by Jeanne Rose
There were also beans, rice, some sort of sausages, and cornbread. Iphigenia dug in with enthusiasm.
While she ate, she covertly observed her intended "husband." He was definitely handsome, if wild-looking, with his long raven-dark hair and exotic rugged features. He had wide shoulders and strong arms with well-formed large hands. For some reason, Iphigenia found herself imagining what those hands would feel like on her body. What in Hades was the matter with her? she thought, face growing warm.
Monte was also watching her. Finally, he asked, "Have a nice nap? Now that you're rested, I figured we could get down to the dragging behind horses and arrow-shooting."
He spoke so bluntly, she couldn't tell if he were being sarcastic. "I assume you mean to be humorous."
"What if I don't?"
"Then I suppose I shall have to fetch my pistols and defend myself."
"You have pistols?"
"And I know how to shoot."
"Oughta fit right in out here in the Wild West then."
He chuckled, though no one else laughed. And Iphigenia felt no real fear. Ryerson simply had to be needling her.
The man switched his attention to his son, asking the boy about some ranching duties. Stephen answered soberly, obviously continuing to feel ill-at-ease because of his part in Iphigenia's arrival. He didn't look much like his father, except for his height and large-boned build. Although the twins had brown eyes, rather than blue like their brother's, and Ginnie had very straight dark brown hair, Iphigenia guessed that the children's mother must have been white.
She wondered if Monte Ryerson would make good on his threat about marrying her. Although she needed her trust fund to support her and Hope, she found the idea of wedding a stranger disconcerting now that she faced the reality of such a situation. And Monte Ryerson scared her ...for reasons other than his mock threat about exchanging arrows and bullets. The man's Indian heritage might have something to do with it. He certainly was wilder and in a true sense than the reckless Lamar Blake had ever dreamed of being.
Moreover, Ryerson exuded a fierce power Iphigenia found fascinating, if frightening. She wasn't certain whether that came from the attraction she felt for him -- against her will -- or whether there was something deep and dark within him, secrets that called out to a woman who had never particularly been happy, who had lived through some deep, dark moments herself.
But Iphigenia wanted to set aside her worries. She needed to maintain calm. Making Cassie feel more at ease might help. Not that she approved of the girl placing the advertisement. But she could identify with someone who got into trouble with her father, not to mention a child who had wanted a mother so badly she was willing to go to so much effort in the first place. She realized that was what had caused her intense reaction to Monte's yelling earlier.
Helping herself to more beans, she asked the girl, "Is this dish another sort of chili?"
Cassie shook her head. "Just black beans and pintos with some bacon and seasoning."
"Spicy seasoning," said Iphigenia, though she thought the taste rather interesting. She got a surprise when she took her next bite of cornbread, though. "Oh!" Eyes watering, she stared at the bread, noting a bit of green in the middle. "What in Hades ...er, what on earth is in here?"
"Jalapeno peppers," said the young girl. "Do you like them?"
Actually, no, but Iphigenia struggled to be complimentary. "They certainly make the bread interesting." She nibbled at it more gingerly, avoiding the jalapeno.
"Mexican cooking uses a lot chilies," Cassie went on. "That's what they're called -- where the name for chili stew came from. There's all kinds of chilies, green and red. Jalapenos aren't so bad but watch out for the little, bitty green ones. They'll set your mouth on fire."
"Thank you for the warning," said Iphigenia, thinking it more likely that steam would come out her ears. Jalapenos had already burned her mouth. But she acted like she was having a good time and smiled, pleased when she got a return grin from Cassie.
"I guess they don't have peppers in New York," Ginnie remarked from across the table.
"We use sweet peppers, rather than hot." Iphigenia switched her attention to the other twin. At last the girl had said something. "That would be usual."
"What would the usual meal be like in New York?" asked Cassie.
Iphigenia thought of the formal way her father and aunt always dined, even when the number of guests at the table was limited. But she tried to be succinct. "We would probably start with a soup course. And we would frequently have a seafood dish, stuffed fowl, and perhaps lamb or beef."
