by Jeanne Rose
"Clay pigeons thrown up in the air?" Monte kept his gaze on her, which was disconcerting. "And did you do all this riding and shooting with other people or by yourself?"
What was he getting at? "I pursued such pastimes alone or with a few companions." Mainly men she flirted with or relatives she was getting along with at the moment.
"Hmm, don't like crowds. Enjoy shocking people at parties. Sounds like you were some sorta rebel."
Iphigenia murmured, "Perhaps."
"The West is full of rebels. It's a free kind of life, as long as you can pay the price." He obviously noticed her questioning look. "Everything in life costs something. You don't get anything for free."
As if she didn't already know that, as if she hadn't already paid more than she had ever expected. "What is the price of rebellion?"
"Loneliness, if you're too mulish and cantankerous."
Did he think her cantankerous? Lonely? Not wanting to ask, she swallowed and bent over to pick up the rope. Stephen remained standing at the other end of corral.
"How about one more pass at the calf?" she called.
"I think we've had enough games here," Monte said. "The boy has work to do."
Stephen objected, "Aw, Pa, let her try one more time."
Monte glanced from his son to Iphigenia, relenting. "Okay, once more."
The boy shouted and ran at the animal, sending it scampering. Aware that Monte was watching her, suddenly wanting to show off, to prove that she was capable of accomplishing something she set off to do, she whirled the loop around her head and let it fly. When the lariat again settled about the animal's neck, she yelped with glee and dug in her heels. But instead of running away from her like it had last time, the calf came straight on and passed by.
Startled, Iphigenia backed up and stumbled as the tightening rope threw her hard into Monte. Caught off-guard himself, he grabbed her but couldn't keep from falling. In a tangle of arms and legs, they hit the ground with a great thud.
The breath knocked out of her, the rope torn from her hands, Iphigenia somehow found herself lying beneath the man and staring directly into his eyes. Up close, she noticed those eyes were actually dark brown, not black, though the difference between the irises and pupils was a matter of subtle shading.
His gaze was also hypnotizing. Time stopped. His breath feathered her face. His lips poised over hers. Warmth spiraling from her middle, she couldn't stop herself from letting her own eyes drift closed.
She expected a kiss.
Which never came.
"You oughta add a hat to your wardrobe, along with a shirt and pants, city lady." Monte's voice rudely brought her back to reality. "Or your ivory complexion is soon gonna be pink."
He rose to his feet, then offered a helping hand. She ignored his gesture and rolled to the side to scramble upright, her face hot with embarrassment rather than sun.
A kiss? With Stephen looking on? What in Hades was wrong with her?
Worrying her even more was what she might have expected if the boy hadn't been around at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IPHIGENIA MADE sure she started wearing one of her straw hats whenever she went outside. She supposed the Texas sun, being farther south, glowed warmer and closer than the one in New York. A parasol would also make sense but would look silly in this rough country.
She was thinking about that the next day, as she enjoyed a picnic lunch with Stephen and Cassie under a large cottonwood tree behind the house. Comfortable in the old wooden rocking chair Stephen had brought out for her, she glanced up at the bright gold and blue sky. The boy and Cassie sat on some rocks piled about the base of the cottonwood. Ginnie lounged on the ground a few yards away, close enough to eavesdrop, though seemingly uninterested in their conversation. Cassie's twin had very dark hair, olive skin and a strong-bridged, slightly-hooked nose that resembled her father's.
Reminded of Monte, Iphigenia thought about the embarrassing titillation she'd felt when she'd assumed he was going to kiss her in the corral. She asked Stephen, "Where is your father today?"
"Out with some of the men cleaning up the mess after those cattle got rimrocked. I think they got help going over that cliff," Stephen said. "Pa does, too. Anyway, some of the meat might be salvageable. I guess I should be helping. I kinda sneaked away when they set off early this morning. I'll catch it when Pa comes back."
"You've been working around the buildings."
"Yeah, but I should have rode with Pa. He decides what's most important and he's short-handed." Stephen took a bite of a tortilla filled with meat and mild chilies. "Don't know what got into me. I don't usually sluff off my duties."
