"Well I don't plan to marry one of his brothers and hang around nine years looking for something to like about him. As soon as I get to Wyoming, I don't plan to ever see him again."
"I thought you were kinda sweet on him."
"Whatever made you think that?" Iris asked, staring at him in surprise.
"The boys have been making bets with each other," Salty said. "They think you just might be the woman to catch him."
"Catch him!' Iris squeaked. "If I caught him, I'd throw him back."
"That's too bad. He sure is sweet on you."
"Sweet on me!" Iris realized she was sounding like an echo, but Salty kept coming up with statements that sent her mind reeling. "I've never been treated so rudely by anyone in my whole life."
"You keep coming back for more, so I guess you don't mind it too much. I know Monty doesn't. Besides, he's not acting right. I've never seen him so jumpy or cross. It's a sure sign."
This time Iris was too stunned to echo. She just sat looking at Salty, her brain in a whirl.
Salty helped her dismount when they reached camp. He handed her a cup of coffee. He took just two swallows from his cup before he tossed it out.
"You stay here for a little while," he said as he handed the cup back to Tyler. "I'd better look in on the boys. You never can tell when one of them might take a notion to go to sleep in the saddle."
Chapter Fifteen
Iris nodded absently. She had more important things to think about than cowboys falling out of their saddles from fatigue. She wasn't sweet on Monty. She couldn't be. He wasn't waiting around for her to come rushing to him. He had done his best to avoid her.
But at the moment Iris wasn't capable of dealing with Monty's feelings. Her own had caught her completely by surprise.
She was sweet on Monty. She had been since the moment she set eyes on him at that party. That's why she had walked across the room to invite him to dance. It had nothing to do with her schoolgirl crush. It was a woman's reaction to seeing a man she found so attractive she had ignored the teachings of a lifetime. Maybe that's why her body felt so strange whenever he was around. Did all women feel this way when they were with the men they cared about?
Lord, Iris thought to herself, this couldn't be true. Surely she couldn't want to fall in love with Monty. He might be everything she most wanted in a man, but he was also everything she most disliked. No woman in her right mind would want to fall in love with a man who represented her worst nightmare.
And she was in her right mind. She had thought all this out. She was here because she had no other choice. She had chosen Monty because he was the best person to get her to Wyoming. She had kept after him because she didn't trust him not to vanish over the next hill if she didn't.
True, she had let him kiss her and liked it, but that didn't mean anything. Other men had kissed her and she had liked it, too, but that didn't mean she was in love with them or was sweet on them. Still, she had to admit Monty had a way of kissing her that drove all the other kisses out of her mind.
She wouldn't let that overset her plans. She was a sensible, pragmatic woman. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to go after it. She was going to let Monty get her to Wyoming. She was even going to let him help her set up her ranch, help her run it if he would. But as soon as she got back on her feet, she intended to head back to St. Louis. She had a few scores to settle there.
After that?
She'd probably get married. She wanted a family. Being on her own was frightening. She was going to surround herself with people who could never desert her. She was going to belong.
Long ago she had decided exactly the kind of husband she wanted. She ran through the familiar list in her head only to find it no longer satisfied her. Money was still important, as was social standing and a large home with a staff of servants. It went without saying her husband would absolutely adore her.
But she wanted more than that. He had to be someone she could depend on to take care of her. There were more dangers in this world than poverty, and she wanted a man who could keep them all at bay. She wanted a husband she could respect, one she could talk with, one who had the answers to questions. He still had to adore her, but he must have a mind of his own.
He had to be just a little exciting. Maybe even a little rough around the edges. She never wanted to go on a trail drive again, but she had to admit St. Louis would seem rather tame after this.
He had to be sure of himself with her. Even a little aggressive. She didn't mean to let him gain the upper hand, but she would become bored if she always knew what to expect. If a man waited for permission before he took what he wanted, giving in lost half of its appeal. After all, if she wasn't worth a determined pursuit, if his desire for her didn't drive him at least a little bit beyond the limits of control, he couldn't love her very much, could he?
Merciful heavens! You've just described Monty. You want to marry Monty!
If Iris hadn't already been seated, she would have collapsed. She couldn't be in love with Monty. It must be the exhaustion of eighteen-hour days in the saddle. The worry of losing her herd. Maybe the heat and the dust and the noise and the smell had driven her temporarily insane.
That must be it. She wasn't herself. She was too tired to know what she felt. She wouldn't feel this way once she reached Wyoming. She probably wouldn't feel this way tomorrow.
She had to get some rest. Then tomorrow, or when they finally reached the river and she could stop worrying that her entire herd would die of thirst, she would figure out why she had ever done such a crazy thing as think she wanted to marry Monty Randolph.
Breakfast was a steady stream of haggard men, their eyes sunk into deep sockets in their heads, their gait a shambling walk, staggering in for a few bites of food and a few swallows of coffee before stumbling back again.
Iris felt almost as bad as they looked. She was so exhausted she had passed the point of feeling tired. She didn't feel anything at all. She had spent half the night pacing around the campfire, wrestling with her feelings for Monty, unable to come to any acceptable, comprehensible conclusion.
