by Jeanne Rose
"Liar," said Cassie, sounding uncharacteristically cold and angry. "You wanted to kill Miss Wentworth, didn't you?"
Iphigenia was surprised, even more so when Ginnie made no denials. And before her dazed eyes, Cassie abruptly threw herself at her sister, knocking Ginnie to the ground.
"Leave me alone!" screamed Ginnie, striking out at her sister, her punch finding thin air.
"Murderer!" shrieked Cassie, kicking Ginnie and pulling her hair.
An open-mouthed Iphigenia gazed at Monte, relieved when he took action, wading into the fray to grab both girls by their collars.
"Stop it! Stop it right now! Nobody's gonna talk about murder around here but me."
Ginnie tried to squirm away from him. "Yeah, you!" she hissed. "I was only trying to scare that stupid city woman, not kill her or Cassie. But you murdered Ma!"
Monte appeared stunned.
"Ma didn't have to die!" Tears started to seep from Ginnie's usually hard and angry eyes. She positively quivered. "You could have gone to Pine Bluff and got what she wanted that day, Pa. But you didn't. You didn't care!"
Iphigenia couldn't help feeling as shocked as Monte appeared to be. He let go of both twins. Ginnie bolted. He glanced at Cassie, then walked off himself, leaving everyone standing there.
Stephen swung the stick back and forth, then threw it down.
Feeling badly for the children, Iphigenia tried to take charge. "Let's go in the house, clean up and settle down. It'll soon be suppertime." She slid an arm around Cassie's rigid shoulders and handed the Colt to Stephen. "Would you replace this revolver, please? Your father will want to make sure it is safe in its holster when he returns."
The girl went inside docilely, not objecting when Iphigenia also suggested she go to her room and rest. Looking confused, Stephen took the Colt and didn't come back into the house at all. Perhaps he wandered off.
Her nerves shot, Iphigenia longed to stretch out but couldn't bring herself to do so. Heading back out to the porch, she glanced around, not seeing either Ginnie or Monte. The sun sank in the west and blue-gray dusk crept across the land. She stepped off the porch and returned to the cottonwoods. The trees now cast deep shadows.
Shivering again as she thought about the snake, Iphigenia didn't fear there would be another one for her to happen upon. She believed Ginnie. The girl had known they would be planting flowers today and had wanted to scare her. Obviously still deeply upset over her mother's death, the girl hadn't considered the more serious repercussions.
Ginnie had revealed her sorrow and anger by screaming at her father -- how strange, Iphigenia thought, for she herself had blamed Horace Wentworth for her mother's death.
When Iphigenia caught a flicker of movement beyond the cottonwoods, she stepped in that direction. Skirting some fencing and sidestepping bushes, she finally caught sight of Monte, his head bowed. As she came closer, she realized he stood before several graves. Three mounds of rocks marked with simple headstones. She hadn't realized anyone was buried on the property.
He didn't look up when she came up beside him.
She stood quietly for a moment, then asked, "Is your wife buried here?"
He nodded. "And my grandparents." His expression was brooding, unfriendly. "You must like wandering around, getting into places where you can stir up trouble. Haven't you had enough for one day?"
His hostility was unwarranted, but she wasn't angry in return. Instead, emotions brimming, she found herself somehow wanting to relieve his pain. By doing so, perhaps she could alleviate some of the suffering that had festered inside herself for years and years.
Amanda Ryerson couldn't help Monte.
Though Iphigenia felt a surge of jealousy for the woman who lay in her grave.
She cleared her throat. "No, I suppose I have not had enough of trouble." Then she brought up the topic he could not, would not broach. "You didn't kill your wife."
A sharp expletive left Monte's mouth. "The accident wouldn't have happened if I'd done what she asked, just as Ginnie said."
"But it was an accident," Iphigenia assured him. "The buggy slid off the road. That could have happened anywhere. Life holds risks."
"Amanda and I argued before she left."
"Words don't kill."
He looked at her, held her gaze with his. "I don't know why you're doing this."
"I don't know why either."
