Never the Twain (18 page)

"No. Nor do I." Suddenly ashamed, Genny wondered why she had reacted as she had.
Darn it, she liked Pancho--he was a nice man. Patient, gentle, caring. And a wonderful cook. "I hope
they'll be happy. I really do."

"So do I, even though I have my doubts." He rubbed his chin, and Genny heard the soft
rasp of a day's growth of whiskers. "When Pa married Selma," a frown flitted across his brow," they
sent out fancy announcements to all their friends. Reckon we oughta do that?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be glad to help." She stopped, feeling an idea trying to make itself
known. "I'd like to do something more, though, since Sophie's a stranger here."

"Yeah, me too. A party maybe. Invite all the neighbors?"

She knew he meant everyone within a hundred miles. Neighbors were few and far between
in Owyhee Country. "Not just a party, Rock. Let's give them a reception!" She bounced up and
down in sudden enthusiasm. "A real wedding reception. With a cake, and everything."

"I don't know," he said, sounding unsure. "What's wrong with an ordinary party? Or a
barbecue." He grinned widely. "Back when Pa was alive, we used to have a big barbecue every
August. I didn't bother, last year. It didn't seem worthwhile, somehow."

Genny tucked a thought in the back of her mind, to worry when she had time. There was
more than ordinary sorrow in Rock for the death of his father. She should have noticed sooner.
Whenever he mentioned his father or his stepmother, he changed. Became angry. And she usually
got the brunt of it. But for now, she had a party to plan.

"What's wrong with both?"

His eyebrows lifted.

"A reception and a barbecue? We could have a big wedding cake, and you could cook a
whole cow, or whatever you do." The Daniels had roasted a whole pig in a pit in their yard, besides
grilling a truckload of steaks.

"Dancing on the pad," he contributed, referring to the concrete landing pad where the
helicopter sat. "The Jones Boys always used to play for us. That's a country western band," he
added, at her questioning look. "And maybe some steer ropin', just to keep things interesting."

"I could invite my whole family. They promised to come West to see me next summer, but
I'll bet they'd come this year for Sophie's wedding reception." A dark shadow seemed to cross
Rock's eyes, but she ignored it. Of course Sophie would want her family to meet her new husband.
She looked around. "Have you got something I can write on, Rock? I want to start making
lists."

"Whoa, there, darlin'. There's plenty of time for lists in the mornin'. We got us better
things to do tonight." He pulled her to her feet. "My feelings will be plumb devastated if you'd
rather plan a party than share some lovin' with me."

She melted against him, aware that nothing had been resolved, that she still had a hard
kernel of anger smoldering within her. But how could she resist, when his touch promised
paradise?

Rock tried to discern the color of the truck trailing a plume of dust along the Cow Lake
Road. He was supposed to be going over to Fields to look at a bull. Instead he was hovering, hoping
to see a pale-haired archaeologist in the pickup goin' hell bent for leather toward the Jordan Craters.
If he had any brains atall, he'd be heading southeast, before the late afternoon thunderstorms
began.

Tarnation! He had better things to do with his time than watch for Genny at every turn.
Better things to do, but not more urgent, for a day without seeing Genny was incomplete,
barren.

He reached for the binoculars he kept behind the seat, but just then a flash of metallic blue
shone from the vehicle below. It wasn't her.

He'd had no reason to think it was even a BLM rig. Just hope. And hunger.

He rotated the 'copter. Might as well get some work done, since he wasn't going to see
Genny today. He felt the vibrations in his bones as he increased rpm and veered away toward the
southeast.

Scarce seconds later, he was listening intently to the radio, tuned to the BLM frequency.
He'd missed the dispatcher's first few words.

"...trying to get down into the canyon to help. She thinks the man was injured, but she
couldn't be sure, from up on top. How far away are you Chuck?"

Chuck's voice blared and faded. "...mechanical problems...Brogan...at least two hours..
anybody else..."

Reception fell apart as Rock swung his 'copter around. "BLM. BLM. This is McConnell.
I'm just south of Cow Lakes. What's the problem?"