Unable to face the thought of food, Iris had saddled up and ridden out only to be greeted with the news that the herd refused to leave the bedding ground.
"They're trying to turn back to the last water they remember," Frank said, "but it's too far. They won't make it."
Too exhausted to fight off panic, Iris rode on, desperately looking for Monty.
"He can't get them going?" Carlos told her as she rode by. "You're going to lose the whole goddamned herd."
Iris didn't stop to answer. She had to find Monty. He would know what to do. He had to. Already men and horses were exhausted with the effort of controlling the cows determined to turn back to the only water they remembered.
Iris reached the front of the herd to find a dozen men sitting their horses, waiting. Monty was nowhere in sight.
"What's happening?" she asked Salty.
"They won't follow Lightning."
Iris watched the miserable animals mill about in confusion over several hundred acres, bellowing their misery and their thirst.
"Monty's afraid they'll go blind."
"Go blind?" Iris repeated. "Why?"
"From thirst. I know it doesn't make sense, but if it happens, nothing will stop them from turning back to the last water they remember."
Iris felt herself losing her battle with panic.
Salty lifted his eyes toward the horizon. "It's going to rain, but it won't get here soon enough."
Iris didn't ask how he could look at a perfectly clear sky and predict rain. But if it wasn't going to come soon enough, it didn't matter if he was right or wrong.
"Where's Monty?" she asked.
Salty turned back toward camp and pointed, "There."
Iris turned to see Monty coming toward them with both calf wagons bouncing along behind him.
"Everybody get a rope on a calf," Monty called out as he jumped down from his saddle.
He immediately began lifting calves to the ground. Each time he set one down, a cowboy would come up, drop a rope over the frightened animal's head, and lead it off in the direction of the Canadian River.
"I thought you said those calves couldn't keep up," Iris said, completely confused.
"Even a newborn calf can walk faster than a herd that's not moving at all," Monty said, not pausing as he set another calf on the ground. "Their mothers won't follow Lightning, but maybe they'll follow their own calves, especially if they're bawling. And so will any other longhorn within hearing distance."
Iris remembered the night more than a dozen cows had hurried to help the mother of the calf she stumbled over. She shuddered.
"This may be the only way to get them to water."
Hen was setting calves down from the second wagon. Within minutes they had a dozen bawling calves heading north at the ends of ropes. But their cries were drowned out by the den of more than three thousand full-grown cows bellowing their distress.
The herd didn't move.
Monty and Hen continued setting calves on the ground until there were more than two dozen on foot. There were more calves than men, so the extras were tied to the backs of the two wagons. When the wagons started forward, the calves started to bleat.
Still, the herd didn't move.
"Spread out," Monty directed. "Move through the herd."
Nobody moved.
"Why aren't they doing what he said?" Iris asked the man driving the wagon.
"It's too dangerous," he explained. "If those longhorns go crazy, and they're not far from it now, a man in the middle of a herd would be practically helpless."
Iris turned back toward the herd. Still, no one moved.
"It's too late," the wagon driver said. "They've already started to turn." Iris followed the direction of his gaze to where a pair of cows had walked through the cordon of cowboys and started south. "They'll die, every one of them."
Iris stared helplessly at those two cows. It seemed impossible that her entire future could be destroyed by anything as absurd as two cows walking in the wrong direction. Without stopping to realize what she was doing, Iris spurred her horse forward. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she couldn't let them turn the herd. Anybody could stop two cows.
Doing exactly what she'd seen the men do so many times, Iris hazed the two cows back into the herd. But her elation was short-lived. More cows turned.
Even as Iris turned to drive them back, she saw Monty untie a calf from the wagon and lead it into the middle of the herd. Iris forgot what she was doing, giving her pony its head to do what it had been trained to do. As she watched, her heart in her throat, Monty led the loudly-protesting calf deeper and deeper into the milling mass of cattle.
Farther and farther from safety.
Iris sat paralyzed. These were her cows. Monty was risking his life to save her cows. Suddenly the enormity of what she had done in forcing him to take on the burden of her herd was overwhelming. He hadn't wanted to do this. He had tried every way he knew to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. She might as well have been the one forcing him to thread his way through a mass of thirst-maddened, half-wild cows.
If anything happened to him, it would be her fault.
With a muffled cry, Iris forgot all about the cows trying to turn south. She forgot about the danger.
She forgot about everything except Monty.
Galloping her pony to the closest calf wagon, Iris leaned out of the saddle, untied one of the calves. Then she led her protesting calf into the midst of the herd.
Toward Monty.
Tall, slim animals of powerful muscle and bone surrounded her. Their massive horns, spanning as much as six feet, terrified her. All ended in sharp points capable of disemboweling a pony or goring her to death with a single twist of the head.
Iris resolutely turned her attention to Monty. If she was going to die, she'd just as soon it be a surprise. Besides Monty had seen her coming. He stood still.
He was waiting for her.
