Iris

by Greenwood, Leigh

  Iris stamped her foot and immediately winced in pain. "That's a horrible thing to say."

  "Would you marry a man who couldn't earn a living, who couldn't do anything but sit on the porch and whittle."

  "I . . . A man can't . . . That's an absurd question."

  Monty returned his attention to his soup. "Everybody's got to carry their weight out here. That includes women."

  "Well I watered the horses and staked them out to graze. I hope that earns me at least a cup of soup."

  Monty surprised her by smiling. "Two if you want, one for each horse."

  She didn't understand this man. One minute he was telling her she was a useless human being, a drag on the human race, the next he was smiling at her like he actually liked her. She wished he'd kept scowling. At least then she didn't have any trouble remembering she wanted to bash him over the head. Or pour the coffee over him. But when he smiled, she could hardly keep her legs under her. He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

  She used to think she preferred men with dark hair and a mustache. They looked so dramatic, so mysterious. But she had changed her mind. Monty's hair was so blond it looked almost white. His eyebrows were invisible, his skin burned the color of dark amber, but there was nothing washed out or subdued about this man. Eyes so blue they stood out like brilliant sapphires glowed with an intensity she found almost unnerving. His mouth smiling, frowning, or clenched in anger telegraphed his moods with the subtly of a shout.

  But it was his body that characterized him most fully.

  Standing at least two inches over six feet with shoulders broad enough to fill any doorway, Monty was not a man to be ignored. Years of sixteen-hour days in the saddle roping steers weighing over a thousand pounds had made his arms and thighs rawhide tough. He did everything with unconscious ease, just like last night when he lifted her out of the saddle with one arm.

  He was like the animals he herded -- powerful, dangerous, living by his instincts. No matter how many hours he spent under a roof, his natural home was under an open sky on a land without fences.

  He was primitive and untameable, and he scared Iris to death.

  She took a sip of coffee. "Where is your ranch?" she asked.

  "It's in the foothills of the Laramie mountains on Chugwater Creek."

  "Mine's on Bear Creek. Is that anywhere close by?"

  "Could be."

  A typical Monty response.

  "Have you been there?"

  "No. Jeff bought it and had the house fixed up and stocked so it would be ready to live in."

  Iris doubted there was more than a crude cabin on her land.

  "Do you plan to live there?"

  "Sure. Sitting in Cheyenne or Laramie is no way to run a ranch. Rustlers will steal you blind. Soup's ready.” He lifted the pot from the fire, stirred the soup vigorously. "I only have one cup, and you're using it."

  "We can eat out of the pot."

  "I only have one spoon."

  She didn't understand the way he was looking at her. If it had been anybody but Monty . . . but it was Monty, and he wasn't interested in romancing her.

  "It's too hot to eat now anyway," she said. "By the time it cools, I'll be finished with my coffee."

  She took a sip. She hadn't expected to be alone with Monty. Now that she was, she was unprepared for the way he was looking at her and for the disturbing feelings which had wormed their way into her consciousness.

  "Maybe your wife won't like living on a ranch."

  "I don't intend to get married," Monty said. He tasted the soup. It burned him. "I like women well enough," he said, panting to sooth his burned tongue, "but I don't want a wife."

  "Why not?"

  Iris was tired of feelings she couldn't explain. She didn't want to get married, yet she felt upset that Monty didn't want to either. That didn't make sense, but then not much she had done lately did.

  "A wife would get in my way. She'd always be wanting me to do something I didn't want to do. She'd end up trying to change me even though she'd swear she wouldn't."

  "Did Rose do that?"

  "She sure did." He chuckled. "You should have seen the ruckus she kicked up when she first came. We tried our best to get George to get rid of her."

  At least Rose wasn't entirely perfect.

  "Of course some men need changing if they're going to make a fit husband," Monty continued. "I'd need a heap of changing before a woman would have me."

  "I imagine a woman would need a heap of changing before she could live with a man like you," Iris responded dryly, "especially on a cow ranch."

