Leslie spent a tortured night trying to wrestle with the dilemma that faced her. She had lived with rejection all her life, and she'd thought she had developed an unbreachable psychological defense to protect herself. But Steve's discreet warning had wounded her deeper than any other rejection.
She couldn't fault him, for what he'd said was true. Their relationship was becoming too intense too quickly, and she was to blame. She had invested too much—her heart, her soul, her mind. She would pay for it with her future happiness and contentment. Yes, she would pay the price for loving him, and she would pay dearly.
Steve, on the other hand, had never considered having that intense an involvement. He looked on their association—outside their work, anyway—as a casual unfettered friendship. Unfortunately for him, the "casual attachment" was rapidly becoming cluttered with an intense physical attraction.
He liked her, but he didn't love her. And he had warned her in the most subtle way what his position was. She knew that somehow, some way, she had to get through the next two days without revealing to him the depths of her feelings. After Sunday there would be no logical reason for them to see each other again, for her work at Ramco would be completed.
Their contact would be severed, and she could disappear from his life as unobtrusively as possible. She didn't want to think about it. A future without Steve McRory in it was too dismal to contemplate.
Leslie felt as though she had just fallen asleep when she was awakened by sleepy grumbling from the crib. She forced her eyes open and flicked on the bedside lamp. Glen was hanging on the crib railing, scrutinizing her with solemn curiosity as he plucked distastefully at his thickly diapered bottom. His message was clear.
She glanced at her watch. It was only six o'clock, but perhaps this was his usual time for waking up. She changed him, then picked him up and cuddled him playfully against her. She was rewarded with a bright happy chuckle.
A convulsion of distress gripped her as a new realization penetrated the numbness that filled her. She had always wanted children of her own, but now... She closed her eyes and buried her face in the baby's soft curls as she fought to stifle the empty ache.
Glen protested about being clutched so tightly, and Leslie laughed weakly. "Come on, little man. I don't think either one of us will be able to go back to sleep, so I may as well fix you breakfast." She hitched him onto her hip and carried him into the kitchen, where she strapped him into his high chair and gave him some toys to play with. Then she scrambled him two eggs and prepared some toast.
At first she tried to feed him, but he let her know with a grunt of indignation and a shake of his head that he was determined to feed himself. She handed him the spoon, which he immediately flung to the floor. Grabbing a handful of egg, he stuffed it in his mouth with obvious relish.
Leslie laughed and ruffled his hair. "Barbarian!" He gave her a messy grin as he mashed a wedge of toast into a gummy ball and offered her a bite. She grimaced back at him. "No, thanks. Gooey toast has never been one of my favorites. Now, what would you like to drink?"
Glen obligingly burbled back at her, punctuating his jabber with a wave of his sticky fist.
Leslie grinned. "Milk it is!"
"I think it was a wild guess on your part, or could you really translate that?"
The bottom dropped out of Leslie's stomach, and she had to fight to keep her voice level. "Of course I can translate—he speaks fluent scribble." She forced a bright smile as she turned to face Steve. He was lounging against the fridge, dressed in hip-hugging blue jeans and a fisherman-knit sweater that somehow exaggerated his masculinity and his size. His tawny hair was disheveled and slightly damp from the shower, and Leslie had a nearly irresistible urge to comb her fingers through it.
She experienced another twist of panic as he straightened and walked toward her. The feeling evaporated, replaced by a surge of love when he caught her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the mouth.
His eyes were partially concealed by his thick sweeping lashes as he narrowed his eyes laughingly at her. "Am I to believe you're a linguist of sorts?"
Leslie's mind was signaling "beware," but her heart betrayed her and she grinned back at him. She
eased out of his embrace and brushed by him to get the milk out of the fridge. "Well, I suppose you could say that."
He swung the fridge door shut as she stepped away with the milk and a plastic bag filled with fruit in her hands. Then he straddled a chair and rested his arms across the back, watching her as she began to prepare a fruit salad for their breakfast. "You fascinate me, Miss Kairns. For an only child, you're particularly handy with kids.''
