Never the Twain (13 page)

"We've been saving you a seat, Genny. If we scooch real close, there's room for your
friend, too," Brenda said.

Genny looked out at the arena, soon to be filled with excitement and, as Sophie had said,
men trying to prove their toughness. She felt Rock's warm breath at her nape, his finger tracing her
spine. "I think, I'll pass, Brenda. I've got a chance to see some of the Owyhee Country and that
sounds more appealing today than sitting in this hot sun."

"But you've been looking forward..." Brenda hushed as her husband nudged her in the side
and said something too low for Genny to hear. "Oh, yeah. Sure, Genny, you go on and take your
tour. There's always another rodeo."

Rock's satisfied chuckle almost made her change her mind again. "I'll see you at work
Monday," she told her friend, "and you can tell me all about today."

* * * *

"Just because I'm going with you, Rock, you don't need to believe that today will be a
repeat of last Sunday. I won't deny that I want you, but I'm a big girl now, and I don't always give in
to my itches," Genny said, as soon as they were in his pickup and headed southeast.

"Is that what you think, that the only reason I invited you out to the ranch was for
sex?"

"I know it was. And I don't like being treated like a...just a convenience."

"Believe me, darlin', you'll never be just a convenience to me. " His leer denied his words,
but it was such a caricature that she had to laugh.

"Be serious. I need to know that there's more than just sex between us, Rock." Genny
wanted to bite her tongue. He'd never said word one about commitment, about the future, and she
hadn't asked. After the fact was just a tad late to be asking for this kind of reassurance.

He reached a long arm across the cab and squeezed her leg just above the knee. "There's
more, darlin', believe me. I don't know what's causin' the sparks between us, but it goes way beyond
'just sex.'"

"I hope so." But she wasn't entirely satisfied. There was still a gulf between them that she
didn't know how to cross.

"Rock, I need to know why you went so far away after we...last Sunday."

"It's nothin' important."

"Yes, it is. It is to me." She turned sideways in the bucket seat. "Every time I think we're
becoming friends, you run away. You go hide, somewhere inside yourself, and you...you sulk."

"The hell I do!"

Whoops! She'd picked the wrong word that time. But how else to describe his behavior?
"Whatever you want to call it, you get all surly and withdrawn. Is it something I do?"

He didn't answer. She looked at him, at his strong profile. He appeared relaxed, one arm
draped along the window, the other stretched out holding the steering wheel, but the knot at the side
of his jaw belied his pose. He was wound like a tight spring, and she didn't know what was causing
his tension.

Darn it! She'd never forgive her family for doing this to her. Every time Rock--or any man
she dated, for that matter--tightened up or got angry, she immediately wondered what she'd done
wrong. From her earliest memory, she'd learned not to anger the men in the house. She couldn't
remember ever seeing her father lose his temper, for no one ever disagreed with him. Nor had they
with her grandfather.

Her family's reaction when she'd received her acceptance from graduate school was a good
example of how the Forsythe men wanted to decide everything....

"Mom! I got it! I got it!" No matter that she was late for her statistics class. She'd called
home as soon as she opened the letter.

"Not so loud, Genille, please. You're breaking my eardrum." Her mother was calm as ever.
"What did you get? And why are you phoning in the middle of the day. Don't you know it's much
cheaper after--"

"Mom, listen to me. This is more important than saving a few pennies. I'm going to
Harvard for graduate school!"

"Oh, dear. I was afraid of this. Your father will--"

"Mom! Listen! They only take the best, and they want me. Me!" She was practically
incoherent in her joy, but now she wondered how her father would react when he heard. "I'll come
home this weekend," she said. "Don't tell Pop. Let me do it."

"That would be best," her mother agreed. Genny knew she would do almost anything
before she would break the news to Waldo Forsythe that his youngest child and only daughter was
still serious about becoming an anthropologist. Mom worked hard at not upsetting her
husband.

Genny almost looked forward to doing so this time.

"Fool notion," Pop said at dinner on Saturday, when she showed him her acceptance letter.
"Your mother was a teacher. All your aunts. Don't know why you have to be so different."

