She nodded, stunned at the barely contained animosity radiating from him.
"Okay. It's this." His arm waved toward the house and the helicopter pad, included the barbecue pit and the serving table. "This is your world. It's not mine. I don't need all these people, but you do. I'm happy out here, where sometimes days go by and I never see another living soul except Pancho and the hands. Do you know that I've spent entire months in the winter alone on the ranch? That I've enjoyed doing it?
"Look at me!" He waved a hand down the length of his chest. Genny looked, admiring again what she saw. "All gussied up to impress your family. Trying to make them think I'm something I ain't." He jerked on his tie, until it hung loose along his pleated shirt front. "Trying to play the fancy gentleman because you didn't want your family to get the wrong impression of me. Well, let me tell you, little lady, I'm done with all that. I'm just a plain cowboy and they can take me or leave me!" From his tone, he'd rather they'd leave him.
"I never asked you to...."
He ignored her. "We used to get along just fine, me and Pa and Pancho. Then Pa married Selma and she decided we were too isolated out here. We needed socializing, she said. It was healthy, she claimed. Well, it might be healthy for you and for your folks, little lady, but to me it's a royal pain in the ass."
"Damn it, Rock! I am not Selma!" She was tired of his bringing up his stepmother every time they fought.
"You're just like her." Grabbing her hand, he held it flat on the table. His finger rubbed along her forefinger, stroking the nail. "Your vanity? Uh-uh. I figure these are more than that. They're a sign of the real you, the one you keep trying to hide from me." He released her hand and stood upright. "And I think it's about time you stopped trying to be something you ain't.
"Go back to New Hampshire with your family, Genny Forsythe. You don't belong out here in Owyhee Country. You're too soft, too gentle." His eyes narrowed and his mouth grew grim. "Go away, before you break both our hearts." He spun on the heel of his fancy cowboy boot and stalked away into the darkness.
Genny swallowed. She hurt. She hurt all over.
She'd suffered her share of rejection, and she'd even done a little rejecting herself. She imagined it would be an unusual woman who could reach her late twenties without having suffered at least a badly bent heart, without having to let a too-ardent suitor down easy.
She hadn't just been let down easy. She'd been thrown back, like a too-small fish.
Chapter Eleven
"I don't know, Sophie. I haven't seen him since the reception." Genny stirred the soup, thinking it didn't smell any more appetizing than anything else had for almost two weeks.
"Well, something certainly is bothering him. He's as cross as a bear. Pancho tried to find out, but all Rock would say is that he's wasted enough time on nonsense this summer and it's time to get some work done around here." She chuckled, and Genny could just see the indulgent smile her aunt had been wearing ever since returning from her honeymoon. "Pancho immediately told Rock he was taking his accumulated vacation and came home."
"Oh, my," Genny breathed. She sat down at the table, tucking the phone under her ear. "What did Rock say then?"
"Pancho wouldn't repeat his exact words--as if I hadn't heard them all, but he considers me a lady. He did admit they were profane, scatological, and accusatory."
"So what are you going to do while Pancho's on vacation? Travel?"
"No. If I can keep him from taking pity on Rock, he's going to help me paint the living room. A soft mauve, I think. Or would ivory make it lighter?"
"Sophie! You can paint your living room purple for all of me. Tell me more about Rock? Is he angry with Pancho?"
"My dear, he's angry with the world. Now, we would like you to come to dinner on Sunday. The Pagoagas and the Beneventos will be here, and Claire Benevento's cousin from Chicago, as well. He's about your age, and I thought you young people...well, you don't want Rock to think you're pining for him, do you?"
She had to laugh. "No, I don't, and I'm busy Sunday. Look, my soup's hot and I've only got thirty minutes before I'm supposed to be at Phyll's. Can I call you tomorrow?"
"We're going in to Boise to shop. Why don't I call you in a day or two. I'm beginning to have a notion."
