by Jeanne Rose
"The Comanches already paid plenty to the U.S. Army -- lost their land, their people, a lot of them their very lives."
Though he didn't sound bitter.
"Are you still on the warpath about that?" she asked, using a term she'd read about.
"I'm half-white, too. I'd have to be at war against myself." Then he turned the conversation back to her. "Lady or not, I'd appreciate your watching your mouth around my kids."
She could hardly believe he dared chastise her. "I said no more than you. I know you spoke two 'hells' to one of my 'damnations'."
"You said a lot more than that when we were arguing out there. And you never know who's around to hear." He added, "I'd also appreciate your trying to hold back the insults, especially about Indians. At least in front of my kids. They've got Comanche blood, too. Have it out with me, if you want, but don't be mean to them."
Her eyes were green, but he'd already realized that at dinner. Green and shimmery as emeralds. Now, in the lamplight, they sparkled with anger. Iphigenia Wentworth definitely had a temper.
"I have no intention of being cruel to your children," she said tightly. "I would never yell at them, like you."
Now she was hurt, he realized. "I'm only asking for decent where behavior is concerned."
"Are you insinuating I am indecent?" She really had her back up. "In my vocabulary, indecent means lewd. What do you think I am? A harlot?"
Not unless she was a high-priced one.
But he didn't get a chance to say anything before she went on, "I am the daughter of Horace T. Wentworth. My Aunt Gertrude Wentworth Cummings is a hostess in the finest Knickerbocker tradition."
A term he remembered running onto in the New York newspapers.
Iphigenia's hand shook, sloshing the tequila around as she became even more upset. "I have given you absolutely no reason to think I am a lightskirt. I have not so much as flirted with you."
No, though he couldn't say as that would be unpleasant. "Don't get your tail in spin --"
"My tail?" Now she leaned forward, as if she were going to strike him or throw the liquor in his face. "How dare you!"
He took hold of her hand, appreciating its softness. "Calm down. I'm talking like a Texan. Tail is only a word, not lingo for your behind." Pretty as it surely must be. "You musta known that somebody would have some questions about what a woman like you is doing out here. Never seen an outfit like the one you were wearing when you arrived tonight, not even in Kansas City." Where he'd driven cattle one time.
When he reluctantly let go of her, Iphigenia seemed to settle down. She took a long swig of tequila, draining her glass. "I had a disagreement with my father. We aren't close."
"Enough of a disagreement to take off for Texas to be a mail-order bride? I'd never let one of my daughters do a thing like that." Even if she was older -- Iphigenia was at least twenty-five.
She lowered her eyes, her mouth straight. "My father doesn't know that I am here."
"So you ran away?" Which explained why she'd needed a train ticket. She had two trunks of clothes or belongings but obviously no cash.
He waited for an answer to the running away question but she placed the glass down on the desk and gazed off into the shadows. Probably didn't want to admit anything. He gulped down some liquor himself.
Then he probed, "You said you had a good reason to be in Texas, something you had to take care of."
"A business matter."
"What type of business matter?"
"I do not have to explain."
"To an intended husband? Think again."
She looked at him, eyes widening, once again impressing him with her fine-boned, fiery beauty. Her golden hair shone about her face like a halo, though he suspected she was no angel.
"Are you truly going to insist that I marry you?"
"What did you expect? Did you think you could take a train ticket from somebody, come clear out here and renege on your promise?" Not that he actually did intend to marry her, a stranger. But he'd needle her plenty. "You can't waltz onto my place and take advantage of my hospitality, without giving anything back."
"What do you want?"
He could tell exactly what was going through her mind, but he hedged, "I'm not sure what I want. I told you I'll have to think about it."
Especially where Cassie was concerned. He'd seen how upset his daughter was when they'd had a talk earlier.
"I suppose I could teach your children some of the finer social graces." Iphigenia muttered, "If you don't think that would be insulting them, that is."
She stood up, swaying a little. But who wouldn't, unless they were used to strong tequila? From his count, she'd had two hefty glasses.
