Iris

by Greenwood, Leigh

  "I'm not cold," she said.

  "You should be."

  "Nothing else is as it should be."

  Monty had never seen Iris in a mood like this. He felt like only part of her was aware of him. A tiny part. The rest was somewhere far away.

  All day long he had been wanting to talk to her. It had been a struggle to hold back until he could find a moment when they could be alone.

  But now that he had that moment, he didn't know what to say. This wasn't the Iris he knew, the defiant redhead ready to give him back word for word. She looked upset, confused, unhappy.

  She ought to be euphoric. Not only had the herd come through in fine shape, she had been partly responsible for that success. It would be a long time before she could handle a ranch on her own, but she had the nerve, the brains, and the ability. She lacked only the experience.

  "That was a brave thing you did out there today."

  She spoke without turning toward him. "I was scared to death."

  Monty smiled. "I guess you were. But you did it, and that's what counts."

  "Were you frightened?"

  "Nah. I--"

  She spun to face him, her face intense with the emotions which held her in their coils. "Tell me the truth. Were you frightened?"

  "No. I knew I was taking a chance -- you always take a chance when you work with longhorns. They're born crazy and get worse -- but I knew I could get out if there was trouble."

  Iris's expression didn't relax. "I didn't. I thought I would get killed, but I went in anyway."

  "Why?"

  "Don't ask stupid questions."

  "I'm not. I don't know why you did it."

  "How could I not?" Iris said. "I was the one who decided to make this trip, who talked you into keeping our herds together, who practically forced you into being responsible for me. How could I stand aside and see you trampled?"

  Monty laughed softly. "If I'd gotten trapped, the boys would have started shooting."

  "But I didn't know that," Iris said, her voice rising. "I was petrified you would be killed. I could just see them running over you, stepping on your . . . " She shuddered, unable to continue.

  Monty realized she was badly upset. He took her by the shoulders and turned her until she faced him. "And you still came after me."

  "I couldn't do anything else." Her voice was a thread, a whisper.

  Monty drew her to him until her stiff body touched his. He slipped his arms around her and drew her close. With a convulsive moment, Iris put her arms around Monty and held him as tight as she could.

  "I was never so scared in my life," she said. All the tension that had gripped her since that morning, the agonies of the mind that had held her in their thrall as well, fell away to unleash a sense of relief so overwhelming it brought tears to her eyes.

  "I just kept looking at you. The whole time crazy thoughts kept running through my mind. Something kept saying over and over again Monty won't let them hurt you." She laughed unsteadily. "That was stupid. You were in even more danger than I was."

  Monty experienced the oddest feeling. It wasn't like anything he knew. He felt more peculiar than he ever had in his life. His arms tightened around Iris, and his groin tightened. At least he recognized that feeling. It made him feel good to feel her softness against him. It made him feel good to have her come to him for comfort. It made him feel even better to know he could give it.

  "I think you've learned the secret of courage."

  "What is that?" she asked, her voice muffled by his chest.

  "You've got to be crazy. At least a little bit."

  She laughed. "Really, what is it?"

  "One part belief that what's happening can't really be happening. One part believing danger might happen to somebody else but not you. One part certainty that if it does, somebody will show up to pull you out before it's to late. One part being scared to death and swearing that if you ever do get out, you'll never do anything so stupid again."

  Iris chuckled. "That doesn't sound very brave to me."

  "There is one more part."

  "What's that?"

  "Blind stupidity that keeps you from realizing you're in mortal danger. Or knowing and not caring. George says I'm like that."

  Iris raised her head from Monty's chest and smiled up into his eyes. "Thanks. I feel better." She started to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go.

  "Why did you really do it?"

  Iris dropped her eyes. "I've already told you."

  "I don't believe."

  Iris looked up, smiling again. "You never do. You must think I'm the most persistent liar in the world."

