The ticking of the bedside clock was an incessant aggravation as Kelly sat on the edge of the bed, her mind busily and fruitlessly trying to analyse her reactions to Grey Scofield. A hateful man! His dominant masculinity and her total inability to fluster him in any way only made his presence impossible for her to ignore, and she resented that fact as well.
Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the .sight of him along with the memory of her weird dream, but her mind insisted on conjuring up the vision of his massive, muscular chest and shoulders, and the trim, taut stomach above the towel. And those horrid, mocking, all-seeing eyes ...
Finally the clock gave her no option. If she was to visit her father again she couldn’t hide in the room any longer. She slipped into the bathroom only long enough to tidy her hair, trying vainly to shut her nostrils against the heady scent of man that seemed to pervade the still- steamy room. Then she swept up her handbag, straightened her shoulders and walked quickly towards the living room and the front door.
‘Coffee’s made, if you want some,’ Grey’s voice growled from where he sat in a large easy-chair. Dressed in a dark business suit, the white shirt gleaming against the depth of his tan, he rose lightly to his feet as she entered the room and seemed to tower over her like a living mountain.
‘No ... no, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m going to visit Father and I’m late already.’
‘Okay,’ he shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him at all. ‘You staying over tonight?’
‘Stay the night? With you here? I should certainly hope not!’ Kelly thought, not realising she had thought out loud until his rude laugh erupted like a gunshot in the room.
‘I wasn’t planning to stay over myself,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I had hoped to be able to buy you dinner. Should have known better, I suppose.’
‘You certainly should,’ Kelly replied with a primness that almost made her giggle. The humour of the entire situation had suddenly dawned on her, but she was determined not to let him realise that.
‘Well, if you change your mind I’ll be here between six and seven,’ he said. ‘After seven the house is yours, and I can assure you there’ll be no nocturnal visits from me, at least. But Leduc’s in town, and I’d better warn you that he uses the house too, so be careful how you wave that carving knife around or your dad’ll be looking for a new second-in- command.’
Kelly was staggered by the information. How many people, she wondered, were likely to use her father’s house as a convenient hotel when they were in town? And worse, why hadn’t anybody so much as mentioned it to her?
‘Only the two of us,’ said Grey as if reading her mind. ‘And your dad probably would have mentioned it, except that neither Leduc or I do much more than just clean up here and sort of keep an eye on the place. There are ... other places to sleep, as a general rule.’
The innuendo was thinly veiled, and for some reason it refuelled Kelly’s anger about the thing.
‘I wonder why your girl-friends won’t let you have a shower there as well,’ she said over-sweetly. ‘Or don’t you pay them enough?’
And as Grey’s eyes blazed with sudden anger, Kelly strode through the front door and slammed it angrily behind her. She walked down the sidewalk to the street, resisting the urge to turn and stick out her tongue at him. He was watching her; she could feel it like a rifle sighted between her shoulder-blades. And by the time she had driven through the afternoon streets to the hospital, she was already regretting her words as having been impetuously childish and provocative.
Her father wasn’t the only one to appreciate her new dress, Kelly found when she arrived at the hospital. But it was the gleam of satisfaction in Geoff Barnes’ eyes that pleased her best, rather than the low whistle of appreciation that issued from Marcel Leduc.
The French-Canadian murmured several rather bawdy compliments in his own language before suddenly remembering that Kelly would understand them, whereupon he had the good grace to flush slightly, but it didn’t stop him from insisting that they should celebrate her visit to town by going to dinner.
‘I must be going back to Peace River straight away afterwards,’ he said, as if reading her mind as she thought of sharing the house with him, and Kelly agreed on the dinner date despite a cautious voice inside her shouting loud warnings. Still, she thought, Grey Scofield had said he wouldn’t be staying the night, and it was her father’s house after all.