Unless her guilt over leaving this family's tragic situation -- children with no mother, a man anguished by loss -- compelled her to do so. Or unless fate had brought her here to West Texas to teach her some sort of lesson.
Iphigenia didn't know why, but she reached out to Monte, to this hard man who buried his softer emotions and emphasized his hard ones like anger. She cradled his weather-rough cheek even knowing he might spurn her sympathy. But something happened between them. Her touch brought a gentler curve to his mouth, a gentler light to his eyes. He placed his hand around hers, and for a moment, they stood there in perfect harmony, sharing something she could not put a name to.
Then Monte took a deep breath and let go of her hand. "Let's go back to the house."
Taking a deep breath, Iphigenia nodded and tried to pretend that part of her hadn't longed for him to take her in his arms. Certainly not there, in front of his wife's grave. For heaven's sake, what was she thinking?
As they walked along, Monte shortened his stride, allowing her to keep up. She felt comfortable with his company, didn't mind his silence. He was so unlike the men she'd known in New York. Several feet separated them, yet she could imagine she felt warmth emanating from his powerful body. A responding heat flickered in her belly.
Iphigenia didn't know how it had happened, considering the bad start they'd gotten with each other, but she was attracted to this strange man. His unusual Indian-influenced beliefs and outlook intrigued her, even if she found some of them alien to her own. She respected his opinion, whether or not she agreed with it. She admired his unassuming intelligence, blunt integrity, and strength. Furthermore, he exuded a deep, dark sensuality that made her quiver inside.
Musing on that, the glow of kerosene light from the ranch house windows came far too quickly. Monte ambled to the porch and stopped to allow Iphigenia to ascend before him. The smell of food wafted outside.
He sniffed. "Smells good. Guess I'll eat and hit the pillow. I'm dead tired from working all day and I'll have the same load tomorrow."
"Everyone keeps saying you're short of men. Can I be of any help?"
"Not unless you can round up cattle."
Actually, a surprisingly appealing idea. "I'd be happy to try and work with you, Monte. I have the pants and the shirt Stephen gave me."
"Herding cattle is dirty, hard work."
"So? I'm willing." She bragged, "And I'm nearly as good with a horse as I am with a gun."
He frowned. "Are you serious?"
"Perfectly serious. So where are we taking the herd? Not to market?" She didn't want to think about what would happen to the animals once they got there.
"Nah, too early in the season for the long drive. Just moving some longhorns to a different part of the range where they can't have any more accidents."
Remembering Stephen's comment about rimrocking -- someone purposely driving the cattle over a cliff -- Iphigenia shuddered. Too bad they couldn't figure out who had done such a savage deed. Maybe then they could dispel some of the rumors about the R&Y being cursed.
She assured Monte, "I'll be up at dawn." In case they tried to sneak away without her. "So I'd better get to bed early. Good night."
"Night."
Then she headed into the house, looking forward to the next day. She hoped Monte wouldn't try to stop her. For working on the range would serve many purposes. She could spare Cassie her presence for a day, get to know the land and toughen up her riding skills. She needed to be fit, to have her wits about her before going after Hope. The thought of being reunited with her child soon set her heart to pounding.
Less
important, she assured herself, was that working on the range would give her the opportunity to spend time with the most fascinating man she'd ever met..
CHAPTER NINE
MOUNTED ON A blood bay with a fine-looking head, Iphigenia felt excitement course through her as she traveled out onto the range with the R&Y cowboys. The country had only looked half as wild from the road. Exotic cactus sprouted among long, thin grasses and rocks seemed to be strewn about the brown earth as if by a giant hand.
She liked riding astride and maintaining closer contact with the horse. As a girl, she had hoisted her skirts to ride from time to time, but had given in to convention and had taken to a side-saddle when she reached womanhood. Then there'd been more interesting rules to flout.
Monte had kept close by since they'd left the ranch. "Those pants fit all right?" He eyed her behind and the outline of her thigh.
She tried to ignore the singing sensation coursing through her at the personal attention. "I love wearing trousers. They are fine."