  Monty flashed his devastating smile, and Iris felt her belly flutter.

  "You got that right. I can't think of a single female who's willing to try. Not that I'm asking. I'm not the marrying kind."

  Iris finished her coffee and held out her cup. Monty poured it half full of soup. She swirled it around to cool it then took a sip. It was surprisingly good. "You might change your mind."

  "Rose has been trying for nigh onto ten years. I'm too set in my ways."

  "But you didn't fall in love with Rose," Iris pointed out.

  "She was a mighty fetching little woman, all spirit and spunk," Monty said, remembering. "But she was crazy about George, and he was just as nutty about her. He'd probably have killed me, or himself, if she'd fallen in love with me."

  Another reason to dislike the perfect Rose. Iris was thankful they would soon be separated by more than a thousand miles. That much virtue in one woman was depressing.

  They ate the rest of their meal in silence. Then they took their dishes to the creek, rinsed them, and cleaned them with creek sand. Monty put everything away.

  "Now I'm going to show you how to take care of a horse properly," he said.

  Iris was furious. She had taken care of those damned horses. Why did he think a person's name had to be Randolph before they could do a good job? She told herself to stop being foolish. She ought to be glad he was thorough and competent and checked everything himself. That was the kind of man she needed to get her to Wyoming.

  But she was hurt.

  She tried not to care what Monty thought of her, but she failed. His good opinion was very important, important enough for her to try to earn it. And if that meant learning about horses, she'd learn. Besides, if she was going to run a ranch, she had to know what to do. Horses represented safety and the means for making more money. She wanted to know her men were taking good care of her property.

  She also enjoyed Monty's attention. As long as he was trying to teach her something, he would be paying attention to her. She was afraid if he stayed by the campfire, he would curl up and go to sleep.

  * * * * *

  It had gotten cold by the time they returned to camp. Iris realized she hadn't brought anything to keep her warm, but she refused to say anything to Monty.

  "You'd better get some sleep."

  "Aren't you going to look for the rustlers?" She knew he wouldn't take her with him. There was no use asking.

  "Later, when they're asleep."

  "I'll wait up."

  "No, go to sleep. You'll need every bit of your energy tomorrow." He handed her his bedroll. "You can use this."

  "No. It's yours."

  "Take it."

  "No."

  "Then we'll share it," Monty said, sitting down next to Iris.

  "You can't mean for me to sleep inside your bed roll with you," Iris exclaimed.

  Monty draped one end of the bedroll over Iris's shoulders and the other over his own. "No. I mean to talk you into using it yourself. I thought if you got warm first, you'd be less willing to be so stubborn."

  Iris didn't know how it was possible to be rude and thoughtful in the same sentence, but Monty managed it. She guessed she should be grateful he wanted her to have his bedroll. Completely unprepared, she had come along against his wishes. She had shared his food, and now he was offering his bed as well.

  "Where will you sleep?"

  "On the g
round. It's dry."

  "How will you keep warm?"

  "I'm not cold."

  Actually Monty felt like he had a fever. He had been around Iris off and on for years, but he'd never felt like this, not until last night. Now he felt like a fire raged in his veins. He was surprised she couldn't see steam coming out of his ears. They sat next to each other, their shoulders touching.

  He wanted to kiss her again. Only this time he wanted to kiss her because she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He wanted to kiss her because he'd held himself in check all day and he didn't think he could stand it much longer.

  "I don't know how you can be hot," Iris said, shivering and pulling the bedroll more securely around her shoulder. "I never knew nights could be so cold. It's almost May."

  "Move a little closer. Body heat will help more than the bedroll."

  "What I need is a steer to cuddle up to," Iris said, keeping her distance. "I'd be warm as toast from just half the heat they generated during the stampede."

  Iris fingered the edge of the bed roll with nervous fingers. She didn't understand herself. Monty had been rude to her. He had treated her as harshly as he would have treated a man, but she still wanted to be close to him.

  "I may not be as warm as a steer, but I'm better looking," Monty said. His voice didn't sound quite like it usually did. "And I don't kick as hard."