  "I don't. I never--"

  "And you question my every motive. No, you go further than that. You're certain I tell you one thing but have something quite different in mind. You can't deny it, Monty, not if there's an ounce of truth in you."

  Monty was appalled to realize every word she said was true. But he didn't feel that way. So what if she wheedled and flirted to get him to do something against his will. He didn't hold that against her. She was a woman. They did that sort of thing. Helena had been a master at it.

  But he didn't think she was a liar. Really, he didn't.

  "I don't know what I said -- George says I never do, that I just start talking and never pay attention to myself -- but I didn't mean that," Monty said. "And if I did," he continued, forced by his basic honesty to confess all his sins, "I don't now."

  "Why? I'm the same person I was when you told me to go back home."

  "Maybe, but you're not the person I thought you were."

  "And who was that."

  "I thought you were just like your mother."

  Monty felt Iris stiffen in his arms and pull away.

  "I'm in no mood to stand here and listen to you insult my mother. Thanks for what you did today. I always knew you were the only man who could get me to Wyoming. Now I'm going to bed. I've never been so tired in my life."

  Monty was tired, too, but he wasn't sleepy. There was a great deal Iris hadn't told him. There were things he hadn't told her either.

  * * * * *

  Monty was gone when Iris awoke next day. Relieved, she swallowed a quick breakfast and walked over to her chuck wagon to talk to Frank and Carlos. After that she went for a short ride.

  The ride didn't solve anything. She came back to the Randolph camp just as much in love with Monty as the night before, just as confused as to what she was going to do about it.

  She slid from the saddle and looked up, expecting Zac to hurry up to take her horse, unsaddle it, and put it in the remuda. But Zac didn't move.

  "Aren't you going to take my horse?" she asked, a little surprised at this attitude.

  "No."

  "You took it yesterday."

  "You rode our horse yesterday. That one belongs to your remuda," pointing to where a second rope corral held the Double-D horses. "If I was to take it, somebody might say I was trying to steal it."

  "Suppose you take it over for me."

  "I'd have to run all the way there and back," Zac objected. "If I'm not here when the men come in, Monty will have my head."

  "If you're not here, they can put them up themselves," Tyler said from where he was fixing dinner. "I expect they know how."

  "It ain't your head Monty's going to break," Zac objected.

  "He won't break yours, either. You run faster than he does."

  Zac grinned. "Yeah, but Monty's a great one for sneaking up on you when you least expect it."

  "I'll tell him you did it just for me," Iris cajoled. Zac looked her over as though he were trying to decide if her importance to his brother was strong enough to make it worth the trouble.

  "You don't look like you think my influence is worth much," Iris said, amused as well as nonplussed by Zac's weighing her up as though she were a commodity to be bought and haggled over.

  "You never can tell about Monty. He doesn't like girls a whole lot."

  "Maybe he just hasn't found one h
e likes enough."

  "Naw, he likes them all for a day or two, but he gets tired of them after that. Says he likes cows better. You get tired of a cow, you can sell it or eat you. You get tired of a woman, and you nearbout got to leave the country."

  "Take the lady's horse," Tyler said.

  "You ain't my boss," Zac said, eying Tyler uneasily. "George said I didn't have to listen to anybody but Monty and Hen. And Salty."

  "If you don't take that lady's horse, I'm going to cut the corral rope and light a fire under that broom-tailed sorrel."

  "I'll be chasing horses for the next two days," Zac said, shocked by Tyler's treachery.

  "A whole lot easier to take the lady's horse."

  Zac glared at Iris. He flung a clod into the earth and uttered a few curses Iris felt certain he hadn't learned from George. Then he grabbed the reins from Iris, flung himself into the saddle, and spurred the tired animal into a gallop.

  "The boy talks too much," Tyler said, handing Iris a cup of hot coffee. "I keep telling George he ought to beat him regular."

  "And George doesn't?" Iris asked, bemused at this glimpse into the Randolph family.