"I did volunteer work in the children's ward of a hospital. I seriously considered going into medicine at one point, but..."
Steve was eyeing her closely, and he caught the flash of pain that flitted across her face. "But you couldn't stand the thought of ever losing a patient."
There was no need for Leslie to respond, for he had made a perceptive statement of fact. He was silent for a moment then he said, "You, Leslie Kairns, are quite a woman."
But not enough of a woman for you, Steve McRory, she thought. She shut her eyes when she recognized her bitterness, silently resolving she wouldn't let that wasted emotion taint her time with him. She would gladly pay the price—even though it was a soul-destroying one.
By late morning Leslie was nearly at the edge of her limit. Her lack of sleep the night before had prompted a violent headache, which had made her slightly nauseous. The erratic movement of the helicopter as they swooped over the rolling terrain had compounded both the headache and the churning of her stomach.
"What's the matter, Dwarf?"
Leslie managed a wan smile. "I just have a headache."
Steve studied her pale face, overwhelmed by her large black eyes, which were glassy with pain. "You're as white as a sheet." He glanced at his watch, then looked out the cockpit bubble. "There's a clearing off to the west. We'll set down there for a bit of a breather." With that, he banked the machine.
"Steve, don't do that. I'll be fine."
"Hush, Leslie. You look like you're ready to collapse."
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. The concern in his voice nearly triggered her tears.
A few moments later there was a change in pitch from the engine, and Steve landed the craft. As the rotor blades whined to a stop he turned to face her and gently cradled her throbbing head in his hands. "Are you a little motion sick?"
"A little."
He stroked her high cheekbones with his thumbs, then kissed her forehead. "You sit here for a minute. Let me get things organized before you get out, okay?"
She nodded her head slightly, then closed her eyes. Steve climbed out of the helicopter, and Leslie was vaguely aware of the scrape of the picnic hamper Anne had sent being removed from the cargo compartment. There were sounds of additional rummaging, but Leslie concentrated on trying to ease the band of tension that encased her aching head.
When Steve opened her door, she swung her legs around in an attempt to climb down. He slipped his arm under her, however, and carried her out into the bright impotent autumn sunshine. She shivered slightly as the cool brisk wind penetrated her clothing. A few yards away there was a rocky outcrop, and he gently placed her in the cocoon of eiderdown sleeping bags he had arranged there. He tucked one around her small frame as she looked up at him ques-tioningly.
Steve smiled and explained, "Bob always has his aircraft equipped with survival equipment—the sleeping bags are part of the gear." He doubled the thickness behind her to form a comfortable pillow, then stood up.
"Steve—"
"Shh, Les. Just lie there quietly and I'll be right back."
Leslie closed her eyes and relaxed in the snug warmth that surrounded her. The huge boulders protected her from most of the wind, yet managed to capture what little warmth there was in the sun's ineffectual brightness. Her back was supported by a gently sloping slab of broken granite, which
cradled her as comfortably as a hammock. The fresh crisp air eased her churning nausea, but she still felt unsettled.
The rattle of loose pebbles on the rocky face heralded Steve's approach. She opened her eyes as he crouched down beside her. First he handed her a plastic mug filled with steaming tea, then he held out his other hand, exposing two small pink pills. "These are Gravol, Les—they'll help the queasy stomach."
Leslie shook her head in weak refusal. "No, I don't think I'd better. Gravol knocks me out."
"Take them. Our schedule isn't so strict that we can't take a bit of a break."
Leslie reluctantly took the tablets from him, swallowing the bitter medicine with a shiver. Steve sat down beside her as she drank the rapidly cooling tea. He took the empty mug from her hand and placed it on a little ledge, then he drew back the sleeping bag and slipped his arm behind her shoulders. Gathering her against him, he nestled her throbbing head on his shoulder, then pulled the sleeping bag around both of them.
Leslie was feeling too miserable to protest. The last thing she remembered before she drifted off to sleep was the soothing comfort of his arms and his deep even breathing.
