Dumbly she nodded.
He touched the brim of his hat and pulled the door shut behind him.
Genny had to admire his restraint. She would have slammed it, after a great exit line like that.
"Wait a minute!" The soft click of the latch brought her out of her self-imposed daze. She leapt for the door, only to find it locked and the latch, as usual, unbudging. Flying to the front window, she pushed it open and yelled into the night. "McConnell! Rock McConnell, you just wait one minute, you hear me!"
The roar of his pickup's engine was her only reply.
"Darn it, anyhow!" She pounded a futile fist on the windowsill. He'd had the last word and it galled.
Oh, how it galled.
A sleepless night convinced Genny that something had to be done. By rights, she ought to step aside and let her boss deal with Rock about his proposed waterhole. That way she needn't ever see him again, unless she encountered him by accident.
The very thought made her feel empty.
After two...no, three meetings, Rock McConnell had become important to her. Too important to walk away from. She didn't know where their relationship was going, but she wanted to.
Relationship! Ha! Right now all they had was an emotional battlefield in which there could be no winners. His waterhole was not the issue between them, although it was the most obvious and immediate source of contention.
She hated contention. Even more, she hated the kind of one-upmanship that she and Rock McConnell were engaging in. It reminded her too much of her childhood, when she and her brothers were always trying to get the best of each other. They'd probe for weaknesses, then poke and prod until they infuriated each other.
Of course, the outcome wasn't the same as it always had been at home. No one in Oregon was going to insist she concede authority to Rock. Male and older didn't necessarily mean wiser, even though that was the way it had been at home.
What really got to her was that she'd been on the verge of apologizing to him, purely out of habit. All those years of biting her tongue and giving in to the Forsythe men were behind her and she darned well wasn't going to let Rock McConnell push her around as her father and brothers had.
All she owed a certain arrogant cowboy was the same consideration and civility she owed anyone who held a grazing preference on the District.
"Once I can give him some definite word on his range improvement permit application," she told Marmalade while they were having breakfast, "we won't have anything to fight about. That's all I want."
All? She could lie to her cat, but she couldn't lie to herself. Her personal reaction to him was what was troubling her. She couldn't remember ever wanting a man like she did him. Her reaction last night hadn't only been a natural response to the sight and feel of a sexy, virile man. Sure, she had wanted to kiss him, to feel the wiry strength of him under her hands. But she had also wanted to lean on him, to draw strength from him, to know he was there for her, no matter what. She wanted, God help her, all she could have from him.
"No, you cannot crawl into the 'fridge." She used her foot to push the cat aside as she replaced milk and sandwich spread. "What's wrong with me, Marmalade? I'm not sure I even like the man, yet I'm worrying about his being so angry that he won't want to see me again."
The cat ignored her. Probably just as well.
"Am I sex-starved? Is that it?" She stacked her dish and cup in the sink. Picking up her Thermos, she paused, the lid half unscrewed. "No, that's not it. I haven't even thought about sex--well, not much--since I came to Oregon. It's something else."
Marmalade looked interested, but had no answers for Genny. He was more concerned with the empty water dish beside his food bowl.
"Why does he make me crazy?"
Operating on automatic, Genny filled the Thermos, packed a lunch, watered the cat, and grabbed her gear bag. All the while, her mind chewed on the problem of Rock McConnell.
If she had any brains at all, she wouldn't get any more involved with him. He was another despot, the kind of man who had to be the big boss. He probably thought it was a woman's role to get up on Sunday morning and cook breakfast, to shop and clean and all those other domestic things that had filled his grandmother's days.
Genny knew all about men like that. She'd lived with four of them.
Five, if you counted her Grandfather Forsythe, who'd dominated the household until his death when she was about six. He'd been worse than her father and three brothers all together.
She often wondered if it was in the Forsythe genes, or just a learned characteristic. Winning through intimidation--that's what her male relatives did. And in doing so, they wore away at one's self-confidence, until you gave in because you'd forgotten that you could do anything else.