"Make a lot more sense if you were to study something practical," Avery agreed. Her oldest
brother had never understood her curiosity about other peoples, other cultures.

"Next thing, you'll be wantin' to go off somewhere and dig up old bones," Carlyle, her
middle brother, said between bites.

"That's right," Genny said. "The sooner the better."

"What if I forbid it?" her father asked, his voice becoming stern.

Genny bit her lip. She'd never defied her father in her life, although she'd often wanted to.
Going to UNH had been the last thing she'd wanted, because it was too close to home. And that
had been why Pop had insisted, for he hadn't wanted his daughter so far away he couldn't keep track
of her. "There's a teaching assistantship available," she said. "I can live on that."

"In Boston?" Her mother was clearly disbelieving.

"If I have to." She took a deep breath, looked her father straight in the eye. "It's what I
want to do, Pop."

"Oh, Genille, perhaps you should do as your father says. He knows what's best for you,
after all."

"No, he doesn't, Mom. You may let him decide how you should live your life, but he's not
going to do it for me." Genny felt her heart pounding hard against her ribs. She had never really
stood up to Pop before.

"You won't get any money from me," he said, glowering. "I'll help you if you want to stay
on in Durham and get your teaching credentials, but I won't give you a penny for Harvard."

"You're helping Ev at Cornell," Genny challenged. Her youngest brother was studying
veterinary science.

"He's doin' something worthwhile." Pop stood up, his signal that dinner was over and it
was time for them to get back to work. When he and her brothers had left the dining room, Genny
glared at the table. Would it have been too much work for them to take their dirty plates to the
kitchen? "Mom, don't you ever get tired of cleaning up after men?"

Margaret began gathering soiled plates and stacking them. "Of course not. Waldo has his
work and I have mine. We don't get in each other's way." She smiled at Genny. "If you're set on
going down to Harvard, you can probably stay with Sophie. I'm sure she would be happy to have
you."

Grateful for even a small sign of approval, Genny smiled back. "I'll manage on my own,
Mom. To show Pop I can, if for no other reason."

If only Mom had understood her dreams the way Sophie did. How could an intelligent,
educated woman like her mother be so...so passive?

When Genny left home, she swore she'd never again deal with anyone on that level. If she
wanted something, she'd ask for it. If she disagreed with someone, she'd say so. And if her
conscience dictated she act a certain way, she would, no matter who--man or woman--told her not
to.

Her father and brothers hadn't quite forgiven her yet. She still wouldn't argue with them.
The habits of a lifetime aren't broken overnight, after all. She simply smiled sweetly and went ahead
with her plans, no matter how often or how forcefully she was advised otherwise.

But she would argue with Rock and she would disagree with him. And she would never,
never let him make her decisions for her.

Thank heaven for Sophie. She was as successful as any man of Genny's acquaintance. And
Cousin Evelyn. She'd doctored half the county, back home, and now her daughter, Caroline, was
taking over her practice. If Genny hadn't had a few female role models, she might have turned out
as compliant and devious as her mother. Not that Mom didn't have to be, now, but it was her own
fault for not standing up to Grandpa and Pop from the beginning.

Sudden deceleration pulled her out of a dozing introspection. "Why are we stopping?"
They were in Homedale.

"Hot," Rock said, wiping his brow. "We need some soda pop. And I need to check
Tequila." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Coke?"

"Diet Coke, please." She realized she had spent the last thirty-odd miles lost in
introspection. Rock must think her pretty poor company.

Soon he returned, handing her an icy cold can of soda. "Have a good nap?"

"I wasn't sleeping," she protested. "I was thinking."

"Pretty relaxing thoughts," was all he said.

She opened the soda can and took a long swallow. "Ah, that's good." He again sat relaxed
in the driver's seat, elbow out the window, right hand draped at the top of the steering wheel. Genny
looked at the dashboard. "Rock, why aren't you using the air conditioning? It must be ninety-five."
The cold soda made her realize just how hot and sweaty she was.

"I like the wind," he said. "Does it bother you?"