"Leslie."
It was so quietly spoken that for an unfocused moment she thought she imagined it. Steve's breath was warm against her cheek, and there was an imperceptible tightening of the strong arms that encircled her.
"Les."
Leslie stirred against him and sighed. She didn't want to leave the protective shelter of his arms, but she knew she must. She tried to sit up, but Steve continued to hold her firmly against him.
"Feeling better?"
"Much." And she was. Her headache had dulled and her queasiness had disappeared.
"Do you think you could manage some lunch?" Anne's packed enough to feed an army."
Leslie smiled against his jacket. "I think I could eat my way through most of it myself—I'm starved."
Steve shifted slightly and pressed her closer against him as he twisted his arm so he could see his watch. "It's nearly one o'clock. We sacked out for over two hours."
"You too?"
"Like a rock." Steve continued to hold her, apparently in no hurry to move, and Leslie was more than content to stretch out the moments of intimacy as long as she could. He shifted his hold on her and slipped his hand to the back of her neck, and with his long strong fingers, began to massage the knot of tight muscles that were primarily responsible for her headache. Leslie relaxed under his ministrations and closed her eyes, acutely aware of the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her cheek.
"Why so tense, Leslie?''
Leslie's eyes flew open as she groped for a plausible answer. What could she say that would satisfy his shrewd mind?
"I'm—I don't know. Just tired, I suppose, and a little worried about the project."
Steve made no comment but caught her chin between his forefinger and thumb and tilted her head so he could see her face. His eyes were squinted against the glare of the sun. What was he thinking?
He pensively ran his thumb across her lips, his voice solemn. "I think I frighten you sometimes, little one—don't be."
Leslie felt her strength drain from her and a warm heady longing stir within her. She tried to still her racing pulse with a deep, tremulous breath. "I'm not frightened of you—I could never be frightened of you." It was no lie. She wasn't afraid of him, she was afraid of the way he made her feel.
That seemed to satisfy him, and he snuggled her against him and held her for another quarter of an hour. Finally he smiled at her and dropped a soft kiss on her upturned face.
He grinned wickedly, his voice suggestive. "Let's fly, my pretty."
Leslie grinned back at him as the last wisp of her blue mood was blown away by his teasing. "I think that means back to work, doesn't it?"
Steve nodded and sighed. "Unfortunately, that's exactly what I mean. Time's awasting!"
Leslie threw back the swaddling sleeping bag and stood up, then relished a long easy stretch. Suddenly the day held promise. Yes, Steve would be gone from her life very soon, but this day was still hers and she wasn't going to spoil it, or her measured time with him, by dwelling on the future. That would come all too soon.
They picnicked in the shelter of the rocks. After a second cup of coffee they loaded up the aircraft and embarked, once again in search of the elusive beach outcrop.
Leslie had trouble concentrating on the task before her. It had been an unusually long, unspoiled autumn, with the brilliantly colored leaves clinging persistently to their branches. The countryside was aflame with so much beauty that it made her ache inside.
The land was different from what she'd expected. She had always imagined the country around Grande Prairie to be heavily treed, but that wasn't the case at all. Rich rolling farmland swept off in a blaze of color to the eastern horizon. Huge farms with vast tracts of land could be seen from the air. Some fields were a muted gold from the stubble of harvest, some were black and rich with the fall plowing, and some were still green and lush, reluctant to give way to encroaching winter. Boundary lines flashed flamboyant oranges and reds as wild berry bushes rioted along the barbed wire fences. Ponds and lakes, bordered with the rust and bronze of wild grasses and bulrushes, glittered bright blue and silver in the brilliant sunshine. Farther west, agriculture and the forest industry went hand in hand, as fascinating as it was beautiful. The terrain became more rugged, more wild.
Up until then they had seen nothing that would correspond with the type of surface evidence they were looking for. They had begun their search at the southern rim of the basin and were working their way north by northwest. Leslie sighed. She was beginning to comprehend what a monumental task it would be. They could spend days searching.
