Monty caught her effortlessly.
That circumstance, however, did nothing to relieve Iris's embarrassment at finding herself virtually upside down in Monty's very firm embrace.
Iris hadn't felt this excited since Monty lifted her down from a rock she'd climbed years ago. He held her as though she weighed nothing. She felt helpless and insignificant in his arms. The shooting pains in her legs were hardly strong enough to counterbalance the sensation of being held by powerful muscles or pressed against a heavily muscled chest. She'd never realized it, but Monty was a very big man.
"I'm going to put you down on the ground to see if you can stand," Monty said.
Iris tightened her hold on Monty
"I'm not going to let go, but you've got to try to stand."
Iris clung desperately to him as she righted herself. An excruciating pain shot through her legs the moment her feet touched the ground. Her arms closed around Monty's neck in a death grip.
"It'll hurt like the bejesus," Monty said, "but it's the only way."
"I don't think I can."
"Lean against me. Put as much weight as you can on one foot. When you can't stand it any longer, change feet."
Iris would rather have stayed right where she was. She wouldn't even have minded if Monty had set her on the ground. But she could tell he would never give in to pain himself. He wouldn't understand why she would either.
For a moment the gilded life of a rich and spoiled St. Louis matron didn't seem so bad. But Iris banished the thought. She was being cowardly. And no Richmond was a coward, not even Helena.
Iris had never felt such pain. It sliced though her body from her calf to her hip. Only a grim determination not to humiliate herself before Monty kept her from crying out. She had insisted she could do anything he could do. Now she would have to show she could live up to her boast.
But when she put the second foot on the ground and experienced the same shattering pain, Iris almost decided her pride wasn't worth the agony. But though Helena hadn't been the best mother in the world, she had bequeathed her daughter a wide streak of toughness and a good dollop of pride. Despite the pain, Iris kept testing one foot after another until she was able to stand. She had to lean heavily on Monty, but she could stand.
"Tell me when you're ready to try to walk," Monty said. "That's going to hurt even more."
For a moment Iris felt like giving up. All that work to be able to stand and the worst was yet to come. "Give me a minute," Iris said, gasping from the pain.
"Take as long as you want."
"I thought you said you couldn't stand around waiting on me?" Iris said, twisting around so she could look up at him, a smile on lips that wanted to grimace instead. "Which do you mean?"
Monty wasn't sure what he did mean. Ever since Iris had landed upside down in his arms, he had been prey to the most alarming desire to turn her right side up and kiss her soundly. Having her lean against him did nothing to make that feeling go away. If fact, it was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms and kiss away the pain. He had never seen Iris hurt so much. He had never thought she would be so brave.
"It's time to see if you can stand without me holding you up," Monty said. It hurt him to see the pain she suffered, but there was nothing he could do. She had to loosen her muscles before the pain would go away.
For a moment he thought she wouldn't make it. She staggered and her legs went out from under her, but Iris's grim resolve kept her going. She held onto his arm for balance, but she bore her own weight.
He should have known not to bring her. No matter how gutsy, she wasn't up to such a long ride. He shouldn't have let her get him angry. He never could think straight when he was mad.
But temper wasn't the only reason he had let her come along. He liked having her with him. She was trouble, but he'd only spend his time worrying about her if he had left her at camp. That's why he hadn't separated the herds. As long as they were together, he'd have a good reason to bring her to his camp.
"Now try a few steps," Monty coaxed.
"Don't you have any mercy?" she asked.
He would have stopped the pain if he could, but he knew there was no other way. "Believe me, it only gets worse if you wait."
"You'll have to hold me. I can't do it alone."
Monty had never entirely let go. Now he slipped his arm around her. "How's this?" he asked. He nearly lifted her off the ground.
"Not that tight," Iris said. "I'm supposed to walk, not float."
Feeling a little self-conscious, Monty relaxed his hold.
Iris took her first step. "It's not as bad as I expected," she said, pleased with herself. A second and third step caused her to smile. "By tomorrow I ought to be walking as well as a three-year-old."
"You'll be doing that in a minute," Monty said, a feeling of pride welling up inside him. Iris might be a spoiled beauty who didn't know the first thing about cows or ranching, but by God she had guts. She had a lot to learn, but given half a chance, she'd learn it.
"Your legs will start to tingle in a minute," Monty said.
"They're tingling already."
"That means you're better. You think I ought to let go?"
"No!" Iris said, gripping him even tighter.
"Okay," Monty said, quickly putting his arm securely around her waist. "But if your foremen should suddenly ride over that hill, you're going to have to explain that I'm helping you walk, not attacking you."
"I won't have to," Iris said. "Nobody thinks you want to kiss me."
Monty could hardly believe his ears. Here he had been practically sitting on his hands or riding with his hat in his lap and she thought he didn't want to kiss her. Well he hadn't, not until this trip, but he sure wanted to kiss her now.
"Don't play your tricks on me, Iris Richmond. Every man you meet wants to kiss you, and you know it."
"Other men. Not you."
"Can you walk by yourself yet?"