The boy was as serious as he was nice. Iphigenia wanted to cheer him up, bring back the grin he'd had on his face when they'd roped the calf.
"It's spring. Who wouldn't want to enjoy oneself on a beautiful sunny day." And she felt complimented that Stephen seemed happy to spend some of his time with her. Her gaze wandered. "Why aren't there any flowers planted near the house? They would be blooming now."
"I bet you're used to roses," said Cassie.
"Later in the spring. Now there would be tulips and lilacs and irises."
"There's flowers down by the creek," said Stephen. "I think I saw bluebonnets."
"Can such flowers be set into beds near the house?" Not that Iphigenia was any gardener. She'd only stood around and watched the professionals who took care of the Wentworth townhouse and the country estate.
"I guess flowers can grow here," said Stephen. "You'd have to carry water to them, though."
Cassie smiled. "I bet they'd be pretty."
Iphigenia scrutinized the rocks at the foot of the tree. They bordered a ring of deep sandy soil which was damp from a rain shower they'd had the night before. She gestured. "This would be perfect for a flower bed. I can imagine blooms growing right here."
Then she realized she was making plans when she wasn't going to be staying on. And she truly felt regret.
Who wouldn't, with such company? Cassie and Stephen were such unaffected, cheerful young people. They were far kinder and more personable than any of Iphigenia's cousins had ever been. She might have been a different sort of person if she'd had Cassie and Stephen as relatives. She could even imagine having them as her own ...
Children?
Amazed, Iphigenia realized she actually felt motherly, though she was too young to be either youngster's parent. Perhaps her baby had awakened such deep emotions.
A thought that made her sober, and once more worry about Hope and the people she'd been given to. Iphigenia knew they'd been paid for their trouble, but she hoped they were taking good care of her child. She'd kept count of every day and hour since the baby had been torn away.
"You look sad." Cassie patted her hand.
Remembering going into Monte's office that morning to draw a simplified version of his map, Iphigenia forced herself to smile. "I'm fine. I am only thinking of my former home." A fib.
"I guess a person would get homesick traveling so far," said Cassie. "Maybe we should do something to cheer you up this afternoon."
"You two could go flower-picking by the creek," Stephen suggested. Then he paused, narrowing his eyes. "Say, what's he doing here?"
Iphigenia glanced up, noting the three strangers riding through the front gate.
"Jonah Barkley." Stephen rose to his feet.
"Barkley?"
Iphigenia remembered the name well and that Monte had said the man was as bad as an outlaw. If so, a sixteen-year old shouldn't be facing him and his cronies alone. She sprang out of the rocking chair, gesturing for Cassie to stay put as she hastened after the boy. She caught up with Stephen before he reached Barkley. By daylight, she saw that the man was sixtyish and that his beard was as gray as his hair. He wore a revolver holstered at his hip and had coiled a bullwhip around his saddlehorn.
"You'd better go into the house, Miss Wentworth," Stephen said tightly.
"And you'd better go and fetch
reinforcements. There are three men. You're not even armed."
Barkley seemed to be riding for the bunkhouse, but he reined in his horse when he spotted Stephen and Iphigenia. Tipping his hat, he dismounted directly before her, while his two cohorts halted to watch.
"Miss Wentworth, isn't it?" he said, ignoring the boy. "Mr. Ryerson's fiancee?" His impudent gaze slid over her body. She wore a white batiste afternoon frock with ribbon trim, another dress that was too fancy for a Texas ranch. "How lovely you look. How nice to see you."
Iphigenia would recognize that raspy, edgy voice anywhere. "Unfortunately, I cannot say it is nice to see you."
Barkley's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Now surely you aren't going to hold our misunderstanding against me. Men can't help being suspicious when they're faced with strangers who fire on them."
"You shot at him?" Stephen gazed at Iphigenia with surprise, his tone tinged with admiration, then turned to Barkley. "You'd better leave. Pa says you're not welcome here."