She looked at him, her mouth pouty. "And I'll have you know that teaching social graces is all I will do. I don't want to be your wife but I am certainly not going to share your bed unless we are married."
He felt a spark of desire. "I didn't ask you to." Much as he'd enjoy getting his hands on her.
"You may say what you will. But from my experience with men, I know that it is not beneath any one of them to ask for a woman's ...body, in trade. I am certain that was the reason you inferred I might be a harlot in the first place."
"I didn't call you any names. You took things the wrong way. I asked a few questions. I have the right."
"No, you do not have the right. Insulting a woman's reputation is something that is not done, at least it is not spoken of openly."
He stood himself, liking the fact that she only had to raise her face a little bit to look him in the eye. "Maybe they don't talk about such in New York, not in Knickerbocker society." He added, "But if that's the case, I get the feeling you don't always follow the rules. You seem to speak pretty straight about anything you want to."
She sighed. "I suppose I do have a sharp tongue at times."
Which was the first admission of any fault or weakness he had heard from her. Actually, he liked her spicy personality, thought it added an extra dimension, like spirit in a good horse.
He told her, "Well, you don't need to be dancing around bushes out here. We usually talk straight, speak our minds."
"As long as I do not swear or insult your heritage."
"Use common sense. We wouldn't have had this whole conversation in front of the kids."
She started to leave, wobbling, catching the edge of the rolltop desk.
He reached out to take hold of her arm. "You've had too much tequila."
"I can hold my liquor," she insisted. "I have always been able to do so." But her voice was slurred.
"Still, you'd better be careful with this. It's a might stronger than you're probably used to."
He took hold of her shoulders and pointed her toward the door. A strand of gold lay against the bronzed skin of his hand. He touched the curl lightly, appreciating its softness.
"Um-m." She turned toward him, her perfectly-shaped lips half-parted.
He felt a hot wave of desire but fought it, pointing, "Your room is in that direction."
Still, she stared at him. "You are handsome in your own way, I'll admit that."
Was she picking up the same sensations that sizzled through his veins? But he refused to take advantage of a drunken woman, saying tightly, "I should be flattered, I guess."
"You like my looks, too."
He was going to have to draw on all his strength. "I don't think we should be discussing this in your state. Go to bed."
"Don't order me around." She leaned toward him, her warm breath feathering his face.
"If you don't go down that hall right now, I'm going to kiss you." At the very least.
"Kiss me?" She giggled. "First it's arrows and bullets. Now kisses."
He was only human, damn it. Reaching for her, he drew her to him, covering her mouth. She pressed herself against him, winding her arms about his neck. He kissed her deeply, appreciating the sweet softness of her lips, the intoxicating taste of her. The curves of her body pressed against the thin
material of her gown. He became instantly aroused.
But this wouldn't do. He walked her backward across the hallway, took a deep breath and broke it off. He even pushed her gently toward her bedroom.
"Go to bed. Lock your door."
She mumbled something as he ambled away. But she went inside the room, thank God. Monte glanced over his shoulder, again taking a deep breath. He still wasn't certain Iphigenia Wentworth was a lady, but he knew he was more of a gentleman then she would ever appreciate.
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, Iphigenia awakened to the sound of soft footsteps in the corridor. Monte? But the soft throaty laugh she then heard seemed to be female. Strange ...
She jumped when something suddenly thudded against her door. It was locked, thank heavens. Her mind was muzzy, but she remembered following Monte's orders.
Click. Click.
The doorknob was turning, rattling.
"What? Who's there?" Iphigenia raised her head.
Only to hear the same female voice mutter something in Spanish.
"Carmen?"
But there was no answer and Iphigenia was suddenly too tired and dizzy to care. Even in the darkness, the room spun. For the first time in a very long while, she'd managed to get drunk.
"I am having hallucinations," she decided, letting her head flop back down. She shouted at the door, "Go away!"