‘You’ll want to clean up and change, of course,’ she told Marcel, who looked almost surprised at having been accepted. ‘Why not stop by the house at, say, six o’clock? We’ll have a drink before dinner, eat early, and you can still make it to Peace River at something like a reasonable hour.’
‘Bien’ he replied, then excused himself to go and finish his day’s business. Kelly spent a few minutes with her father, outlining her plan to stay overnight and get an early start for the camp in the morning. She thought of mentioning her chagrin at not being informed about the apparent house-sharing arrangement, then decided against it after looking at how tired he seemed.
Instead, she went straight home from the hospital and brewed up a pot of tea. Changing back to her jeans and work blouse, she sat in the kitchen and sipped at the brew as she contemplated the reactions when Marcel and Grey found themselves together in the house later that evening.
Just before six, she changed into the pale green dress she had bought, adding a touch of perfume from her handbag and idly wishing she had brought along some proper jewellery. Her watch, with its serviceable leather strap, would be staying at home for certain, and she could only be grateful that pierced ears ensured the minimum tiny gold hoops she wore all the time.
Grey was the first to arrive, and Kelly forced herself to be hostess-like and pleasant to him, seating him comfortably in the big easy-chair and even bringing him the Scotch and soda he warily requested at her insistence.
No mention of the day’s earlier encounter; they engaged in absurdly trivial small talk for the ten minutes it took before Marcel Leduc knocked politely at the front door and then entered with a suit-bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
Kelly rushed to greet him, positioning herself in such a way that he was forced to hand her the wine bottle and accept the kiss she pressed on his cheek in return. His surprise was evident, but he hid it well before looking up to meet Grey’s eyes and return his greeting.
Even the small talk died as Marcel adjourned to the bathroom to shower and change, but Kelly could feel Grey’s eyes following her every move as she opened the wine and brought out, significantly, two glasses. Then she pretended surprise.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Scofield. Would you like a glass before you go?’ she asked with sickly sweetness and a secret satisfaction at the gleam in his eye.
‘No, thanks, I’m in a bit of a rush,’ he said quietly, hardly bothering to hide what they both knew was a lie. He had been in no hurry at all, and would have enjoyed staying just to dampen the party, but Kelly had to admire his almost arrogant acceptance of her gentle prodding.
‘Well, have a nice evening, then,’ she smirked. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you in camp tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps,’ he replied, turning away so quickly she couldn’t tell if her gibe had got home or not. Kelly’s eyes followed him as he walked to his waiting truck, and she wasn’t surprised when he looked back with a casual, frivolous wave.
The rest of the evening, from Kelly’s point of view, could only be termed a disaster. It wasn’t at all Marcel’s fault; the French-Canadian was, if anything, just too gallant and charming for words.
The problem was Kelly herself, and she realised it within five minutes after they arrived at the Golden Star Chinese restaurant in the hired car Marcel had arranged because, in his words, ‘one does not take a beautiful woman to dinner in a pick-up truck’.
Kelly had laughed at the formality of such a move, although she did it in such a way that Marcel could only interpret her laughter as a gesture of appreciation for his th
oughtfulness. He would have been less pleased, she knew, at her immediate thought that Grey Scofield would never have made such a gesture unless his truck was filthy inside. The grey-eyed camp boss would have automatically presumed that any woman accepting his company would be far more interested in him than his choice of vehicle.
Worse, at least in Kelly’s case, he would have been right. Throughout an excellent Chinese dinner in which Marcel kept her exceptionally well entertained, Kelly found herself coping as if she were divided into two people. One Kelly laughed at Marcel’s jokes and appreciated his gay flirting and Continental charm; the other wondered where Grey Scofield was dining; and with whom. And wondering, indeed half hoping, that he would be interested enough to check the house later that night to see whether Kelly spent the night alone or not.
Her sleep that night was as fitful as had been her nap in the afternoon. She got to bed before eleven o’clock, after sitting alone for an hour after Marcel dropped her off.