"And a fancy dessert, I suppose?" inquired Cassie. "We're having plain old apple pie tonight."
"Apple pie sounds wonderful," said Iphigenia, though she was already nearly full.
Ginnie stabbed at the food on her plate for a moment, then made a rude noise. "You don't really like our food," she told Iphigenia. "You hated the jalapenos and I bet you think apples are boring. I bet you'd love to go back to New York. Why did you really come out to Texas anyway? You don't belong here."
Cassie looked stricken. "Ginnie! That isn't nice -- insulting a guest."
"She's your guest, not mine," Ginnie returned. "And I can say whatever I want."
Having had plenty of experience with speaking her mind when she shouldn't, Iphigenia nevertheless felt moved to put Ginnie in her place. "You can indeed say anything you want but you would do well to think about the repercussions that being unpleasant can cause. The more civilized and clever way to insult someone is by being indirect," she lectured. "Your victim will receive the message, yet often be caught too offguard to respond in kind."
Ginnie merely sneered. "You use big words, but that doesn't make them important."
"Ginnie." Now Monte Ryerson stepped in. "I don't like arguments at the table. And I also don't like children mouthing off to their elders. If you can't behave yourself, you can take a walk."
"All right." Throwing her fork down as Carmen was clearing the dishes and starting to serve pie, Ginnie gave Iphigenia a look of pure hatred and strode out of the room.
That's when Iphigenia noticed the girl wore trousers. A style normal for girls and women in this wild country?
"Insults are mean, whether they're indirect or not," Monte went on, looking directly at Iphigenia. "Everybody gets along in this family or they have to deal with me."
Iphigenia wasn't about to be told what to do and she wasn't a member of Ryerson's family. "I believe we already have an assignation for the exchange of arrows and bullets. Do you want to step outside immediately?"
"Those words don't sound too indirect."
Iphigenia shrugged. "Sometimes I fail to follow my own advice."
Monte scowled, looking like he wanted to say something else, but was holding himself back. Finally, moving his dark, penetrating gaze to the pie, he dug in. He'd only gotten a few bites, however, when one of the ranch workers appeared in the kitchen doorway. The man was grizzled, homely, short and bow-legged.
"Mr. Ryerson? Found out what happened to those hosses in the north pasture last night. You might wanta come take a look at what's left of 'em."
Monte seemed startled and pushed aside his plate. "Okay, Shorty. I'll be right out." When Stephen started to rise, he ordered, "Finish your food. I'll take care of things."
Which ended the first real meal Iphigenia had eaten in West Texas, as well as her second conversation with Monte Ryerson. Exhaustion seeping slowly back into her limbs, she decided she'd finish the pie and make a run for her bedroom so there wouldn't be another go-round tonight.
MONTE FROWNED at the lathered animals his wranglers had herded into a corral. Nearly saddle-broke, the small herd had been grazing some distance from the buildings before being run off in the wee hours the night before.
"Whoever them hombres was, they didn't really wanta steal these cayuses," said Norbert Tyler, one of the cowboys who'd returned the horses. "Or they would've headed 'em for Mexico. They jest wanted to spook 'em."
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Monte had already figured that out, having tracked the smears the invaders' horses had made until they split off from the herd. The thieves had covered their mounts' hooves with cloth Indian-style, so their prints couldn't be identified. The only problem left to deal with had been to round up the horses, which is why he'd sent some of his men, hadn't gone along himself.
"Them sum-bitches did a damned good job of spookin'," Shorty said, the leader of the round-up crew. "We couldn't catch three or four hosses. High-tailed it like the devil hisself was after 'em. And found a mare layin' on a mesa, dead. Plain run herself to death."
"Run to death?" Monte was surprised. And angry. The fact that Iphigenia's arrival had gotten him all riled up earlier didn't help any. "Who would want to run a horse to death?" When they were valued everywhere. "And how could they run the mare to death anyway? They didn't follow the herd that far."
"Don't think it was jest the thieves," said Norbert. "Somethin' else scared the hell out of them animals in the first place."
