It also angered him he should be so transparent. He never knew what was going on in Hen's mind. "I tried not to," Monty said, making no attempt to deny Hen's accusation.
"Damn! I'd rather you said you had made up your mind to seduce her the first chance you got. At least I could believe you'd started to grow up. But you're just as much a fool as ever."
Monty could feel his anger starting to get out of control. "Just because you're a cold-blooded devil doesn't mean the rest of us can live like eunuchs."
"Go find yourself a whore if your itch needs scratching, but stay away from women like Iris."
Anger churned in Monty's gut like boiling water. He could feel the muscles in his arms jumping, tensing, just wanting to hit something. He turned and stalked away, but Hen followed.
"You spent a year trying to convince George to start this ranch. I backed you. Jeff claimed the homestead, built and stocked the cabin. Zac left school early. We spent months planning this drive, and you're ready to jeopardize it all just because you can't control the itch in your pants."
"Lay off," Monty warned. "Being my twin doesn't give you the right to say anything you damned-well please."
"I can call you a jackass if I want," Hen shot back. "I'd say if even if you weren't my brother."
"I'm warning you--" Monty could feel blind anger rolling over him, consuming his reason, drowning his resistance. He tried to push it back, but it rolled over him like the incoming tide.
"You don't frighten me," Hen taunted him. "I've whipped your ass before. And if you keep on letting your britches rule your head, I'll do it again."
Monty charged his brother with all the ferocity of an angry bull. Hen squared up to his attack, and the two of them went down in a tangle of arms and legs, the air filled with their curses.
"Monty and Hen are fighting!" Zac shouted to Tyler as he dashed up to the chuckwagon.
"They're always fighting," Tyler replied.
"They mean it this time. It's about Iris." Zac yanked the top off the water barrel, scooped up a bucket of water, and slammed the top back in place. "Come on," he called as he ran off again. "Hurry, before they kill each other."
Apparently ignoring his brother, Tyler walked over to the fire and stuck his finger into a pot beans. Satisfied with the temperature, he picked up the pot and followed Zac.
"They wouldn't stop no matter what I say," Zac said, and threw the bucket of water over his brothers.
They didn't even pause in their struggle.
"You need something that won't run off," Tyler said as he hoisted his pot of beans aloft. He began to pour the thick, sticky mass over the fighters in one continuous, hot stream.
The violence of the curses from both men scorched the air, but they stopped fighting.
"I'll cook you in one of your own pots!" Monty shouted.
"Not if I get to him first," Hen threatened.
Tyler returned to his fire with an unhurried tread.
"As for you--" Monty shouted, turning on Zac.
But Zac, having a lively appreciation for keeping his own skin whole and in an unbruised condition, was well on his way back to camp, his tread as hurried as he could make it.
"This is all your fault, yours and that stupid woman," Hen blazed as he scraped gobs of sticky beans from his shirt and flung them away with a flick of his wrist.
"Don't call Iris stupid," Monty barked. Using his index finger, he removed a blob from his cheek. He tasted it and found it to his liking.
"You won't have to worry about me calling her anything to you ever again."
"Yes, I do. You may not talk much, but you're never quiet about things you don't like."
"It won't matter if I'm not here for you to hear it."
Monty froze. "You're leaving?" It had never occurred to him Hen would desert him. They had fought over one thing or another ever since he could remember, but they had been each other's shadow all their lives.
Monty's words seemed to strike Hen with an equal impact.
"No. I told George I'd help you get this herd to Wyoming, and I won't go back on my word."
"Don't bother," Monty replied, deeply hurt that Hen's loyalty to George should be greater than to his own twin. "I can get them there without you."
"I'm staying."
"Suit yourself, you goddamned stubborn sonofabitch. But you make sure you stick to your job. I can take care of the rest."
"You'd better," Hen retorted, "or I'm going to beat the hell out of you again."
Monty was still so angry it took him a moment to master the impulse to attack Hen all over again. Why not? he said to himself. Everybody already thinks you're nothing but a hot-headed fool. You could save everybody a lot of trouble by proving it.
But Monty didn't want to fight Hen. He didn't want to fight anybody. He just wanted to get rid of the empty feeling inside, this horrible feeling of failure that rode him like a demon every time he failed to live up to George's expectations.
He had never needed his father's approval, he despised the old bastard too much to care what he thought, but it was different with George. George would have sacrificed his own success if it would have helped Monty.
That made it worse, but it was Rose who made it awful. It tore her up to see George upset over his brothers. Monty could still remember the time she had looked at him with tears in her eyes, tears for George, tears for him. Hell, it made him feel so bad he wanted to go out and shoot himself.
Would it ever be any different?
But as Monty's temper cooled, he admitted to himself he wouldn't have gotten so angry if Hen hadn't said exactly what he'd been saying to himself. He knew Iris was causing him to do one thing after another he shouldn't, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Where Iris was concerned, he didn't seem to be able to think clearly.
And having made love to her would probably make everything more difficult. Usually a night of lovemaking filled him with energy, made him anxious to get back to the ranch, to the herd, to his work. It temporarily freed him of his need of women.