She had been of two minds about his unexpected coolness at the end of the evening, not sure if she was upset or relieved that he had used his long drive as an excuse for the early night and never so much as tried to kiss her goodnight. She had sensed from the beginning that Marcel was an experienced womaniser, but thought she had hidden her own mental divisiveness throughout their dinner date.
But had she? Or had the part of her mind that was preoccupied with thoughts of Grey Scofield communicated her interest in ways that a man of Marcel’s experience couldn’t miss? She knew that her eyes had. subconsciously followed every arrival in the restaurant, that only a part of her mind had been in play while Marcel was plying her with wine and repartee.
And after he had left her with an almost coldly formal adieu, a major part of her consciousness was glad to see the back of him, so that it could concentrate on dealing with this unexpectedly disturbing fixation about Grey Scofield. Grey’s name hadn’t even been mentioned during the evening, but Kelly knew his presence had been like a ghost at their dinner table, though if Marcel had realised it too he had given no obvious sign.
Only that last-minute coolness, which might have simply been a response to her own. Still, it was mildly disturbing. Bad enough one man who seemed able to read her mind; two would be three too many.
Alone in her bed, she tossed and turned in a fitful attempt at sleep that had her prowling the empty house after midnight, wondering if Grey really did check up on whether Marcel had stayed. And again at two a.m., when some slight noise brought her restlessly and fearfully awake to stalk silently through the darkness, checking doors and windows without finding any reason for her concern.
By four a.m. she had had enough, and after dressing quickly and brewing a Thermos of tea, she slipped through die lightening dawn to start up her truck and head southward to Kakwa camp. She could sleep the afternoon away, if necessary, she decided, but even going without sleep would be better than the vague disquiet she felt at the moment.
The drive south was refreshing despite her lack of sleep. She had barely crossed the Wapiti River when a young bull moose shambled out into the roadway ahead of her, dancing along in front of the truck for several hundred metres in that curious rocking gait that looked so ridiculous and yet covered the ground more swiftly than any horse. Kelly laughed at the animal’s drooping snout and ungainly trot, thinking that it looked for all the world like a cross between a camel, a mule and a hat-rack.
An old black bear crossed the road ahead of her near the base of Chinook Ridge, rollicking along like a drunken sailor as it spooked upon seeing the truck. She drew abreast of the animal just in time to see the cause of its concern, a cub that was being boosted into a tree just inside the timber.
She was wide awake if slightly lightheaded when she rumbled down the final incline to where the track forked at the Kakwa River, one section veering slightly left towards the old ford, and the other turning hard right to the Kakwa camp itself. The sun was well up despite the early hour, a blessing since the air was still chilly in this altitude, and Kelly stopped her truck and sat for a moment watching the reflection of the sun on the shimmering, tinkling waters of the river. Such clarity, such relatively unspoiled purity, she thought, and for a moment was saddened by the continuing development that must eventually have its effect upon the high-country wilderness around her.
She looked downriver, where the crystal waters tumbled across gleaming gravel bars and widened slightly in the approach to the massive waterfall, and then suddenly she seemed to see her dream characters, misty in outline as the sun drew ghostly shapes from the chill of the water.
Kelly shook her head, suddenly frightened that the inexplicable dream should intrude upon her reverie. Damn Grey Scofield anyway, she thought, suddenly adamant in telling herself that he couldn’t possibly mean enough to her in any way to create such an effect. She didn’t even like the man. He was rough, and crude, and overbearing and dictatorial. Imagine thinking he could dictate her every move!
Looking downriver again, she was suddenly filled with an overwhelming desire to view the famous Kakwa Falls, and even as Grey’s warning about going anywhere alone seemed to boom through her mind, she angrily thrust it aside.
It took her only a moment to shift the truck on to the firm tussock-covered bank beside the track, and two minutes later she was walking swiftly down the narrow path beside the river. It was obviously a path beaten down by visitors to the falls, and although originally a game trail it was now so definite that she had little trouble following it.