"A cougar? Wolves?" Though Monte hadn't seen any signs of either predator around the ranch in a long time.
Shorty shook his grizzled head. "Bill says there was some kinda spook light out there last night."
"Spook light?" Monte felt a chill.
"Pablo here seen it, too," Norbert said, nodding toward another wrangler. "We was up late, takin' a smoke outside when we saw some kinda greenish light flutterin' around way up on the hill. I think it made them hosses take off and the thieves jest followed 'em."
More men had gathered from the bunkhouse, including Monte's foreman, Jake O'Brian.
"Guess ghosts and evil spirits and such sure can scare an animal," muttered Jake, stroking his bushy mustache. He pointed at a sweating bay. "Look at that horse's eyes. They're still rollin'."
Monte couldn't give into superstition, at least not in front of his men. He didn't believe Jake or Shorty would have either, if the three of them hadn't made that fateful trip deep into Mexico the previous fall.
Though he wasn't certain about the situation himself, he insisted, "I don't know what you saw, Norbert. Or you either, Pablo. But there weren't any spooks."
"Then how do you explain what happened?" said Jake, giving him a slant-eyed look. "And why did that waterhole over east go bad all of a sudden? And why are we findin' cows laying dead for no reason? Things aren't doing so well around here."
"Don't know that I have an explanation but I don't believe we're talking about anything unnatural." Monte hoped not anyway. "Waterholes go bad every once in awhile in desert country. You know that. And cattle die."
Not to mention that he had some enemies, the worst of which was Jonah Barkley, his estranged stepfather. Monte's grandfather Ryerson had paid Barkley to marry Monte's mother and take her away from the Comanche warrior she fancied.
Growing even angrier at the thought of Barkley, he ordered, "Let's get these horses cooled down, see that they don't make themselves sick by drinking too much water."
Some of the men started to go about the task, but several of them muttered among themselves.
Norbert said, "Sure that one of your enemies didn't put a spell on you, Mr. Ryerson? Luis Padilla ain't too happy that his brother got kilt in Mexico."
"None too happy about it myself," said Monte, having felt low as a snake when he'd had to talk to the family. "Roberto was a good man."
"And it ain't Mr. Ryerson's fault what happened," added Shorty.
Monte was glad to hear that vote of confidence but noticed Jake had nothing to say. His foreman had been odd the past year, maybe a bit spooked himself. Possibly because the man had seen things that didn't agree with his view of what was real and was not.
"Nobody likes losing someone they love," said Monte. "Tobias Perez was shot out of his saddle by the bandits we chased into Mexico." The ones that had begun all the trouble. "His family buried Tobias and mourned him, but they don't blame anybody for his death."
Though he sometimes couldn't help blaming himself. Still, he had to keep his men in check. Because cattle prices had been low, he'd been working with a skeleton crew whose hours were long and wages were late every month. They were already edgy. Figuring those who'd been grousing would calm down if he helped with the work tonight, he went into the corral and got busy.
"Say, who was that pretty lady I saw ridin' in with your kids on the buckboard?" someone asked.
Iphigenia -- they simply had to bring her up.
"A visitor," was all Monte would say. About the lady part, he wasn't certain.
"How long she stayin'?" asked Shorty.
"Don't know for sure. Probably no more than a week or so."
If he could talk Cassie into that. And if he could avoid giving into the temptation to keep the tart-tongued but beautiful blonde around so he simply could look at her.
He had enough problems already.
IPHIGENIA undressed and returned to bed but she couldn't sleep. Though she remained exhausted, she felt all wound up, worrying about her baby, thinking about Monte Ryerson and his children, considering all the complications that had cropped up, no matter her initial plans. Tossing and turning, she wished she'd packed a flask of smooth bourbon in one of the trunks. Actually, even a glass of wine would do.
Wondering if Monte Ryerson kept spirits somewhere in his house, she rose and peeked out into the corridor. Finding it empty, she threw a wrapper over her nightgown and went out to explore. The place seemed completely deserted, the children having gone to bed and Carmen having returned to her own abode after cleaning up. Cassie said that the housekeeper and her husband occupied a small house on the grounds.
