Monty had never shown the slightest desire to protect her. Still, he must have been looking out for her. He was always close at hand whenever she needed him. She didn't want to place too much importance on that -- it might be no more than southern chivalry -- but maybe it meant he was at least seeing her as a woman rather than an annoying teenager. She hoped so. It would be nice to know she had finally acquired a little power over Monty Randolph.
"It shouldn't be too hard to fix," Monty said, studying the wagon, "but we can't do it on the trail. We'll have to take it into Fort Worth. It's a good thing the wheels weren't broken. Your chuck wagon, too." The canvas had been shredded, the tongue broken, and the hinged lid torn off.
"We could send them ahead. Then they'd be ready when we reach town."
Monty looked at her like he was stunned she could have an idea of her own, particularly one worth considering.
"I don't have anybody to send."
"Surely you can spare one man. It must be easier to handle the cows in one herd than in two."
Monty rolled his eyes. "It's going to be harder, but I can't have you sleeping out in the open. That would be worse than ten thousand cows."
Iris glared at Monty, but it did no good. He ignored her irritation. It was like he expected it, took it in stride, and just kept going. The man had to sensitivity at all. That's what came from having nothing but brothers.
"I'll send Lovell. I don't trust him anyway."
"I need to get some things first," Iris said.
"Can't be much of value left."
"Nevertheless, there are a few things. I'd rather you didn't stand here watching me," Iris said when Monty made no move to leave. "Some things are private, even on a cattle drive."
"Damned few," Monty said, striding away.
Maybe, Iris thought to herself, but this was one secret she meant to keep to herself.
* * * * *
Monty returned in time to see Iris pick up her saddlebags and take them over to her horse. She was strapping them to her saddle when he realized what was bothering him. From the way Iris lifted them, the saddlebags had to be quite heavy. He didn't know much about feminine belongings -- actually nothing at all -- but he didn't know what she could have in that bag unless she was carrying the family silver.
He had heard she'd sold everything, but maybe she held a few things back. Maybe she did have a lot of forks and knives in those bags. Or jewels, or something equally extravagant. Maybe she should have turned them over to the bank and was trying to sneak them out of Texas. Not exactly legal, but it must be very hard to have had so much and suddenly find yourself with so little.
Let her keep her silver and baubles, or whatever it was. He couldn't see why she'd want to take anything like that to a cow ranch in Wyoming, but it was none of his business.
* * * * *
The crew knew something was up. They stood watching expectantly while Iris and Frank faced each other some distance away.
"You can't both be in charge," Iris tried to explain to Frank.
"We can separate the herds," Frank said. "Then there wouldn't be any problem."
"We can't, not with everybody out looking for the rest of the herd."
"What'll the men say?" He involuntarily glanced over his shoulder.
"Nothing, if you handle it right. Tell them Monty and I are in joint charge. You can come to me for your orders, if you like, but as long as the herds are together, Monty makes the decisions."
"You're going to regret this."
"I may," Iris said, returning her foreman's stare, "but it had better not be for the reasons you've got in mind just now."
"What do you mean?"
"You hate Monty. I don't know why, and I don't care to know. But I won't have you fighting or working against him. I'm only interested in getting this herd to Wyoming. I'll do it with or without you."
Frank stared at Iris for a moment longer. Then he turned and walked away.
Iris felt her strength seep away until she felt as weak as a kitten. She had dreaded this interview. She had wanted Monty to tell Frank, but she knew she had to do it herself. If she wanted Monty to respect her, if she wanted to be able to run her own ranch, she had to learn to make decisions and do the unpleasant jobs. She had always been protected from the difficult part of life, but now there was no one to shield her. She had to do it herself. It was just one more bit of proof it wasn't easy to be the boss. There were probably other difficulties she hadn't foreseen. Maybe Monty had been right when he said it was too difficult to work two herds together. Maybe, but she needed him.
* * * * *
"We're still short about two hundred head," Salty reported. "Mostly Miss Richmond's cows if my guess is correct."
Monty looked about him. Longhorns covered the plain almost as far as he could see. The men kept them in a loose herd over a couple thousand acres while they grazed. The two herds were hopelessly mixed. It would take at least two days to separate them.
"Well, we can't stay here any longer," Monty said. "We'll have to keep going just to find enough grass to feed them. Hen and I will catch up when we find the rest."
"I'd rather one of you stayed," Salty said. "It would be rather awkward for me giving orders to Miss Richmond's foreman."
"He'll just have to take them," Monty replied impatiently.
"Don't be a fool," Hen said. "Frank won't swallow that kind of insult without causing trouble. Salty can go with you. I'll stay here."
"You'll need Salty," Monty insisted. "You can't handle all this alone."
"You can both stay. I'll go with Monty," Iris volunteered.
"You!"
It was a simple word, but the way Monty said it was a terrible insult.
"I can ride. And if you're only half as good as you think you are, you can round up those cows all by yourself."
More than Salty's discreet smile, it was Hen's crack of laughter that sent Monty over the edge.