She wound her way through the tall dark timber, treading carefully over upthrust, exposed roots and chunks of rock in the trail. To her right the river chuckled happily to itself, sometimes out of sight as the trail thrust its way upward to circumnavigate some obstacle, at other times within touching distance as the path wandered right to the riverbank.
It took less than half an hour before Kelly reached the first point at which the falls could be clearly seen, and the view absolutely overwhelmed her. Holding tightly to a mighty tree that clung right to the lip of the canyon, she could look directly down at where the river sprawled lazily against the bedrock before flinging itself down in a shimmering curtain to splash in a large pool far below her.
A huge outcropping in mid-river seemed to divide the waters like a parting in silver hair, allowing two distinct fronds to flow downwards until wind and distance united them again below the outcrop. And beneath it-could it be a cave?
She was too close to get a decent view, so after a moment she returned to the track and began to move even further downstream, now high above the diminutive stream so far below in a narrow, dimly-lit canyon.
The path was less tangible now, becoming more of a proper game trail because few visitors wandered so far. To Kelly’s inexperienced eye it was difficult to follow, weaving now close to the high rock walls and then inexplicably turning away to thread through the dense timber. After a few minutes she began to worry about her ability to find the way back to the truck, but she carried on, thrusting from her mind the possibility of getting well and truly lost. The river was there, wasn’t it? She could hear the thunder of the falls behind her even when they were out of sight. It would be impossible to get lost.
Still, at the first point where she struck what appeared to be a track veering right, closer to the now invisible canyon walls, she took it, and a moment later emerged in a tiny clearing created by the shade of a massive jackpine that perched like a castle on the rim of the canyon. Looking back, she could see the falls clearly for the first time, and the spectacular vista would have taken her breath away if she had had any left.
From nearly half a mile away, the immensity of the falls and the spectacular drop of the deep canyon fell into a perspective impossible to judge from up close, and Kelly understood fully for the first time why local conservationists were so keen to protect this glorious monument to nature. Entranced, she perched for a time on a protruding root of the massive, spreading tree, drinking in the splendour of the
view around her.
The utter stillness was so intense, so vivid, that she found herself thinking how true it was that one can sometimes actually hear silence. It was almost unnerving.
Below her, shadows danced with the water in the depths of the canyon, while in the falling waters upstream the sunbeams created a rainbow that almost perfectly framed the shallow cave below the falls. The scene was idyllic, and Kelly found herself growing drowsy in the warmth of the sunshine.
Enough of this, she thought. It was high time she was returning to the camp and her duties, or else she would find the abrasive Grey Scofield looking on her absence as the excuse to abuse her in some pointed way. Rising to her feet, Kelly threw one last glance at the beauty of the scene, then began to seek her way back upstream.
It was easier than she had thought; after only a few minutes she reached the fork where she had turned aside to the canyon rim, and shortly afterwards she found herself once again at the lookout directly above the thundering waterfall. Here she paused for another quick look downward, and it was as she straightened up that a flicker of movement in her side-vision brought her erect in wide- eyed horror.
Less than a hundred metres away, fur shining golden and frosty in the sunlight, was an enormous, shambling, humpbacked figure that brought Kelly’s heart to her throat. A grizzly bear!
The animal didn’t appear to have seen her, but was lazily pawing at some kind of burrow beneath a spreading tree root. Kelly was terror-stricken, almost paralysed with an unreasoning fear. Slowly, step by step and without taking her eyes from the huge creature, she began to back away, feeling for the trail without daring to look for it.
As she retreated, each step seeming an eternity in itself; her mind whirled with the kaleidoscope of bear stories her father had related to her on his infrequent visits during her childhood. A full-grown grizzly couldn’t climb trees. Or could it? She couldn’t remember, and it hardly seemed to matter since she, too, would be incapable of climbing a tree in her present state.
Wolf at the Door Page 8