He didn't feel free of Iris. He had not exhausted his fascination with her. If anything it had actually increased.
Even now the memory of last night was so strong it was almost as if he were living it again. The feel of her skin against his own was more vivid than the smell of the still-warm beans or their heavy thickness as they dried on his clothes.
But there was more to it than that. He didn't think of her only when his body needed to be eased. He never had. She had always been somebody special, first when she was a love-struck teenager following him about, then when she turned into a stunning woman trying to cajole him into taking her to Wyoming. He had always wanted her to be safe, comfortable and happy, even though he hadn't wanted to be personally responsible for her.
That had changed. Now he found himself thinking about her before his cows. That in itself was ominous. He had stopped thinking she was like her mother. He had when he first saw her at Christmas -- she had looked so much like Helena she could have been her double -- but Monty had had plenty of time to realize Iris was very different.
She had certainly tried to talk him into doing something he didn't want to do, something that wasn't in his best interest because it benefitted her. But she had done it because she was badly frightened, not because she was greedy or cruel.
She was also honest. She had stopped trying to charm or flatter him into doing what she wanted. Now if she wanted something, she asked for it. She might get angry if she didn't get it, but she didn't sulk and she didn't connive.
Monty realized in addition to liking Iris, to being strongly affected by her physical beauty, to being concerned with her well-being, he was starting to admire her. She was a very different woman from what he had expected, and he found himself comparing her to Rose and Fern. He found himself thinking of being with her for the rest of his life.
The logical extension of that thought startled Monty so much he almost called for his horse so he could start separating the herds
right then and there. He had been around George and Madison enough to know this wasn't mere lust at work. There was something else going on, something that took hold of a man and wouldn't let go no matter what he did.
Monty wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to think beyond getting to Wyoming and winning his own private battle with George. Once he'd done that maybe he'd think about his future. But not now.
But he knew no matter how upset he might be now, he'd forget his resolution the minute he saw Iris. She had looked even lovelier this morning than she had last night. At first it had only irritated him to see the looks the men gave her when she walked up to the campfire. Now, after last night, it upset him. He didn't want the crew looking at Iris like that. He knew what was in their minds -- it had been on his -- and he didn't like it.
But he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't hide her in her wagon. He couldn't force her to travel with the chuck wagon, not after he'd practically forced her to ride with the herd so she could learn how to manage cows. He couldn't send her to a hotel at night. There was nothing but Indian tepees for hundreds of miles in any direction. He couldn't tell the men not to look at her without making himself into a bigger fool than he was already.
Hell, there was no end to the consequences of letting Iris come on this trip. If he'd know when he came upon her on the trail what he knew now, he'd have carried her back, kicking and screaming if necessary. But he couldn't do that now. He would have to look after her all the way to Wyoming.
Monty cursed. She'd gotten what she wanted, only he was doing it of his own accord now. He wouldn't back off even if she asked him to. Hen was right. He couldn't think straight when he was around Iris.
He had to begin keeping his distance, as much because of Hen as for himself. Hen was his closest friend in the world. Nothing had ever come between. They had been each other's conscience, guardian, companion. Hell, Hen had risked is own life to save him that day the rustlers were about to hang him. Monty could almost feel the rope tightening around his neck.
Monty had to make certain the men acted respectfully. Firing Clem had let it be known he wouldn't tolerate insolence, but it wouldn't be a bad idea if they men just stayed away altogether. It would be safer for everybody. A few well-placed words would take care of that.
Now all he had to do was figure out what excuse to give Iris.
* * * * *
Iris was hurt and confused. She was also mad. She had expected Monty to be distant, but she hadn't expected him to practically ignore her.
For days she had ridden next to the bawling herd, clouds of dust coating her body with dirt, noise assaulting her ears until she felt like her brains were scrambled. Her body ached from so many hours in the saddle, of trying to hold on while her trail-wise pony took out after an errant cow and drove it back into the herd. Her legs felt bowed, she had callous in places she wouldn't mention in mixed company much less expose, and the ceaseless wind and chapped lips and given her split ends. And to top it all off, she was tanned as brown as an Indian. Not once had he commented on how hard she had worked or how much she had improved. He had hardly spoken to her at all.
The sight of her wagon pulled into the shade by the stream made her think wistfully of her bed, but it was an exercise in frustration. Five cows had dropped calves during the night, all of them hers. She knew it was to her advantage to save every calf she could. Monty's, too, but now he acted like it was nothing special. It irritated her that he should take her sacrifice for granted so quickly. All he had said was, "Your clothes are going to get wrinkled in that bedroll." Fortunately Tyler had room for her trunk in the chuckwagon, or she might have turned the gun on Monty instead of the calves.
Now he had her working like a cowhand, the pampered daughter of a rich rancher doing the same work as unlettered boys who got paid thirty dollars a month. She used to spend more than that on a dress she might wear only once. She thought of the meager hoard of coins hidden once again in the secret compartment in her wagon. It would be a long time before she could spend that kind of money on a dress, even one she planned to wear over and over again.
But as Iris took the reins from Zac and climbed into the saddle, she knew it wasn't the work, the money, or the loss of her wagon that had put her into a state. As usual, it was Monty.
