Running Wild (8 page)

He shrugged. “Not much, I reckon.”

“You don’t consider it, or you don’t endorse it?”

“Reckon it doesn’t apply much to folk out here. That kinda
thing is for all the big heads back East to deliberate, not us Westerners.”

Star tilted her head. “Is the plight of women so different
in the West than it is back East? I should have thought women are much the same
everywhere.”

“Don’t know about that either. I’m just a rancher.”

“Why, you must know something,” she said raising an eyebrow.
“You live here, after all.”

He frowned, his eyes focused ahead as if contemplating an
answer. After a moment, he shrugged and answered, “‘What is the interpretation
of this riddle? For I know that I have no wisdom, small or great.’ Plato.”

“Plato?”

“Yeah. From his
Defense of Socrates
. Figured you’re
all cultured and such, I’d answer with something you’d better understand.”

“Why, Nicholas, you’ve shocked me. I shouldn’t have pegged
you as a Plato man, although now that I reflect on it, philosophy does suit
you. Yet you stray from my point, which is to discuss the movement.” Another
stupid move! Even Plato was more conducive to seduction than women’s rights.
She could not seem to resist, however, for she’d come to appreciate that under
Nicholas’s rough cowboy exterior hid quick wit and diamond hard intelligence,
the sort of intelligence with which she could spend many happy hours sharpening
her arguments.

Were she not interested in spending many hours in more novel
activities.

“Not straying, ma’am, just already said my piece.”

“In point of fact, Nicholas, you’ve said nothing at all.”

He turned to her, shaking his head as his eyes gleamed with
reluctant admiration. “Stickin’ to this like death on a dead cat, aren’t you? I
swear, underneath all your sophistication and feminine wiles, you’re the most
cussedly stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

Star’s stomach flipped. No man had ever admired her for her
stubbornness. In fact, they despised it. . . . “Am I truly? I suspect I have
learned that from Father. ”

He chuckled. “As did Monty. I’ll give you credit on that—for
all your charm, every last one of you Montgomerys is a straight shooter. We
aren’t used to that out here. Out here a body’s either direct and rough, or
smooth as silk and tryin’ to get something from you, gen’rally something you
don’t wanna give.”

“I suppose we’ve discovered that it is—let us call it
convenient
—to
dance around the truth with people who are dim-witted. With those of greater
intelligence, however, plain speaking is the best tack, as they recognize the
truth regardless of how prettily we dress it up.”

“Yes’m, I can see that. But me, I’m jist an ol’ cowpuncher
with a grade school edjucation. You might wanna dress it up for me.”

Amusement bubbled up inside Star and she chuckled. “Oh, yes,
Nicholas, uneducated men
always
quote Plato. No, sir, I shan’t dress the
truth up for you. It would be a waste of my time.”

“I only know the one quote.”

“A fairly obscure one; I have never heard it. You’ve read
quite a bit of Plato I apprehend, and you shall not fool me with that
humble-pie façade of yours, so you might as well drop it.”

He shook his head ruefully. “It ain’t no fa-cade, ma’am.
It’s jist me, humble and modest.”

Oh but
she
did enjoy sparring with him, and from the
sparkle in his eyes, he liked it as well. It warmed her heart and drew her to
him more surely than the myriad of compliments she’d received from other men
over the years. “You cannot sell me on that, either. And you may stop calling me
ma’am, for I am living at your home and the least you might do to put me at my
ease is employ my given name.”

“No, ma’am, that wouldn’t be respectful. You’re a lady, and
my parents taught me to address ladies as miss or ma’am.”

“And yet you call my mother by her first name. How am I so
different that I don’t warrant the same treatment?”

“You ain’t married.”

“That’s ridiculous. I deserve no deference because of my sex
or marital status. For the first, I have no responsibility, and as for the
second, such a choice one way or another is hardly cause for respect. A person
earns respect for accomplishments, not marriage.”

“I dunno about that. I reckon for some women, marriage is an
accomplishment.”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “That is a dreadful,
shameful thing to say, and you won’t make me laugh, either. Marriage is not an
accomplishment. It is a chain around a woman’s neck—”

“Or a man’s.”