The dispatcher sounded relieved, even though reception was poor. "Got a rolled camper
on the Cricket Canyon Road. Chuck's up by Brogan, broke down..."

"Yeah, I heard," Rock interrupted. "Who called in?"

"Forsythe's there. She's going to try to get to the camper, but you know how steep..."

The copter dipped as, for a moment, he lost track of what he was doing. Genny?

"BLM. Repeat. I say repeat." His inattention had lost him crucial information.

Static from scattered thunderstorms crackled among the dispatcher's words. "...can see at
least one injured...woman screaming...she can't wait for..."

Again he interrupted. "Tell her to meet me up at the airstrip. Thirty minutes. I don't think I
can land any closer." He increased his rpm. Rough and tumbled, the country around Cricket Canyon
was a nightmare to traverse, on foot or horseback. There was a primitive airstrip about a mile from
where the road zigzagged down the canyon's almost sheer west wall.

"...going down...thrown clear and the woman's hysterica..." The dispatcher's signal faded
completely in another burst of static. That thunderstorm was rapidly moving east.

Pushing the engine close to redline, Rock scanned the horizon. If he had his druthers, he'd
wait for the Rescue Team, but Genny wasn't going to. He'd bet his bottom dollar she was planning
to climb a sheer basalt cliff, to risk her fool neck for some tourist who didn't have brains to
recognize an impassible road.
Damn!
"Tell Forsythe to wait for me," he repeated, knowing
there wasn't a chance in hell she would. "And call the Rescue Team."

"Already done, McConnell. They'll head for Five Points, and wait to hear from you."

"As soon as I know anything," Rock agreed. "McConnell out."

She wasn't the city girl he'd originally thought, but he still hadn't much faith in Genny's
ability to make the right moves when the chips were down. How much experience could she have,
growin' up where neighbors and family were always nearby? She hadn't had to learn self reliance like
folks out here in Owyhee Country did, where your nearest neighbor might be fifty miles away. All
she had was a lot of nerve--he had to give her that--and a misguided belief that she could do
anything she had to do.

He couldn't fault her spunkiness, but he didn't think much of her common sense.

The airstrip--a level stretch of desert with a ragged windsock and nothing else--was empty.
Why wasn't he surprised?

Rock hung above it, peering toward Cricket Creek, but not seeing the dust tail that would
indicate vehicular movement. Damn woman. Like as not she was trying to be a hero. More likely
she'd break her fool neck. He aimed the 'copter for a narrow gash in the plateau.

He saw Genny's truck first, parked at the second switchback down from the top. Its door
was open and she was nowhere in sight. Rock became aware of a dryness in his mouth. Where was
she?

Then he saw the camper. It was a large motorhome, lying on its side, precariously balanced
on a ledge, about halfway down the almost vertical canyon wall. He couldn't be sure, but it looked
like there was a body sprawled next to it.

How the hell had that guy figured he could take that big rig to the bottom? He'd probably
had to back and fill, just to get around the switchbacks.

"Shee-it!" He guided the helicopter close to the canyon wall, gauging his chances of landing
on the road at one of its wider switchbacks. The closest he could get to the accident site--assuming
he could set down safely--was about a quarter mile.

Sweat was stinging his eyes when he finally felt solid ground under the skids. That had
been some of the fanciest flying he'd done for a long time.

Why hadn't that fool woman met him at the airstrip, like he'd said?

Speaking of fool women, where was she?

After letting the Rescue Team know where he was and securing the helicopter, Rock
headed down the hill toward Genny's red pickup. If she was injured, he'd wring her neck!

He followed her tracks to a point close to where the camper had gone off the cliff. A rope,
tied to a sagebrush, stretched down across the rocky hillside. It wasn't as steep here as farther down,
but he'd still not want to try to go down without being belayed.

"Genny?" he called. "Genny Forsythe?" His voice bounced off the opposite wall,
"...Forsythe...sythe...ythe."

"Down here." Her reply was faint, but only due to distance. She didn't sound hurt.

Thank God! "Where are you?"

Words lost to the soughing wind and the echoes. A faint whisper of sound. "...us up.
Pull...too much weight."

