'No dinner, no dance,' Mrs Jorgensen declared firmly. 'I know how the booze flows at these country dances, my lad, and while you mustn't take this personally, I don't think much of you going anywhere near that place on an empty stomach, not with the roads as they are.'
'Yes, Mother,' he replied dutifully, but didn't bother to try and hide the amusement in his eyes.
It wasn't until he'd gone that Seana realised she had nothing… absolutely nothing… that was suitable for any such occasion. But again Mrs Jorgensen came to the rescue.
'It isn't that I'm psychic, but I had a feeling this would happen when Ralph phoned the boss,' she said. 'So I brought along the caftan and your shoes and even a handbag that should go with it,' she laughed. 'And you'll probably start crying the blues now that Ralph's already seen you in that dress, but too bad.'
It wasn't Ralph's reaction Seana had been thinking of, but she wisely said nothing. Indeed, why should she even imagine Ryan might be attending the dance? He'd not mentioned it to her. Then she sobered; what right did she have to think he would mention it… if he were taking somebody else? She quickly thrust those thoughts aside and began planning for the arduous process of washing her hair and having a proper bath in the small plastic wading pool she had bought specially for that purpose.
Mrs Jorgensen took over the cooking duties that evening, declaring that there was a trick to dealing with fresh moose meat that Seana could only learn by watching. She sliced the tenderloin into thick two-inch slabs, then heated Seana's heavy cast-iron frying pan until it was smoking. When the coarse-grained meat hit the hot iron, that was a flash of searing, sizzling smoke, and almost before it had settled Mrs Jorgensen was turning over the slabs of meat to sear the other side as well.
Then she removed the whole thing from the stove and allowed the pan to cool somewhere before continuing to cook the steaks slowly. Ralph arrived just as they were done, and put his seal of approval on the process by eating three enormous-slices with fresh rolls and salad.
Seana was surprised at the delicate flavour of the coarse-textured meat, and the fact that once through the crusty, flavourful exterior, the meat was just cooked to that perfect state where rawness gives way to pink, tender succulence. She ate one small steak, then greedily devoured another, astounded at her own appetite.
The two women quickly cleared away the dishes, then Ralph was sent out to smoke on the porch while Seana changed into the caftan and finished her preparations for the evening. His approval was obvious when the transformation was complete.
'My, my… I'll have to carry around a big stick tonight just to beat off the competition!' he commented, and Seana was pleased that he didn't mention having seen the dress before. On his way back from patrol he had changed into a soft grey suit and looked quite terrific himself, she thought.
They escorted Mrs Jorgensen down the mountain and on to the paved highway leading to Spirit River, but when they turned in at Spirit River, she waved gaily and carried on towards home. A few moments later and they joined the ranks of vehicles, most of them pick-up trucks, outside the local community hall.
The hall, inside, was a kaleidoscope of moving, shimmering colour, with dancers in everything from blue jeans to ballgowns whirling to music so loud it was deafening. Within an hour, Seana felt as if she had been dancing all night, having hardly had a break since their arrival.
But now the pace was slowing, with only the more exuberant dancers whirling to the strains of a square-dance Seana knew she could never follow. Ralph had slipped away to—as he put it—consult with some of his acquaintances, and Seana was gathered immediately into a chattering clutch of women whose partners also had stepped out for some liquid refreshment.
There were no strangers in the group. Through the magic osmosis of the so-called moccasin telegraph, it seemed that everyone in the hall knew who she was, why she was there, and what role she played in the far-flung rural community. Several of the women claimed to have known her father; one or two even asserted to having seen Seana as a child, but they were united in assuring she could not feel left out. She had, indeed, already danced with several of the districts young men and was pantingly grateful for the chance to rest.
One of the women was busy relating a long-winded tale about something to do with moose when Seana's attention was suddenly diverted by a splash of colour near the door. From that instant she ceased listening, her every sense centred instead on the familiar copper brightness of hair and beard. Then the face of Ryan Stranger swam into focus, his teeth bared in a happy grin.