"My, my," said Barkley. "The young pup is barking like a full-grown dog."
Iphigenia felt a chill, fearing this man would have no qualms about harming a sixteen-year-old. She bluffed, "Monte will be returning any minute."
"I don't think so." Barkley lightly fingered his holster. "I saw him riding out to the range this morning." He gave Iphigenia another thin-lipped smile. "I mean no harm. I'm merely making a little social call."
"Nobody invited you." Stephen's tone was threatening.
Which made Barkley raise his brows and Iphigenia grow concerned. She took Stephen's arm in a firm hold. "Go to the bunkhouse and get the men." There were a few around. Iphigenia had spotted Monte's foreman Jake O'Brian this morning.
Stephen seemed reluctant.
So Iphigenia urged, "Please, Stephen," and breathed a sigh of relief when the young man finally walked off.
Barkley laughed. "How flattering. Does this mean you want to be alone with me?"
Iphigenia could think of several sharp responses but curbed her tongue. "Do I appear to want to be alone with you?"
Barkley's lips twitched. "No, my dear, you look frightened." He stepped nearer but she refused to move back. "Though it is your intended you should be concerned about, not me. Ryerson killed his first wife."
Surprised, shocked, she stood wide-eyed silent.
"I don't know where you came from," Barkley said, "or how you and Mr. Ryerson met. But he has a terrible temper. Probably comes from being half-savage. He and his wife fought like cats and dogs. Rumor has it her ghost still haunts the house."
Gooseflesh rose on Iphigenia's arms. "A ghost?" Though she would do well to remember she had a living menace to deal with right now.
Barkley smirked. "I don't believe for a moment that you were going for any pleasure ride the other night, armed as you were with a pistol. Did you and Ryerson have a fight already? Did he threaten you?"
Iphigenia had indeed argued with Monte, but he'd never tried to harm her. While Barkley had ordered his cohort to take her out of her saddle and teach her a lesson. She became angry again simply thinking about it.
"You and your man are the ones who threatened me. That's why I pulled out my pistol and took a shot."
"You should be more careful. Your aim isn't very good."
"Not with a muzzle-loader." She lifted her chin and stared him in the eye, tired of watching what she said. "You ought to see what I can do with a revolver, by daylight. I'd blow a hole right through you."
His brows lowered. "My, my, you are a ...spirited female, aren't you?"
Barkley was the first to break off their mutual glare, as one of his men spoke up, "Here they come."
Barkley stared toward Stephen, Jake O'Brian and Norbert Tyler approaching. All carried rifles. One of his own men withdrew his revolver.
Barkley scowled. "What the hell." He made a motion. "Put the gun away. It's not worth it today." He smiled down at Iphigenia as he gathered the reins and remounted. Leaning over, he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "You should think about what I told you. Your future husband is a killer."
"From you, that opinion doesn't hold for much."
At least she hoped and prayed so.
THOUGH SHE wasn't involved with Monte Ryerson, wasn't going to marry the man, Iphigenia hated to think that he could have murdered his children's mother.
Still, she brooded about the possibility as she sat at the table watching Monte wolf down his supper. When he'd arrived that evening, he'd given Stephen a bawling out for staying behind, as the boy expected. Then the man had withdrawn into himself, merely grunting a noncommittal response to Cassie's remark about planting flowers and growling when he heard about Barkley's visit.
Iphigenia glanced at Ginnie across the table. The girl was sullen as usual. Perhaps father and daughter were one in dark temperament.
She was tempted to remind Monte that his son had been ready to risk his life to protect the ranch, then thought better of it. Stephen would probably be embarrassed if she defended him.
But when the meal was over and Monte went out onto the porch to catch a breath of fresh air, she followed. His large frame propped against a rough wooden column, he didn't even turn to look at her, merely gazed out into the night. He seemed remote, unapproachable, a little frightening in his intensity.
Then, again, she'd already faced armed men that day. "You're certainly in a fine mood."
"Which means it's best to leave me alone."
