Never the Twain (19 page)

Jack had sounded familiar as Mary Beth had talked about her new husband. He'd sounded
like a lot of the men in her own life. Mary Beth's account had shown him to be as insensitive to his
wife's feelings and needs as Pop and her brothers had always been to Genny's.

As Rock was to Genny's?

Why else had he torn a strip off her? A man who really cared about her would have been
relieved to have her safe. Rock had been furious because she hadn't obeyed his orders.

She slammed around the kitchen, driving Marmalade into hiding under the table, admitting
her anger was as much with herself as it was with Mary Beth. She recognized the symptoms of a
passive woman, and she hated how it made her feel.

Damn him! Why did he make her feel so...so incompetent? Just like Avery and Carlyle and
Everett. All they had to do was quirk an eyebrow or flash one of their superior smiles and she felt all
thumbs, inept, and gawky. All Rock had to do was yell at her and she immediately let him take over,
even though she had been in control of the situation.

She wasn't a heck of a lot smarter than Mary Beth, when you got right down to it. She let
Rock have his way most of the time.

No, she let him have his way all of the time. It was easier than fighting him.

"Just as soon as the party is over and I have time," she told the cowering Marmalade, "I've
got to decide. I just don't need another overbearing man in my life."

Her words sounded determined and brave, competent. She just wished she really, deep
down inside, believed she'd be able to do anything but go on seeing Rock. Cutting off her right hand
might be easier. Less painful.

Marmalade forgave her for her tantrum when Genny fed him most of the leftover pork
chop. The cat was sitting on a kitchen chair, washing his face and purring, when the back door
opened.

"Hello, darlin'."

Genny spun around. "I thought I'd locked that door." She frowned, wishing his arrival
hadn't accelerated her heartbeat and kindled a glow in her middle.

"You should have. I could have been almost anybody." Disapproval was all too evident in
his frown and voice.

"Maybe I was expecting company," she countered. "Other company," she added, when his
smile grew smug. "You aren't the only man in my life."

Suddenly she was hard against him, held in unbreakable bonds, feeling his breath against
her face and the regular throb of his heart vibrating through her body.

"I'd better be, or there's gonna be fur a'flyin'."

Genny reared back, glaring up at him. She struggled, pushing against his shoulders, wanting
free of his viselike embrace. "You don't own me!"

"No ma'am, I surely don't. But as long as I'm sharin' your bed, there's no room for
company." He kissed her, gently at first, but with increasing force.

Her recent resolve melted under his ardent demand.
After the party
, she told
herself, giving in to sizzling needs and immediate desires.

He skimmed his lips along the edge of her jaw before he covered her mouth with his. As
his arms encircled her, Genny curved herself against him, wanting to feel him along the length of
her. Wanting body to body, flesh to flesh. She forgot what she was going to say as his tongue
explored the insides of her teeth, the soft tissue of her inner lips. When he circled her tongue with
his, she sparred, advancing, retreating, loving the taste of him. Losing herself in him.

"D'you hear me?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper, a few moments--an
eternity--later.

"Hmmm? What did you say?" She honestly had no idea what they'd been talking
about.

"I said there's gonna be no other men in your life so long as I'm here," he said. "Right?"
His thumbs found her budded nipples, circled them, teasing, until Genny wanted to scream at him
to get on with it and stop torturing her.

"Right?" he said again, against her mouth.

"Um-hmmm." She had managed to free the top two buttons on his Levi's and was working
on the third. "Sure."

One instant she was held so closely in his arms that they might have shared a single body;
the next she was held away from him, at arm's length, and was being shaken slightly.

"Pay attention, darlin'," he growled. "Are there any other men in your life?"

"Oh, for pity's sake," she said. "Can't you tell a joke when you hear one? When would I
have time for another man?"

"All week. How do I know what you do when I'm out at the ranch?"

"Oh sure. Is that before or after we talk on the phone for an hour or two?" She twisted
free of his hands. It was hard enough for her to deal with his insistence on running everything when
they were together--she was more or less used to that, what with her brothers and all. But when he
started getting possessive, well he was going beyond the limits of her forbearance.