But the grin was not for Seana; it was for the tall, shapely girl whose blonde tresses streamed out behind her as Ryan immediately swung her into step with the music.
Where Ralph had gone to considerable trouble to dress for the occasion, Ryan—like many of the other men in the room—had equally obviously come straight to the dance from the bush. He was wearing the same faded shirt and scarlet vest as when Seana had first met him, and his sun-faded jeans hung down over fancy fringed and beaded moccasins.
And yet he didn't look scruffy or unkempt; merely primitive, alive with a vibrant, vivid life-force. He seemed to loom above all the other men in the place, including Ralph who was at least three inches taller. His dancing, she noticed, was exquisite; he moved on the dance floor as he did everywhere else, with the grace and smoothness of a huge cat.
He didn't see her. She made doubly certain of it by turning her back to the floor and pretending interest in the conversation around her. But a few minutes later Ralph returned and immediately swung her out into a change of tempo that had them waltzing slowly to music that was much more in keeping with the way they were dressed.
She allowed him to hold her a touch too close for comfort, unwilling to recognise the stubborn desire for Ryan to see them together, to notice her, to somehow be affected by the knowledge that she was attending the dance with somebody else. As he was!
She glanced past Ralph's massive shoulder, not even bothering, now, to try and convince herself that she wasn't deliberately seeking out Ryan Stranger and his lovely companion. And suddenly her eyes were captured by mocking green orbs that seemed to leap at her with animal vividness from only inches away. She saw one copper eyebrow raise slightly as Ryan nodded a greeting, but the bulk of her attention was caught by the girl with him, wrapped as close to Ryan as his shirt.
Seana nodded a greeting of her own, then deliberately turned back to snuggle into the hollow of Ralph's shoulder, angry that she should be so affected by the encounter. As they spun a moment later, she felt Ralph nod his own greeting to his friend, and wondered what, if anything, he would say when the number had ended.
She was slightly miffed, therefore, when the red-haired bushman didn't stop to visit with them during the ensuing interlude. He disappeared outside with his blonde companion almost before the music ended, and hadn't returned when the band finished its rest.
But if he was absent in person, he was all too obviously present in spirit, Seana found. It seemed his name was on the lips of almost every woman she spoke to during the break, and while several seemed intent on linking it with that of his blonde companion, several others found ways to associate Ryan with Seana herself!
Seana had thought herself quite well reconciled to the fact that few secrets existed in a community where radio played such an Important role, but she was stunned by the degree of knowledge displayed about her own situation and Ryan's involvement in it.
One woman, with even less subtlety than most, did her level best to prise still more information from Seana, while several others attempted to make far more than was warranted out of the fact that he hadn't yet asked her to dance.
Suddenly the evening took on a chilly aura, something alien and uncomfortable. Seana felt as if she was some sort of freak, displayed for the entertainment and amusement of the locals. And she didn't like it, not at all.
Worse, there was no escape. The evening, for these hard-working, hard-playing rural folk, was just beginning,
and for Seana to leave too early, even pleading the time-honoured excuse of a headache, would only lead to even worse speculation. That, she decided, was something she could very definitely do without.
So she danced with Ralph and the host of other young men who flocked around her like bees to honey, throwing herself into the dancing, forcing herself to exude the carefree spirit of the evening. Until the next bracket of slow waltzes, when she heard a familiar voice over her shoulder, and a familiar hand took her wrist to spin her close against Ryan's chest, her head tucked beneath the naming bush of his beard.
CHAPTER FIVE
'You seem to be enjoying yourself,' he muttered as she vainly fought against the mighty pressure of his arms. Seana didn't reply; she was too busy trying to stifle the thundering of her heart as it threatened to burst from her at the unexpected proximity of Ryan's body.
It was frightening. Here she'd been dancing all evening with a host of attractive and attentive young men, but only this one had the power to turn her knees to rubber, to make her pulse race with fearful awareness of him.