"You don't have to be so anxious to get rid of me," Iris said, trying to force her recalcitrant legs to support her weight.
"Can you stand?" Monty repeated, insistent.
"Yes," Iris answered sharply, balanced on wobbly legs. "As long as I don't move."
"You won't have to," Monty said. He took her in his arms and kissed her soundly.
Iris's legs went out from under her completely. Her breath deserted her as well. For a moment she thought her heart had absconded with the rest. Then it suddenly started to beat twice as fast as it should.
"What are you doing?," she managed to say, amazement in her voice.
Monty felt a little embarrassed to have let his emotions get the better of him. He had never kissed a woman like that before. He wanted to do it again.
"I was kissing you. It would have thought you would recognized it."
"Of course, I recognize it, but why were you kissing me?"
"Don't play games," Monty said. "You've been trying to get me to kiss you for years."
"So you had to wait until I was practically helpless."
"That's why I made sure you could stand," Monty said. He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again. His tongue slipping gently between her open lips to explore the warmth of her mouth. The sigh she gave encouraged him to be even more greedy in his plundering.
"I've wanted to do this for days," he said when he finally released her mouth.
"If you started that stampede just to get me out here--"
Monty burst out laughing. "I don't want to kiss any woman bad enough to risk losing a herd."
It was a good thing she mentioned cows. In a minute or two she might have started to believe he liked her.
Iris wriggled out of Monty's embrace. "How foolish of me to think I could ever be as important as a few cows. Now let's stop wasting time. You have a camp to set up, and I have to learn how to walk. It looks like somebody's already been here," she said, pointing to the remains of a fire.
For a moment she thought Monty was going to make one of h
is biting remarks, but he merely leveled a questioning look at her. She squirmed under his scrutiny. She wanted to say something to make him turn away, but she couldn't think of a single word. Then, with the puzzling expression still on his face, he turned to study the ashes. Iris was left feeling unaccountably shaken. She had a suspicion something terribly important had happened and she had missed it.
A little way from the ashes Monty found two places where sleeping men had crushed the leaves. A moment later he found where two horses had waded through the stream.
"They've been here very recently," he said. "They're probably the men who made off with your cattle."
"Do you think they're very far ahead?"
"I don't know. I'll take a look around after dark. Maybe I can spot their campfire."
"What will you do?"
"That depends. Right now let's see about getting a fire going and the coffee on. It's going to be cold tonight."
"We don't have any coffee," Iris pointed out. "And we don't have anything to eat."
"Yes, we do," Monty said, opening up his bedroll and taking out two pots, a cup, a tin plate, and eating utensils. "I never travel without enough food to last a week."
Iris was relieved when Monty left her to build a fire. She needed time to think. His kiss had paralyzed her wits almost as badly as the ride had her muscles.
She didn't know how to interpret his kiss. It sure wasn't anything like those dry pecks on her lips she had had from boys before. She had noticed a gradual softening in his attitude toward her during the day, but she wasn't sure whether it represented a genuine change, whether he was bored and had grabbed the first female he saw, or if he was trying to rile her.
She paused to lean against the trunk of an elm at least three feet in diameter. She had never known walking could be so exhausting.
She hoped it meant he would at least give her a chance to prove she wasn't useless. Riding with him all day had given her a very different idea of what he was really like. Her conception of him had been made up of the impressions of an infatuated fifteen-year-old girl mixed with stories she'd heard of his terrible temper, his expertise with cows, and his indifference to women. That might make him the perfect man to take her to Wyoming, but not the kind to excite any further interest.
Iris heaved herself from against the tree and started walking again.
He wasn't the least bit like the men who used to pursue her. He wasn't tender or thoughtful, yet he did think of her and he did try to be gentle. She found herself thinking about him as a man, not just a way to get her herd to Wyoming. Underneath all that bluster was someone of very strong principles, someone who wasn't afraid or reluctant or shy. A man who acted and asked later.
She wondered what else she might find if she dug deeper. One thing, however, she was certain she wouldn't find. She wouldn't find he was in love with her. She had never seen a more un-lover-like man than Monty Randolph.
"You think you've got the answers to everything, don't you?" she said.
"I pretty much do when it comes to cows. But not about much of anything else."
Iris hadn't expected such a candid response. Monty didn't strike her as a man willing to admit his shortcomings.
"Who says?"
"Everybody. Especially my family."
He had gathered sticks and dry leaves and now had a small fire going. He handed her a small pot. "Here, get some water from the stream while I look for some more wood."
Iris took the pot. "Your family must think very highly of you to let you take a herd off to Wyoming."
"You don't want to get into my family," Monty said. "It's worse than quicksand."
She followed as she searched for wood. "It can't be that bad. George and Madison are married and doing just fine."
"Madison had the good sense to take his wife off to Chicago. As for Rose, well, she's a remarkable woman. She's probably the only reason the rest of us haven't killed each other."
Suddenly Iris wished Monty would talk about her with some of the reverence he reserved for Rose. She wondered what a woman had to do to have a man feel that way about her. She wondered if it could ever happen to her.