The next thing she knew, he'd be wanting her to keep a log of her time, just to prove to
him what she'd done every minute of every day. Before she knew it, she wouldn't have an ounce of
independence or freedom left to her.

Pulling back was beginning to sound better all the time. She just had to keep reminding
herself how old fashioned, possessive, and domineering Rock could be.

Holding her ground, she looked up at him, letting her bottom lip tremble a bit as she did
so. "Rock, I'm really tired. Can we discuss this later?" She even put one hand to her forehead and
closed her eyes, doing her best to look pitiful. "I hope I never have a day as frightening as this one,
ever again in my whole life." Was that laying it on too thick?

No, because his voice was immediately concerned. "Yeah. Sure, darlin'. I just wanted to
make sure you were all right, before I head home."

"I'm fine, Rock. Just tired and a little bit stressed." She'd hated pulling one of her mother's
tricks, but sometimes one had to stoop to deception.

He quickly took her into his arms. With strong hands he massaged her back, stroking along
the line of her spine. "What you need is a good night's sleep."

"I really do. And that's where I'm heading, right now."

"Want me to tuck you in?" He dropped a gentle, almost impersonal kiss on her nose.

"No, thanks. I'll sleep better if I'm not distracted."

She turned away, suddenly aware that her act was no act at all. She was exhausted, stressed,
and unaccountably in the verge of tears. If he'd just go, before she lost it entirely.

He did, without kissing her again, with only a soft, "Sleep well, darlin'" to mark his
departure.

After she staggered to her bed, Genny found it cold, lumpy, hard, and lonely.

* * * *

"That oughta' do it, Rock. If you can find a speck of dust in this house, I'll pay you ten
dollars." Lizzie Kelpin wound the vacuum cord around the handle. "There wasn't all that much to
do. You and Pancho are pretty good housekeepers, for a couple of old bachelors." She cackled, her
wrinkled face creasing until her eyes all but disappeared.

"I'll pay you the ten dollars instead, Liz," Rock promised. "I really appreciate you comin'
down like this. I got stuck down in Wells for a couple of days, and everything fell behind." Lizzie
wasn't really a cleaning lady, but she'd always been willing to help out. Like when Pa was so sick,
there at the last. She'd nursed him, because Selma had claimed it upset her too much to see the man
she loved so gaunt and wasted. Rock believed she'd been too lazy and too selfish. Besides, Lizzie
was quiet and gentle, not shrill and jittery like Selma. Much better for Pa.

"Glad to do it. Now, I've got a little something for Pancho and his bride here, and then I'll
be ready to go home."

"I'll be in the shed. Give a yell." He waved to her as she cut across the yard toward
Pancho's house.

He'd give his eyeteeth to be there when Sophie opened her "little something" from Lizzie.
Some sort of antimacassar, he'd bet, crocheted out of a gawdawful color of string, and full of errors,
because Lizzie's eyesight wasn't as good as it once was. He'd never forget Pa's description of the
afghan she'd crocheted for him and Selma. "Looks like a sheep with mange, 'cept the sheep fell in a
vat of grape juice." But he'd insisted Selma keep the afghan in the front room, no matter how she
complained. "'Twouldn't do to hurt Lizzie's feelins'," he'd said, "her bein' a neighbor and all."

They were all ready for the party tomorrow. The freezer was full--Pancho had insisted on
doing a lot of the food, even though Rock told him it wasn't right for him to cook when he was the
guest of honor. Rock had drawn the line at Sophie's cleaning the house. It was his dirt; he could see
that it got taken care of.

Genny would be here early this evening. She was bringing the cake. But she wouldn't be
staying. Her folks were arriving in Boise tomorrow morning and she was planning to meet them, to
lead them down to the Rock and Rye. She hadn't told him how many had decided to come, but he
reckoned there'd be a bunch.

She hadn't told him much of anything the last two weeks, for all of that. She'd been a tad
cool ever since the rescue, but he figured it was because she had a lot to do at work. That and she
was mad at him for yelling at her.

She'd deserved to be yelled at, damn it! She could have killed herself, goin' down that
hillside, relying on that light little line and that half-dead sagebrush. He still felt sick every time he
remembered how the shrub was pulled half out of the ground by the time Genny and Mary Beth
McMahon had reached the road. Maybe he should have pointed it out. He was pretty sure she hadn't
noticed.