He didn't even appear to notice her struggles, but spun her through the tide of dancers with never a false step, never a hint that he knew—and he did!—how much his fingers at her spine were affecting her.
His every touch was a caress, a practised, deliberate effort to rouse her body to needing him, wanting him. And Seana did her absolute best to keep her reactions secret. She deliberately thought of Ralph, of a boy she had known at school, another at university. All to no avail. Before the first waltz was over she was attuned to Ryan's dancing style, moulded to him and flowing with him across the floor as if they were alone in the room.
He flatly, almost rudely, rebuked an attempt by one man to cut in as the second number began, and this time he kept Seana slightly removed from him, where he could look into her eyes as he talked.
'You didn't tell me you were coming here tonight.' It was almost an accusation, but not quite. And how to answer? She could be frankly honest, or…
'You didn't ask.' And there was no expression in her voice; she made certain of that.
'I wouldn't have thought you could get away.'
She laughed, cruelly and quite deliberately. 'There are ways of arranging these things.'
'Provided, I assume, that the incentive is strong enough.' And that definitely wasn't a question; the look in his eyes assured Seana of that much. His eyes were hard, flat, not angry but nonetheless chilling in their intensity.
'Frankly, I can't see what difference it makes,' she replied as lightly as she could.
'Obviously.' Then his eyes embarked on a minute inspection of her face, her hair, her throat. But still they remained hard, unwelcoming.
'Look, if it upsets you, there's no law says you have to dance with me,' Seana snapped, letting her own emotions slide just a trifle but not really caring.
'I make my own laws,' he replied with a grin that wasn't even remotely reassuring.
'So I've heard,' she retorted, 'although I didn't realise any of them involved turning a simple duty dance into some kind of interrogation.'
'Duty dance? Is that what you think?'
'Isn't it?' She kept her voice light, but her eyes were now as alive with emotion as his had ever been. Only it was anger, frustration at being unable to enjoy dancing with him as she had during the first number.
'Hardly. I've been wanting to dance with you ever since I realised you were here tonight,' he replied.
'So I noticed,' Seana replied drily, her eyes shifting to where Ryan's blonde partner was plastered up against Ralph, who didn't seem to mind a bit.
'Jealousy doesn't become you, lady-bug.' There was mockery in the voice, but something else, also.
Seana made her voice as cold as she could. 'Jealousy wouldn't even occur to me,' she replied. 'At least not where you're concerned. Or do you think I'm jealous of Ralph's attention to your… friend?'
He laughed, laughter like brittle spring ice. 'Try lover, it's a bit more accurate,' he said. 'Are you?'
'Am I what?' She had to ask that question; Ryan's previous statement had struck like a stiletto at her heart, especially after hearing comparable comments from some of the local women about his relationship with the blonde.
'Jealous of Ralph,' he chided. 'What's the matter… aren't you listening?'
Seana sighed. 'Not really, I suppose,' she replied. 'I don't really think any of this is important.'
His chuckle was ominous, almost threatening. 'I suppose all the barnyard hens have been cackling about me again,' he said.
Seana pulled back farther away from him, giving free rein to her growing anger and hurt. 'If they have, it could only be about your extraordinary conceit,' she snapped. 'Do you mind if we stop this now? I've had about all I can take.'
He smirked down at her, then raised his eyes and Seana followed his gaze to realise they were now on the edge of the throng closest to where the gaggle of local women was gathered.
'Not quite all,' he said—and grinned savagely before pulling her close to him, his mouth closing on hers with a deliberateness Seana couldn't resist. It was a brutal, demanding kiss, taking all and giving nothing. And yet it had the desired effect; despite her anger, she felt her body begin to respond to him, and he felt it too.
He crushed her closer, continuing the kiss beyond all logic, beyond her ability to breathe, to think. And when he finally released her, he made it brutally clear that the entire exercise had been tailored to his own peculiar logic.