Kerosene lamps burned in the kitchen and in the parlor area that opened off the dining room. Orange-gold light flooded the white-washed adobe walls.
Iphigenia searched every cupboard and cabinet, all to no avail. Wandering through the parlor, she ran her fingers along the edge of one of the blanket-covered sofas. The throws were colorful, obviously of Mexican or Indian make, as were the rugs covering the wooden floors.
Beside a well-worn chair stood a stack of newspapers and other publications. Iphigenia spotted an issue of The New York Crier. Monte Ryerson might be a savage and he hadn't written either the advertisement or the letter enclosing the train ticket, but Iphigenia assumed he was literate. He spoke intelligently enough, if not intellectually.
Sighing with frustration at the way her well thought out plan had taken an abrupt turn for the worse, Iphigenia entered the corridor again and approached a half-open door not far from her own. Even in the dim light, she could tell it wasn't a bedroom. She brought the lamp from her own quarters to see a rolltop desk standing against one wall and a tall cabinet occupying the farthest corner.
She approached the latter, smiling when she spotted a bottle of yellowish liquid that had to be liquor. It was labeled in Spanish but she didn't care what the contents were, as long as they were alcoholic. Conveniently enough, there were also several squat glasses in the cabinet.
Pouring herself a heaping serving, Iphigenia took a big swallow, closing her watering eyes as the liquor burned a path to her stomach. The liquor had an odd, salty flavor, but did its job. Warmth seeped through her limbs. Soothed already, she finished the glass and poured herself another before sliding down into the chair before the rolltop desk.
"You drink, too?"
The question suddenly coming from the shadows of the corridor would have made Iphigenia jump if she weren't so relaxed. She wasn't too relaxed, however, to fail to recognize Monte Ryerson's voice.
"Surely you don't object to a guest having a glass of spirits. After all, no wine was served with dinner."
"Guess West Texas doesn't live up to New York standards. Didn't have all those courses either," he said, stepping into the room, his face dark and enigmatic.
The way he loomed over her made Iphigenia think his height topped six feet. On the tall and willowy side herself, she'd already noticed he bested her by several inches. With broad shoul
ders, a flat belly, and long muscular legs, he was a fine figure of a man. She watched him as he went to the cabinet and picked up the bottle.
"Mexican Tequila. Ever had this stuff before? Kinda strong for most ladies."
"Society women in New York have been known to drink spirits when they so desired." If in the privacy of their own quarters or at gambling parties.
"Society?" Monte poured himself half a glass and turned to gaze down at her. "Are you saying you're from upper class type of people?"
Iphigenia took a big sip herself, smiling as another wave of warmth stole over her. She felt expansive, though fully in control. She could hold her liquor. "My blood runs true blue."
"Hmm, never knew that blue-blooded ladies cursed like sailors."
Was he actually doubting her? Iphigenia gave him a haughty look, realizing at the same time that he was running his eyes over her. And she wore only the thin silk wrapper and nightgown. "I am not the usual lady," she said sternly, sitting up straighter, pulling her wrapper tighter. "But I am a lady. My father is Horace Wentworth of Park Avenue. He is the owner and president of New York Central Maritime Bank."
"Never heard of the man."
"You will find his name in some of those papers you have stacked in the parlor."
"Yeah? And that's where you could have read about him, too."
Now Iphigenia was beginning to feel angry. "Are you questioning my veracity? You, who are nothing more than --"
"A savage?" He pulled another chair out from where it sat against the opposite wall and sat down. "Get your names right, lady. I'm a half-breed, not a full-blood. Half-Penateka Comanche and half Ryerson. Will, that was my white grandfather, was one of the founding pioneers around here."
She nodded, pretending she wasn't that interested in the information. She asked, "What is a Penateka Comanche?"
"The Penatekas were a tribe that used to live in Southern Texas. They owned thousands of horses. Introduced them to the plains Indians up north."
"A service for which they should be commended by the U.S. Army, I'm sure," she said, sarcastic.
