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.
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?
"He's not exactly a cowboy, Mother. Not any more." She guessed there just wasn't an easy way to say it. The other vans had parked and people were starting to get out and look curiously around. "Pancho is Rock's cook."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Genny opened the door and slid out. "This is it, everyone. Welcome to the Rock and Rye." She waved her arm, gesturing at the wide fields in the creek bottom, at the corrals and outbuildings scattered across the knoll, at the sagebrush-covered hills beyond. "This is the real Wild West."
"Don't let her lead you on, folks. We're pretty tame, here in Owyhee Country. There's hardly enough people to whoop it up too much." Rock was walking across the yard, smiling broadly.
She stared. His white dinner jacket had obviously been cut for his wide shoulders. The dark pants boasted a satin stripe down each outseam and his tie had been knotted by an experienced hand. An enormous silver nugget gleamed on the middle finger of his right hand, matching the smaller studs closing his delicately tucked shirt. The only thing singular about his appearance was his footwear. He was shod in highly polished, elaborately embroidered, black cowboy boots.
He was almost as sexy as if he'd been wearing Levi's.
His welcome was gracious and warm. Genny hardly opened her mouth as he took control of the situation, introducing himself, shaking hands all around. Even Aunt Gertrude, the family snob, smiled when he not-quite kissed her hand.
He all but ignored Genny, and she trailed her family into the house.
"Pancho's not a close relative," he was explaining when she finally entered the front room, "but he's just about all the family I have left. Out here family's real important." His smile held just a hint of melancholy, although she would swear there was a fiendish gleam in his eyes. "When people are spread this thin, they learn to depend on each other a lot more. It's a lonely land."
"It seems so empty," Uncle Ferd said. "We drove miles and miles without seeing a house."
"Oh, we're pretty crowded around here, compared to down south. Why there's parts of Owyhee Country where the closest neighbor is fifty miles away." He efficiently shepherded everyone into the dining room.
The table was stretched out to nearly fill the room and was covered with a lace-edged tablecloth big enough to be a tent. At one end were silver coffee and tea pots, surrounded by cups and saucers. At the other, a punchbowl sat amid concentric circles of glass cups. The center was occupied by the enormous wedding cake she'd delivered last night. But last night the house had looked nowhere near this formal, nor had Rock looked anything like this suave, elegant stranger.
"I'm glad you all got here before the rest of the guests. It'll give us a chance to get acquainted." He indicated the laden table. "Coffee, anyone?"
* * * *
By sundown Rock was about ready to chew nails. Big steel ones.
The hell of it was, he liked the Forsythes. Oh, Genny's pa was a tad opinionated, but Rock could handle that. His own pa hadn't exactly been a shrinking violet where his opinions were concerned either.
And Genny's ma was a sweet lady. Not like Sophie, who was as feisty as they came, but quiet and nice, just like a mother ought to be. Rock particularly liked the way she watched over her men, nurturing without smothering. He couldn't see the passivity Genny had complained about. If anyone ever ruled her roost with an iron fist disguised as a velvet glove, it was Margaret Forsythe.
Now if he had his druthers, he'd rather his woman stood up to him and spoke her mind. Selma had been manipulative too, although not as cleverly nor as subtly as Genny's ma was. Rock didn't take kindly to being manipulated, but Margaret wouldn't have put his back up the way Selma had.
Nope, the Forsythes weren't the problem. Genny was.
She just didn't fit out here. She needed people around her, folks to talk to and laugh with. She'd never survive the weeks and months of loneliness, with only him for company.
He'd watched her all day, bein' gracious and sociable with all their guests. She was right at home, while Rock felt crowded in his own house.
He liked people in small doses and on his own terms. Pa's parties hadn't ever got to him the way this one had. He guessed it was because he hadn't been the host back then. All he'd been expected to do was dance with the wallflowers, be polite to all the old ladies, and make sure they never ran out of cold beer.
Today had been different. He felt like he'd been dragged through a knothole backwards. With his boots on.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, answering the same question for the fiftieth time, at least. "The powder room's right down the hall, third door on the left."
Supper had been served almost an hour ago, and now folks were limbering up for dancing. He could hear the Jones Boys tuning up, over on the helipad. From the conversations around him, from the frequent bursts of laughter, everybody seemed to be having a good time.
He was having the worst time of his life.
"No'm, Mrs. Lehenbauer, we haven't seen Selma since she left after Pa's funeral." And I hope we never do.