'There! That'll give them something to really gossip about,' he sneered. And before Seana could react, could… hit him, kick him, fly into a screaming rage, whatever… he was gone. She was left standing there with her mouth open, stunned with the assault, the abruptness of his departure, but mostly by the knowledge that he was right. The women would talk. And she could only imagine too well what they'd be saying.
Ralph, fortunately, didn't talk about Seana's unnerving confrontation with Ryan. He'd seen it; she knew that. But gentle Ralph would never add to her pain by even mentioning it, and she was glad of his silent consideration during the long ride home to her cabin.
Equally pleasant was his reluctance to seek an invitation to stay… for whatever reasons. He merely kissed her lightly on the brow at the cabin door, voiced his goodnight, and was gone without the slightest bit of hassle.
If only her inner turmoil could be so easily dismissed, she thought as she lay sleepless long after he had driven back down the mountain. But Ryan Stranger had fixed that, and she knew she hadn't heard the last of the red-bearded bushman's deliberate lovemaking. With luck it would be only a nine-day wonder, but the isolated life-styles of most district residents could as easily make a full meal out of that single mouthful of deliberately-contrived gossip.
Seana tried counting sheep in a bid to get to sleep. Then she tried rabbits, deer and even moose. Nothing seemed to work. Her mind kept drawing up images of statuesque blondes and mocking, knowing green eyes, no matter what else she tried to think of. It was nearly dawn before she finally slept.
It was marginally easier in the morning, which arrived far too early for Seana's tired body. And it grew easier with each passing day, then, although the first couple were fraught with wisecracks over the forestry radio network and she was forced to reply with a lightness she couldn't feel.
Of equal concern was the growing spate of warm weather, combined with the onset of school holidays. As the bush grew steadily dryer, making it uncomfortable even in the pine-shaded cabin, Seana came to hate the holidays with a passion previously reserved for warm, sunny Sundays and thoughts of Ryan Stranger.
It seemed that each day was hotter than the one before, and each day also brought a new crop of visitors to White Mountain. Her daily routine became a treadmill of rising at dawn to perform her personal chores, then spending virtually the entire day explaining to people that no, they couldn't climb the tower for a look around, and no, their children couldn't climb it either, and no, her c
abin wasn't open for inspection… it was her home; and supposedly private. She eventually took to spending the entire day in the cupola atop the tower, having made a point of locking both cabin and car before taking her binoculars, books and radio equipment with her to the relative security above.
It meant a great deal of shouting down to visitors who all seemed incapable of understanding why they couldn't be allowed to join her, and often she found herself becoming violently angry as they swarmed round the cabin, peering into windows and scattering gum and candy-bar wrappings everywhere. But it did seem marginally better than having to confront them at ground level.
As July passed into August without let-up in the severe drought conditions, Foresty authorities attempting to restrict access to the forests had their hands full. It was worse for Seana, because she was almost surrounded by relatively settled country. People didn't look at the Saddle Hills as actual forest. There wasn't much evergreen timber among the welter of poplar and birch regrowth, and the convenience to Grande Prairie made the tower a favoured picnic spot for many weekend visitors.
With virtually all her acquaintances directly or indirectly associated with the Forestry Department, Seana got few really welcome visitors. Everybody she knew was too busy working for socialising as small fires cropped up almost daily somewhere in the region.
Ralph Beatty managed to stop by on the occasional Sunday evening, and between him and her forestry radio, Seana could keep a reasonable up-date on events in the district, but Ralph—either by accident or design—never mentioned Ryan Stranger, and Ryan himself never came near White Mountain Tower.
The most difficult aspect of Ralph's visits was her growing concern that he was becoming much too fond of her. Especially when he got on to the subject of his next transfer, expected within six months or a year, and how he could probably negotiate a relatively civilised posting, should he decide it was necessary. He was angling, working up to a proposal, and both of them knew it. But only Seana knew how futile it would be, and she couldn't quite find the words to explain.
Battle of Wills Page 8