She realized that she, too, liked the feel of the dry desert air ruffling her hair and drying the
perspiration on her brow. How she had changed in two short months. The first hot day, in her BLM
pickup, she had wished fervently for air-conditioning. Now she never thought of it as she traveled
the back roads on the District, seeking archaeological and historical places. "No," she admitted, "I
like it too."

His smile showed surprise. And approval.

Rock watched her as she slept. Her eyelids were delicately lavender, her cheeks palely
peach. Her silver hair was pulled up and back through the hole of a bright blue billed cap today, a
cap with the legend "Live Free or Die" across its front. Wasn't that the slogan of New Hampshire?
He thought so.

It would do for Owyhee Country, as well. For Owyhee Country and Rock
McConnell.

He didn't like towns and he didn't like crowds. Even the rodeo crowd in a little place like
Vale had been a little much for his comfort, today. He didn't even like fences, not when they were
around him.

Lately, though, he'd been feeling fenced in. This afternoon, he could almost feel the gate
closing for the last time.

No, damn it! He wasn't gonna let Genny Forsythe, tenderfoot from New Hampshire that
she was, catch him in any kind of corral. A romp in the hay. That's what he wanted from her.
Another afternoon's pleasure like last Sunday had been. Afterward he'd take her home, and not see
her again until the next time he was feeling horny.

"This is incredible country," she said, as they climbed the Squaw Creek grade. "So rugged
and harsh."

"Not like New England," he agreed.

"No less beautiful, though. I love the feeling of space, the way I can see a hundred miles."
She pointed to the right, where the spine of the Owyhee Mountains was visible through a road cut.
"Look at that view! I couldn't see a tenth that far at home, not unless I were to climb a high
hill."

"It's a hard land," he said, wondering if she'd guessed his feelings about her delicacy and
was trying to convince him otherwise. "Hard and lonely."

"That's part of its charm. The emptiness. Oh, Rock, sometimes I felt so penned in, so
overwhelmed by people, back in New Hampshire. Sometimes I wanted to be a hermit, just so I
could be alone."

Sure you did, babe,
he said to himself. Aloud he said, "You'd get tired of being alone
pretty quick."

Something in his tone must have intimidated her, because she said nothing more, all the
way to his ranch. Out of the corner of his eye, he continued to watch her. She was a real tourist, for
all that she'd spent a good bit of time in Owyhee Country. Of course, that was in the Vale District,
just over the Oregon line. She probably hadn't been over this way except for that day he'd brought
her in the 'copter.

No matter. Idaho and Oregon weren't much different, here in Owyhee Country. A few
hundred people, a few thousand jackrabbits, and a few million sagebrush. That's all there was. Them
and a lot of open range.

He'd give her one winter, then she'd be ready to call it quits. One winter, when the wind
never quit howling through the canyons and the land turned gray and forbidding. That's what had
got to Selma, that and the loneliness.

Poor Pa. Along about January every year, Selma had started talking Arizona, and Pa had
always given in. Given in and given up, Rock figured. They'd go down to Tucson, where Pa had
bought the city bitch a fancy condominium and joined the country club. He'd even taken golf
lessons, the first winter.

Golf lessons, for cryin' out loud! His Pa, tall and strong, weathered and lean, chasin' a little
white ball over manicured lawns all day long.

The last time they came home, Pa had looked every single day of his seventy years, and
then some. He'd been thin, like it wouldn't take much of a Chinook wind to blow him away, and
pale, despite all those days playin' golf. And he'd not seemed to care about the ranch, that
summer.

Selma had tried her best to talk Pa into seeing a doctor, when he started failing, but he
wouldn't listen. The old man had been miserable with her, and Rock figured he had made up his
mind to get out of his marriage the easiest way he could. And he'd succeeded, dying right after Labor
Day two years ago.

Selma hadn't grieved much. Not after she learned that all Pa had left her was some stocks
and bonds. He'd signed the Rock and Rye over to his son the day before he'd married her, proof to
Rock that he'd not been quite as smitten as he'd seemed. Lonely more like.

Rock knew lonely. But he wasn't gonna take Pa's way out of it.