All of a sudden, from more than a dozen different directions, cowboys began leading calves into the midst of the herd. But Iris was only vaguely aware she and Monty were no longer alone. He had turned now, angling over to meet her, leading his calf north.
His gaze had locked on her. He rode forward, but he looked only at her. Without looking away from Monty, Iris angled her horse north.
A movement behind Monty broke Iris's gaze. A cow was following him. No three cows followed. Iris felt an upsurge of hope. She looked behind her. Several cows followed, their head low, their bellowing unremitting, but they followed. Looking around she noticed small pockets of movement forming around the calves. Like ever expanding ripples, the pockets grew larger and larger until they began to merge with each other.
The herd was moving. They were headed toward water.
Iris didn't know where her body found the energy, but she didn't feel tired anymore. Monty's idea, and his courage to do what no one else dared do, had saved the herd. She had helped because she had found the courage to follow.
Iris couldn't imagine what had come over her, how she had managed to find the nerve to do what these hardened men had not dared. She wasn't courageous. She wasn't foolhardy either. It was totally unlike her and contrary to everything her mother had taught her about survival.
If it's dangerous, there's always some fool you can get to do it for you.
Then, as though it had been there all along just waiting for her to discover it, Iris knew how. And why.
She followed Monty because she loved him. She couldn't do anything else.
* * * * *
The rain reached them in midafternoon. One minute the sky was a brilliant blue. Half an hour later rain pelted the ground with the force of hail. The cattle didn't have to wait until they reached the Canadian. They broke their thirst in the shallow pools that collected in the hundreds of tiny depressions across the prairie. Even after the calves were once again restored to the safety of the calf wagons, the herd moved steadily north, pausing only to take sips from the shallow pools as they passed.
"They wouldn't drink their fill right now even if they stood in water up to their bellies," Monty explained to Iris. "They'll continue to take just a few swallows until their bodies have recovered."
Iris and Monty rode side by side, rain soaking their clothes, pouring down their faces, their rain slickers forgotten. He hoped the men were too busy with their work to watch Iris. She rode completely unaware that her rain-soaked clothes were plastered to her body leaving little to the imagination.
Her shirt molded itself to her shoulders and the curve of her breasts. Monty found his own pulse quickening when he realized he could see the shape and color of her nipples. Her skirt clung to her hips and thighs with equal definition, but the thickness of the material kept it from turning transparent.
Monty untied his slicker from behind his saddle. "Here, let me help you put this on," he said pulling up his horse.
"Why? I'm already soaked."
"I know, but I don't want everybody else to know."
Iris looked down at her clothes, blushed then smiled as Monty draped the slicker over her shoulders. It felt good. She hadn't realized the rain was so cold. "Even a woman like me hopes a man thinks of something more than her body," she said.
"I do, but not when I'm riding next to you drenched to the skin."
Monty figured he would never understand women. As soon as you mentioned they were pretty, every one of them insisted they wanted to be loved for themselves, not their beauty. But the minute you forgot to mention their eyes, lips, hair, or their new dress, you were in hot water. It didn't make sense. Eyes looked greener in a pretty face. A dress looked better on a shapely body. It all looked better if the woman was kind, intelligent, and trustworthy. A package deal.
Iris was one lovely package. And she was proving to be even more of a woman than he had expected. Her leading that calf into the herd had forced him to see her i
n a whole different way. He still could feel the shock and fear that had nearly paralyzed his mind when he looked up to see her. A hundred different thoughts had exploded into his brain simultaneously. That she was a stunning creature and he didn't know how he had kept away from her so long; that she was crazy to risk her life for a few cows; that he'd never seen any woman look more noble, more determined, more fearless; that she looked absolutely scared to death; that both of them could be ground into nothingness under a thousand different hooves; that there was nothing of the parasitic Helena in this glorious woman; that Iris had followed him where no one else had, not even his twin brother; that there couldn't be a more desirable woman in the world.
She continued to surprise him. She might stumble, but she managed to rise to every occasion. She made mistakes, but she didn't repeat them. She was turning into a woman he admired.
He had become much more interested in her than he expected. And that was dangerous. This was more than he could handle. He ought to send her away before he lost the last of his control, but it was too late. She might leave, but he wouldn't send her.
He couldn't.
Monty decided to drive the herd onto the Canadian even though it meant driving at night. It was still raining when they arrived.
"We've got to get them across," he said. "If this rain keeps up, the river may be too high to cross tomorrow."
The exhausted men grumbled. Frank and his crew grumbled loudest of all when they had to leave the dry comfort of a tent they had set up on a knoll. But Monty got the entire herd across and settled on high ground before he allowed anyone to rest.
"We'll stay here a couple of days to let the cattle recover," Monty announced that evening.
After the men turned to their work, Monty's eyes searched the group until he found Iris standing a little off to the side. She seemed to be staring into the horizon. The rain had halted momentarily and a cold breeze swept down from the north. Monty picked up a blanket from the chuckwagon. Iris didn't move until he draped it over her shoulders.
"This will keep the wind off you."
Iris Page 18