"'Bye, Marmalade. See you this evening." She waved at the cat, watching from the kitchen window, and carried her bike down the back stairs. What a wonderful morning. The air, dry as always, smelled clean and fresh. A faint tang of sagebrush tantalized, and the slight breeze ruffled wisps of hair already escaping her braids.
She strapped the gear bag to her bike's carrier and mounted, looking forward as always to the mile-and-a-half ride before she entered the office. She was finished with fieldwork for the week. Her in-box was piled high with paperwork that could not be ignored and there were several phone calls she had to return. Given the restless, uncertain mood she was in, sitting in the office was absolutely the last thing she wanted to do. She needed to be out, away from even the small outpost of civilization that Vale represented.
If only she could escape, today. She had a lot of thinking to do. Rock had such a strong personality that she was very much afraid he would force her... No, face the truth, Genny. She was afraid she'd fall so deeply under his spell that she'd slip back into the passive role she'd learned so young and had fought for years to unlearn.
Chapter Five
"I don't see why Miss Forsythe would want to delay the project, Rock." Pancho's dark, square face reflected the puzzlement in his voice. "Didn't she say that finding qualified people this late in the season was often a problem?" He wrapped the thick roast beef sandwich in clear plastic. "Perhaps we are fortunate that she was able to find someone available this year."
"By the time they get here, the summer's goin' to be half over!" Rock wished he'd been here instead of Pancho, when Genny called. He'd have gotten some answers.
"Only a few weeks," Pancho said. "She thought they could be at work by the middle of July."
"Hell's fire, Pancho! In a few weeks we could have the whole dam finished!" Rock scooped his lunch from the counter. "Call her back...no, never mind. I'll talk to her." He stomped out, knowing Pancho was chuckling behind his back.
He didn't know what was wrong with him. Most of the time he felt like a bronc with a burr under its saddle.
With a wave, he headed for the corral, grateful for an excuse to do a little work for a change, instead of sitting in his office. He had a dozen things to do of more importance than riding fence, but this morning he needed to ride fence. Not in the pickup, either. He needed to do it the old way, the way Pa and Gramps had, from horseback, armed only with a staple puller, a hammer, and a bag of staples.
Shortly thereafter Rock spurred Bourbon into a canter, relaxing with the tranquilizing effect of the big gelding's easy gait. He needed to think, and the best way to do that was while he was engaged in some mindless task.
He had some pretty deep thinking to do, that was for certain. Never in his life had he failed so spectacularly in reading horses, weather, or women as he had with Genny Forsythe.
The sun and solitude gradually had its way with him. The tenseness in his jaw relaxed, as did the stiffness in his neck. Gradually he fell into the swing of Bourbon's gait, instead of fighting it. By the time he'd found and fixed the first loose wire, he was feeling pretty good.
In his deep cogitations, Rock had let Bourbon go where he pleased, so he wasn't surprised when willow branches brushed his face. Even the horses knew
their way to this spring, the source of sweet drinking water for the whole ranch. The horse lowered his muzzle into the tank.
Rock dismounted and picked up the tin cup hanging from a nail driven into the tree. Sipping, he pondered his behavior ever since meeting Genny Forsythe.
She'd reminded him of Selma from the very first. Perhaps it was the silvery hair--straight out of a bottle, he'd figured, although he hadn't yet seen any sign of the dark roots that Selma had frequently allowed to show, between trips to the beauty salon up in Ontario. The long red fingernails hadn't helped, either, nor had the little gold studs, three in each ear. He sure couldn't see why any woman would want to disfigure herself like that, particularly one as pretty as Genny Forsythe. Of course, all his Basque girl cousins wore earrings, practically from birth, but that was different. It was cultural, and besides, they only wore one to a side.
Too bad she got under his skin the way she did. He still wanted her, was still determined to have her. Only trouble was, it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd first figured. He was going to have to exert himself a bit. Butter her up a little, sugar coat the pill, so to speak.
