Never the Twain (12 page)

"This is the last of the four batches we froze this morning," she said. "And the best, if I do
say so myself." She licked her finger.

Genny tasted it. Darker than most commercial ice creams, it was richly, decadently
chocolate. "Delicious," she sighed.

"Thanks. Miss Forsythe..." the other woman began.

"Yes?"

"Look, don't let the fellows' kidding get to you. They all like Rock, and most of them are
happy to see him dating again. They didn't mean any harm, really."

Genny laughed. "They reminded me of some of my cousins. Nothing's sacred, is it?"

"Not a thing." Carol Daniels winked. "But sometimes they do back a fellow into a corner.
Ask Rock what he's going to do next Saturday."

"Is this a joke of some sort?" Genny said, wondering at the laughter hiding in Mrs. Daniels'
voice.

"Just ask him." She turned aside to offer ice cream to an elderly gentleman and his
grandson.

Genny was consumed with curiosity, but she didn't ask. Rock's mood at the table wasn't
conducive to impertinent questions.

Later, she forgot, until he reminded her.

"What are you doing Saturday?" Rock said as he helped her from his pickup.

"Isn't that the Vale Rodeo?"

"It starts then, yes. Do you want to go?" He took her arm to escort her up the stairs to her
back door. "It's usually pretty wild."

He sounded almost as if he was trying to discourage her. Not that she'd let him. She'd been
looking forward to that particular rodeo for months, ever since she first heard about it.

"It sounds wonderful. Dan was telling me about it. Those people who risk their lives on
bucking broncos and Brahma bulls have got to be some of the bravest men in the world. And do
people really race across the river and up the butte, on horseback?"

"Yeah." Abruptly he swung her around and pulled her into his arms. "Look, Genny, I'm
gonna be pretty busy this week. Don't expect to hear from me, okay?"

Since she hadn't been in the habit of hearing from him during the previous weeks, Genny
hadn't expected anything to be different now. But maybe he was trying to be thoughtful.

"And I don't know if I'm gonna be able to be with you at the rodeo, either. I might be,
uh...tied up."

"That's all right, Rock. Sophie and I were planning to go with some of the people from
work."

"Good. Then you won't miss me." He bent to take her mouth in a bruising kiss. Before she
could do more than inhale sharply, he had released her and was running down the steps.

"Good night," she called to his retreating back. "Thanks for..."
Thanks for everything,
her mind concluded as he slammed into his pickup.
Thanks for taking the most I had to offer
you, using it, and tossing it aside.
She had been hiding from the knowledge ever since...since just
after they'd made love. There was no more hiding. He'd got what he'd wanted and now he was
through with her. Her mother had warned her, years ago, about men like him. About what happens
to girls who were easy.

No one was easier than she had been today.

* * * *

Rock pulled his old Stetson lower on his forehead and looked across the field. Horse
trailers, pickups, stock trucks, and even a semi or two were parked in no particular order. Between
and among them, dozens of cowboys, and even a few cowgirls, were milling, checking cinches,
calling back and forth, and generally creating chaos. In a few minutes, contestants would be called
for the race, which was the high point of the Vale rodeo.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Rock?" Pancho looked worried. "You have not ridden
this race for many years."

Too many, Rock admitted to himself. And back then he'd been too young and too dumb
to know what he was getting himself into. All he'd seen was the excitement and the danger. That was
what he'd wanted, at seventeen. What did he want at twice seventeen?

Pancho checked Tequila's saddle for the tenth or so time. "You have not yet told me why
you are doing this crazy thing."

"I want to, okay? Now shut up."

"You shut up, Rock, if you can't be nice to an old man who cares what happens to your
fool neck." Brad Shotwell, his foreman, had been around the Rock and Rye almost as long as Rock
had, and sometimes he still acted like Rock was a snot-nosed kid, with more muscles than
brains.

Maybe he was. Brad wasn't getting set to break his fool neck on a dare, showing off for a
fancy piece of fluff who thought rodeo riders were glamorous and sexy.

"Mount up, Rock." Brad held Tequila's stirrup. Once Rock was in the saddle, both he and
Pancho checked everything still another time. "Are you sure...?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Rock growled. "Back off, Brad. You ain't my pa."

