Steve knelt down on the ledge beside her and raked through the bits of rock in her hand. When he looked at her, his expression was fixed with excitement. Slowly he began to smile, as the realization finally penetrated. The smile changed to a dazzling grin as he caught her up in his arms and hugged her fiercely.
There was a peal of jubilant laughter. "We've got it. We've really got it!" He swung her around. "It's the old ocean bed! Listen, Les, just close your eyes and listen—you can damned near hear the surf crashing."
It was crashing through aeons of time.
THE TRIP BACK to Grande Prairie was a blur for Leslie. The only thing she was really conscious of was the sharp bite of the rocks she still clutched in her hand. She was grinning so broadly her face had gone numb. They had found it! They had really found it!
"Leslie, do you realize—do you comprehend the magnitude of this? This discovery today extends the boundaries by miles. Dwarf, this damned field is huge—it covers hundreds of square miles!" Steve gave a shout of elation and clenched his fist in exuberance. "Leslie, God bless you, you have discovered the largest field of natural gas in Canada!"
Leslie could only grin and clasp the pebbles tighter. She was beyond speech. She couldn't absorb it all.
Steve glanced across the cockpit at her and i laughed, his fee alive with excitement. "You look like you don't quite believe it."
"I don't.., I can't." She turned to face him, suddenly frozen with doubt as her uncertainty came rushing back. "Oh, Steve, what if it's a low-volume field, or worse yet, what if there's no gas there at fall?"
Steve reached across, caught her tight fist and squeezed it reassuringly. "There's gas and plenty of it—I know it!"
With a mixture of awe and fear Leslie opened her hand and looked at the pebbles lying in her palm. If only they could talk.
The rest of the afternoon was a rush of activity. Within half an hour of landing at the Jansen airstrip, Leslie and Steve were once again airborne in the yellow plane, this time destined for Calgary.
It was imperative that their well-planned strategy be put in motion immediately. Ramco had managed to acquire some key leases in the area, but now, since their discovery had extended the northwestern perimeter of the field, the company would want to expand their proposed land acquisitions dramatically. Steve wanted to contact his landman right away. All the precise map work they had done would now pay high dividends.
Leslie knew that Steve planned to obtain the surface rights through many different land brokers, thereby camouflaging Ramco's intentions from other exploration companies. No one would know that one company, and one company only, was going into Redwillow with a massive exploration program.
She also knew that he had three rigs and the support equipment on standby and ready to roll. They would move immediately onto leases already held by Ramco. The whole thing had to be done quickly and quietly. Word would be circulated that Ramco was drilling for oil, thereby diffusing any undue curiosity. The entire operation had the aura of a finely tuned commando raid. Time was of the essence, as was the element of surprise.
Leslie was still staggered by the find, but Steve was cool and competent, every inch an astute executive. He would be an imposing adversary, she realized.
It was late evening when they landed in Calgary. They went directly to McAllisters, and Ted was exultant at their news. Steve phoned John McRory, and with a nonchalance that astounded Leslie, he systematically activated the tactics he and Ted had so meticulously planned.
After the phone call, Ted and Steve discussed the operation, and blueprinted additional plans for the logistics support that would be required. Arranging for supplies, additional equipment and men to be on site at a specific date would be Ted's responsibility.
Leslie's head was swimming with a jumble of facts, figures and deadlines by the time Ted went to bed. Maggie had preceded him by an hour. She was on the sofa, staring into space, her feet propped on the coffee table. Sipping absently on a weak drink, she'd almost given up trying to marshal her thoughts when Steve sat down beside her.
He leaned back, his eyes hooded as he idly swirled his own drink. "I have a proposition for you, Leslie, one that I want you to consider very seriously."
A shiver of uncertainty ran through her. She clasped her hands tightly around her glass as she tipped her head questioningly. "What is it?"
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, scrutinizing her from behind his thick lashes. "Would you consider coming on staff at Ramco as project geologist for the Redwillow program?"
Leslie stared at him, her expression registering her stunned confusion. She wasn't expecting this offer. She wasn't expecting it at all. Steve had hired her for the preliminary studies, and she had thought she'd get a friendly dismissal—more pointedly, the absence of Steve McRory in her life. Now this!
"But, you said— I thought—"
"I know what I said originally, but I've given it a great deal of consideration. You're aware of the scope of the program, and you're damned good at your job." He was watching her face with a steady, unnerving gaze. "It won't be easy for you, Les. You're going to be hassled by the rig hands, and other field personnel—and you're going to have to cope with it on your own. You're going to have responsibilities, and you have a lot to learn. You'll also have to deal with some very awkward situations simply because you're a woman in a man's environment. It won't be easy."
Leslie met his gaze directly. "Do you think I have the capability to handle it?" It wasn't an attempt to elicit flattery; it was a direct question, and Steve knew it.
"I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't."
Somewhere in her head, Leslie knew she should decline his offer and put as much distance as she could between herself and Steve McRory. But in her heart she longed to maintain some link with this man who had invaded her life and caused her such emotional chaos. It would have to be a strictly professional association, even if the circumstances between them had previously been romantic. There would have to be a detachment, a "hands-off policy" in the field. She had made a decision in Grande Prairie, but she was going to reverse it with this opportunity before her. She would do anything to postpone that dreaded moment when he walked out of her life forever.