As she dished up her soup and set the bowl of fresh sliced peaches on the table, Genny wondered how Rock was going to like having his life totally disrupted. Sophie's "notions" were famous--or infamous. Usually complex, always devious, they were ostensibly for the good of the people they affected. In execution they often seemed hilarious, as long as you weren't the victim.
Genny figured whatever her aunt did to Rock would serve him right. She'd about decided he wasn't worth the effort he would take to civilize.
He was so much like her brothers it scared her. All the years she had been growing up, she'd fought to be her own person. And had been foiled at every turn.
Avery protected her, Carlyle smothered her, and Everett babied her. They all expected her to follow their advice, let them do her thinking. And if her brothers missed scrutinizing some little thing she wanted to do, her father didn't. None of them ever let her do anything they hadn't planned, debated, and approved.
If it hadn't been for Sophie, Genny would have grown up completely unaware that she could cope with the world, could take care of herself quite nicely, thank you, without a man to supervise. For one glorious week every summer, Sophie had taught her she could do anything she set her mind to. "I've always known you'd lead an exciting, adventurous life, Genille," she'd say at least once during each of Genny's summer visits to her elegant apartment on Beacon Hill. "Why if you'd lived a hundred years ago, you'd be another Diamond Lil or Calamity Jane. I can just imagine how you'd..." and she would go off into a fantasy adventure eagerly shared by her goddaughter.
Sophie encouraged her to be strong and self-reliant. "If a robber came through that door," she used to tell a pre-teen Genny, "you'd bite and scratch and scream until he'd be so frightened he'd run away."
Another favorite had been, "I don't know the first thing about clothing styles, Genille. Would you take me shopping while you're in the city?" This, from one of the most elegant, stylish women in corporate Boston. Years later, when Genny finally became aware of the magnitude of what her aunt had done, she'd often wondered if Sophie had ever worn the garments they'd selected on those wonderful, adventurous shopping expeditions. Ever wore them after Genny returned to New Hampshire, that is, for she had always worn them during their tours of all the museums and historical sites within a fifty-mile radius.
On Wednesday, Sophie called back. "I have an idea, Genille."
Genny reached for her teacup and sat at the table. Sophie's ideas were better heard where one wouldn't be hurt by fainting. "I'm listening."
"First I must ask, do you still care for Rock?"
"Yes!" As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Genny knew she'd been lying to herself this past couple of weeks. Oh, sure, she'd been going through the motions of putting him out of her mind--and her heart--but he was so firmly ensconced that it would take more than feeble resolution and a little effort to uproot him.
Like the rest of her life.
"Well, then...." Sophie proceeded to outline her plan.
Genny's initial reaction was to refuse to have anything to do with it. It was too much like something her mother would contrive.
"Now, Genille, you know a straightforward approach won't do. He's made up his mind that you would wither and die in Owyhee Country--his very words, according to Pancho--and he won't take the responsibility."
"That's the problem, Sophie. He won't take the responsibility. It's my decision to make. Not his."
"Of course it is, dear." Was that laughter in her aunt's voice?
"As long as he can't understand that, I don't want him."
"You don't?" Now disbelief was mingled with the repressed laughter.
Genny slammed her cup down on the table so hard that herb tea splashed everywhere.
"Okay! I do want him. Are you satisfied? But I can't do it. Besides, Aaron wouldn't go along with it. Not in a million years."
"I've already asked him. He's delighted to help." Sophie sounded ready to purr with satisfaction.
Genny gave up. "Count me in," she said, knowing she would probably regret it.
The only reason she agreed to go along with Sophie's outrageous notion was that she hadn't been able to think of anything on her own. And if she wanted Rock, it was time for her to fight for him, to force him to see her--Genille Enderby Forsythe--not Selma and not some stupid, false impression he had of her. He had to wake up, see that she was the one, the only woman who'd ever be right for him.
Rock was arrogant, rude, domineering, solitary, and stubborn. He lived up to his name, unyielding and immovable. The chances of his becoming an equal partner in any relationship were practically nil. He would be the boss, would always be sure that he knew what was best for her.