  "Zac's no fool. He does everything George tells him just like he enjoyed doing it. It's just the rest of us that want to kill him. He particularly likes to bait Monty. Going to get him a broken head one of these days."

  Iris couldn't believe Tyler really meant what he said. But then she'd never had a family. She didn't know if it was possible to love your brother and want to break his head at the same time.

  But she enjoyed these small and as yet infrequent signs that she was gradually being accepted by the Randolphs. She had to admit she felt more comfortable with the Circle-7 crew than she did with her own men.

  Frank seemed to be growing more and more distant. Carlos just looked grave. Not a day passed the didn't urge Iris to cut her herd and move away from Monty.

  Iris ambled over to sit in the sparse shade of a small, twisted oak. She sorted through her options once again without coming up with anything new. As long as she distrusted Frank, she had no one she could depend on except the Randolphs. Tension among the crew was so thick you could almost see it, but she knew Frank, if it was Frank, wouldn't try anything as long as Monty and Hen were in charge of the herd.

  As long as she stayed with Monty, she was safe.

  Who would protect her if she left?

  Carlos would try, but he was only one man. Joe Reardon was his friend, but Iris didn't think Joe would take a risk unless he could see an advantage to himself. She had no reason to distrust him, none to dislike him, but she did distrust him and she did dislike him. She was used to men staring at her, but she could never accustom herself to being stared at by Joe Reardon. It was completely different.

  There was none of the worshipful admiration she had come to expect from the youthful cowhands, none of the mature appreciation she received from older men. There was something almost cynical, something that recognized and took stock of the value of her beauty. But there was also something that seemed to hold it cheap, to think of it as a commodity to be used and cast aside when it lost its appeal.

  Iris had never been treated as a commodity, and the feeling was unpleasant. It was worse than Monty's rudeness.

  Zac came running around the corner of the chuck wagon so out of breath he could hardly speak.

  "Holy Jesus!" he exclaimed. "All hell's -- going to -- break -- loose," he gasped. "Monty's -- just fired -- your whole -- crew!"

  Chapter Sixteen

  The coffee cup fell from Iris's nerveless hand. "You must be mistaken," she said, certain Zac had misunderstood. "Not even Monty would do a thing like that."

  "He would if he thought he should," Tyler said, looking into Iris's eyes for the first time she could remember. "Monty never lets good sense get in his way."

  "But why would he fire my crew?"

  "No use asking me," Tyler said, turning back to his work. "Tell Zac to fetch you a horse. Then get yourself over there and ask him yourself."

  But Zac hadn't waited for Iris. He had thrown himself bareback on the first horse he reached and galloped back to the camp. By the time Iris saddled her horse and reached her own camp, the fireworks were just about over.

  Monty stood squarely in the center of the camp. Hen and Salty were close by, but Iris could tell Monty had done this on his own authority.

  "What happened?" Iris asked. "Zac said you fired my crew."

  "Only some of them," Monty said.

  "Who? Why?"

  "He accused me of trying to steal from you," Frank said. He jerked his bedroll out of the chuckwagon and threw it on the ground next to his saddle. "He said he wanted us out of camp within the hour." He walked to where the wrangler was bringing up his horse. "He ain't even giving us time to eat."

  "And you did this without consulting me?" Iris said turning to Monty. She was confused and surprised. And angry. She had no doubt Monty had a reason for what he had done, but she couldn't believe he would take such a momentous step without consulting her. They were her men. He couldn't fire them.

  "If you're going to do something, you might as well do it right away," Monty said, not taking his eyes off the men gathering their gear.

  "Are we missing any cattle?" Iris asked.

  "No," Frank said. "Not a single one."

  "Then how . . . "

  "I saw him talking to Quince Honeyman," Monty said.

  Iris's gaze whipped around to Frank.

  "A man's got a right to talk to anybody he wants," Frank said, angrily.

  "I don't trust anybody who consorts with thieves."

  "Who said Quince is a thief?" Carlos demanded.