He'd been raised to be a gentleman. Ma hadn't stood for any slacking. Hats off in the house, "ma'am" to the ladies and "sir" to the men, real napkins on laps and no elbows on the table. What's more, he'd always thought of himself as a gentleman, kind to kids and puppies, polite and deferential to women--unless they asked for something else--and easy to get along with in general. And yet, from the first moment he'd seen her, Genny Forsythe had roused a savage, uncivilized beast within him. He wasn't sure why that was, but he was gonna find out.
He took a last long, satisfying swallow before hanging the cup back on its nail. Yep. He was gonna have to woo Genny, and it promised to be an interesting, possibly even exciting, experience.
At the end of the chase, when she lay warm and slumberous in his arms, exhausted from his loving, he would finally be able to forget her and get his life back together.
* * * *
"Ms. Forsythe, Rock McConnell here."
Genny had to force her hand to hold the receiver to her ear, instead of slamming it into its cradle as her first instinct demanded. He was speaking softly, without the slow, sardonic drawl that had, so far, always spelled trouble between them.
"Good evening, Mr. McConnell. What can I do for you?"
Pause, and the sound of throat clearing.
She waited.
"I...I, ah..."
"Yes?"
"I called to thank you for finding the people to look over the Shinbone. Pancho said we're lucky to get 'em here this summer."
"That's right." She wasn't going to be nice, darn it, no matter how his slow, deep voice sent tingles up from her toes. She'd be coldly professional, to show him she couldn't be pushed around.
It was a good thing Pancho had answered the phone this morning. She'd been all ready to give Rock a piece of her mind, along with the news that the Ainsworths were available. That would not have been professional.
His voice intruded on her thoughts. "I beg your pardon?"
He chuckled.
The tingles climbed up behind her ears, making the hairs tighten at her nape.
"I said I also wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. I made some accusations that were way out of line."
Why did he have to do that? She needed to stay angry with him. "Why, thank you, Mr. McConnell. I must apologize too. I was...um...distraught. I should have kept better control of my emo...my temper."
Had he muttered, "Damn straight"? Never mind. He was changing the subject.
"Could we get together, maybe have dinner, this weekend?" He cleared his throat. "I'd like to get to know you better."
She'd just bet he would, given the evidence of his behavior so far. "I'm sorry, Mr. McConnell...."
"Rock."
No way, buddy! "Mr. McConnell. My aunt is arriving for a visit next week and I'm going to be very busy until then. After that..." she let her voice trail off on the implication that she might always be too busy to dine with him.
She didn't imagine his sigh, but whether it was one of frustration or of relief, she wasn't sure. For some reason, it caught her inter...her pity. It would be a shame to deny him an opportunity to be truly penitent.
"I was planning to have some people over for wine and cheese next Saturday, however, to meet Sophie. Would you and your cook--Mr. Ruiz, wasn't it?--would you care to drop in?" She'd liked Pancho and had a hunch Sophie would too. He was such a wonderful western character.
Rock seemed taken aback. He stammered for a moment before agreeing to bring Pancho. Genny couldn't help but smile. She knew she'd surprised him, but whether her invitation was the greater surprise, or her inclusion of his cook, she wasn't sure.
No matter. Sophie would meet someone her own age. Rock would have a last opportunity to prove he could be civilized. And Genny and Rock would have two referees for their inevitable fight.
* * * *
"My goodness, but there's a lot of empty space out here!"
Genny feared Sophie's head was going to come unscrewed from her neck, the way it kept swiveling back and forth, left to right, with an occasional turn over one shoulder or the other, to see where they'd been. Her aunt had, for once in her life, been rendered speechless, by the desolate emptiness of Owyhee Country.
