He hadn't wanted to give up Iris. He still didn't. Every time he argued to his conclusion, he would start all over again hoping he would come to a different result next time. But it was always the same. They had nothing in common except an uncertain temper and a stubborn streak a mile wide. He was as unsuited to be a husband and father as she was a wife and mother.
But deciding to give up Iris had been the hardest decision he had ever made. When he sent her to Dodge, he had some hazy notion about them staying together somehow, but a few days away from the aphrodisiac of her presence, and he knew that was impossible. It had also given him time to realize he loved her too much to let their relationship come to such a painful end. If it had to end, better it should end now.
"You mean to let her go on alone?" Hen asked.
Monty hadn't heard him come up. "Yes. The worst part of the trip is over. Carlos can handle her herd the rest of the way."
He would worry about her every minute, but he had to do it now. Postponing it would change anything. It would just make it harder.
"Especially with you right behind."
"I won't be right behind. I'm not going with you."
Now Hen really looked surprised.
"Somebody up here always has cows for sale. I'm going to buy a herd and start my own ranch."
"What about the Circle-7 ranch?"
"There's plenty of open range near the Circle-7. I'll be close enough to run both ranches. But as soon as I get things running smoothly, George is going to have to hire himself another foreman."
Hen smiled, pleased. "So the monkey is off your back at last."
Monty looked a little self-conscious. "I guess you could say that. Anyway, Iris helped me realize I couldn't go on letting George, or anybody else, arrange my life for me." Monty's expression turned bleak. "I was busy telling her that Randolphs didn't care what anybody thought when it hit me I was the only one who did. But as soon as I realized that, I realized I really didn't care. I got this herd here despite more trouble than a man ought to have. It doesn't matter whether I brought it on myself or not. I handled it."
"What about Iris?"
"What about her?"
"You're in love with her."
"I know."
"So when are you going to ask her to marry you?"
"I'm not. It wouldn't work."
"You're wrong."
"Dammit to hell, Hen, make up your mind! First you fall into a rage because you think I'm paying too much attention to her. Now you say I'm making a mistake by not marrying her. You don't make any sense."
Hen's expression never changed. "I didn't like her at first. I thought she was silly and self-centered. She's changed. But even if she hadn't, it wouldn't make any difference. You love her, and you're not going to change your mind. Common sense has never worked with you. I don't expect it will now."
A half grin was the best Monty could do. "Well, it had better work because I'm doing this as much for her as for me."
"You going to tell her?"
"When I take Frank and Bill into Dodge."
He'd be willing to let them go free if it would have postponed the trip to Dodge, or changed its purpose. Never had he wanted to see anyone so badly as he wanted to see Iris. He would have given Nightmare to have one more day with her.
"When can I expect to see you at the ranch?"
"I don't know. I'll let you know."
"You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Absolutely, even if George hates it."
"He'll like it," Hen said. "He'll be surprised, but he'll like it."
* * * * *
"What do you mean you never had anybody named Iris Richmond in the hotel?" Monty demanded of the clerk at the Dodge House. "She came to Dodge six days ago. This is the only hotel in town. She had to put up here."
The man spun his book around. "Look for yourself. There ain't been no ladies here by that name."
"If she'd been here under any name, you'd remember her. There were two of them, a stunning redhead with dark green eyes and a rather plain female with light brown hair."
"Maybe you ought to talk to Sheriff Bassett. Maybe he'll know something."
Monty didn't understand. Iris's name wasn't in the book. She hadn't been here. He had expected to find her waiting for him, very angry, possibly so furious she wouldn't speak to him, but waiting. It made him feel a little better to know Betty was with her, but Iris had no place to go. Where could she have gone?
"I got two horses and a letter for you," the sheriff told Monty. "Don't know nothing else except those women left town on the first train. Took 'em down to the depot myself. Can't have decent women wandering around Dodge, especially not one like that redhead. I get enough trouble from Texas cowboys like you." He reached inside a drawer in his desk. "Here's your letter. Your horses are at Ham Bell's livery."
Monty was too stunned to move. He couldn't believe Iris had left him without a word. It wasn't right. It didn't make sense. She couldn't have gone. He still had things he wanted to say to her.
She had left him!
The words screeched in his brain like a demonic yell. He was so mad he wanted to smash something. He wanted to hurt somebody as much as he hurt. And he did hurt. Worse than ever before.
He felt horribly frustrated. He was used to confronting his opponents, fighting for what he wanted. Hard physical contact, brutal and punishing, was a purifying process in itself. But there was no one to fight, nothing but this terrible emptiness, this gnawing pain. The awful knowledge that something he wanted desperately had been taken from him.
Monty held out his hand for the letter, but he didn't open it. He just stared at it. Iris must have been really anxious to shake the dust of Kansas from her boots. Or anxious to avoid seeing him again.
He longed to tear the letter into a million tiny pieces.
"Is everything all right?" the sheriff asked.
"Yeah," Monty replied absently. "I'm just surprised. That's all."