But wasn't that same strength what made him the man she loved? Rock would always try to dominate, but he would also be protective, generous, indulgent, and dependable. He would cherish, love, sustain her all her life. For that, she could put up with his attempts at dominance, could learn to fight when it mattered, and to give in when it didn't.
It was time for her to learn not to push back automatically whenever she was pushed. How strange it had been to see a lifelong pattern fail to reestablish itself while her family was here....
"You'll be coming home for Christmas again this year," her father had said, as the family were waiting in the Boise airport for their flight to be called.
She'd answered without thinking. "No I won't."
"Yes, you will," Carlyle said. "Sophie and Pancho will be coming East. Be silly for you to stay behind."
Again her response was automatic. "Not if it's what I want to do." As soon as she spoke, she realized that she didn't want to spend Christmas alone again. If Sophie and Pancho were going to New Hampshire, the only reason she would stay behind was if Rock did, too. That is, if she and Rock were together, a situation that had begun to seem unlikely even then.
Since her family's departure she'd given considerable thought to both notions--her relationship with her father and brothers and her future with Rock.
Pop had seemed more mellow, Avery less protective, and even Carlyle had rarely tried to tell her how to live her life during the week they were in Vale. Of course, she'd only seen them in the evenings, but that hadn't stopped them, before. Back on the farm, it had often seemed like they would save up a day's worth of interference and cram it into the few short hours between supper and bedtime.
The only real confrontation between her and her male relatives had been that brief skirmish at the airport. She'd automatically reacted to her father's orders, without even noticing. Carlyle offered his opinion, and she'd immediately taken a contrary stand. And who had defused the potential clash? Her mother.
"Genille might find a Christmas on Mr. McConnell's ranch more interesting," she'd said, and suddenly all the Forsythe men were smiling and nodding their understanding.
It was possible she'd been interpreting peacekeeping as passivity all these years. Genny wasn't ready to give her mother credit for a backbone quite yet, but she had to admit she might have been guilty of misunderstanding a little.
Had she misunderstood Rock as well? From his first push--because he'd thought she was sick and needing his help--she'd pushed back.
Perhaps her mother wasn't so much passive as practical. It might be better to wear away Rock's resistance slowly and gently than to try and fight him for the rest of their lives.
If she ever got the chance, that is.
Rock had made no effort to see her, hadn't even called about his waterhole. She knew he'd seen the Ainsworths leaving, so he had to be getting impatient. Genny was putting the paperwork together as fast as she could. It was just that there was so much to do, tying up all the various projects she'd worked on this summer.
Every time her phone at work rang, she expected him to be on the line, wanting to know when he could begin work in the Shinbone. And every time, she was disappointed.
Genny sipped her cold tea, knowing she must do whatever was necessary to spend the rest of her life with Rock McConnell. Anything else wouldn't be much of a life, no matter how much her own boss she was.
* * * *
Rock quickly shuffled through the mail. Nothing.
The Ainsworths had been finished in Skeleton Gulch for two weeks now. He'd seen 'em, purely by chance, the day they'd packed out, their string of horses and mules plodding toward the Succor Creek Road. He tossed the handful of envelopes on the seat beside him. He was a patient man, but his patience was plumb wore out!
He'd call Dan Walters right after dinner, find out what was holding up his permit now.
It hadn't better be a certain fancy archaeologist. He'd be ready to start construction of the waterhole as soon as Pancho came back to work.
Braking the pickup by the back porch, he sat and stared across the yard. Redecorating! Pancho was over there painting and fixing up the old hired man's house so his fancy city woman would be comfortable. He'd been off a week now, and was planning on taking another week, and never mind Rock needed him. The boys were startin' to complain about frozen pizza and crockpot stews.
If he didn't know better he'd think there was a conspiracy against him. It was real strange how Lizzie Kelpin had to go visit her grandkids the same two weeks Pancho took the first vacation he'd had in six years. Damn! Almost noon and he still had to thaw out some soup for dinner.
When Sophie called that afternoon with an invitation for supper, he hadn't the backbone to resist. He was so damn tired of his own cooking.
