose your herd to rustlers or herd cutters, there's Indians." He glanced at Frank then back to Iris. "If you have to go, you should let me find a drover who could handle the job." Monty turned and swung into the saddle. "If you do go on," he said turning to Frank, "you'd better keep out of my way. You do anything to endanger my herd, and I'll cut you in half. You let anything happen to Iris, and I'll cut you into smaller pieces than that." He wheeled his horse and galloped away.
"I'll get a couple of the boys and we'll--"
"Your job is to get this herd to Wyoming," Iris said, stunned by Monty's parting remark. "I'll handle Mr. Randolph."
* * * * *
Monty cursed himself all the way back to camp. He hadn't been on the trail two weeks, and already he had trouble with Iris and her foreman. George wouldn't like that one bit. He had always thought Monty was too hasty of judgment, too quick to act.
Monty didn't understand that. Madison h
ad a nasty temper, and nobody seemed to care. Hen's was even worse, but nobody paid him any attention. But let Monty do the slightest thing, and George was on him in a flash.
Monty had always had a hasty temper. He got that from his father. He had always been quick to judge, quick to act. He got that from his father as well.
Damn his pa. The man's shadow still hung over the whole family, lurking in their veins and in the dim recesses of their minds like a poison, seeping into everything they did, everything they thought. Why couldn't Monty be like Salty? He never seemed to be unsettled by anything. He never raised his voice or behaved rashly. George probably wished Salty were his brother rather than Monty.
No, that wasn't fair. No matter what Monty and his brothers did, they could count on George to stand behind them. He might give them a blistering once they got back home, but they never had any doubt George loved them.
Almost too much. The responsibility of trying to be worthy of that kind of fierce love turned even tiny failures into major ones. Which was one of the reasons Monty was going to Wyoming. He had to have some breathing room.
He rode down a slope and over a small stream almost lost in the grass and brush that crowded its banks. The water was so low half the sandy bed was exposed and dry.
But life wasn't going to be easy with Iris Richmond on the trail in front of him. Not when he acted like he had back there.
He didn't know what had gotten into him. He never meant to kiss her, especially not the way he had kissed her.
He emerged from the creek bottom and cantered up a small incline out onto a savannah where scarce rain had made the grass spotty. He rode through a patch of bluebonnets almost up to Nightmare's belly. A stiff wind, unimpeded by the patches of mesquite and cat's claw, swept across the open savannah whipping the new grass into undulating waves of pale green. Single weather-beaten live oaks were scattered across the savannah like the struggling soldiers of a defeated army making a slow retreat to the blue-green hills in the distance.
Iris needed a good kissing. She probably never let any of those paper-mache gentlemen in St. Louis do more than give her a chaste peck on the cheek. If she kept sending out invitations, she was going to get a few acceptances.
What about you? If she asked, would you accept?
Monty didn't want to answer that question. Ever since Iris came home, he'd been telling himself he wanted nothing to do with her now that she'd turned into a younger version of Helena.
Well, he was wrong. That kiss, the feel of Iris in his arms, had destroyed any self-control he might have had. Iris was a stunning, vibrant creature, fighting back from a blow that would have crushed a less determined person. It was impossible not to be attracted to her spirit nearly as much as to her body.
Monty didn't kid himself. It was her body that caused him to break his resolution. He hadn't known how strong the attraction was until he held her in his arms, until he kissed her, forced a response from her. Iris was no cold-blooded adventuress like Helena. She was a hot-blooded woman more likely to be ruled by her body than her mind. The mere thought inflamed Monty's senses. It inflamed his body, too.
All the more reason she shouldn't be on the trail. There was no one to protect her. She certainly couldn't count on Frank.
Maybe he would talk to her again.
Monty cursed himself. She wasn't his responsibility. She had told him so.
Maybe she wasn't, but he hadn't been able to stop worrying about her when she was a young girl. And he couldn't now that she was a beautiful woman.
He pulled up. A patch of brilliant red poppies caught his eye. He started to dismount and pick some to take to Iris. Women liked little things like that, and he had been right rough on her. But he decided against it. She would be certain he was up to something, and the men would think it was crazy.
It was a shame though. They wouldn't last long in this heat.
She didn't know anything about life. Not real life. Otherwise, she wouldn't have made the crazy decision to move to Wyoming. She didn't know a thing about blizzards and forty degrees below weather. She probably wouldn't survive the winter.
Monty started cussing all over again. He didn't have time to teach her. But he couldn't let her stumble along with nobody but Frank as her guide. He'd probably have to keep his eye on her all the way to Wyoming.
That thought sent his temper nearly out of control, and he rode into camp at a gallop.
Tyler had made camp upstream from the herd on the driest part of the plain. Prickly pear cactus mixed with a low growth of purple sage and mesquite. A grove of stunted oaks offered welcome shade from the sun.