"I'd be more than surprised. I'd be disappointed as hell if I was expecting that little lady to be waiting for me. Though where you managed to find her between here and Texas I'd love to know."
The sheriff's words brought Monty up short. Was he so obvious, was the shock so great, his response so vivid, that a perfect stranger could practically read his mind? Pride, a commodity all the Randolphs had in great abundance, enabled him to pull himself together. What he felt was private, not to be shared with anyone.
Not even his brothers.
"She came with us," Monty said.
"Got any more like her?"
"No. She's the only one."
Monty took his letter outside. He didn't want to read it with anybody watching. He didn't want to read it at all, but he had to sooner or later. Putting it off wouldn't make it any better.
Dear Monty,
I've decided to take your advice and go the rest of the way by train. I realize now I should have listened to you in the beginning.
Thank you for taking such good care of me. Betty is going with me, so you don't have to worry about either one of us. At last you'll be free to give all your attention to your cows.
I won't forget what you told me that night on the prairie, but I guess I always knew we were too different. You were right not to think of marriage. It wouldn't have worked. You're a very sweet man in spite of yourself, and I hope you find someone who can love you and make you happy. I know you will wish me the same.
Iris Richmond
Monty crushed the letter in his hand. He had never thought it was possible to feel so miserable without being sick. His feeling this way was all the more inexplicable since he had come to Dodge to tell Iris the very same thing.
Then why did he feel like his heart had been cut out?
Because he had been looking forward to seeing her again. He had been hoping he was wrong, that something would change. No matter how hard he had tried to convince himself, he really hadn't been ready to give her up.
Now she had do
ne it for him.
The enormity of his feeling of loss surprised him. He couldn't imagine not seeing Iris again. For months his days had started and ended with Iris. Thinking about her, worrying about her, loving her had become as much a part of him as being a Randolph. He didn't know how he could give her up without losing some essential part of himself.
Maybe he already had. Maybe people never forgot their first love, no matter how foolish and impractical. He didn't think he could. He would always carry her in his heart. And if the way he felt now was any sample of the way he would feel in the future, there would be no room left over for anyone else.
She was headed to Wyoming with Betty. She was safe. At least he didn't have to worry about her. Not yet.
Monty's hand unclenched. He smoothed the letter and put it in his shirt pocket. Then he headed toward the livery stable. It was time to get his horses. It was time to leave town.
He wished he could leave his memories behind half as easily.
But this wasn't the end. He wouldn't leave it here. Right now he had a herd to buy and a ranch to start, a new life to begin, but after that he meant to find Iris. She might have made the same mistake he did in thinking it was over, but she was wrong.
They were both wrong.
* * * * *
"All I really want to do is learn to cook a turkey," Iris said, "even if Monty isn't here to eat it."
"You'll have to wait until we get a proper stove," Betty insisted. "Besides, there aren't any turkeys in Wyoming."
Iris's first glance at the cabin, which had been built to serve as the ranch headquarters, had left her gaping in dismay. It was a crude log house, half in the ground, with only one window, and a large bearskin for a door. Nothing inside had been finished. The dirt floor would turn wet in winter and spring, and the mound of skins was unlike any bed she had ever occupied. There was nothing on the ceiling to prevent dust from floating down over everything in the cabin. She had seen adobe huts in Texas she'd rather live in. If Betty hadn't been with her, Iris knew she would have turned around and left.
Carlos and Joe could lay a floor, but they would need to buy a stove and decent beds. Iris knew she must jealously guard each coin as it left her purse. She would wait until she sold the remuda before she bought anything for the cabin.
Betty fixed their meals in a pot on the potbellied stove in the cabin or over an open pit in the ground. She insisted Iris practice cooking both ways.
They had been at the ranch for a month now, and Iris had spent every day trying to turn herself into the kind of wife Monty wanted. She and Betty had cleaned and scrubbed and decorated until the miserable hovel had started to look like a home. She had learned to cook at least three whole meals. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning. And she had also ridden over every inch of her land until she knew it like the back of her hand.
Each day seemed to bring something new to further demonstrate to Iris how her life had changed, but she started to take pride in her accomplishments. She studied grass, streams, looked for water holes and hay meadows, and decided on a new site for the future ranch buildings. She still had a lot to learn, but she was no longer the silly female who set out to capture Monty Randolph with a smile and fluttering eyelashes.
She had hoped the hard work would help her think less about Monty, but it hadn't. She still couldn't remember him without pain. She didn't think she ever would. Betty had told her it would get better with time, but for once Betty was wrong. It only got worse. Everything she did seemed to remind her of Monty. She had given up trying to keep from saying or thinking his name. But every time she mentioned it, it only made the pain of his absence hurt more deeply.
It had been terribly difficult to leave Dodge without seeing him one more time. She wondered what had happened when he got her letter. She had spent hours imagining him leaving the herd to come after her. After a week she knew he hadn't. She pictured him on the trail, counting off the miles as they brought him closer to her.
She refused to imagine him forgetting her.
She had almost worked herself to a fever pitch by the time she saw the first cow on the horizon one sunny September afternoon.