"Well, boy," Pat's elderly mother told him, tapping his forearm in emphasis, "if your Pa had paid less attention to what was under her skirt and more to what was under her hat, he'd never married her. I swan, that woman cared more about her manicure than she did about her husband."
Since Rock agreed, but had vowed no one would ever hear him badmouth his step-mama, he merely smiled. Enigmatically, he hoped. "Have you had a chance to meet Sophie, ma'am?"
"Oh, yes, she came in for coffee when Pancho brought the welder over. What a sweet little thing she is!"
He'd go along with the little; Sophie wasn't much bigger than a minute. Sweet was still open to question. So far she and Pancho seemed happy. Rock was waiting until the new got rubbed off their marriage and the winter winds began.
His smile faded as Mrs. Lehenbauer moved on through the crowd. At least his neighbors were being welcoming to Sophie's relations. He'd been afraid there would be two separate groups here tonight--the Easterners and the Westerners. Instead, one had to listen closely to accents to know who was from New England and who from Owyhee Country. The initial period of uncertainty had lasted all of five minutes or so, until Sophie had introduced one of Genny's cousins--Young Ferd?--to Old Man Daniels, explaining that they had horse racing in common.
Pretty soon the ice was broken and they'd all been talking a mile a minute.
All but him. He'd spent most of the afternoon and evening being a good host, making sure no one sat alone in a corner unless they wanted to. Keeping the punchbowl full, the coffee and tea hot, and the beer cold.
"You look harried." Sophie slipped an arm about his waist. "And bored." She squeezed, and Rock was conscious of a warmth in the cold pit of his belly. A comfortable warmth, without the passion Genny always made him felt.
"You know how it is," he said, attempting a carefree smile. "The host has to work harder than anybody."
"Isn't it the truth? I don't think Genny has slowed down since she got here."
Rock had been following Genny's travels through the crowd, using the silvery glint of her hair as a beacon. "She hasn't lighted more than once or twice, that's for sure."
"I haven't thanked you for this wonderful party," Sophie said. "I never expected anything like this, Rock, and I do appreciate it."
He couldn't resist. "Shucks, ma'am, it warn't nothin'."
She pinched him lightly, just above his belt. "You big fake. Trying to make everybody think you're an unlettered cowboy."
"Why ma'am, I'll have you know cowboys are great readers. What else is there to do in the wintertime, but read and watch cows?" His drawl was exaggerated. "'Course, some of us is lucky enough to have that new-fangled tel-ee-vision, but only if we're close in to town."
"And what's that big dish out in the yard?"
"Why that there's a bird bath. Big birds out here in Owyhee Country." He couldn't keep his face straight any longer. As soon as he cracked a smile, they were both laughing.
"Take Genny out and dance with her," Sophie told him when their guffaws had quieted to occasional giggles. "I'll play hostess for a while."
"But--"
"Do it," she commanded, and Rock suddenly saw the steel under her fluffy, feminine exterior. He'd bet she was a whiz-bang executive secretary. Nobody'd dare cross her. He saluted and began cutting his way through the crowd, in search of Genny.
She was laughing with Angie Ferguson as if they'd known each other all their lives. Rock stood back and listened. Genny was asking about Angie's kids, knowing all the right questions. Showing interest in the answers. He'd seen her do this before, at Daniels'. She could talk to anybody, anytime.
And just look at her. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so pretty, and he'd been around a good bit, particularly when Pa was a state senator back when he'd been in high school. Although he'd resisted moving to Boise for the legislative season, he had gone up on weekends. And he'd been to quite a few real fancy gatherings. There hadn't been a woman at any of them to match his Genny in style and beauty. Or in sophistication.
He caught a glint of silver as she lifted a punch cup. Her nails were painted to match her hair tonight. "Everyone has a vanity," she'd told him one night. "These are mine." He knew she went in to have them worked on biweekly. She wore some sort of coating on them to strengthen them, and it took constant maintenance.
Selma used to spend half her time in the beauty shop, keeping her hair blonde, her nails crimson. And she'd hated the isolation of the ranch, always after Pa to build them a house in Caldwell or, better yet, Boise.
He couldn't help but wonder how Genny would feel about the ranch after her first long, lonely winter.
Hell! What was he wasting his time worryin' for? She wasn't going to be spending any winters on the Rock and Rye. Just a day or two now and then, when his hunger for her overcame his common sense. Like now.
He stretched an arm out and caught her gesturing hand. When Genny looked up, surprised, he winked. "Care to dance, darlin'?"