Then she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the pillow over her head, hoping she wouldn't feel too badly in the morning.
CHAPTER FOUR
"GREAT-GRAMMA RYERSON had silver plate and pretty china," Cassie told Iphigenia. "Ma showed me some pieces once, said she was scared to lose or break them. I don't know where everything is stored, maybe in the attic."
"Then we'll take a look there." Seated at the dining room table, Iphigenia sipped another strong cup of tea, attempting to clear her head.
She'd risen that morning with jumbled, embarrassing memories of the night before. Monte questioning her identity, challenging her claim to social position, chiding her for use of strong language ...
Then soundly kissing her goodnight.
Iphigenia only wished she could recall the details of that kiss and exactly how it had come about. Surely it had been his idea, though the man hadn't taken further advantage of her. Mortifyingly enough, she might have let him.
"So we're going to have a real dinner," Cassie enthused.
"This very evening, if I can make the proper arrangements." And even if it killed her. She would show Monte Ryerson a thing or two about society and manners. "We will have several courses and they will be served correctly."
But first, Iphigenia felt the need to wash the dust out of her pores. The kitchen had a pantry with a door that could be closed for privacy. Rushing to her bidding, Carmen heated water, spread an oilcloth on the pantry's floor and carried in a round metal tub. It wasn't big enough to sit in but Iphigenia took a bath as best she could, using some scented soap she'd brought from New York.
Cassie bathed next and, as their hair dried, she and Iphigenia went over the types of foodstuffs available on the ranch. Iphigenia made up a list, which she gave to the housekeeper.
"This will be our menu for tonight."
The Mexican woman seemed perplexed, a little flustered. "Pardon, Señorita, but I do not read English so well."
"Yes, of course." Realizing the poor woman might not be able to read at all, Iphigenia felt badly that she'd put her on the spot. "Start with soup -- you said you have some squash that would do. Mix in cream and season it with salt and pepper." At least she thought that's what Cook did in her father's Manhattan kitchen. "Then we shall have an egg dish."
"Eggs? For supper?"
"Dinner," corrected Iphigenia. "Seafood is better but God only knows what sort of fish they have around here." Oops. She'd forgotten her language again -- though obviously the same rules didn't apply to men as to women, considering how Monte often spoke. "Just boil the eggs and slice them. Serve them with a sauce."
"Salsa?"
"Um, hmm." She assumed that was the right Spanish word. "Hollandaise would be good. After the eggs will come sliced beef and stuffed quail. You said your husband shot some birds?"
"Si, Señorita."
"I suppose we shall have to have your rice and beans again as side dishes. But you said there are greens that can be used for a salad." The traditional fourth course of a five course meal.
"I know where we can gather the greens," Cassie offered.
The girl had been following Iphigenia about, her constant shadow.
"Good. I think we should have fresh bread made with flour, not cornmeal," Iphigenia continued. "And what was the pudding you suggested for dessert, Carmen? Flan?"
"Si, Señorita." Though agreeable, the woman continued to look flustered.
But Iphigenia was certain everything would come together beautifully. Since Carmen was considered a good cook, how difficult could it be?
"I shall come back to the kitchen to help you a bit later," she promised. And to instruct the housekeeper on the proper way to serve. She patted Carmen's arm. "I know this is all new for you. We really should have a maid, as well as a cook and housekeeper."
Carmen merely nodded.
Iphigenia tied her hair back and headed for the dining room with Cassie trailing her and asking, "You really had a maid in New York?"
"Several of them, including a girl who looked to my wardrobe and my hair."
"A maid just for your clothes and hair." Cassie sighed. "My, aren't you going to miss all that in Texas?"
Iphigenia hoped not to stay so long that she would miss it, but she wasn't going to say so to Cassie. "Life is simpler here. I'll adjust."
Meanwhile, she and the thirteen-year old climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, finding a surly Ginnie stretched out on a small cot beneath the area's sole window.
"What are you doing here?" Ginnie asked, tone sour.