"They're here," she shouted to Betty. Iris was astride her horse and a hundred yards away by the time Betty emerged from the cabin.
The first person she saw was Carlos riding proudly at the head of the column. It made her feel very good to know she had given him half her inheritance. He had become a different man. A good man.
"Welcome home," she said, smiling broadly when she was within hearing distance.
Carlos looked surprised to see her. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Where did you think I had gone?"
"I didn't know. Hen said nobody knew."
"What did Monty think?"
"I have no idea," Carlos replied. "I haven't seen him since he went into Dodge."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. Hen cut the herd and sent us off ahead. I haven't seen a Randolph since. I can't tell you how happy that makes me."
"But what happened to Monty? Where did he go?"
"Hen said he left to buy a herd and start his own ranch. That's the last I heard of him."
Iris felt caught between surging hope and nagging dread. She was glad Monty had finally gone off on his own. He would never be happy trying to please George. But she was afraid of what it might mean to her. Where had he gone? Would he come back? Would he want her when he did?
* * * * *
"The men will eat duck," Betty said to Iris, "especially if we give them plenty of biscuits and gravy."
Iris wished she could work up as much enthusiasm for cleaning the duck as for cooking it. She was glad to hand it over to Betty when she heard someone ride up.
Her heart no longer beat faster when she saw a stranger. The Circle-7 herd had arrived a month ago, and still no one had heard a word from Monty. Iris tried to keep believing he would come for her, but each passing day made it harder not to give into the fear he was gone and would never come back.
"It's a woman," Iris said, staring in amazement as an elegant woman dressed in men's clothes climbed down from the saddle. She rode astride and was clearly able to dismount without assistance. The woman was no stranger to horses, though Iris would have sworn everything about her spoke of considerable wealth. Iris felt ashamed to open the door.
"Good morning," she said, stepping outside.
"Good morning," the visitor replied. "I hope I haven't come at an inconvenient time."
"No. We were just thinking about what to fix for supper. I'm Iris Richmond. I'm the owner of the Double-D ranch."
The woman hesitated a moment. "My name is Fern Randolph."
Iris froze. "Monty's . . . "
"Monty's sister-in-law. I married his brother, Madison."
Iris felt embarrassed. Madison was very rich. Fern lived in huge mansions in Chicago and Denver. Her cabin must look like the cow shed to a woman used to a house full of servants. But she couldn't turn her away. As embarrassed as she was, she wanted to know what had happened to Monty. She had forced herself to stay away from the Circle-7. But now that Fern was here, she wasn't going to let her get away until she had gathered every scrape of information she could about Monty.
"I'm afraid this isn't much of a cabin. Maybe you'd prefer to sit outside.".
"It looks a lot like the house I grew up in," Fern said, coming toward the cabin without hesitation. "A tornado destroyed it. I think I knew Madison really loved me when he bought a house, cut it into quarters, had it carried out to the farm, and set it up for me."
"You grew up on a farm?" Iris asked. She really didn't know anything about Fern.
"In Kansas. I did the cooking, cleaning, washing, and took care of the beef herd until Madison decided I was badly overworked and whisked me off to Chicago to scare me half to death with a huge house and six servants."
So it was possible. If Fern had done it, Iris could, too. "Come right in," Iris said. "I've got a thousand qu
estions, and you're the person to answer them."
They started out talking over coffee. Then they moved outside. Finally they took a ride.
"You've got some excellent land here," Fern said as they headed back to the ranch. "You ought to do very well."
"I would if I knew as much as you."
"You'll learn." Fern laughed suddenly. "Isn't it odd. I would have given my eye teeth for someone like you to talk to when I first went to Chicago. Madison knew he couldn't take me to Boston. He wanted to try, but I wouldn't let him. Now here I am teaching you how to live like I did for so long."
"Do you ever miss it?"
"Often. Not enough to give up Madison and the boys, but I miss the open spaces and the freedom from dresses. I think my pants are the thing I miss most."
"I was afraid to ask . . . "
"I used to wear pants all the time. Refused to wear a dress. I only put one on to win Madison. I keep wearing them to keep him."
"Not all decisions are that easy."
"Oh, it wasn't easy, though it may seem so now. I imagine it was just as hard as your decision."
"I didn't have any choice. This ranch was all I had."
"I wasn't referring to the ranch. I was referring to your decision to give up Monty. You obviously still love him."
"I...How can you tell?"
"You've used his name at least a hundred times this afternoon. Whenever I talk about him, your face becomes terribly intense, like you don't want to miss a single word. But I guess this ranch is the most obvious proof. You're trying to turn yourself into something you've never been because you think it's what Monty wants."
"Isn't it?"
"If you really want to know the answer to that question, you'll have to ask him."
"How can I? No one knows where he is."
"Would you, if he were here?"
"No."
"Why not? He loves you as much as you love him."
A spasm of pain twisted Iris's features. He couldn't. He wasn't here. She feared he would never be. "You wouldn't say that if you'd heard him when he sent me off to Dodge."
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