She wanted to be like Betty. She wanted people to like her for herself. But what was there about her to like? She didn't know how to approach men. She expected them to pursue her. She had been taught to think of them as adversaries in a game of cat and mouse, never as companions. She expected them to take care of her, yet she had never prepared food, set it out, or cleared away afterwards. She'd never done anything for anybody but herself.
Iris sighed. How she had managed to live nineteen years and learn only part of what it meant to a woman? Now was a good time to start on the other part, and Betty the best possible teacher.
"I sure hate having to put up with Randolphs, but it's nice to be with you again."
Iris looked up to find Carlos smiling down at her. He dropped down next to her.
"I'm plum wore out. Joe says he's the same."
"I imagine you're glad to see him again."
"Yeah. I got along with that Salty character okay -- he's a straight shooter -- but it's always nice to get back to friends."
Friends. Iris realized she didn't have any, not any she could count on. The only person she felt she could depend on was Monty, and she'd had to force him into a position where he couldn't do anything else.
"When did she turn up?" Carlos asked, pointing at Betty. "She looks a little fancy for out here."
"That's one of my dresses. Indians killed her husband and took everything she had."
"Poor thing," Carlos said, looking sympathetically at Betty. "She seems to be holding up right fair. Where's she going?"
"Dodge, maybe. I'm not sure."
"She makes a mean doughnut. The boys will be sorry to see the last of her."
Iris wondered if anybody would be sorry to see the last of her. She wondered if anybody would even notice. She'd been so preoccupied with Monty and her own problems she hadn't noticed it before, but she moved about as though she were in a separate world from the rest of the men. The Randolphs talked to her, except for Hen, but everybody else acted like she wasn't even there.
Iris watched the grins and cheerful kidding that seemed to spring up wherever Betty went and experienced a new kind of hopelessness. She couldn't do that. Nobody was glad to see her, nobody looked forward to talking to her, nobody seemed happier because she was there.
Nobody except Carlos.
Suddenly Iris made up her mind. She got to her feet. "Come with me. I want to talk with you about something." As soon as they had gotten far enough away so they wouldn't be overheard, Iris turned to her brother, "Have you thought about what I said the other day?"
"Huh?"
"About being my foreman?"
"Yes. I'd like that."
"Good. I'm going to give you half the ranch as well."
Chapter Twenty
"Do you know what you're saying?"
"Of course I do. I'm going to give you half the ranch. You deserve it as much as I do."
"But you don't know a thing about me. I might be a terrible foreman. I might try to kidnap you and take the whole ranch."
Iris laughed. "You can't be a worse rancher than I am. Besides, if I get married, I might give you the whole thing."
Of course she didn't mean that, but right now the idea of being relieved of the burden of worrying about the herd had a strong appeal.
"I think I'd like to settle down," Carlos said. "Being footloose isn't as much fun as you'd think."
"I can't imagine it would be any fun at all," Iris said. "Never knowing where you were going to sleep or what you were going to eat. Not to mention not having a roof over your head."
"Not much for the roaming life, are you?"
"None at all. If I ever get done with this horrible drive, I'm going to buy myself a big house, hire a cook and housekeeper, and go shopping for new clothes." She pulled at her riding outfit. It was dusty and worn with overuse. "I'm never going to wear this horrible thing again."
"You can say that. You're rich."
"No, I'm not. Daddy was nearly broke. Everything I have is in front of me. Why else to do you think I'm here? That's why I'm counting on you to help me. Besides, half of it is rightfully yours."
"The will left everything to you."
"That doesn't matter. You're just as much Daddy's child as I am."
"It's mighty kind of you to make me your foreman. You don't have to do any more."
"Yes, I do."
"Have you said anything to anybody else?"
"No. Why?"
"Give yourself time to think about it a little more. You might be getting married before long, and your husband probably won't want you giving away your inheritance to a half-breed Mexican bastard."
"Don't ever call yourself that again," Iris said, angrily. "You're Carlos Richmond. Your mother was my father's first wife. She died when you were five."
"You know that's not true."
"It doesn't matter. That's what I'll tell people. Now if I'm ever going to get back in the saddle, I'd better get to bed. There are times when I wish I'd taken Monty's advice."
"What was that?"
"Take the train and meet you in Cheyenne."
"Why didn't you?"
"Insanity, and a determination not to let these cows out of my sight." She looked out over the herd.
For as far as she could see, dark shapes dotted the landscape. The whites and pale yellows of their coats were still visible, but the thousands of dark shades and patterns had begun to merge into one mass. Most moved about slowly, grazing as they went. Some of the calves, their hunger satisfied now that they had been released from the wagon, gamboled about, carefree and unconcerned. Here and there a cow or steer had laid down, tired from the day's long walk, stomach full of the rich grass.
Three cowboys were on patrol, but Iris could see only one, the singer of some doleful lament. Though it didn't seem to bother the cows, its mournful quality grated on her nerves. Fortunately he was moving away from her. Maybe she would be asleep before he returned.
"I wonder if anybody would care what happened to me if I didn't have a herd," Iris muttered, half to herself.