"We have to get into the storage area." Cassie gestured to the low door set in the inner wall. "We're going to bring out Great-gramma Ryerson's china and silver for a real fancy dinner." "I don't want a fancy dinner."
"Then I guess you shouldn't eat," said Cassie.
Iphigenia felt the same but she tried to handle things in a more polite, adult manner. Not that Monte's complaints about cruelty to his children had anything to do with it. She was simply in a better mood today.
"I am sure you will like the food, Ginnie, as well as the new experience."
Ginnie muttered ominously as Cassie stepped over the clothing scattered across the narrow floor and opened the big latch of the storage door. Iphigenia followed. Inside, Cassie lit a candle to illuminate the darkness. A large trunk and numerous crates were stacked about, musty and covered with cobwebs.
Cassie handed Iphigenia the candle and opened the trunk. A cloud of dust rose, making both of them sneeze. After a few minutes of sorting through layers of fabric and paper, Cassie came up with a silverware case and located her grandmother's china plates.
An old design but authentic, Iphigenia noted, holding a plate up to the light to see the mark.
They found the rest of the china set packed in a crate, as well as lace-trimmed damask tablecloths with matching napkins. The fabric goods were wrinkled and yellowed with age. Too late to try to wash them, but Iphigenia suggested they be shaken out and smoothed with a hot iron from the fire. Another task for Carmen.
The last treasures to be located were some stemmed glasses and silver candleholders. Cassie held up a glass. "Isn't it lovely?"
"Very." Monte's grandmother had had decent taste. But now there was the problem of bringing everything downstairs. "We'll have to make more than one trip ...unless Ginnie can help us. Ginnie?" she called, raising her voice.
In answer, she heard retreating footsteps.
"Isn't she disgusting?" Cassie groused. "She didn't used to be like this. We used to have a good time together."
"Girls go through spells." Iphigenia could recall the times that excuse had be
en applied to her. She mused, "When did Ginnie change, anyway?"
"I'm not sure. She was always a tomboy who liked being outdoors. Sometimes she even rode with the cowboys. I can't remember when Ginnie started keeping to herself and acting so nasty." She sounded thoughtful. "I guess a couple of months ago."
But they had better things to do than worry about Ginnie. Though on the last trip to the attic, Iphigenia tripped over a shirt lying on the floor of Ginnie's room, sending something skittering across the floor.
Cassie picked up a butcher knife. "What's this doing here? Carmen thought she lost it."
Iphigenia frowned. What purpose would Ginnie have with a knife? Did her taking it have something to do with her bad moods?
Then again, on a Texas ranch where weapons were kept in the open, perhaps having a knife meant nothing. She certainly hoped so.
As she and Cassie traversed the long corridor downstairs, they passed Monte's bedroom. The door was open, and a gunbelt and revolver hung on the brass bedpost -- no doubt a Colt .45. Having learned to shoot on country outings, Iphigenia knew something about guns. She could even identify the Springfield rifles on the rack on Monte's wall.
Ginnie now lurked in the dining room. She gave Cassie and Iphigenia a dirty look before starting to walk away.
"You could help us fill out menu cards, Ginnie," Iphigenia said, yet again trying to include the girl. "They will list the courses and we will need one for each person."
Ginnie slowed. "I don't want menu cards."
"Then you could help fold napkins." And before Ginnie could come up with another excuse, Iphigenia informed her, "You will have to dress for dinner, you know. I assume you have a skirt or a frock of some sort."
Ginnie stopped and whipped around. "I'm not wearing any stupid dress!"
Iphigenia became more stern. "Then you will have to eat in the kitchen."
"Pa won't make me eat in the kitchen."
"I think he will," Iphigenia bluffed, wondering if he would think banishing Ginnie there too cruel. "I must be strict. He specifically asked me to share my knowledge of social graces with you children."
"I'm not a child!" Ginnie shouted, rushing away toward one of the doors that opened to the outside. The wooden panel slammed behind her.