"Even if I were only half as good as that, I wouldn't want you riding with me."
They stood there, at a stalemate, glaring at each other like prairie dogs arguing over a burrow.
"Well I'm going anyway," Iris said, looking him straight in the eye. "You don't have any choice. You don't own this land. I can ride anywhere I like."
Monty figured Iris wouldn't be satisfied until she had humiliated him in front of every member of his family. Struggling to keep his temper under control, he headed for his horse. "Then you'd better ride like the Devil himself is after you. I'm not waiting for anybody."
With that Monty swung into the saddle and headed off at a gallop.
"Wait for me, you mule-headed skunk," Iris called and swung her horse in behind him.
"Do you think they'll stop fighting long enough to look for the cattle?"
"I'm not sure they'll stop fighting long enough to notice the cattle if they walk up to them," Hen said. "I don't know what it is about that female, but she makes Monty about as mad as a bull in springtime."
"And as restless," Salty muttered under his breath.
Chapter Ten
Monty pulled up and turned in the saddle to wait for Iris. They had been following a small valley carved by a meandering creek as it worked its way east through the low hills that bordered the flat prairie. Tall grass was beginning to give way to sage, and pecan and elm to scrub oaks.
He had to give Iris credit. She was so tired she was about to fall out of the saddle, but she had kept up with him all day and hadn't once complained about the pace. He couldn't help but think better of her, and that made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to think better of her. He wanted to be able to dismiss her as a foolish female who thought every problem in life could be solved by batting her eyelashes at some rich man.
He hadn't expected it to be a problem, at least not one that would require his whole concentration. It took every bit of his willpower to keep his mind off Iris and on the missing cows. As annoying as it was to have her tagging along behind him almost like she did five years
ago, she was giving his cows more competition than they could handle.
That surprised him. He'd never had any problem putting women out of his mind when it came time to work. From that day a dozen years ago when he and Hen realized if they couldn't defend the ranch and themselves they would be robbed and murdered, the ranch had been his primary concern. It was the only thing he really loved.
And in a sense, that's why he insisted on going to Wyoming. He was the only true cowman in the family, though George was the best businessman. Since the ranch belonged to everybody, George made the final decisions.
He was given a near free hand with the ranch, but that wasn't enough. Not anymore. He had to be on his own, somewhere a long way from George's watchful eye. That's why he had chosen Wyoming, and in his mind, getting there without the loss of a single cow would prove he was right. Even though the ranch would still belong to the family, there'd be no one looking over his shoulder. No more worry that his orders would be changed and the whole crew know it. This was his chance to prove himself. That's why he had been so furious with Iris for getting in his way.
That's why he couldn't understand his change of heart.
Even when he was angriest at her, he no longer wanted to strangle her and leave her body for the buzzards. Her body was much too attractive to waste. He had spent the better part of the morning cataloging its attractions. He could now recite the list straight through without missing a single temptation.
He'd spent the afternoon cataloging the reasons she was a plague and a nuisance, why he ought to box her up and ship her back to St. Louis, but he kept forgetting them. Instead he found himself making excuses for her and assuring himself she wouldn't make the same mistakes again.
That frightened him badly. He didn't want to like any woman that much. No telling what she might talk him into doing. He was considering taking her back to camp when they cut a fresh trail.
"These are the missing cows," he said.
"How can you tell?" Iris asked. "These tracks look like all the others we've seen today."
"All the rest turned back. These don't." Monty studied the tracks more closely. "They're heading west at a trot."
"You think they were rustled?"
"Maybe."
"By the same men who tried before?"
"Could be."
"But a panther started the stampede."
"Somebody's been following you. My men kept finding the signs. We'd better get back to camp."
"Why? It'll take hours to reach this point again. That would give them more time to get away. Do you need help?"
"I will if I've got to worry about you. There's bound to be some shooting. You'll just be in the way."
"I'm not going back," Iris declared. "They're my cows, and I intend to I get them back." She turned her horse in the direction the cows had taken and started off at a trot.
"Dammit, Iris, you can't just head into a gunfight," Monty exclaimed as his big gelding came alongside her compact cow pony. "You don't know the first thing about what to do."
"Then teach me. It'll take us hours to catch up with them."
"I always knew females were stubborn," Monty grumbled, "but you take the cake. I can't teach you about guns in a couple of hours."
"Then don't try," Iris said. "I already know how to pull the trigger. That's all that counts, isn't it?"
"Not if you can't hit anything!"
"I'll scare them. You shoot them."
Just like a woman who never stuck her nose outside a parlor to think going after rustlers was as much fun as a garden party. She'd probably scream and faint when she saw her first blood. Then he'd be in a pickle.
But Monty bowed to the inevitable. Iris was going to stick to him like a burr, and he was going to have to see that nothing happened to her. At the same time he was going to have to get those cows. He didn't know how he was going to accomplish both, but Iris clearly expected him too. He knew George would expect him to. Hell, he expected it of himself.