She was aware of his eyes on her, and she looked up to meet his gaze. "I wasn't expecting this, Steve."
"I know."
"It's a little frightening."
"I know that, too."
Leslie toyed with her glass for a moment, then looked back at him, her face grave and thoughtful. "This decision of yours was influenced somewhat by the discussion we had about my lack of self-confidence, wasn't it?"
"Somewhat, but not entirely. I wouldn't consider I asking you if your potential didn't outweigh the disadvantages. I think you know me well enough to realize that I don't pander to whims."
"Are you sure this isn't a whim of sorts? I'm not your responsibility."
For a split second, Leslie thought there was a hint of regret in his eyes, but she dismissed it as wishful thinking. "Steve, are you sure, are you truly certain I that you want me there?"
Steve looked at her, his eyes enigmatic, his face inscrutable as he nodded his head. "Yes, Leslie, I want you there."
Fools rush in, thought Leslie. Aloud she said, "Then I'll go."
Had she been watching Steve's face, she would have wondered at the expression of angry dissatisfaction that flitted across it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LESLIE FREQUENTLY DOUBTED HER SANITY during the days to come. She had committed hersef to several weeks, or even months, of agonizing thoughts and feelings, but she couldn't turn back from the disturbing challenge that lay before her.
She would do her job to the very best of her ability, for she was determined to fulfill her obligations to Ramco Explorations. But she worried about how well she would handle the close association with Steve. Just being in the same room with him did strange things to her.
During her remaining days in Calgary, Leslie ha
d to arrange for the geological equipment and supplies she would require. She also had to complete some research work. She felt very much alone, for Steve was out of town and Ted was frequently away.
She was now working with the engineering team at Ramco's main office complex, and she was not surprised to see the logistic requirements handled with the maximum of efficiency, the minimum amount of delays. To see the respect and loyalty Steve's employees openly displayed toward him filled her with a sense of pride. Luther Denver demanded subservience; the Ramco organization stressed teamwork. The attitude and morale at her new job was so totally different from the atmosphere at her old that Leslie sometimes caught herself wondering if she were really in the same business.
Leslie also made personal preparations. She was aware that the company would provide her with a vehicle once she was on location, but she'd told Ted that she wanted one her own size. He went with her to advise her in her purchase of one, and she came home with a bright red four-wheel-drive Toyota truck. It boasted wide chrome moldings, a black canopy on the back and smoked windows. It was flashy and certainly conspicuous, and Vivian Denver would have died if she had seen it. But Leslie loved it. Although Ted teased her unmercifully about it, she was impervious to his gibes.
She had heard nothing from Steve since the night he'd asked her to take on the Redwillow project. She missed him dreadfully, and spent many sleepless nights haunted by the intimate moments they had shared. She had one small secret solace though. She had furtively taken several pictures of him during their exploration trip, and two had been particularly good photos. One was taken the day they located the outcrop. Steve was standing on a massive boulder, his hands on his hips, his legs planted firmly apart as he stared out over a picturesque valley they had discovered. His head was thrown back, and he seemed to be challenging the rugged untamed land with his strength, his virility, his determination.
The second one had been taken at the Jansens'. Steve had adjusted the chain on Robbie's bike, and Robbie had thanked him with a quick hug before he sped off. Steve had watched him go, his eyes filled with amused affection. The gentleness, the warmth, the sensitivity of his personality were so poignantly evident that it caused a painful constriction in Leslie's chest every time she looked at it.
The other pictures of him were good, and she would treasure them always, but these two were superb; they were the essence of the man. Leslie had them enlarged and framed in a handsome leather and brassbound folder, then carefully slipped the three notes he'd written her behind the photos. She had the pebbles from the beach conglomerate encased in a glass cube and had a small silver plate attached to the base with the location and date engraved on it.
She kept the paperweight and the photos on her bedside table and chided herself for her futile gesture—only it wasn't really futile, for it did ease her solitary wretchedness.
Outwardly she appeared calm and composed about the challenges that lay before her, but inwardly she was agitated and terribly unsure. It was only by sheer will that she was able to accomplish anything. She became more and more anxious as the time marched on.
Too soon, it seemed, the day of departure arrived. It was five o'clock in the morning when Leslie went outside to start her truck and scrape the thick frost off the windows. As she sat on the fender waiting for Ted to say goodbye to Maggie, she watched the stars in the dark sky. It was hard to believe it was the first of November. There was no snow yet, and the days were unusually warm for this time of year, even though the nights were frosty.
Leslie slid off the fender and leaned against it as Ted left the house and came striding down the sidewalk toward her. He had a large duffel bag in one hand, and a beautifully tooled leather rifle case in the other.
Leslie felt a stab of grief when she recognized the case. It, and the custom-made rifle inside, had been bequeathed to Ted when Mac Kairns had died. Leslie knew it was Ted's most prized possession. Cherished memories came crowding back—her grandfather teaching her to shoot and his delight and pride in her deadly marksmanship; his amusement in her adamant refusal to shoot anything but impersonal targets and clay skeets. The long tramps they had taken through the woods, her grandfather with his rifle and she with her camera. His livid rage when Luther forbade her to continue competing in marksmanship competitions... The memories were so special and she missed him still.