Somebody will always care for a beautiful woman like you.
She could just hear Monty saying it. Yes, maybe somebody would, but that somebody wouldn't be Monty. And if he did, he wouldn't care for her the way everybody seemed to care about Betty.
Iris thought of her big house, servants, parties, and clothes. All during this trip she had kept her spirits up by promising herself she would go back to St. Louis one day, by having more of everything than the people who had turned their backs on her. Only now she didn't want to. Her life there seemed as alien to her now as living with cows would have seemed a year ago.
She actually liked some aspects of trail life. She still got tired, but her body had ceased to ache so much at night or be so stiff in the morning. She liked being outside, being up and active. She felt more energetic, more alive. She liked the open spaces as much as she feared the loneliness.
She'd never expected to be a frontier wife, but right now she'd trade everything she had been looking forward to for a ranch house and Monty.
And a cook. He'd leave her if he had to eat her cooking.
* * * * *
Twenty feet away, behind a sprawling thicket of thorn-covered vines, Monty let his muscles relax. Completing Nature's call, a process that had been interrupted when Iris and Carlos paused close by, he buttoned up his pants, his forehead creased in thought.
He couldn't get over the shock of hearing Iris say she planned to give Carlos half of her inheritance. He had always known she was capable of generosity, but this reached into the realm of sacrifice. It represented an outright gift of more than eighty thousand dollars and a fifteen-thousand-dollar loss in future income. It meant a serious reduction in Iris's future standard of living. Clearly, this wasn't the same Iris who began the trip little more than two months ago.
Iris had been changing right before his eyes, but he had been so busy assuming she was like her mother and attributing selfish motives
to everything she did to put it all together. Along with that discovery came the more disquieting thought that maybe he had never known Iris at all. Maybe he had been so busy assuming and taking for granted he simply hadn't seen the truth from the beginning.
But that didn't explain why a woman who would give half of everything she owned to an illegitimate half-brother who had no legal claim on her would want to go back to the empty life she led in St. Louis. It didn't explain what a woman who would risk her life to make a two thousand-mile drive over the prairie to carve out a ranch in the Wyoming wilderness could find to interest her in parties and dress shops. It didn't explain why a woman of Iris's courage and character would be satisfied to become a social butterfly.
So what was the truth about Iris? She had begun to study how to be a rancher, but he doubted she would succeed in the brutal wilderness of Wyoming without a man to help her. Maybe that was why she had given Carlos half her ranch. But if that had been her only reason, she could have just hired him to be her foreman.
Monty told himself he was wasting his time wondering about Iris. In the end she intended to get as far away from Wyoming as possible. What he should do was stay as far away from Iris as possible. He should do everything in his power to forget the feel of her warm skin as he kissed the hollow of her neck. He should wipe from his memory the fragrance that clung to her when she had just bathed in one of the streams they crossed. He should refuse to remember the enchantment in her smile or the laughter in her eyes, the fire in her hair, the gleam in her eye. He should forget the feel of her softness when he held her in his arms, the sweetness of her kiss.
Most of all, he should forget the feeling of contentment he felt after they made love. He ought to be able to do that. He had put women out of his mind before. But he couldn't escape the feeling that this time was different.
* * * * *
In the days that followed, Iris tried to believe Monty still liked her. She reminded herself time and time again he had warned he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her reputation with the men. But she started to wish Monty was more bedazzled and less discreet. She didn't care if everybody knew she loved him. She didn't care if they knew they had made love.
But Monty cared. He continued so thoroughly out of temper, even Tyler began casting him questioning glances.
Betty was preparing a turkey when Iris came into camp. Iris didn't know how to lay a fire. She had no idea how to even begin to clean and cook the large bird. She ought to ask Betty to teach her, but that would have to wait.
"Do I seem snobbish to you?" she asked.
"Of course not," Betty replied. She paused in her work, surprised. "Whatever would make you ask that?"
"Well none of the men come near me."
"I'm sure you're imagining things," Betty said, resuming her task.
"I'm not. I've known it for a long time. It just seems that it's gotten worse lately. If I speak to them, they mumble something and run away like they're afraid."
Zac came hurrying up and dumped a load of firewood at Betty's feet. "They are. Monty'd be on their hides if they didn't keep moving." He turned to Betty. "I'll sure be glad when we let you off at Dodge," he said, completely unconscious of the rudeness of his remark. "We've been using twice the firewood since you got here."
"Sorry to make extra work, but Monty's been so good to me, cooking his favorite dishes is the least I can do."
"Well he ate Tyler's cooking before you came, and he didn't die from it."
"But he does love turkey, and it takes a lot of wood to cook a turkey."
Monty acted like he'd found a gold mine when he shot that turkey. Tyler had taken one look and said he was fixing braised beef medallions from a steer that had broken its leg and had to be shot. If Monty wanted a gamey turkey, he'd have to cook it himself. Naturally Betty volunteered to cook it for him. Iris tried not to be jealous, but she didn't succeed.
"What did you mean about Monty?" Iris asked Zac.