  "I said it," Monty said, turning on Iris's brother.

  "Anybody but you see him?"

  "If a man's thieving, he's thieving whether one man sees him or a hundred."

  "I don't think Carlos wants to take your word," Joe said. He said it in a flat voice, but Iris couldn't help but feel he was trying to cause trouble. That angered her. She was only keeping him on because of Carlos.

  "He doesn't have to take my word for this or anything else if he doesn't want to," Monty answered. "The trail out of here is the same for him as anybody else."

  "You can't fire Carlos," Iris said turning on Monty. She hadn't thought he included Carlos with the men he distrusted. The fear that she might lose her only family made her reckless. "You can't fire anybody unless I say so."

  "Maybe you two would like to take a walk down to the river," Salty suggested. "There might be a few things you want to talk about before we finish up here."

  Iris opened her mouth to refuse. She wanted Carlos to know how she felt about him. Being alone with Monty put her at the mercy of his more forceful personality. But she had overreached herself this time, and she knew it. Besides, after saddling Monty with the responsibility for her herd, she owned him that much.

  She nodded her agreement. Whatever their disagreements, they shouldn't be discussed in front of the men.

  She didn't know how she was going to argue with a man over hiring and firing when the overriding question in her mind was whether he'd ever kissed another woman the way he'd kissed her. She couldn't find the energy to worry about Frank's future when her own prospects for happiness had been reduced to rubble. She didn't know how she could carry on a logical argument when just being around him deprived her of rational thought.

  She couldn't concentrate on business when her heart was crying out for love she was afraid Monty didn't have to give.

  Neither spoke until they were screened by a thick tangle of vines and bushy growth that made the river unapproachable along much of its length. They both spoke at once.

  "Why did you--"

  "I would have told you--"

  "You first," Iris said.

  "I've known for some time Quince was following us," Monty said. "I've just been waiting to see who his contact would be."

  "Why didn't you tell me? I'm not arguing about Quince or
Frank, but it's my herd, my foreman. I ought to know. You've made me look like a fool by firing everybody without telling me. I'm tempted to tell them all to stay."

  She hadn't meant to say that. Her temper had caused her to sound like she was issuing a challenge. Now that she had, she was too stubborn to take it back. She pulled at a bush limb to hide her nervousness.

  "You can if you like."

  He looked impatient with the whole conversation, but he controlled his temper.

  "What would you do?" She began plucking leaves from the limb one by one.

  "Cut the herds and let you go on ahead like we were at first."

  "Knowing Frank, or somebody else, is trying to steal my herd?"

  "If I'm going to be responsible for your herd, I give the orders. When that doesn't suit, let me know."

  "You know I can't do that."

  "Yes, you can. All you have to do is--"

  She released the stripped limb. It snapped back with a thwack. "Dammit, Monty, I can't leave. You know it, and I know it. I said you could give the orders, but the least you could do is tell me what you're going to do with my crew. I don't want to hear it from Zac."

  "That wasn't fair," Monty admitted. "It's just that I'm used to doing things without asking."

  "Is that why George gets mad at you?"

  Iris didn't know why she asked that question, but when Monty's brows drew together and his hands balled into fists, she wished she hadn't.

  "George doesn't get mad. He just disapproves. He's disappointed that my ungovernable temper and lack of judgment cause me to jeopardize the family's position. He wonders if I will ever be mature enough to think of the consequences before I act." Monty said it like he was reciting a litany he had heard many times.

  She had always wondered what was wrong between George and Monty, but she had wandered onto treacherous ground. She retreated quickly.

  "If you fire all those men, we'll have too many cows and too few hands. What are you going to do?" She selected a second limb and began stripping it of leaves.

  Some of the rigidity left Monty. "Hire more as soon as I get the chance. Get along as best we can until then. My men will be able to do more work now they're not watching yours. Besides, I've kept the six hands who were with your father before Frank became his foreman."