Eight weeks on the trail had given her a very different picture of the man she had first swooned over five years ago. But even though she knew Monty had only slightly more subtlety and sensitivity than a buffalo bull, she had expected their night together to revolutionize their relationship. It had changed her life forever.
But Monty went about his work like always. Except that now he seemed to look right through her.
She didn't understand. For the last three days he'd hardly spoken to her. Not once had they eaten a meal in the companionable silence she used to enjoy so much. At first she thought he was avoiding her, but he was always close by. He seemed to have surrounded her with a ring of protection so hostile none of the men came near her. It was almost as though he was angry at her. She knew he was still upset about Hen, but she had no idea why he was angry at the men.
Iris overheard Zac talking to Tyler.
"Nothing's ever kept them mad at each other this long before," Zac had said after Hen and Monty had sat through breakfast without speaking to each other. "They've hardly said a word to each other all week."
Tyler had cast a brief glance at Iris, but his expression was blank, and he said nothing.
"Even when they're fighting, they're usually thick as thieves. Get one mad and you got them both to deal with. Which ain't fair," Zac said, apparently remembering some past injustice. "I can watch out for one of them, but nobody can keep his eyes on both of them. Especially Hen. He can move like an Indian. You can usually hear Monty coming a mile off."
"If you watched your tongue, you wouldn't always have to be looking over your shoulder," Tyler added.
"Well if Monty didn't have a temper like a wounded panther, I wouldn't have to worry either way."
Zac had gone away to dismantle his rope corral and prepare to drive the remuda along with the cattle to the noon resting place.
No one had to tell Iris that she was the difficulty that had come between Hen and Monty. She could see feel it in the strained way Monty acted toward her. It leaped out from Hen's behavior. She doubted a leper could feel any more shunned.
Yet Monty must still be concerned about her. He rarely let her out of his sight. He organized the jobs so she would be with him. She slept near the Randolph chuckwagon, Monty, Tyler, and Zac forming a ring of protection around her. Iris began to feel like a prisoner too valuable to be let out of sight yet not worthy of friendship.
Iris couldn't understand these contradictory feelings. If she liked somebody, she liked them no matter what. It didn't make sense to like somebody and hate them at the same time. But it obviously made sense to Monty, and she was getting the worst of both sides.
She couldn't stand it any longer. She had to talk to Monty. Every time she thought of making love to him, of the hopes she had built on that night, it made her sick at heart. Nothing would change her conviction Monty cared for her, but there was something going on inside him she didn't know about. It somehow affected her, and it stood in the way of her happiness. Iris knew what she needed to be happy. It wasn't the herd; it wasn't enough money to go back to St. Louis. It wasn't even an adoring husband who would do everything in his power to please her.
It was Monty. Irascible, cantankerous, temperamental, handsome, charming, dependable Monty.
Nothing else.
Having made her decision, Iris felt much better. Her anxiety to talk to Monty made the afternoon pass slowly. Thus she was irritated to ride into camp and find nearly every cowhand in the outfit gathered around the chuck wagon. The presence of so many people would make it nearly impossible to talk to Monty alone. She had to have privacy. She thought Tyler might be cooking a favorite meal tonight, but she could detect no cooking aromas. She rode str
aight to the rope corral. Zac was nowhere to be seen. She dismounted, tied her horse to a bush, and headed toward the camp site. As she looked up, a movement in the gathering of men enabled her to see what was causing all the commotion.
A young woman stood talking to Monty.
Chapter Nineteen
Iris found herself hurrying forward. Where could the woman have come from? What was she doing here? It hadn't occurred to Iris until this very moment, but she ached for female companionship. Her sense of isolation had been made all the more acute by Monty's behavior lately. She hoped the woman wasn't just a visitor. She hoped she would stay with them for a while.
"My name is Iris Richmond," Iris announced as the men fell back to let her pass. "I hope you're not in any trouble."
"She was attacked by Indians," Zac said.
"Indians!" Iris exclaimed.
"I'm Betty Crane. It was Comanches," the woman said in a soft southern accent. "They killed my husband, took everything we had, and left me to die."
Iris's gaze flew to Monty. They had spent the night in a Comanche village. How could the Indians have treated them so well and killed this woman's husband?
"There are many different bands of Comanches," Monty explained. "Some of them still hope to drive the white man out of their lands."
Iris remembered the chief saying he had lost many young braves to the warrior chiefs. She wondered if any of the sons of the women who had prepared their food had helped kill this woman's husband.
"I'm so glad you found us," Iris said, trying to drive the fearful images from her head. "You don't have to be afraid anymore."
"I feel safe already," Betty said, looking at Monty. "Mr. Randolph has most kindly offered to take me as far as Cheyenne."
"It won't be any trouble at all," Monty assured her.
Iris couldn't prevent the slight rigidity that made her smile less spontaneous. Their situations were not at all alike, but it hurt to think Monty had been so quick to take Betty under his protection when he was still trying to find a way to get rid of her. Neither could she believe the deference Monty accorded Betty. It was almost like he was talking to his mother or an aunt.
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