  "Yes, you do," Iris replied, her own voice unsteady. She couldn't be this close to Monty and not be acutely aware of his presence. It acted on her like a magnet, pulling her even when she didn't want to go. "You give me a verbal kick in the pants every time you open your mouth."

  "I'm just trying to protect you."

  "It doesn't seem like it."

  "You have a way of attracting trouble."

  "I suppose that's why you're always around." Iris had to do something with her hands, so she reached over to put a stick on the fire. The bedroll slipped from her shoulders. When Monty put it back, he pulled her over until her body leaned against his.

  "I'm around for the same reason all the other men hang around you," Monty said, pulling Iris even tighter against him. "I can't seem to stay away from you."

  Iris tried to sit back up. "Do you want to?"

  "Yes, dammit, but I can't."

  Then he kissed her.

  The roughness of Monty's kiss didn't surprise or dismay Iris as it had the first time. She still wasn't accustomed to being handled so roughly, but she found herself responding to it.

  But she resisted an impulse to put her arms around him. She refused to hug a man who did his best to stay away from her and cursed when he failed. She broke away. She felt weak but much warmer.

  "You don't sound very happy about it," she managed to say.

  "I'm not," Monty said, then kissed her with such vigor, stabbing his tongue in and out of her warm mouth, Iris had trouble recovering her breath.

  "I wouldn't want you to put yourself to so much trouble. Maybe you'd rather go look for your cows."

  She didn't know about other women, but she didn't like his making love to her against his will. She tried to slip out of his embrace, but he wouldn't release her.

  "I'd rather look for cows, rustlers, or Indians," Monty growled, "but I can't keep my mind on anything else when you're around."

  The magic fled taking some of the warmth with it. He was hopeless. She didn't understand how any woman in her right mind could seriously consider liking this man.

  "Do you think there's any chance you'll get over this strange malaise?" she asked.

  Monty didn't seem to hear the barb in her voice. "I sure as hell hope so. How can a man look himself in the mirror in the morning if he goes around panting after some female like a stud bull."

  The last of the warmth ebbed away leaving Iris colder than ever. "I hadn't looked at it in quite that light," she said, wondering if Monty was constitutionally incapable of saying anything completely nice to her. "Here, let me see if I can help you."

  Iris hit him in the stomach as hard as she could.

  "What did you mean by that?"

  "I don't want you making love to me when it makes you so miserable." Iris jerked the bedroll from her shoulders and struggled to her feet. "My father said you should always put a dumb animal out of its misery."

  Monty leapt to his feet. Iris tried to run, but her treacherous legs collapsed under her.

  "Monty Randolph, don't you lay a finger on me." Iris dragged herself into a sitting position as he towered over her. "Not after you had the gall to say you didn't like kissing me and hoped you'd soon recover from the desire." She couldn't tell whether he was madder at her or himself.

  "I didn't . . . “

  "If I knew how to use that gun of yours, I'd shoot you with it."

  Monty looked ready to strangle her. Iris didn't know whether to attempt to run or beg for mercy. Before she could make up her mind which to try, Monty burst out laughing.

  "You always were a spirited a little brat." Then without warning, he bent over and scooped her up. Iris kicked and struggled as hard as her stiff muscles would allow, but it was useless. Monty was much too strong.

  "What are you going to do to me?" she asked. She had heard tales of Monty's temper. He was capable of anything, including dumping her in the creek.

  "Not what you deserve. And not what I'd like to do."

  "What's that?" Iris asked, unsure whether to be hopeful or fearful. It had suddenly become crystal clear that Monty could do anything with her he wished. If his kisses were any indication of the state of his mind, he wanted more than she was willing to give.

  "I'm not going to tell you. At least not now. I'm going to set you back down, wrap you up, and make sure you're warm."

  Iris wasn't about to surrender herself to this arrogant, rude, thoughtless man who was far too sure of himself, even if he was the most exciting man she had never met. But she couldn't think when she was near him, she couldn't plan what to say or gage her actions. She felt helpless, lost, unable to control what happened around her.

