Oregon. It's something else."
Marmalade looked interested, but had no answers for Genny. He was more concerned with
the empty water dish beside his food bowl.
"Why does he make me crazy?"
Operating on automatic, Genny filled the Thermos, packed a lunch, watered the cat, and
grabbed her gear bag. All the while, her mind chewed on the problem of Rock McConnell.
If she had any brains at all, she wouldn't get any more involved with him. He was another
despot, the kind of man who had to be the big boss. He probably thought it was a woman's role to
get up on Sunday morning and cook breakfast, to shop and clean and all those other domestic things
that had filled his grandmother's days.
Genny knew all about men like that. She'd lived with four of them.
Five, if you counted her Grandfather Forsythe, who'd dominated the household until his
death when she was about six. He'd been worse than her father and three brothers all together.
She often wondered if it was in the Forsythe genes, or just a learned characteristic. Winning
through intimidation--that's what her male relatives did. And in doing so, they wore away at one's
self-confidence, until you gave in because you'd forgotten that you could do anything else.
"'Bye, Marmalade. See you this evening." She waved at the cat, watching from the kitchen
window, and carried her bike down the back stairs. What a wonderful morning. The air, dry as
always, smelled clean and fresh. A faint tang of sagebrush tantalized, and the slight breeze ruffled
wisps of hair already escaping her braids.
She strapped the gear bag to her bike's carrier and mounted, looking forward as always to
the mile-and-a-half ride before she entered the office. She was finished with fieldwork for the week.
Her in-box was piled high with paperwork that could not be ignored and there were several phone
calls she had to return. Given the restless, uncertain mood she was in, sitting in the office was
absolutely the last thing she wanted to do. She needed to be out, away from even the small outpost
of civilization that Vale represented.
If only she could escape, today. She had a lot of thinking to do. Rock had such a strong
personality that she was very much afraid he would force her... No, face the truth, Genny. She
was afraid she'd fall so deeply under his spell that she'd slip back into the passive role she'd learned
so young and had fought for years to unlearn.
Chapter Five
"I don't see why Miss Forsythe would want to delay the project, Rock." Pancho's dark,
square face reflected the puzzlement in his voice. "Didn't she say that finding qualified people this
late in the season was often a problem?" He wrapped the thick roast beef sandwich in clear plastic.
"Perhaps we are fortunate that she was able to find someone available this year."
"By the time they get here, the summer's goin' to be half over!" Rock wished he'd been
here instead of Pancho, when Genny called. He'd have gotten some answers.
"Only a few weeks," Pancho said. "She thought they could be at work by the middle of
July."
"Hell's fire, Pancho! In a few weeks we could have the whole dam finished!" Rock scooped
his lunch from the counter. "Call her back...no, never mind. I'll talk to her." He stomped out,
knowing Pancho was chuckling behind his back.
He didn't know what was wrong with him. Most of the time he felt like a bronc with a burr
under its saddle.
With a wave, he headed for the corral, grateful for an excuse to do a little work for a
change, instead of sitting in his office. He had a dozen things to do of more importance than riding
fence, but this morning he needed to ride fence. Not in the pickup, either. He needed to do it the
old way, the way Pa and Gramps had, from horseback, armed only with a staple puller, a hammer,
and a bag of staples.
Shortly thereafter Rock spurred Bourbon into a canter, relaxing with the tranquilizing
effect of the big gelding's easy gait. He needed to think, and the best way to do that was while he
was
Marmalade looked interested, but had no answers for Genny. He was more concerned with
the empty water dish beside his food bowl.
"Why does he make me crazy?"
Operating on automatic, Genny filled the Thermos, packed a lunch, watered the cat, and
grabbed her gear bag. All the while, her mind chewed on the problem of Rock McConnell.
If she had any brains at all, she wouldn't get any more involved with him. He was another
despot, the kind of man who had to be the big boss. He probably thought it was a woman's role to
get up on Sunday morning and cook breakfast, to shop and clean and all those other domestic things
that had filled his grandmother's days.
Genny knew all about men like that. She'd lived with four of them.
Five, if you counted her Grandfather Forsythe, who'd dominated the household until his
death when she was about six. He'd been worse than her father and three brothers all together.
She often wondered if it was in the Forsythe genes, or just a learned characteristic. Winning
through intimidation--that's what her male relatives did. And in doing so, they wore away at one's
self-confidence, until you gave in because you'd forgotten that you could do anything else.
"'Bye, Marmalade. See you this evening." She waved at the cat, watching from the kitchen
window, and carried her bike down the back stairs. What a wonderful morning. The air, dry as
always, smelled clean and fresh. A faint tang of sagebrush tantalized, and the slight breeze ruffled
wisps of hair already escaping her braids.
She strapped the gear bag to her bike's carrier and mounted, looking forward as always to
the mile-and-a-half ride before she entered the office. She was finished with fieldwork for the week.
Her in-box was piled high with paperwork that could not be ignored and there were several phone
calls she had to return. Given the restless, uncertain mood she was in, sitting in the office was
absolutely the last thing she wanted to do. She needed to be out, away from even the small outpost
of civilization that Vale represented.
If only she could escape, today. She had a lot of thinking to do. Rock had such a strong
personality that she was very much afraid he would force her... No, face the truth, Genny. She
was afraid she'd fall so deeply under his spell that she'd slip back into the passive role she'd learned
so young and had fought for years to unlearn.
Chapter Five
"I don't see why Miss Forsythe would want to delay the project, Rock." Pancho's dark,
square face reflected the puzzlement in his voice. "Didn't she say that finding qualified people this
late in the season was often a problem?" He wrapped the thick roast beef sandwich in clear plastic.
"Perhaps we are fortunate that she was able to find someone available this year."
"By the time they get here, the summer's goin' to be half over!" Rock wished he'd been
here instead of Pancho, when Genny called. He'd have gotten some answers.
"Only a few weeks," Pancho said. "She thought they could be at work by the middle of
July."
"Hell's fire, Pancho! In a few weeks we could have the whole dam finished!" Rock scooped
his lunch from the counter. "Call her back...no, never mind. I'll talk to her." He stomped out,
knowing Pancho was chuckling behind his back.
He didn't know what was wrong with him. Most of the time he felt like a bronc with a burr
under its saddle.
With a wave, he headed for the corral, grateful for an excuse to do a little work for a
change, instead of sitting in his office. He had a dozen things to do of more importance than riding
fence, but this morning he needed to ride fence. Not in the pickup, either. He needed to do it the
old way, the way Pa and Gramps had, from horseback, armed only with a staple puller, a hammer,
and a bag of staples.
Shortly thereafter Rock spurred Bourbon into a canter, relaxing with the tranquilizing
effect of the big gelding's easy gait. He needed to think, and the best way to do that was while he
was
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