His hands were already on the rope, taking the strain off the sagebrush. He didn't take time
for any of the safety measures that usually were second nature. He just set his heels and pulled.

Genny was on the other end of that rope.

He thought his arms were going to be jerked out of their sockets before a very frightened,
half dressed young woman moved out from behind a juniper. Genny was pushing her, talking her
along, taking most of her weight. Rock redoubled his efforts, knowing the rope around Genny's
waist must be feeling as if it were cutting her in half.

The two women struggled the last few feet, falling to their knees as they reached the
relative level surface of the road. The girl was sobbing; Genny took deep, gasping breaths.

Quickly Rock checked the girl for injuries. Nothing evident, except a blossoming bruise on
her right shoulder, where she probably hit the side of the rig as it rolled.

He slipped his shirt off, wrapped it around her, gently removing her clinging fingers as they
grabbed at his hands. "You're safe now, little lady. Sit right there now, and rest. You'll be fine." He
kept his voice gentle and soothing, even though he wanted to turn his back on her and tend to
Genny, still sitting hunched on the road. Finally the girl stopped clutching at him, seemed to
relax.

He turned to Genny. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. Her fingers struggled with the knot in the too-light line around her waist. At
least she'd had sense to run it through her belt loops. Otherwise it would have cut right through her
light cotton shirt, into the tender white flesh beneath, if she'd slipped coming up that steep
hillside.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just winded." She was still breathing deeply. "But we've got to get back
down. His leg is broken, and he may have hurt his back. I didn't move him. All I had was the little
first aid kit, and I didn't really know what else to do, anyway. Rock, have you got a bigger rope? I
don't trust this one." As she spoke, she was coiling the line neatly.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at him. Really looked at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Trying to get a word in edgewise. Gimme that." He snatched the rope from her. The
sheer, stark terror he'd felt when he saw her all but dangling at the end of a rope, overwhelmed him.
"Goddam it, woman! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No. No, I was trying to do what I could to help...."

"Did it ever occur to you that you could have..." He gestured at the void beyond the road's
edge. "If the rope had...the sagebrush let go. Oh, God, Genny, don't you ever pull a fool stunt like
that again!" He pulled her to him, holding her as close as he could, breathing her delicate scent,
overlain with sweat and the acrid odor of fear, feeling her slim and rounded body against him.
Feeling her alive in his arms.

"Rock, let me go." She struggled in his embrace. "We've got to get back down."

Rock was ashamed. He'd forgotten that an injured man was waiting for rescue, that the
young woman, still sobbing into trembling hands needed comfort and care.

"We aren't going anywhere. Do you know how to use the radio in my 'copter?"

"I don't know. I've never used anything but the one in the pickup."

"Never mind. Look, can I trust you to stay here--stay here--while I call in?"

"But what about...?"

"Can I trust you? Yes or no?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll stay here." She avoided his eyes.

He jerked her chin up, forcing to look at him. "Genny?"

"All right! Now, will you get a move on!"

Rock indicated the young woman with a jerk of his chin. "She could use a hug," he said,
before heading up the road at a fast lope. But Genny already had her arms around the woman, and
was making the sort of comforting noises only a woman could make.

* * * *

It was long past dark before Genny pulled into Vale. The Rescue Team had arrived about
two hours after Rock, landing on top where she met them with her pickup. They had made it all
look so easy, pulling Jack McMahon up the hill on a kind of sled-like stretcher. They'd carried him to
the top of the grade, then loaded him into the LifeFlight helicopter. Rock had taken Mary Beth to
Ontario just behind them, while the rest of the team strung cables to the overturned camper to
prevent it from slipping off the ledge and falling the rest of the way to the bottom of the
canyon.

She supposed some of its contents were salvageable. The motorhome itself looked like a
total loss.

Poor Mary Beth. She'd finally stopped sobbing and had responded to Genny's attempts to
distract with the story of her life. Newly married and completely new to camping, she hadn't realized
what kind of adventure she'd let herself in for. Her shy admission that she had wanted to go to the
Oregon Coast for their honeymoon, but had let herself be convinced that a week alone in the desert
would be romantic had amused Genny, even as it angered her.