"Have some more spuds, Brad?" Pancho handed the bowl across the table to the foreman who was batching it while his wife was in California.
"Thanks." Brad smothered the mashed potatoes with cream gravy. "I had coffee with Dan and Genny this afternoon," he said, then spent an inordinate time cutting his pork chop into bite sized pieces. "They got the Ainsworths' report a couple of days back."
"What'd it say?" Rock heard the bark in his voice and clamped his jaw shut.
"They recommended further investigation." Brad took a bite, chewed slowly. "In Toebone and Armbone," he finally said, as if it was an afterthought.
"So we get the waterhole?"
"He didn't say. Genny figured it'd be a week or two before she got around to our permit." He turned to Sophie. "Ma'am, I always thought my mama made the best cream gravy there was, but yours is something else."
"Thank you, Brad." Sophie beamed. "Would you like to take what's left home with you? And the rest of the pork chops? That way you won't have to cook for yourself tomorrow night."
"What'd it say about the Shinbone?" Rock demanded, before Brad could accept Sophie's offer.
His foreman lowered his head and looked at Rock over the top of his glasses. "Not much. Didn't you hear me, boy? They didn't find anything down there." Tossing his napkin beside his plate, Brad stood. "If it's all the same to you, ma'am, I'll take a rain check on dessert. Molly said she'd call this evening, and I want to be there. Thank you kindly for supper." He took the covered bowls Sophie handed him. "Night, Pancho. Night, Sophie."
Rock stared after him. He felt like he'd been whopped. Brad never raised his voice, but he had a way of lettin' a man know when he was provoked, no doubt about it.
Rock cleaned up his plate in silence, refusing to add his compliments to Brad's. As soon as supper was over, he was going home too, not being in any mood to socialize.
"I wonder if Brad remembered to give those recipes to Genny today." Sophie's voice came from the kitchen.
"He did. She told him she's going to serve sheepherder beans and cornbread at her party Friday night," Pancho answered.
Rock did his best not to listen. The less he heard about Genny, the better he liked it.
Not that he could keep her out of his mind. She seemed to s
lip into his thoughts more often each day. Hot need woke him in the night, desire that only Genny could diminish. Silence, always solace to his soul, now seemed barren. Wide open spaces cried to be filled. The wind sang her name, whispering and whining through the sagebrush.
Rock was picking up his hat, ready to say goodnight, when Sophie came out of the kitchen. "By the way, Genille won't be here for dinner Sunday, Pancho. I think she has a date. She sounded excited."
Rock's ears pricked up.
"You'd better call her tomorrow then. Tony came by today to tell me his grandmother's pasture will be for rent the first of the month. If she wants it, she will need to contact him right away."
"I think she's looking for a small acreage, dear, not just a pasture. But I'll tell her." As she spoke, Sophie sank into her rocking chair and picked up a sewing basket.
Rock still couldn't get over how well she seemed to be adapting to being a housewife. He wondered if the novelty would last out the winter or if it would wear off the first time they were snowed in.
He stood, his chair scraping across the floor with a harsh screech. He'd try to catch Dan Walters at home tonight, since the man had apparently spent the afternoon drinking coffee at the cafe.
"Thanks for supper, folks," he said, already feeling the porkchops and gravy sitting like a hard lump in his middle. What the hell is Genille Forsythe doing, looking for an acreage hereabouts?
* * * *
"He's planning on going to the concert, dear," Sophie said, "and he'll be riding up with us."
"Are you sure this is wise, Sophie? He's going to be furious. And Aaron is having second thoughts." She had to laugh. "He made me promise that our little adventure wouldn't be hazardous to his health."
"Trust me, Genille. Rock needs to be jarred out of his complacency."
"I just hope this works the way you think it will. What if he doesn't see the humor?" Genny scratched between Marmalade's ears, but failed to enjoy the cat's satisfied purr. "What if it makes matters worse instead of better?" Sudden tears stung her eyes. "I just can't give him up, Sophie. Not without fighting for him."
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