An unusually sharp ridge came into view and Leslie experienced a flutter of expectation. "Steve, see that ridge off to the west? That looks promising."
"Okay—let's set down and check it out."
They hovered for a moment until Steve located a suitable landing site, then they dropped down. Leslie scrambled out and, crouching low to avoid the whirling blades, ran toward the ridge. Steve waited until the blades came to a complete halt, then jumped out and loped up the steep jagged slope to join Leslie.
She was inspecting the outcrop closely, determining the type of rock formation when he arrived. He watched her, his own face tense with anticipation as she hammered away some of the loose shale with her geologists hammer.
Leslie pursed her lips and shook her head. "This formation is delta plain, Steve. This isn't it, that's for certain."
Steve shrugged and pulled her to her feet. "Well, we'll just have to keep looking."
And they did. Over and over and over again, they repeated the same routine with the same results. Not one of the outcrops bore any evidence of the beach conglomerate.
The sun was drifting lazily toward the western horizon when Steve glanced at his watch, then stretched his shoulders wearily. "I think we may as well head for home, Les. We haven't that much daylight left, and it's going to take us nearly an hour to get back to the airstrip."
Leslie slouched back in her seat, totally disgruntled by the lack of success. "I won't argue with you. I don't know how you feel, but I've looked at enough delta plain and river channel conglomerate to last me a lifetime!"
Steve chuckled. "A great geologist I have here! Don't get discouraged, Dwarf—we'll find it!"
Leslie smiled at him wryly. 'This isn't exactly like looking for a prize in a box of popcorn, you know."
Steve's dancing eyes were masked by his sunglasses as he grinned at her. "But you have to admit, the element of suspense is somewhat greater."
"Who needs it?" she shot back.
He laughed, tipping his head back in what was now a very familiar and very dear mannerism. Leslie experienced a surge of awe as she watched him. His hair was tousled by the wind, and his tanned virile features were mellowed by his humor. Leslie refused to acknowledge the ache of despair that was nagging
at her.
They were off at sunrise the following morning to continue their investigation, both of them buoyed by a good night's rest. As on the previous day, they checked every outcrop that remotely resembled what they were searching for.
As the day wore on, their high spirits gave way to quiet seriousness. Bit by bit, mile by mile, they were working their way in a northwesterly direction. Now they were flying over northern British Columbia. Leslie was beginning to feel extremely concerned, and she could tell by the chiseled set to his jaw that Steve was feeling the same way. They had found a lot more evidence of delta plain and river channel, but nothing that even hinted at a pebble beach conglomerate.
"Steve?"
"What?"
Leslie swallowed, reluctant to give voice to her doubts. "I think we either missed it, or it simply isn't here. We've extended our search miles beyond the bounds we had established when we did the mapping."
"I know." His chin jutted with determination.
Leslie frowned unhappily. Had this entire exercise been a monumental wild goose chase? She looked out the window, her face miserable. Damn, it had looked so promising.
The terrain was becoming more and more mountainous. They were flying over a ridge, and Leslie glanced back at some of the cliff formations that were flashing past. An odd sensation of premonition snaked through her. She turned in her seat and looked hard. They were different...
"Steve, can you find a place to land?" Her voice was brittle with tension.
Steve shot her a penetrating glance, then nodded. Leslie's face was taut as he put the helicopter down on a plateau just above the formation. Leslie was out of her seat before he had a chance to question her. She slipped and slid haphazardly on the loose shale as she clambered down the rocky slope.
Later she could never remember how she managed to arrive at the cliff. She scrambled up the rough face, a hard knot of expectation restricting her breathing. She was swinging her hammer almost frantically when Steve joined her, his own breathing labored.
The rock face gave way under her blows, and Leslie scooped up a handful of the rubble. She held it in her hands as though it was something fragile and precious and a wave of exhilaration and relief slammed into her. She could barely speak. "This is it! Steve, this is it!"
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