"I can't stand by and see you treat your children with such coldness and lack of respect." It triggered something deep inside her. "Stephen was ready to face Jonah Barkley by himself."
"My son should have been out working with me today."
"Then there would have been no one to protect the house. Barkley could have burned it by the time the men came from the bunkhouse."
He snorted. "Yeah? You would have strangled him or shot him before he got that far."
She was surprised. "You were depending on me?"
"You were here. Heard you told Barkley off good, threatened to blow a hole through him."
She hadn't realized that anyone overheard. But she guessed she'd been speaking fairly loud.
"I would never harm a human being, except to protect myself or someone I cared about." Which brought up Barkley's claim. "Can you say the same for yourself?"
Now he turned toward her, though she couldn't make out his expression in the dark. "Back to accusing me of beating kids and hitting women?"
"What happened to your wife?"
Silence. Except for the wind soughing through the cottonwoods and the lowing of a cow in one of the corrals.
"Why are you asking about my wife?" he asked finally.
"Cassie said she died in an accident. In the house?"
"I don't owe you an explanation."
He certainly didn't. He hardly owed her honesty at all, considering she herself could not be open. But she persisted, "Jonah Barkley said you killed your wife. He said you have a terrible temper."
Monte made a derisive sound. "And you believed him?"
"He doesn't seem the sort who can be trusted, but --" She paused, uncertain of how to bring up a sticky topic.
"But what?"
"Barkley also claimed that your wife's ghost haunts this house." Again she paused, not knowing what his beliefs about spirits might be. "There are unusual events happening at night. I've lain awake and heard laughter and footsteps. Once I awoke to sight an eerie light in my bureau's mirror."
"You, an educated city woman, believe in ghosts?"
She didn't stop to ask how he knew that she was educated, that she'd attended a women's college until she'd been dismissed. But perhaps he only meant her proper speech showed schooling. "You don't believe in ghosts?"
"I didn't say that. But I can tell you one thing, if there's a the ghost in this house, she isn't my wife."
The wind rustled the cottonwoods' leaves. To the east, the line of mountain ranges started to glow as the moon rose. The nigh
t felt restless.
Monte felt strange and restless. Was Iphigenia startled? he wondered. Surprised that he admitted there might be a ghost? Amazed that he thought it was female, yet didn't think it was his wife?
Iphigenia had sure as hell shocked him by bringing up Amanda Ryerson in the first place. The pain of Amanda's death had become a distant throb, though Monte was still haunted by it.
Ghosts.
Standing there in the dusky dark, wearing a flowing white dress, Iphigenia resembled a wraith herself. But she wasn't cold or floating around on some other plane. She was here, fully flesh and blood. Monte could hear her breathing, could imagine he felt warmth flowing from her. And he was comforted, glad for her company, a living presence. To his surprise, he realized he actually longed to reveal some of his insides.
"About my wife -- she died three years ago in a buggy accident. It was winter and there'd been a rainstorm." The roads had been wet, slippery clay. "She was on her way to Pine Bluff, a little hole-in-the-wall not far from here and the buggy slid off into an arroyo. I was nowhere around."
In case Iphigenia still wondered. He could add more but he wasn't ready.
"I'm sorry," Iphigenia murmured.
Sorry he'd lost his wife or sorry she'd made a false accusation? Monte didn't bother to ask. "Now, about this ghost business, over the past few months, I've heard laughter and footsteps, too. But I would know my wife's voice. I would sense her presence. It's not her."
He wasn't going to mention that the spook sounded and felt more like Xosi Baca. He wasn't going to bring up the dream he'd had about her. If it had been a dream. Xosi had seemed so real, if in a cold other-worldly way. Though he didn't see how she could be haunting him.
"So these incidents have been happening for only a few months," she mused. There weren't always noises and lights in the night? I already gathered it's a fairly new occurrence from Carmen."
"Carmen?"
"Your housekeeper was upset about the cowboys who quit yesterday. She was talking about curses and raising the dead. She blamed the noises, as well as the horse and cattle stampedes on a curse. She also mentioned some dead chickens."