  "And after that?" Iris asked as Monty settled her back on the ground and draped the bedroll around her shoulders. She didn't like the look in his eyes. She had seen it once in some rough men she passed on the river front in St. Louis. Naked, elemental desire, a force she knew instinctively she couldn't control.

  At the same time she felt a strong pull to Monty, one so strong she feared she couldn't resist it. Maybe she didn't want to resist.

  "I going to--"

  "Hello the fire."

  They froze. The call caught them by surprise. They weren't expecting anybody, and they hadn't heard anybody ride up.

  "Come on in if you're friendly," Monty called out. He reached for his rifle. "Stay off to the side, out of the line of fire," he hissed to Iris.

  "Who--"

  "I have no idea, but we'll see in a moment. Get out of the light."

  Iris had hardly backed away from the fire when a dirty brown horse ridden by a tall, thin man with a Spanish cast to his features emerged from the night. Iris started to back farther away until the man's wide-set eyes and aquiline nose caught her attention. Something about him looked familiar. Then he came into the light.

  "Carlos?" she said half to herself, hardly able to believe her eyes. "It's Carlos," she said aloud, turning to Monty. "It's my brother, Carlos."

  Chapter Twelve

  "Iris?" Carlos questioned when his sister stepped forward into the light. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm moving to Wyoming. The bank took the ranch."

  "I mean here, with him?" Carlos said, indicating Monty and the isolated campsite.

  What had she been doing? What would have happened if Carlos hadn't shown up? Iris hoped the darkness hid the blush she felt burning her cheeks. She was glad neither man knew the thoughts going through her mind.

  "We're following some of my cows that got lost in a stampede," Iris answered, determined to act as though nothing had happened. She couldn't bear for Monty to know how c
lose she had come to giving in. "Monty thinks rustlers may have driven them off. He was just going to look for a campfire."

  "He can save himself the trouble," Carlos said, turning to Monty with no sign of pleasure. "They're on the other side of the ridge, and the only campfire you'll find is mine."

  Iris felt relieved she wouldn't be alone with Monty. She needed time to think about the startling change in her feelings toward him.

  "How many did you find?" Monty asked.

  "Around two hundred. We found them grazing a few miles to the west. I recognized my father's brand."

  "It's been a long time, Carlos," Monty said, eying the man. "You've changed."

  "You haven't," Carlos, replied.

  "You know each other?" Iris asked, looking from one man to the other.

  "I remember him," Monty said. "He didn't stay around long enough for anybody to get to know him."

  Carlos shifted his weight uneasily.

  "That was Mama's fault," Iris said. "She wouldn't let him stay at the ranch."

  "For once Helena showed some sense."

  "No, she didn't," Iris contradicted. "I wanted a big brother when I was growing up."

  "I wish I had known," Monty said. "I'd have given you one of mine."

  "What are you doing here?" Iris asked Carlos.

  "I heard you were heading to Wyoming, so I thought I might lend a hand. Might even stay for a spell."

  "You mean you wanted to hitch a free ride," Monty said.

  "He's my brother," Iris said, firing up. "He can come with me if he wants."

  She had always sympathized with the awkwardness of Carlos's position even though he was eleven years older and she didn't know him very well. It had never bothered her that he was illegitimate -- his half Mexican mother had died when he was a boy -- but it sure bothered Helena.

  When Iris turned fourteen, Helena forced her husband break off all contact with Carlos. But Iris never forgot him. He was Robert Richmond's son as much as she was his daughter, and it seemed unfair he should be denied a home and the companionship of his family just because their father hadn't married his mother.

  But her willingness to welcome him now was more than a wish to recreate a childhood relationship. Her loneliness since her parents' death had been so profound, so terrifying, she snatched at the opportunity to have any family with her. Even though the bond that united them had dwindled to a mere memory, she now felt she was no longer alone. He was her brother. She had somebody to belong to. She knew Monty could do far more for her than Carlos, but she immediately recognized that she wanted very different things from these two men.