Arching one eyebrow, she responded smoothly, “Is that why
you
never married?”

“Could be,” he answered, cautiously.

“
Could
be? Oh, no, now I must insist that you expand
upon that! Perhaps you never found the right woman? I believe that’s the reason
a bachelor generally provides for his unmarried state.”

Because, Nick thought gauging Miz Montgomery’s face, lit up
with amusement and curiosity, because he’d never really looked. In that
respect, he and Miz Montgomery were the same; marriage had never interested him
by much. For the better part of fifteen years, he’d been responsible for a
whole slew of people and their happiness, from Jim to his employees. He pretty
much figured that was a man’s primary responsibility in marriage, too, to keep
his wife happy. He’d had enough of
that
to last him a lifetime.

Star Montgomery, though, was already happy.

He shook off the thought.

“Reckon I already have everything a man could want from
marriage. Got my nieces and nephew underfoot, and Melinda to look after the
house and nag me just enough to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“And your women in town to attend your other needs.”

So she knew about that, did she? But in her usual style, she
didn’t display the general modesty to keep it to herself. Well two could play
that game. “And more variety than a wife, to boot.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jerk. It was about
damn time she showed some shock.

“Variety in bed?” she asked. “That’s important to a man,
then?”

Shocked, but not into shame. It irritated the hell out of
him; it also, damn it, excited him. If he had any degree of decency, he’d jump
subjects, because nothing seemed to shame
her
into silence. “Some men, I
reckon.” Nope, no decency. None. Nada.

“Do you know, I’d never considered that before,” she said
thoughtfully. “It’s quite a logical conclusion when one ponders the existence
of so many brothels and the amount of married men who frequent them. One might
expect it to be due to their wives’ disinterest in the marriage bed, but
perhaps brothels also provide variety.”

Unbidden came a kaleidoscope of carnal recollections, some
with Eve, some with May, a couple with both simultaneously. Then his
god-forsaken brain imposed Miz Montgomery’s pretty face and tall body on the
images: flushed, velvet skin, the lush curves of her bottom and breasts, soft
moans. Heat rushed through his veins.

Sonuvabitch!

“I suppose variety is something a woman might enjoy as
well,” Miz Montgomery postulated aloud.

And the heat in Nick’s veins settled between his legs. Damn,
damn, damn!

“Is that why
you
never married, Miz Montgomery?” he
asked by way of self-defense. “Heard you’ve been engaged a few times. Six if
Monty wasn’t exaggerating.”

For a moment, she looked chagrined. “Why, so I have,” she
said cautiously. “I confess I’ve found engagement to be . . . entertaining.”

She toys with them
, Nick heard Monty saying again.
Rather
like a cat with a mouse right before it goes in for the kill
.

“But
marriage
,” Star continued, turning to him. “That
is a different story altogether. I am entirely committed to the cause. I shan’t
marry until women are granted the right to vote.”

Women’s rights, back on safe ground. Or at least ground that
wouldn’t turn into a volcano and trigger an embarrassing eruption. Tornadoes,
though, and earthquakes and hurricanes, were still a possibility. “How is your
remaining a spinster going to further women’s suffrage?”

“Why, to be sure, I doubt it will help at all other than to
insure my voice stays with the cause. You must know that once a woman marries,
she is legally required to obey her husband, even if he demands her silence.
I’ve no wish to obey anyone.”

A dry chuckle slid from Nick’s throat. “Yeah, that much I
know.”

She grinned. “Am I so transparent, then?”

“Were you tryin’ to hide it?”

“No,” she answered. “It would be impossible, at all events.
Regardless, if I married, should I ever be permitted to vote—I could, you know,
move to Wyoming where women have the right—I should be obliged to obey my
husband’s orders to vote for a certain candidate. I could not
abide
that.”

“Which,” Nick pointed out, “is one argument against female
suffrage. If a woman’s bound to obey her husband, allowing her the vote only
gives a married man two votes instead of one. Where’s the fairness in that?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that argument, but you must acknowledge how
it discounts the many unmarried women who are
not
legally obligated to
obey anyone. Like me.”

