Never the Twain (21 page)

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.

"I don't know, Sophie. I haven't seen him since the reception." Genny stirred the soup,
thinking it didn't smell any more appetizing than anything else had for almost two weeks.

"Well, something certainly is bothering him. He's as cross as a bear. Pancho tried to find
out, but all Rock would say is that he's wasted enough time on nonsense this summer and it's time to
get some work done around here." She chuckled, and Genny could just see the indulgent smile her
aunt had been wearing ever since returning from her honeymoon. "Pancho immediately told Rock
he was taking his accumulated vacation and came home."

"Oh, my," Genny breathed. She sat down at the table, tucking the phone under her ear.
"What did Rock say then?"

"Pancho wouldn't repeat his exact words--as if I hadn't heard them all, but he considers me
a lady. He did admit they were profane, scatological, and accusatory."

"So what are you going to do while Pancho's on vacation? Travel?"

"No. If I can keep him from taking pity on Rock, he's going to help me paint the living
room. A soft mauve, I think. Or would ivory make it lighter?"

"Sophie! You can paint your living room purple for all of me. Tell me more about Rock? Is
he angry with Pancho?"

"My dear, he's angry with the world. Now, we would like you to come to dinner on
Sunday. The Pagoagas and the Beneventos will be here, and Claire Benevento's cousin from
Chicago, as well. He's about your age, and I thought you young people...well, you don't want Rock
to think you're pining for him, do you?"

She had to laugh. "No, I don't, and I'm busy Sunday. Look, my soup's hot and I've only
got thirty minutes before I'm supposed to be at Phyll's. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"We're going in to Boise to shop. Why don't I call you in a day or two. I'm beginning to
have a notion."

As she dished up her soup and set the bowl of fresh sliced peaches on the table, Genny
wondered how Rock was going to like having his life totally disrupted. Sophie's "notions" were
famous--or infamous. Usually complex, always devious, they were ostensibly for the good of the
people they affected. In execution they often seemed hilarious, as long as you weren't the
victim.

Genny figured whatever her aunt did to Rock would serve him right. She'd about decided
he wasn't worth the effort he would take to civilize.

He was so much like her brothers it scared her. All the years she had been growing up,
she'd fought to be her own person. And had been foiled at every turn.

Avery protected her, Carlyle smothered her, and Everett babied her. They all expected her
to follow their advice, let them do her thinking. And if her brothers missed scrutinizing some little
thing she wanted to do, her father didn't. None of them ever let her do anything they hadn't
planned, debated, and approved.

If it hadn't been for Sophie, Genny would have grown up completely unaware that she
could cope with the world, could take care of herself quite nicely, thank you, without a man to
supervise. For one glorious week every summer, Sophie had taught her she could do anything she
set her mind to. "I've always known you'd lead an exciting, adventurous life, Genille," she'd say at
least once during each of Genny's summer visits to her elegant apartment on Beacon Hill. "Why if
you'd lived a hundred years ago, you'd be another Diamond Lil or Calamity Jane. I can just imagine
how you'd..." and she would go off into a fantasy adventure eagerly shared by her
goddaughter.

Sophie encouraged her to be strong and self-reliant. "If a robber came through that door,"
she used to tell a pre-teen Genny, "you'd bite and scratch and scream until he'd be so frightened he'd
run away."

Another favorite had been, "I don't know the first thing about clothing styles, Genille.
Would you take me shopping while you're in the city?" This, from one of the most elegant, stylish
women in corporate Boston. Years later, when Genny finally became aware of the magnitude of
what her aunt had done, she'd often wondered if Sophie had ever worn the garments they'd selected
on those wonderful, adventurous shopping expeditions. Ever wore them after Genny returned to
New Hampshire, that is, for she had always worn them during their tours of all the museums and
historical sites within a fifty-mile radius.

On Wednesday, Sophie called back. "I have an idea, Genille."

Genny reached for her teacup and sat at the table. Sophie's ideas were better heard where
one wouldn't be hurt by fainting. "I'm listening."

"First I must ask, do you still care for Rock?"

"Yes!" As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Genny knew she'd been lying to herself
this past couple of weeks. Oh, sure, she'd been going through the motions of putting him out of her
mind--and her heart--but he was so firmly ensconced that it would take more than feeble resolution
and a little effort to uproot him.