It was nice to have to cinch a belt to make a loose waist tight enough rather than being bound in a corset to make a tight dress fit. The complete outfit -- the denim trousers, a striped cotton shirt from Stephen, her own riding boots and Cassie's wide-brimmed felt hat fastened under her chin with a cord -- made her feel quite the wrangler even if she wasn't wearing seatless leg-coverings like most of the cowpunchers. Almost all wore spurs, as well, and a few even had canvas-like coats to keep the dust off their clothes.
Monte himself was wearing shotgun chaps, parallel tubes he'd had to climb into and had fastened around his waist. And on the backs of his boots he sported what he called OK spurs with rowels filed down to avoid scaring his horse's flanks.
He took off his red bandana and handed it to her. "Better tie this around your neck. Gonna be a lot of sun to deal with today. And when we get the herd moving, you can use it to cover your nose and mouth against the dust."
Good Lord, he was protective. She preened under the attention. Her senses stirred anew by the faint smell of him on the scarf, she did as he ordered.
"How far are we going?" she asked. "Not that I care about the distance. I am enjoying the ride."
"It's a few more miles up into these foothills. We should be seeing the chuckwagon soon and the ponies. The mounts we're riding are distance horses. We're gonna change to cutting ponies to round up cows."
Not having heard of cutting ponies, Iphigenia was intrigued. "That should be interesting."
"Real interesting." Monte laughed. "I bet you haven't so much as herded a milk cow, much less a longhorn."
"Are longhorns so different?" She'd seen the cattle with the great curving horns in some of the corrals.
Monte warned, "A Texas longhorn is clever, ornery, and about as quick as a deer. You have to watch them every minute."
"If they're so difficult, why don't you stick to regular cattle?"
"Cause longhorns can graze on about anything and need very little water." He added, "I do have fewer full-blood longhorns than my grandfather. Started mixing them with Durhams some years back to put more meat on their bones. But it was mainly longhorns that survived that herd that went over the cliff. They were the only animals with enough sense to stop."
Iphigenia nodded. Bringing in the stragglers that remained from the catastrophe, to return them to pasturing closer to the ranch, was a smart move. More men to keep watch over them, to keep another "accident" from happening.
Stephen rode up to join her as they topped a rise. Below sat a wagon with a canvas cover and, nearby, the make-shift corral for the remuda, or remounts. The ponies were being kept fresh until the real work started. Most cowpunchers had two or three ponies so they could change to another mount when one tired and slowed.
Iphigenia adjusted her hat. "Has the cook been out here all night?"
"Nah," Stephen said. "He's riding with us. A couple of other men been staying out here the past couple of days." The boy grinned. "You know that Pa has a lot of cowboys you've never seen, don't you? With a ranch this size, you've got to have linemen camped out every eight to ten miles. They don't normally come back to the main ranch for months."
"Guards for the borders?"
"Something like that. Pa doesn't want to put in barbed wire."
Monte snorted. "Leave the barbed wire to Jonah Barkley. I like my range open and free."
Barkley and his strange history as Monte's stepfather was another point for Iphigenia's curiosity, along with the dire events Monte had said took place in Mexico, but she supposed this wasn't the best time to bring up such subjects.
When they reached the chuckwagon, the whole crew dismounted and proceeded to choose and saddle ponies from the remuda. These mounts were smaller and shorter-legged than those they had started out with.
"How about that little dun mare for Miss Wentworth?" Stephen asked his father.
"Sounds good. The horse is older and calmer."
Iphigenia objected, "I can handle any sort of animal. Why, I've ridden high-spirited Thoroughbreds."
"But you aren't used to cutting ponies," said Monte. "You'll be flying through the air the first time your horse decides to make a turn."
"The horse decides?"
"Any cutting pony worth his hay can just about round up cattle on his own. They make a cowpuncher's life easier," Monte told her. "Besides, it's not like you have to work yourself to death today. You could just get used to things, see how they're done. Why don't you stick by me and watch for awhile?"