Why had he ever wanted to go to Wyoming? He hadn't gotten near the damned place and already his life was falling apart. With his luck, he was bound to come upon some widow woman with eight or nine kids. If he did, he thought with a tug of satisfaction, he'd let them ride in Iris's wagon.
So they kept on. At dusk he faced with the prospect of camping overnight with Iris.
"This looks like a good place to stop," Monty said, pointing to a scattering of ash and oak alongside a stream.
"I can keep going," Iris insisted.
"No, you can't. You've been in the saddle more today than in your whole life."
"Not quite that much, but certainly more than I'm used to."
"Besides, the horses are tired."
"That's right, always think about the horses," Iris said, wondering if it really was the horses he was stopping for rather than herself.
"If you don't, you could die out here," Monty replied.
Iris didn't reply. She didn't intend to try to convince Monty she was more important than a horse. She had already lost to cows. It was a good thing he had left his dogs at home. A third loss to a four-legged animal would destroy what was left of her self-esteem.
Besides, she had a more important worry. She wasn't sure she could dismount. The lower half of her body seemed to be paralyzed.
"You're not going to like this," Monty said. A tangle of vines blocked their approach to the stream until Monty found a narrow game trail. There were no vines or brushes under the trees. A thick carpet of leaves covered the ground. "It's not what you're used to."
"Nothing that has happened since Christmas is what I'm used to," Iris said as she followed him into the trees.
"You can get down. I'm going to give the horses a drink."
Iris didn't move.
"I said--"
"I don't think I can. I can't move my legs."
Monty looked at her in surprise, then started to laugh.
"Don't you dare tell me I ought to have stayed at the ranch," Iris said, "or that I should have gone ahead on the train."
"Here, let me help you," Monty said.
"No. I'll get down by myself." But try as she might, she couldn't move her legs.
"Are you through being stubborn?" Monty asked.
"I guess so. It's either let you help me or spend the night in the saddle.”
"Your horse wouldn't like that."
"Neither would I. I say that just in case you happen to be interested in what I would like."
"A wise man is always interested--"
"You've never been wise, Monty Randolph, at least not when it comes to me. Now give me your hand and stop trying to convince me you're not wishing me a thousand miles away."
"If I told you what I was thinking--"
"Don't. After what you've said over the last few days, I don't think I have the strength to listen." Iris laughed. "Wouldn't Cynthia Wilburforce love to be here now? She was always jealous of me. She said I was too sure of myself, that I relied too much on my looks. She said she'd give a thousand dollars to see a man put me in my place. Well, I could use that thousand dollars and Cynthia could use a good laugh." She stopped and looked at Monty. "You wouldn't like Cynthia. She's worse than I am."
"Will you stop going on about somebody I don't know and let me help you down?" Monty said. "You can reminisce around the campfire."
"It's not exactly reminiscing," Iris said as she took Monty's hand. "It's more like adding up the strikes against me."
She loved the warm touch of his hand in hers. The heat seemed to radiate throughout her body leaving tingly trails of fire. Lord, this man was just something else.
But holding Monty's hand wasn't enough. She still couldn't move her legs.
"You're going to have to fall off into my arms," Monty said.
"How do I do that?"
"Just take your feet out of the stirrups and throw yourself in my direction."
Iris couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Five years ago she had spent day
s on end trying to figure out how to get into Monty's arms. If she'd only known she just had to ride until the lower half of her body ceased to function.
But falling into Monty's arms because she couldn't do anything else irritated her. If she couldn't get there because he liked her, she'd almost rather he didn't touch her.
Almost. She remembered his touch, so firm, so comforting, so strong. No woman could dislike that. But there was no sense in letting him know she was putty in his hands. She'd make a game of it, act like it was a lark. That way he'd never know her heart was beating too fast or her breath was shallow. He wouldn't know he affected her at all.
"Monty Randolph," she said, giving him a teasing grin, "you are a sneaky rascal. And I thought you'd been hoping to lose me in a gopher hole all day."
Monty grinned back. "Go ahead and enjoy yourself. You're not going to feel like making jokes once you get down."
"What do you mean?" She didn't trust him not to do something terrible just to get back at her.
"You'll see in a minute."
"I'll see right now, or I'm not getting down from here."
"Your muscles are probably cramped. It's going to hurt when you try to stand up."
"Oh. I thought you were going to do something awful like tease me with one of those big spiders or something."
"I don't play stupid jokes like that."
"How was I to know? Men do all sorts of crazy things."
"I don't. Now come on down if you're coming. I can't stand here all night, or I'll have a cramp, too."
Iris felt irritated. Must he always be so prosaic? He could pretend he was excited or nervous or something. After all, she'd never flung herself in a man's arms before. And she wouldn't be doing it now if it weren't Monty. She'd ride all the way back to camp before she'd trust half the men she knew.
But Monty didn't act like it was anything out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe females threw themselves into his arms all the time. But she didn't. This was special. She'd have to find a way to make him think it was special too. In the meantime, resigning herself to the inevitable, Iris drew her feet out of the stirrups and threw herself from the saddle.
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