Like the rest of her life.

"Well, then...." Sophie proceeded to outline her plan.

Genny's initial reaction was to refuse to have anything to do with it. It was too much like
something her mother would contrive.

"Now, Genille, you know a straightforward approach won't do. He's made up his mind
that you would wither and die in Owyhee Country--his very words, according to Pancho--and he
won't take the responsibility."

"That's the problem, Sophie.
He
won't take the responsibility. It's
my
decision to make. Not his."

"Of course it is, dear." Was that laughter in her aunt's voice?

"As long as he can't understand that, I don't want him."

"You don't?" Now disbelief was mingled with the repressed laughter.

Genny slammed her cup down on the table so hard that herb tea splashed everywhere.
"Okay! I
do
want him. Are you satisfied? But I can't do it. Besides, Aaron wouldn't go along
with it. Not in a million years."

"I've already asked him. He's delighted to help." Sophie sounded ready to purr with
satisfaction.

Genny gave up. "Count me in," she said, knowing she would probably regret it.

The only reason she agreed to go along with Sophie's outrageous notion was that she
hadn't been able to think of anything on her own. And if she wanted Rock, it was time for her to
fight for him, to force him to see her--Genille Enderby Forsythe--not Selma and not some stupid,
false impression he had of her. He had to wake up, see that she was the one, the only woman who'd
ever be right for him.

Rock was arrogant, rude, domineering, solitary, and stubborn. He lived up to his name,
unyielding and immovable. The chances of his becoming an equal partner in any relationship were
practically nil. He would be the boss, would always be sure that he knew what was best for
her.

But wasn't that same strength what made him the man she loved? Rock would always try to
dominate, but he would also be protective, generous, indulgent, and dependable. He would cherish,
love, sustain her all her life. For that, she could put up with his attempts at dominance, could learn
to fight when it mattered, and to give in when it didn't.

It was time for her to learn not to push back automatically whenever she was pushed. How
strange it had been to see a lifelong pattern fail to reestablish itself while her family was here....

"You'll be coming home for Christmas again this year," her father had said, as the family
were waiting in the Boise airport for their flight to be called.

She'd answered without thinking. "No I won't."

"Yes, you will," Carlyle said. "Sophie and Pancho will be coming East. Be silly for you to
stay behind."

Again her response was automatic. "Not if it's what I want to do." As soon as she spoke,
she realized that she didn't want to spend Christmas alone again. If Sophie and Pancho were going
to New Hampshire, the only reason she would stay behind was if Rock did, too. That is, if she and
Rock were together, a situation that had begun to seem unlikely even then.

Since her family's departure she'd given considerable thought to both notions--her
relationship with her father and brothers and her future with Rock.

Pop had seemed more mellow, Avery less protective, and even Carlyle had rarely tried to
tell her how to live her life during the week they were in Vale. Of course, she'd only seen them in the
evenings, but that hadn't stopped them, before. Back on the farm, it had often seemed like they
would save up a day's worth of interference and cram it into the few short hours between supper
and bedtime.

The only real confrontation between her and her male relatives had been that brief
skirmish at the airport. She'd automatically reacted to her father's orders, without even noticing.
Carlyle offered his opinion, and she'd immediately taken a contrary stand. And who had defused the
potential clash? Her mother.

"Genille might find a Christmas on Mr. McConnell's ranch more interesting," she'd said,
and suddenly all the Forsythe men were smiling and nodding their understanding.

It was possible she'd been interpreting peacekeeping as passivity all these years. Genny
wasn't ready to give her mother credit for a backbone quite yet, but she had to admit she might have
been guilty of misunderstanding a little.

Had she misunderstood Rock as well? From his first push--because he'd thought she was
sick and needing his help--she'd pushed back.

Perhaps her mother wasn't so much passive as practical. It might be better to wear away
Rock's resistance slowly and gently than to try and fight him for the rest of their lives.

If she ever got the chance, that is.

Rock had made no effort to see her, hadn't even called about his waterhole. She knew he'd
seen the Ainsworths leaving, so he had to be getting impatient. Genny was putting the paperwork
together as fast as she could. It was just that there was so much to do, tying up all the various
projects she'd worked on this summer.