“Then,” Nick said, “maybe you oughta be fighting not to give
all
women suffrage, but just the unmarried ones.”

“And,” Star answered, “once again women are penalized for
marrying. Moreover, women are often
compelled
to marry, for how else are
we to support ourselves when we are not permitted to earn a living wage?”

“All I’m sayin’ is that when a woman marries, she and her
husband become one—one mind, one voice. I’ve seen what it’s like when the
babies come along. The wife is working
all
the time. She doesn’t have
time to read newspapers or follow politics, so it only stands to reason that
the vote is in her husband’s hand.”

“I hate to delude you, Nicholas, but a woman can—and
does!—think and diaper a baby at the same time. Moreover, these are
not
regulations that men must follow, so why should a woman submit to them? Our
country puts no limitations on men for voting; he may be a drunkard, illiterate
or just plain stupid, but still he may vote. He may never have read a newspaper
in his life, and may even be one of those despicable kinds who would actually
sell
his vote, and yet he retains the right.”

“Ah, now we’ve hit bedrock. This isn’t about voting rights,
but bribin’ rights.”

“No—I—” She stopped and let out a small laugh. “Why I
suppose there is something to that, for we do deserve equality in all matters,
including bribery!”

“Practical, ma’am, if not honorable. We turn right, here,
down this trail. Single file for some distance. We’ll have to argue later.”

“We are
conversing
,” she said primly, raising her
head in mock disdain. “Not arguing.”

“O.K., but admit I’m winning the
conversation
,” he
answered flashing her a smile.

Star’s eyes rested on his mouth for a moment, before she
raised them to catch his gaze. Her face flushed and something hot galloped through
her eyes. Lust. It shot him in the chest, then spread through his blood like
wildfire across the prairie. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her, and
he was no longer convinced that her advances were just teasing. She might be in
earnest. . . Damn, but if he didn’t somehow rein in that lust, Ward and Morgan
and the whole damned Montgomery family would be coming after him with tar and
feathers.

After a moment, she nodded.

He swallowed and fought for levity. “Well now, there’s
somethin’ I thought I’d never see, you agreeing with me!”

“Only,” she said with an embarrassed laugh, “for now. We
shall take up this conversation later, and I assure you, I’ll change your
mind.”

He shrugged as he took the lead, and his horse started to
climb. “You’re sure welcome to try, ma’am,” he threw over his shoulder.

***

They rested mid-day in a small clearing beside a pond. The
pond was frozen, but the brook that fed it babbled merrily, unaware of the
breathtaking beauty of the snow-covered expanse, surrounded by pines and
leaf-bare aspens, all framed by the white peaks beyond. For a short spell, Star
stood and stared. The jagged peaks of southern Colorado were so different from
the rounded mountains of her native New England. Harsh, yet magnificent in
their harshness, much like the men who resided among them.

She turned to Nicholas. He’d taken the reins of their horses
and was leading them to drink from the brook. His pants hugged his rear end as
he moved, which was far more distracting than the scenery. In truth, it was
indecent the way her eyes followed him, but she couldn’t stop herself to save
her life.

He dropped the reins, pulled his rifle from its scabbard,
and turned to her. He held the weapon casually, with no more regard for it than
she would accord a fan.

“Are you cold? I’ll build a fire.”

His eyes were almost black against the background of snow
and ice, holding hers steadily. For a second she didn’t answer, content to
drink it all in. Then he flashed her his blinding smile, and she couldn’t
think. “Yeah, your face is a tad red. You need a fire. I could use some coffee,
myself.”

Her face wasn’t red from cold, as he must readily perceive,
but from excitement.

“I come fishin’ here in the warmer weather,” he continued,
striding to the edge of the forest. He bent over a pile of wood stacked there.
“I try to keep some firewood around in case I want a fire.”

She was quite warm just watching him.

After a minute or two of gathering wood and bringing it into
the center of the clearing, he raised his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t wanna, help,
would you? Fetch me a couple of those rocks over there to ring the fire. Don’t
want it to spread accidentally. We’ve got plenty of snow, but it doesn’t take
too much to start a forest fire.”