"She absolutely refuses to go back!" he shouted at Zac as he slid from Nightmare. "She wouldn't listen to a word I said."
"If you were shouting at her like you're doing now, maybe she couldn't hear you."
"Don't you start talking like a fool, too," Monty barked.
Zac skipped out of Monty's reach. "Rose says no woman can hear anything when she's being shouted at."
"That's the craziest thing I ever heard."
"I dare you to say that to Rose," Zac challenged, his grin taunting.
Monty opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. He sometimes thought Rose's notions were a bit crazy, but he loved and respected her too much to say so. Besides, if he said a word against her, George would kill him. He didn't mind taking on Iris's entire crew, but he wanted no part of George when he got mad. "Get that remuda secured for the night."
"They're already in the corral."
"Then help Tyler with dinner."
"That ain't my job." Zac occasionally lapsed into his bad grammar now that neither George nor Rose were present to correct him. "Besides, he's creating again. You know how he hates to have anybody around when he's coming up with something he never thought of until thirty minutes ago."
Monty groaned. Visions of the dinner Iris's cook was preparing floated before his eyes. "No more than I hate having to eat what he concocts. Why can't he stick to bacon and beans?"
"Because he considers himself a great cook," Hen said, riding into camp, an antelope across his saddle. "Ever since Rose told him he was better than she was, there's no holding him back."
"Don't let him ruin the antelope," Monty said. "I want it cut into steaks, plain and simple."
"Tyler won't cook plain and simple," Zac said. "He says it's beneath him."
"I'll teach him beneath him."
"Sit down and be quiet," Hen said as he dismounted. "And stop letting Iris get under your skin."
"This has nothing to do with Iris."
Hen cast his brother a knowing look then started to untie the antelope from the saddle.
"Okay, so she got me mad," Monty admitted. "She's the most stubborn female I ever met."
"You mean she didn't fall for the famous Randolph charm."
Monty grinned good-naturedly. "She came closer to poking my eye out with a damned parasol. Can you imagine a woman carrying a parasol and wearing a flowered dress thin enough to see through?"
"That's what Helena would have done." Hen lifted the antelope from the saddle.
"It sure as hell is," Monty replied, irritation welling up again. "That's all she knows, to act just like her ma."
"What else did you expect?"
"I didn't expect anything, but I did think she'd have sense enough to stay in St. Louis."
"Well she didn't, and it's up to you to get her off the trail."
Monty followed Hen to where he tied the antelope to a tree limb well above the ground. "I've done everything I can think of except throw her across my saddle."
"I'm surprised you haven't done that."
Monty ignored his brother's comment. "If you want her off, you go talk to her."
"I don't talk to any woman except Rose. Fork out Brimstone," Hen said, turning to Zac. "I've got some riding to do tonight."
"There's a hundred and twenty-six other horses in that corral," Zac said, as he took Hen's horse. "I'll get any one of the others for
you. But if you want that crazy devil, you can get him yourself. I ain't getting myself killed just so you can ride around in the dark on a loco horse."
"Coward."
"Maybe, but I ain't no fool."
"You're not waiting for dinner?" Monty called after Hen as he walked to the corral to saddle Brimstone.
"No. I already cut me out a couple of thick steaks. I'll roast them later."
"Damn!" Monty cursed, knowing Hen's decision to cook for himself meant Tyler was preparing something he considered inedible. "I might as well go eat fricassee with Iris."
* * * * *
Iris got up from her chair and set her place on the wagon steps. She had only taken a few bites her fricassee. She hadn't enjoyed it. She had hardly tasted the cup of strong, black coffee. It was bitter, and she threw it away. She was too upset with Monty to be hungry. And too angry at herself.
She had never been so thoroughly handled and kissed by any man. She had never allowed it. But Monty hadn't asked, and he hadn't paid any attention to her objections. And if she hadn't scampered out of his reach, he might very well have spanked her then and there.
She could see her crew gathered about the chuckwagon about a hundred feet away. She felt isolated, left out. She saw them moving about, heard them laughing. She wondered if they knew, if Frank had told them. She wondered if they were laughing at her.
Her cheeks flamed at the thought.
She might as well face it. She hadn't lost her liking for Monty. She didn't understand what fascinated her so, his size, his looks, or his indifference to her. Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to render her stupidly helpless. She hoped she could figure it out soon. Mindless capitulation might be okay for a thirteen-year-old girl, but it was dangerous for a woman.
Still, that had been the most exciting few minutes of her entire life. Even now her body felt electrified by his touch. Her lips felt bruised, her ribs crushed. Her nipples still felt swollen and tingly, and something inside her cried out for more. Her mother would have been very angry. Yet a part of Iris gloried in the electric atmosphere of such volatile physical attraction. Nor did it shrink from the danger of clashing with a man such as Monty. It was excited by the same lack of control that frightened another part of Iris to death.
Iris Page 4