"If I was, I'd tan your hide," his foreman answered, as Rock spurred Tequila toward the
starting line.

From then on, it was all a blur. He remembered, later, seeing the ground rushing by under
the big stallion's feet and he remembered the water splashing up in sheets when he hit the Malheur
River. He'd gained ground then, thanks to Tequila. The Appaloosa was half fish, Rock believed, and
would tackle any body of water with enthusiasm.

He fell behind on the upper slopes of the butte, not wanting to risk Tequila on the rocky
hillside. But he made it to the top, and down the other side, in one piece. Better yet, his horse was
still in one piece. About a hundred yards into the race, he'd realized just what he was risking, all for
the sake of impressing a woman. Tequila was one of his two best stallions, worth thousands at stud.
One foot in a gopher hole or a collision with another horse, and he'd be dog food. With that
sobering thought, Rock dropped to the back of the lead pack, although he held his own with the
more open group of riders doing this for fun and not for glory or prizes.

Genny was waiting when he crossed the finish line. The excitement and fear on her face
made it all worthwhile. He felt ten feet tall and covered with hair.

He'd hardly dismounted when she was in his arms. "Oh, Rock, I was so scared. And when
those horses fell, up by the top, I just knew it was you. I had visions of you getting carried down the
mountain on a stretcher."

All the while she was jabbering breathlessly, her hands were patting him all over, making
sure he was all in one piece. He liked the sensation. Nobody had ever worried about his hide before,
not since Ma had died.

"You really are all right?"

"I'm fine, darlin'. Let's get out of this crowd." Taking her arm and signaling to Pancho and
Brad with a jerk of his chin, he led Tequila and his entourage through the excited crowd.

"Trailer's over there," Brad said, pointing. "I'll take care of the horse. If there's anything left
of him."

"Walk him," Rock ordered. "He's pretty warm."

"When I need your advice about livestock, boy, I'll ask for it."

Hoo man! Brad was still pissed off. Rock watched him lead Tequila away, talking softly to
the lathered horse. He would, Rock knew, check over every inch of Tequila's spotted hide before
pronouncing him uninjured.

"You do not look the worse for wear, Rock, so I will take myself off." Pancho seemed to
be looking for someone in the crowd. Fine. Great. Rock found Genny a lot better company than
either of his two hands, anyhow.

"Sure. See you later, at the dance?"

"I do not think so. Perhaps tomorrow." His voice noncommittal, his attention elsewhere,
Pancho departed, leaving Rock alone with an armful of sexy, turned-on woman.

At least he hoped she was turned-on. It had been his experience that nothing excited a
woman more than seeing a man risk life and limb. That was what had led him into accepting the
fellas' challenge at the Daniels' barbecue.

"Now that they're gone, Rock, I want to talk to you."

He turned his attention to Genny, unable to see, through the crowd, where Pancho had
gone. Rock felt irrationally deserted, for his cook and he had always done the Vale rodeo together,
ever since he was a kid, participating in the junior events. "Talk away, darlin'. Looks like I'm all
yours."

"I'm not sure I want a crazy man. What ever possessed you to ride that race, Rock? Pancho
said you hadn't done it since you were a boy, that you hadn't done any preparation for it. He said
you're out of condition for that kind of riding. He said..." Her voice broke. "He said you could break
your fool neck."

How about this! She wasn't just turned on, she really had been scared for him. "Did it
matter to you?" He took her face between his hands and tilted it up so he could look deep into her
eyes. "Would you have cared, if I'd been hurt."

"I'd have killed you!" she spat. "Pancho and Brad said you were just doing it to impress me.
Well, let me tell you, Mr. Cowboy McConnell, I'm not impressed by idiocy. And I hate the sight of
blood."

"You cared," he said in satisfaction. For some indefinable reason, he was deeply touched.
She might be as out of place in his life as a pansy in a potato field, but it still warmed his heart to
know she had cared more about his worthless hide than about the thrill of seeing him risk his
life.

"All I cared about was that expensive horse you were risking," she said with some heat.
"Don't flatter yourself."