"He doesn't want any of the men hanging around you. If they so much as speak to you, he glares like a bull about to charge. Why do you think he's always going around like he's got a sore tooth? Usually he laughs so much he gets on George's nerves. He kids Rose so much she locked him out of the house once for a whole week."
That raised Iris's spirits for one whole day, but when she had the leisure to study his expression, she didn't find it so forbidding. In fact, it didn't look any different from normal. As far as she could remember, he always went around looking like a thundercloud.
Except when he was around Betty. Then he was all smiles and compliments.
It hurt. There was nothing Iris could do to explain it away. She found herself wishing, along with Zac, they would reach Dodge soon.
* * * * *
Iris had made up her mind to talk to Monty. She had Zac fetch her horse before she'd finished her breakfast. The minute Monty climbed into the saddle and headed for the herd, Iris rode after him.
"I want to talk to you," she called out over the sound of pounding hooves. She practically had to ride her horse into his to get him to slow down and speak to her.
"What about?" Monty kept his horse at a trot.
"Carlos."
"Wait until tonight. I'm busy right now."
Monty kicked his horse into a canter, but Iris stayed at his side.
"I don't want to wait until tonight. I don't want anybody to overhear us."
"I really don't have time to--"
"Maybe I ought to ask Betty to talk to you for me."
Monty jerked his horse round until he faced Iris. The startled animal threw up his head and half reared in protest. He opened his mouth to make a stinging retort, but Iris's beauty hit him like a sledgehammer. He saw her every day. He should be used to it by now. But every now and then it caught him unawares, and it was like he was seeing her for the first time.
Surely no one had ever had such deep green eyes. Only once, when gentle spring rains had covered the plains shoulder deep in lush grass, had he seen anything to equal the richness of their color. Just before evening, in the distance where the gently undulating sea of grass rose to meet the blue horizon, the color had been so intense, so deep and true, he would always remember it. And its promise of renewed life.
That same promise was somehow inherent in Iris. He didn't understand it. It wasn't in what she did. It was something imbedded in her character, something that clung so tenaciously to life that everybody around her could feel it. Not even the fiery contrast of her flaming hair nor the sharp edge of her temper could overshadow the feeling that everything about her was too exciting to miss.
Maybe that's what drew him back to her every time he tried to break away.
"What does this have to do with Mrs. Crane?"
"Nothing, but you always seem to have time to talk to her."
"She doesn't stop me in the middle of my work."
"That's because she doesn't have to chase you down on horseback just to get you to listen to her for five minutes," Iris shot back.
Monty thought of the many times he had longed to talk to Iris, to simply sit next to her, the times he had practically had to put on blinders to keep from staring at her. If she ever learned how nearly he lost control every time he saw her, how easy it would be for her to make him do just about anything she wanted, his life wouldn't be worth a dried buffalo chip
"I thought you wanted to talk about Carlos."
"I do. I want to know how he did with Salty."
"He hardly knows enough to keep out of his own way."
Iris made an obvious attempt to control her temper. "Salty told me he did very well."
"He was being kind."
"He'd know a whole lot more if you'd been kind enough to teach him what to do."
Monty stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Do I look like a school marm to you?"
"No, but--"
"Or do you think I just decided to come on this trip so I could do your bidding?”
"No, but--"
"From the minute you set foot in Texas, you've had a list of things you wanted me to do. You wanted me to round up your herd, take you to Wyoming, protect you from Frank, find your lost cows, fix your wagon, save you from a stampede--"
"I never asked you to do that."
"--save your cattle from Indians. Now you want me to teach your brother how to manage a herd."
"He's going to be my foreman when we get to Wyoming," Iris explained. "I'm going to give him half my herd."
"I know, and I think you're crazy."
"You know!" Iris repeated, stunned.
"I overheard you tell him a few nights ago."
Iris swelled with indignation. "You can't spare five minutes to talk to me, but you can sneak around eavesdropping on my conversations?"
"I didn't do any such thing. You caught me . . . uh . . . I was just . . . I had to go to the bushes," Monty confessed. "You were talking close by. I couldn't leave without you knowing."
"So you stayed hidden and listened to every word."
"Would you rather I had come running out hitching up my pants?"
She was glad he hadn't, but that didn't make her any happier he'd heard everything she said.
"You ought to think about this some more," Monty advised. "If I were you, I'd send Carlos on his way."
"You're not me."
"Then hire yourself an experienced foreman, and let him teach Carlos what to do"
"All I want you to do is let him ride with you. You don't have to spend a lot of time telling him things. He can figure it out by watching you."
Monty pulled up. "This conversation is going to take a while, isn't it?"
"If you insist upon being so stubborn."
"I'm only trying to be realistic," Monty said, turning toward a single oak that grew in the dip between two ridges, "but I don't expect you to see that."
"Naturally," Iris said, turning her horse to follow him. "Women never do."
"Running a ranch isn't simple."
"It can't be that hard. Any fool who buys himself a few cows can call himself a rancher."
"And fool who buys himself a boat can call himself a ship's captain," Monty responded, his temper flaring, "but I imagine you'd expect a little more of him before you set sail on his ship."
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