Since Sophie's plane had arrived in mid-afternoon, Genny decided to give her the ten-cent tour on the way to Vale. From the Boise airport, they traveled west, then south along U.S. 95, toward Jordan Valley. Just across the Oregon line--and close to Rock's home ranch, she realized--she took the Succor Creek road back north, wanting Sophie to see for herself the kind of landscape Genny had been trying inadequately to describe in her letters.
"Look!" She slowed and pulled off the narrow dirt road. "Antelope. See them?"
"Oh, my. So they are. How amazing!" Sophie was beaming.
"Not really. They're as common here as deer are at home."
"Of course, Genille, but I've seen deer all my life. The only antelope I've seen before was in a zoo." She unsnapped her seat belt. "May I get out here? I'd like to take some photographs."
"Sure, but don't expect the antelope to stick around. They'll disappear as soon as you open the door." This was the closest Genny had come to the graceful mammals and she was secretly almost as thrilled as Sophie. They weren't more than two hundred yards from the road.
Sophie got her photos before the antelope spooked and disappeared over the ridge. She was just getting back into the van when a monstrous cow came into sight, leading several of the white-faced Herefords which were much more common on this range. Without thinking, Genny checked their brands and was thrilled to see two R's, back to back.
Again she pointed. "Those cattle belong to one of the guests at your welcome party tomorrow, Sophie. Rockland McConnell." She pointed back in the direction they had come. "His ranch is back near where we turned off the highway, but he runs his cattle all around here, on BLM lands." Even as she spoke, she marveled at how far she had come since her first meeting with Rock. Not only had she invited him into her home, her nest, but she had also faced range cattle with equanimity, with only a trace of that unreasoning fear which had overcome her in Succor Creek that day. She chuckled as she recognized the enormous lead cow as the same brindle longhorn that had so terrified her. Rock had told her the cow was as tame as a lapdog, but that was something she wasn't ready to test. Not yet.
Sophie scrambled back into the van when she spied the cattle. "Cattle are bigger out here than they are in New Hampshire," she commented. Genny detected just a touch of shakiness in her voice.
Resisting the urge to tease, she contented herself with, "Only some of them. That's one of the legendary Texas longhorns. Several of the ranchers around here raise them. But most of the cattle you'll see are normal size." After a quick glance at Sophie's white face, she couldn't resist. "Of course, there are the Brahmas. They're really huge."
Sophie s
huddered delicately, as she did everything.
Genny marveled at how her perceptions had changed over the past six years. At one time, she, too, would have traveled in a silk dress and stockings, high heels and a hat. Now she rarely found opportunity to wear skirts, and she hadn't had a pair of nylons on her legs in two months. Last winter, when she'd gone home for Christmas, her mother had been aghast at her luggage. One large canvas duffel and a daypack.
She cast an amused glance into the back of the van at Sophie's set of matched luggage, complete with her initials in gold. A far cry, indeed. Genny's similar set was stored with a friend back in Ohio, along with two-thirds of her wardrobe. She'd never been the sophisticated Easterner her aunt was. But she was at home--wholly and completely at home--in the West.
Sophie caught the glance. "I do hope I haven't brought too much. One never knows what to pack, and I wasn't sure just how people in Vale, Oregon, dressed. I do dread being without the proper clothing."
"Did you bring jeans?" Genny gave most of her attention to maneuvering the van. This piece of road, down into the bottom of Succor Creek Canyon, wasn't anywhere near as bad as some of the off-road tracks she'd driven, but it was still narrow and steep. She always dreaded meeting another vehicle along here.
"Jeans?" Sophie mouthed the word as if it were an obscenity.
"Jeans, Sophie. You know. Those pants made from blue denim."
Her aunt sniffed. "Of course I know what jeans are, dear, but I hadn't expected to wear them. They're hardly ladylike."
"Everybody around here does." Genny kept her tone inoffensive, but she was disappointed to hear a trace of criticism in Sophie's voice. After all, her aunt had been the one who encouraged her to venture forth from New England, seeking the excitement and adventure that she'd always said were in store for Genny.
Never the Twain Page 5