"But I can't--"
"That's what I said, but Sophie gave me my orders. C'mon." He tugged. She smiled and followed willingly.
The Jones Boys were in rare form. The music was lively, loud, and fast. He grabbed Genny, twirled her into his arms. It felt good to hold on to her, but he'd rather cuddle. Guiding her to the bandstand, he yelled, "Play a slow one."
Arch nodded without missing a beat.
"Whee!" Genny collapsed against him when the music segued from "Beer Barrel Polka" into "Rhinestone Cowboy." "My legs are about to collapse. Can we sit this one out?"
"Not on your life," he said, releasing her right hand and slipping both arms around her. "We came out here to dance, remember?" He pulled her close, feeling the sweet swell of her breasts against his chest. "God, you feel good!"
She nuzzled his neck. "And you smell good. What is it?"
"Some fancy stuff of Pa's. My stepmother gave it to him for Christmas. I just never got around to throwing it out." And he'd reached for it that morning, thinking that Genny would expect him to be all fancied up to meet her folks. He knew he'd surprised her with the dinner jacket.
"Pretty sexy stuff," she said, nibbling now. "Makes you smell good enough to eat."
Resentment had been simmering within him all day. Resentment at the lack of Genny's attention, at feeling overdressed and uncomfortable in his own home, and especially at the memories of earlier parties, where Pa had been an expansive and relaxed host. Rock could do the pretty with the best of them, but it didn't come natural to him like it had to Pa. Like it did to Genny. He had to work at social interaction, then afterward all he wanted to do was crawl off into a cave and be alone for a week or two.
"If you're hungry, there's still some barbecue left." He pulled back, finding her nibbling irritating, rather than the erotic experience it had been only seconds ago.
Genny looked up at Rock in surprise. One second he'd been holding her almost too close for comfort; the next he was growling at her like a dog whose favorite bone was being threatened. All day she'd been aware of him, greeting guests, smiling his welcome, making everyone feel at home. It had been a side to him she'd never suspected. Although she'd seen occasional instances of him possessing social graces, for the most part Rock McConnell was a cowboy. He shot from the hip, and people always knew where they stood with him.
"Okay," she agreed. "Sounds good to me." She slipped out of his arms and headed for the barbecue table. She had been smelling it all afternoon, but somehow had never found time to come and sample. Instead she'd snatched sweets and salted nuts from the dining table as she rushed past it, involved with one or another of her many hostess duties. Suddenly she was ravenous. "Coming?" She looked back over her shoulder to see Rock standing where she'd left him, his frown back in place.
He finally followed her, parting the dancers before him where she'd had had to weave her way among them.
"Oh, my, this is delicious," Genny said a few minutes later. She'd slipped a sliver of the tender beef into her mouth while waiting for Tad Williams to carve more slices off the enormous hunk of meat on the maple slab.
"Try the beans," Rock said, dumping a dipper-full into her plate, where they buried the coleslaw and half the bread. "Old family recipe." He accepted two huge slices of meat. Genny quickly pulled her plate away before Tad could give her a similar sized portion.
"All right," she said, once they were seated at one end of the long row of tables. "Let's have it. What's bothering you? You're acting like a spoiled brat."
The glare he leveled on her could have scorched the hide off an elephant. "Why nothin' atall, little lady. I'm doin' just fine."
"Bull puckey! You've been ready to take a swing at someone--anyone--for two weeks. Ever since that day down in Cricket Canyon." Realization dawned. "Ever since I showed you I could take care of myself."
"You're imagining things." He forked up a slice of meat and began chewing it vigorously. His gaze burned at her across the table.
"I don't think so. Something's really bothering you, Rock, and I think it has to do with me, with who I am. What I am." Reaching across the table, she took hold of his left wrist. The tendons shifted under her hand, strong and supple. "Are you still angry because I went down after Mary Beth instead of waiting for you?"
"No!" He slammed down his fork and picked up the spoon. A mouthful of beans followed the meat. "It was a stupid stunt, but I'm not angry."
"Then what are you angry about?"
"Nothin'!" He tossed the spoon beside the almost full plate. "Not a goddam thing. Just drop it, will ya?"
"No, I won't. Everything was fine between us, then suddenly it wasn't. And I want to know why." Never mind that she had given serious thought to cooling their relationship herself. At least she would have told him, explained her reasons. She would never have simply cut him out of her life as he seemed to be trying to do to her.
He shoved the half-full plate away and stood. Leaning over the table, propped on his arms, he loomed over her. "You want to know? You really want to know?"
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.