Ted raised the rifle as he approached Leslie. "I thought I'd bring this along. Big-game hunting should be really great in that country." He lifted up the canopy door and placed the duffel bag and rifle in the back of the truck. His face was angelically composed, but the devil was gleaming in his eyes. "Maybe you can come out with me one day, Leslie. I'd sure like it if you'd bring down a big bull moose for me."
Leslie defiantly stuck out her tongue at him. Ted had been a frequent companion on their hunting expeditions, and he was well aware of her aversion to taking an animal's life. Ted laughed, then pointed toward the cab of the truck. "Are you going to drive this peanut with wheels or am I?"
Leslie punched him on the shoulder, then opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat. "I'll drive my own rig, Ted McAllister. After a disparaging comment like that, I wouldn't trust you behind the wheel!"
"The feeling is mutual, girl. Mac should never have been allowed to teach you to drive—how he used to justify his own driving is beyond me!"
Leslie laughed. " 'Reckless caution mixed with aggressive speed,' " she quoted.
"He used to scare the hell out of me—always made me feel like he was driving a fire truck. And you're just as bad."
"Then you'd better do up your seat belt." With a broad grin and a touch of malice, Leslie revved the engine, threw the vehicle into gear and shot off in a hail of flying gravel.
THE DRIVE TOOK THEM NEARLY TWELVE HOURS. When it was beginning to get dark, Ted, who was now behind the wheel, told Leslie they had only a few miles to go before reaching camp.
She was feeling relatively relaxed, for Ted, in his casual, almost offhand way, was outlining the routine of oil-patch life.
"Oil companies don't always have their own rigs do the drilling. There are contractors who drill wells strictly on a contract basis. Our other two holes are being done by different companies, for example. One is a Challenger rig and the other is Hi-tower."
"But it's Ramco's rig that's drilling the first wildcat well, right?"
"That's right. Companies number their drilling rigs, and the crews usually stay with the same rig no matter where it's drilling. This one is Ramco Two."
"I didn't realize that the crews were always assigned to the same rig."
"It's the usual practice, but I don't think it's written in stone anywhere."
"What rotation will they be working?"
"Two weeks on and two weeks off, with 'twelve-hour towers' when they're in the field."
Leslie grinned to herself—another idiosyncrasy of the oil patch. Actually, shifts were called tours, but for some long-forgotten reason they were pronounced "towers." She glanced at Ted. "Which means that altogether there are four crews that rotate in and out?"
"Yeah, a crew each week. That makes a pile of men who go through camp every month."
"How many men does Ramco run on a crew?"
"Five—a driller, a derrickman, a motorman and two roughnecks."
Leslie laughed. "And in the proper order of rank, I noticed."
Ted grinned. "Every roughneck wants to be a driller someday, Les—a hand on the brake handle is the symbol of power and authority on a rig."
"Is it that, or the fact they don't have to wrestle drill pipe around anymore?"
Ted laughed as he nodded his head. "That, too— it's damned hard work. I do get a kick out of watching these young fellows. Years ago it took you fifteen years to make driller, but now, with the big push on for exploration, there're more rigs operating and the men get promoted faster. The young ones really strut. Now a roughneck can make motorman in a year, derrickman in two."
"The motorman works as
a roughneck as well as looking after the motors, doesn't he?"
"Yeah. When they're tripping, he usually works the floor."
Tripping had to be the most grueling, demanding time on a rig, Leslie knew. "Tripping out" was when all of the drill stem was hoisted out of the hole, usually to change the bit or to add the core barrel. "Tripping in" meant reassembling the drill string stand by stand and lowering it back down the hole. The whole operation was referred to as a round trip—and it usually took several arduous hours.
Leslie could tell by Ted's expression that he was thinking about something that amused him. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, I was just recalling some of the incidents that have happened in the oil patch over the years. I have a book at home that you should read—it's called Roughnecks and Wildcatters, by Allan Anderson. He's collected a whole raft of short stories from the field. They portray the humor but also give you a fair amount of insight into the history of the industry."
"I'll read anything that will give me insight!"
Ted's face grew serious as he shifted the conversation into a slightly different vein. "You know, girl, some of these old rig hands are going to be a little put off having you around."
Leslie sighed. "I know, Ted—Steve already warned me."
"Well, don't let it get to you. Ramco hasn't had much of a turnover in staff over the years, for they've always treated their men very well. The fellows may be a little set in their ways, but basically they'll be decent and hardworking. Most of them have never seen women in the field before, with the exception of the camp staff. You know—cooks and camp attendants."
"And I'm treading on sacred ground."
Ted chuckled as he switched on the headlights. "I don't know if the ground is sacred, or just that it's never been plowed before." He stroked his chin reflectively. "Perhaps this idea is a little out of step with the times, but I think that most of them feel women should remain in traditional women's roles, and that they shouldn't compete with men. They're bound to feel a little threatened by something they don't quite understand."
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