For a tenderfoot she'd been damn lucky. No, that wasn't fair. Genny was no longer a
tenderfoot. Just because she didn't know beans about climbing didn't mean she hadn't shown a lot
of sand in going down that hill after the McMahons. He knew a lot of big, strong men who'd have
waited for the Rescue Team instead of risking their necks.

But if she ever pulled a damfool stunt like that again, he'd shake her 'til her teeth
rattled.

* * * *

Genny turned off the highway and checked her rearview mirror. One. Two. Three. Yes,
the rented vans carrying her family had all made it this far. She smiled at her mother, sitting beside
her in the VW. "Well, what do you think of Owyhee Country?"

"I've never seen anything so desolate," Margaret Forsythe said, staring out the window.
Normally a quiet woman, she'd become even more silent as they'd left the green fields of the Snake
River Valley behind and climbed the winding grade into the high desert. Pop had been equally quiet,
and even Avery had kept his comments on her driving to a minimum. If it hadn't been for Linda's
incessant comments on how dry, how empty, how treeless the landscape was, most of the trip would
have passed in silence. Genny mentally thanked her sister-in-law.

Genny, already dreading the time alone with her family, had found conversation just as
hard going. They still didn't approve of the way she chose to live her life, but at least they refrained
from criticizing her as much. If she could just keep her temper when Pop started telling her what
was wrong with her apartment, her friends, her job...thank God they were only staying a week. Her
stomach was already knotting in anticipation.

"I'm really sorry Uncle Hiram couldn't come," she said, desperate for a harmless topic.
One that wouldn't lead to another conversational dead end.

"You know he never travels," Margaret replied. "I doubt he's been south of Rochester
since he was a boy." Her tone indicated that there was nothing more to say on the subject of Uncle
Hiram.

Now what? Genny concentrated on guiding the van around the broad sweeping curve into
Rye Valley. She watched her mother out of the corner of her eye, wondering what her first
impression of the ranch would be.

"There it is," she said, as the main house came into view, crouched on top of a knoll,
surrounded by cottonwoods. "Sophie and Pancho live in a smaller house, just east of the main
ranchhouse and down the hill a bit. It's really comfortable."

"I'm sure it's very nice," her mother agreed, "but isn't this a bit...ah, primitive?" She was
staring at the main ranchhouse as if she'd never seen its like.

"It's more modern than our house," Genny protested.

"But it's a log cabin."

"Mother, a log cabin like that probably costs more than a clapboard house the same size,"
Genny said, wondering what was wrong with a log home. She thought it was charming. Warm.
Welcoming. She'd love to live in a house just like it.

"It certainly is different from New Hampshire."

Genny didn't know what to say. How did one answer the obvious?

After parking in her usual place under the first cottonwood, Genny turned to her mother.
"Before we go in, there's something I think you should know." Why hadn't she told her family about
Rock before now?

Her mother waited, one hand on the door handle.

"I've been seeing a man," Genny faltered. "A rancher."

Her mother looked mildly curious. Nothing else.

"He's a real Westerner. A little rough around the edges."

"I would expect that." Her mother's voice spoke volumes. All of them disapproving.

In for a penny, in for a pound,
Genny told herself. "He lives here. His name is
Rockland McConnell."

For once her cool and collected mother looked nonplused. "Here? He's related to...to Mr.
Ruiz?"

"Yes, he's a distant cousin or something of Pancho's. That's how Sophie met Pancho, you
see. Rock has a grazing preference on the District, and I ran into him--" No need to say just how
close that was to the truth-- "I met him in Succor Creek Canyon one day. Then he flew me..."

Her mother's eyebrows had climbed halfway up her forehead.

"Well, one thing led to another, and I invited Rock to the party I gave so Sophie could
meet some of my friends. And he brought Pancho."

"Sophie didn't tell me her husband was a...a cowboy." Was there just a trace of hurt in her
mother's voice? She and Sophie had never been close, but they
were
sisters. Was her mother
feeling neglected because Sophie had married without talking it over first?