Even as she denied her concern, her arms were sliding around his waist and her hands
were tightening on his shirt. She melted against him, and Rock saw the sheen of tears in her brown
eyes before she closed them.

He rested his cheek against her head, feeling content, exhausted, cherished. She might not
be good for him, but she sure did make him feel good.

They stood together, an obstruction in the crowd's flow, for a long time. Genny drew
reassurance from his strong arms about her, from his head resting against hers.

She was probably making a tactical mistake, admitting just how frightened she had been.
No one gets that concerned over the safety of a casual acquaintance. Of course, after last Sunday,
Rock was no longer a casual acquaintance, was he? Part of her belonged to him forevermore, just as
she had something of him she would never lose.

Genny still wondered why she didn't have any regrets. Quite the opposite, in fact. She felt
like she was wearing a silly grin every time she thought about the rapture she'd found with this big,
arrogant cowboy. Far, far beyond her most erotic fantasies, she had experienced sensations and
emotions she had never imagined possible. If only she could make herself believe he had been
moved as much as she.

Rock's sudden emotional withdrawal, coming almost as soon as he'd withdrawn physically,
had hurt. Hurt badly. It almost seemed as if he were trying to protect himself from caring, from
admitting they had shared anything more than sex.

And she knew they had! His sweet murmurings had told her that. She still shivered when
she remembered how he had called her his sweet darlin', his fiery lady, his little love. She
couldn't--wouldn't--believe he would say those words to just any woman, even in the throes of passion.

"Just how bad do you want to see the rodeo, darlin'," Rock said, tightening his embrace.
She had been conscious of his growing arousal for quite a while, and had enjoyed the
implications.

On the other hand, no need to keep on being easy. "I've looked forward to it ever since I
came to Vale." She relaxed her arms, but was unable to pull away from him. "Everyone says it's one
of the wildest rodeo's around."

"That's 'roh-dee-oooh', little lady. Not 'ro-day-oh' You sound like a city dude."

Now what had she said to bring the bite back into his voice. Surely her pronunciation
couldn't anger him? "Just a simple country girl," she contradicted, determined to ignore his bad
temper. "But I could be distracted from the rodeo," she imitated his drawl, "given the right
inducement."

He moved his hips against her. "How does an afternoon of lovin' sound?" His hands
slipped lower, briefly cupping her bottom. "We could go out to the ranch--most ever'body's in town
here, or in Jordan Valley--and not have to worry about gettin' interrupted."

God help her, she wanted to, more than she could remember wanting anything before in
her entire life. "I can't, Rock. Sophie is waiting for me, over in the grandstand. We'd
planned..."

He released her so suddenly she almost fell. Grabbing her hand, he headed toward the
stands surrounding the arena. "Let's go talk to her."

"Rock, wait!" She stumbled. "Don't walk so fast." But she was pulled along in his wake,
half trotting.

"Where is she?"

"She said she'd be with Brenda and her family, but in this crowd, I don't see how..." She
was craning her neck, trying to see her aunt's outrageous bonnet among a thousand or so western
hats. Surely a white straw derby with a curled yellow ostrich feather would stand out, wouldn't
it?

She heard her name called and looked up into the grandstand. It was Brenda, waving
frantically. "Wait a minute, Rock. Here they are." But where was Sophie?

"Boy, I'm glad I saw you," Brenda said, as soon as Genny and Rock reached them. "I was
afraid you wouldn't get here until after things got started." She handed Genny a square of folded
paper.

"What's this?"

"It's from your aunt. She came up here a little while ago and asked me to give it to you. She
said she'd found something far more interesting to do this afternoon than watch men trying to prove
how tough they are." Brenda giggled, and Genny could almost heard Sophie's elegant voice speaking
those exact words.

Quickly Genny read the note. All it said was that Sophie had been offered an opportunity
for sightseeing, this afternoon. She wouldn't be back until late. Sophie had her own key and Genny
was not to worry about her.

Rock was reading over her shoulder. He ran one finger down her spine, reminding Genny
of his invitation. "Now you don't have any reason to stay," he murmured in her ear, too quietly for
Brenda to hear. "Come with me, Genny, darlin'. I want you."