engaged in some mindless task.
He had some pretty deep thinking to do, that was for certain. Never in his life had he failed
so spectacularly in reading horses, weather, or women as he had with Genny Forsythe.
The sun and solitude gradually had its way with him. The tenseness in his jaw relaxed, as
did the stiffness in his neck. Gradually he fell into the swing of Bourbon's gait, instead of fighting it.
By the time he'd found and fixed the first loose wire, he was feeling pretty good.
In his deep cogitations, Rock had let Bourbon go where he pleased, so he wasn't surprised
when willow branches brushed his face. Even the horses knew their way to this spring, the source of
sweet drinking water for the whole ranch. The horse lowered his muzzle into the tank.
Rock dismounted and picked up the tin cup hanging from a nail driven into the tree.
Sipping, he pondered his behavior ever since meeting Genny Forsythe.
She'd reminded him of Selma from the very first. Perhaps it was the silvery hair--straight
out of a bottle, he'd figured, although he hadn't yet seen any sign of the dark roots that Selma had
frequently allowed to show, between trips to the beauty salon up in Ontario. The long red fingernails
hadn't helped, either, nor had the little gold studs, three in each ear. He sure couldn't see why any
woman would want to disfigure herself like that, particularly one as pretty as Genny Forsythe. Of
course, all his Basque girl cousins wore earrings, practically from birth, but that was different. It was
cultural, and besides, they only wore one to a side.
Too bad she got under his skin the way she did. He still wanted her, was still determined to
have her. Only trouble was, it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd first figured. He was going to have
to exert himself a bit. Butter her up a little, sugar coat the pill, so to speak.
He'd been raised to be a gentleman. Ma hadn't stood for any slacking. Hats off in the
house, "ma'am" to the ladies and "sir" to the men, real napkins on laps and no elbows on the table.
What's more, he'd always thought of himself as a gentleman, kind to kids and puppies, polite and
deferential to women--unless they asked for something else--and easy to get along with in general.
And yet, from the first moment he'd seen her, Genny Forsythe had roused a savage, uncivilized
beast within him. He wasn't sure why that was, but he was gonna find out.
He took a last long, satisfying swallow before hanging the cup back on its nail. Yep. He
was gonna have to woo Genny, and it promised to be an interesting, possibly even exciting,
experience.
At the end of the chase, when she lay warm and slumberous in his arms, exhausted from
his loving, he would finally be able to forget her and get his life back together.
* * * *
"Ms. Forsythe, Rock McConnell here."
Genny had to force her hand to hold the receiver to her ear, instead of slamming it into its
cradle as her first instinct demanded. He was speaking softly, without the slow, sardonic drawl that
had, so far, always spelled trouble between them.
"Good evening, Mr. McConnell. What can I do for you?"
Pause, and the sound of throat clearing.
She waited.
"I...I, ah..."
"Yes?"
"I called to thank you for finding the people to look over the Shinbone. Pancho said we're
lucky to get 'em here this summer."
"That's right." She wasn't going to be nice, darn it, no matter how his slow, deep voice sent
tingles up from her toes. She'd be coldly professional, to show him she couldn't be pushed
around.
It was a good thing Pancho had answered the phone this morning. She'd been all ready to
give Rock a piece of her mind, along with the news that the Ainsworths were available. That would
not have been professional.
His voice intruded on her thoughts. "I beg your pardon?"
He chuckled.
The tingles climbed up behind her ears, making the hairs tighten at her nape.
"I said I also wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. I made some
accusations that were way out of
He had some pretty deep thinking to do, that was for certain. Never in his life had he failed
so spectacularly in reading horses, weather, or women as he had with Genny Forsythe.
The sun and solitude gradually had its way with him. The tenseness in his jaw relaxed, as
did the stiffness in his neck. Gradually he fell into the swing of Bourbon's gait, instead of fighting it.
By the time he'd found and fixed the first loose wire, he was feeling pretty good.
In his deep cogitations, Rock had let Bourbon go where he pleased, so he wasn't surprised
when willow branches brushed his face. Even the horses knew their way to this spring, the source of
sweet drinking water for the whole ranch. The horse lowered his muzzle into the tank.
Rock dismounted and picked up the tin cup hanging from a nail driven into the tree.
Sipping, he pondered his behavior ever since meeting Genny Forsythe.
She'd reminded him of Selma from the very first. Perhaps it was the silvery hair--straight
out of a bottle, he'd figured, although he hadn't yet seen any sign of the dark roots that Selma had
frequently allowed to show, between trips to the beauty salon up in Ontario. The long red fingernails
hadn't helped, either, nor had the little gold studs, three in each ear. He sure couldn't see why any
woman would want to disfigure herself like that, particularly one as pretty as Genny Forsythe. Of
course, all his Basque girl cousins wore earrings, practically from birth, but that was different. It was
cultural, and besides, they only wore one to a side.
Too bad she got under his skin the way she did. He still wanted her, was still determined to
have her. Only trouble was, it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd first figured. He was going to have
to exert himself a bit. Butter her up a little, sugar coat the pill, so to speak.
He'd been raised to be a gentleman. Ma hadn't stood for any slacking. Hats off in the
house, "ma'am" to the ladies and "sir" to the men, real napkins on laps and no elbows on the table.
What's more, he'd always thought of himself as a gentleman, kind to kids and puppies, polite and
deferential to women--unless they asked for something else--and easy to get along with in general.
And yet, from the first moment he'd seen her, Genny Forsythe had roused a savage, uncivilized
beast within him. He wasn't sure why that was, but he was gonna find out.
He took a last long, satisfying swallow before hanging the cup back on its nail. Yep. He
was gonna have to woo Genny, and it promised to be an interesting, possibly even exciting,
experience.
At the end of the chase, when she lay warm and slumberous in his arms, exhausted from
his loving, he would finally be able to forget her and get his life back together.
* * * *
"Ms. Forsythe, Rock McConnell here."
Genny had to force her hand to hold the receiver to her ear, instead of slamming it into its
cradle as her first instinct demanded. He was speaking softly, without the slow, sardonic drawl that
had, so far, always spelled trouble between them.
"Good evening, Mr. McConnell. What can I do for you?"
Pause, and the sound of throat clearing.
She waited.
"I...I, ah..."
"Yes?"
"I called to thank you for finding the people to look over the Shinbone. Pancho said we're
lucky to get 'em here this summer."
"That's right." She wasn't going to be nice, darn it, no matter how his slow, deep voice sent
tingles up from her toes. She'd be coldly professional, to show him she couldn't be pushed
around.
It was a good thing Pancho had answered the phone this morning. She'd been all ready to
give Rock a piece of her mind, along with the news that the Ainsworths were available. That would
not have been professional.
His voice intruded on her thoughts. "I beg your pardon?"
He chuckled.
The tingles climbed up behind her ears, making the hairs tighten at her nape.
"I said I also wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. I made some
accusations that were way out of
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