Was he trying to make things easier for her -- or not taking her seriously? Iphigenia wondered, deciding it was up to her what and how much she wished to do.
MONTE COULD TELL that the little dun mare didn't make a big impression on Iphigenia. The horse wasn't much to look at, kind of shaggy and bow-hocked, but she'd always been an excellent cow pony.
"Now when you get on her, remember that she'll respond to the lightest rein on her neck," he told her. "And when she puts her ears back, watch out, 'cause she's considering something. She may have caught sight of a steer and take it into her head to stop so fast and hard, your head will spin. Or she may take off and nearly dump you, heading him up."
Iphigenia objected, "I have no control?"
"Don't fight the mare. Just stick with her. Try to keep balanced and send her in the right direction once she's got the steer moving."
But Iphigenia remained irritable. "Perhaps you should be instructing the horse on how to deal with me. She seems to be the boss here."
Monte laughed and checked the dun's saddle girth to make sure it was tight. Iphigenia stood right by his side, obviously raring to go. She was mouthy and often prickly, but plenty daring, he had to admit.
Looking her over, at the fire in her eye and the pride of her posture, he felt a low thrum of excitement that went from his gut straight to his loins. But he told himself he was only making sure she was ready for a day in the sun. Her skin already had a golden cast to it, which meant she had tanned some, but she could stand even more protection.
"You tied that bandana I gave you the wrong way."
She fingered it. "Sorry, I am not familiar with cowboy fashion."
"Could care less about fashion." He reached for the scarf and untied its knot, his fingers brushing against the skin of her throat and neck. It had been too long since he'd appreciated a woman's softness. "With your hair all braided and up under your hat, the back of your neck will be exposed unless you make a big triangle out of this."
Monte shook the bandana out and tied it back around her neck properly this time, noticing the covert way she watched him, listening to the slow intake of her breath. She was attracted to him. If he hadn't already figured that out, he'd be some kind of moron.
Too bad they couldn't do anything about the situation. But even with her attraction, Iphigenia kept distance between them. And Monte had plenty enough problems already. Women always seemed to create more for him. It was probably best that he forget about more personal relation
ships and content himself with a casual roll in the hay from time to time. He knew places he could visit in El Paso.
Still, he couldn't take his eyes off Iphigenia as she mounted the dun. He admired her grace ...and the sleek curve of her hip.
Damn! Was she ever going to leave his place to take care of the business she'd spoken of? He had mixed feelings about her departure. At times he wished she was long gone. At others, he knew he'd miss her something terrible. If he didn't watch out, his feelings would be hurt as well as Cassie's.
And he had a hunch that Miss Iphigenia Wentworth wasn't going to be so cold about taking off herself. She cared about his family, had been real upset over the rattler nearly getting his daughter.
"Mr. Ryerson?" Shorty came up, bringing Monte's mind back to business. "We gonna fan out like usual?"
"Sounds the best to me." Monte squatted down and drew a circle in the dirt, indicating landmarks at the circumference. Other wranglers gathered to look over his shoulder. "Ten miles should be good, with the chuckwagon and horse remuda at the center."
An independent lot, the cowboys mainly decided among themselves as to how to join up and as to which sections they'd take. Each small group would block off part of the range and weave their ponies back and forth herding strays to the center like spokes of a wheel.
Monte noticed that Shorty chose a couple of cowpokes himself, heading off without Jake O'Brian. Not good news. Jake's former pal didn't want to work with him. The only one who seemed to let Jake's bad humor slide off his back was Norbert Tyler. If Jake didn't watch out, he was going to lose the men's cordiality and respect, making it difficult to do his job as foreman. The wranglers might be self-reliant about their work, but they needed someone to decide what that work was to begin with.
For the first time, Monte actually thought about firing the man. He'd tried talking on numerous occasions, only to be met with a stone face. But he'd think about it later.
Monte himself was partnering Stephen, with Iphigenia riding along. He explained the round-up technique to her, again stressing that she should hang back and watch before she threw herself into the thick of things.