She could cause men to fight over her, but she knew instinctively Monty's relationship with Rose was different from anything she knew. She could imagine Monty arguing with Rose --he had admitted as much -- but she could also see him respecting her decision even when he disagreed with it.
That was nothing like the way he treated her when they disagreed.
Monty carried his load of sticks to the fire. She went to get the water. She started to kneel down beside the stream, but she couldn't. She either stood up or fell down. There was no in between.
"Hurry up with that water," Monty called out.
"I can't."
Monty looked up from the fire. "Why?"
"I can't bend down without falling."
His amusement irritated her. He was always laughing when he shouldn't.
"Sorry, I should have known." He got up, took the pot from her, bent down, and filled it with clear water. "Keep walking. You'll be okay soon."
Monty settled the pot on some stones and shoved the tiny fire underneath. Within minutes he had boiling water. He put the coffee in the pan. "Coffee will be ready in a minute."
"It already smells delicious," Iris said, inhaling the rich smell of the black beans, "but what are we going to do for food?"
"Wait and see. In the meantime, you can see to the horses."
Before she thought, she said, "I don't see to horses."
Chapter Eleven
Why couldn't she learn to think before she spoke. She hadn't meant it that way, but she had never been told to see to the horses. She was used to handing the reins over to someone else without even thinking about it. But that was no reason to have spoken as she did. Her lack of foresight had contributed of their being miles away from camp without food or shelter. It was stupid to refuse to do anything she could to help.
Monty raised cold eyes from the pot of brewing coffee he swirled over the flame. "Do you know how to take care of a horse?"
"Not really. I--"
"Can you take them for a drink at the creek?"
"Yes."
"Can you picket them so they can graze?'
"Of course. I--"
"Then do it. I'll see to the rest later."
The cruel way he tossed out his orders made Iris start to refuse, but something in the way he looked at her made her change her mind. She turned away to hide her hurt and confusion.
She untied the horses and led them to the creek.
She couldn't believe how much his coldness hurt. It was like he had no feeling for her whatsoever, like she was just a hired hand to be ordered about. But it was the hurt that confused Iris. Anger she expected. The hurt surprised her.
The horses waded into the creek and dropped their muzzles into the sun-warmed water.
She wanted Monty to like her. Not just think she was beautiful. Not flatter her and comply with her every wish. Not even desire her. Just like her. It didn't seem like much to ask, but remembering his look of cold disdain, it seemed impossible.
She had never felt this way about a man before, and she didn't know what it signified. She did know it made her feel very uneasy, and she had never felt that way either. She had always been confident where men were concerned. She used to be confident with Monty, too, but no longer. He mystified her. He was attracted to her and thought she was beautiful, but he didn't like her at all.
Their thirst quenched, the horses lifted dripping muzzles from the stream. Iris led them to the tall grass outside the trees. Even a spoiled rich girl could do that. There was miles of it in every direction.
She didn't know why she continued to take issue with him on things about which she knew little or nothing, about which she could be nearly certain he knew a great deal. If she had been going to a party, or sitting down to dinner, or meeting somebody important, she would have known exactly what to do. But it was about time s
he admitted to herself that out here on this abysmal prairie, Monty knew everything and she knew nothing.
Monty was shaving a piece of dried beef and dropping the chips into a pot of water when she returned to the fire. He stopped long enough to hand her a steaming cup of coffee.
"What are you fixing?" she asked. The coffee was too hot to drink. There was nowhere to set it down, so she held it while it cooled.
"What amounts to beef soup," he said. "I always carry jerky and dried vegetables. It's quick and easy. Of course if you want to fix something . . . "
"I don't cook."
She could tell at once she had said something wrong. Again.
"Don't cook, or don't know how?"
"B-both," she answered, suddenly aware he was looking at her like she was some sort of rare and undesirable creature.
"Helena!" he said in disgust. "I should have known it." He shaved the last of the beef and began to stir the mixture.
"What do you mean?" she asked, ready to defend her mother.
"Helena considered cooking beneath her. I should have known she wouldn't allow her daughter to learn."
"You don't have to sneer. There are lots of women who don't know how to cook."
"I don't know any. Rose cooks every meal we eat."
The perfect Rose would. And probably clean the house, plant a garden, and butcher and clean half a dozen hogs before lunch. Then she'd probably sew her own gown and arrive at the ball looking like Cinderella.
"Not everybody can be like Rose," she said, afraid if she said what she was thinking, he'd turn her away from the fire and the delicious smelling soup. Only now did she remember she hadn't had anything to eat since morning.
"Maybe not, but any woman meaning to settle in Wyoming ought to be able to cook."
"Well I can't."
"So you said."
"Well," she said finally when he didn't say anymore, "you must have something to say. I've never known you to be speechless before."
"You'd better look around for some rich city fella. Nobody else can afford to take up with a woman who can't cook or clean house."
"Why not?"
Monty looked up at her. "A woman's not much help to a man if all he can do is look at her."
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