Hold Back The Dawn

by Duncan, Judith

  Leslie felt the walls of the room closing in on her. His callous unjust dismissal of her really rankled. The hurt would come sometime later, but right now she felt nothing but a sickening distaste. She had to get away from him and the entire Redwillow project—it had brought her nothing but misery right from the beginning. She zipped up her jacket and headed for the door.

  "I'll be gone at dawn. I really want to thank you for the confidence you've shown in me." Her caustic comment could not be misread. She had her hand on the door when Steve grabbed her by the arm and roughly whirled her around.

  His eyes were like two blue chips of ice as he narrowed them angrily. "How in hell can you possibly cope with a camp of hostile men? They'll tear you to pieces in the first week, just like Logan said."

  She was smoldering with an anger that barely suppressed her acute feeling of rejection. Leslie yanked her arm away and glared up at him as she spat back, "As if that would matter a damn to you! The only thing that concerns you right now are the ruffled feathers of your damned push. I can understand that, but what I can't understand is why you hired me in the first place. You must know him well enough to realize what his attitude would be. Under those circumstances, I can't understand why you bothered to haul me all the way up here just to send me back. That doesn't make any sense at all!"

  "Right now, I'm questioning those reasons myself—and you wouldn't understand them even if I tried to explain them to you."

  "Don't bother!"

  "I had no intention!"

  Leslie turned away. Her anger had spent itself, and an intense hurt was rushing in to fill the vacuum. She didn't dare stay a moment longer, or she would come apart in front of him.

  She slammed out into the night and started running to her truck. She stumbled several times, unable to see where she was going. It was because it was dark, she told herself—it had nothing to do with the threatening tears. A sob caught in her throat as she yanked open the truck door and stumbled in. Through the blur she was trying to find the proper key for the ignition when the door was jerked open and the keys ripped from her hand.

  "Where in hell do you think you're going?"

  The fierce contraction in her throat made it nearly impossible to speak. Gripping the steering wheel in a desperate attempt to control her feelings, she managed to answer Steve with a husky whisper. "I've decided I'll drive back to Grande Prairie tonight.''

  "You aren't driving anywhere tonight.'' His voice was clipped and very abrupt. "Get over.''

  Leslie didn't have any resources left to argue with him, so she slid across the seat without protest.

  Steve started the truck and rammed it into gear. The headlights flashed on, floodlighting the blackness that engulfed them. They drove to the geologist's shack in brittle silence, and he parked in front. Switching off the engine, he removed the keys and climbed out.

  "You'll stay right here tonight," he snapped as he slammed the door and started to stride away.

  Leslie nearly fell out of the truck in her haste to catch him. "May I have my keys, please?"

  "No."

  "But they're the only ones I have—"

  "A small precaution. You're not driving on these lease roads at night. You'll get them back in the morning."

  Leslie could tell by the inflexibility conveyed in his voice that it was pointless to argue. She turned and went back to the shack. Once inside she shut the door behind her, locked it, then leaned back against it and closed her eyes. She wished she could ease the strangling ache within her with a flood of tears, but she couldn't. She felt as though she was in some kind of trance as she wandered through the trailer to the living room and sank down on the sofa. An acute feeling of isolation spread within her as she sat there, alone in an impersonal room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "LESLIE."

  Consciousness slowly but persistently infiltrated her mind. Feeling as though she was emerging from a cocoon of swirling fog, Leslie opened her eyes and blinked in bewilderment when she realized Steve was looming over her.

  With a determined effort, she tried to straighten her legs, but her muscles were cramped and inflexible from the cold. Her thoughts snapped into gear when she realized she was huddling against the arm of the sofa, her legs drawn up, in an attempt to ward off the chill.

  The recollection of the terrible scene the night before came flooding back, and she lowered her eyes in an attempt to avoid his gaze. He crouched down in front of her and reached out to take her icy hands in his, but she quickly stuffed them into the pockets of her jacket. His touch always rattled her, and she didn't want her thoughts any more confused than they already were. Swallowing nervously, she fixed her eyes on the floor.

  "Leslie."

  His tone warned her that he was in no mood for evasiveness. If she didn't meet his gaze, he would make her, and she was feeling far too vulnerable to cope with physical contact. She finally made herself look up at him. His face was a mask.

  She drew her body into a tighter ball as she tried to think of something to say that would break the strained silence. "If you'd give me back my keys—"

  "Look, Leslie, I was a bit riled last night..."

  "Yes, I noticed.'' Her voice was uneven and very low, but there was a touch of cynicism in it even though she tried to ignore the feeling of despair that was sweeping over her.

  "Leslie, listen to me..."

  "Damn it, it's cold in here," bellowed Ted as he stomped in. "Didn't you turn up the heat last night?" He marched over to the thermostat on the wall and peered at it. After readjusting the setting he came back and dropped his big frame down on the sofa, nearly catapulting Leslie off into space. He totally ignored the scowl awarded him before Steve straightened up, went over to the window and stood staring out.

  Ted looked at Leslie and ruffled her hair. "You're looking a little peaked this morning, girl. Didn't you sleep very well?"

  "I slept fine, thank you." Leslie could feel an unexpected bubble of amusement rising within her. It was obvious that Steve was more than a little irritated by Ted's boisterous intrusion. It was also obvious that Ted was totally aware of Steve's vexation.

  Ted thundered on, disregarding the tension in the room. "I talked to Frank Logan last night, Les. He's still not exactly thrilled to death about having a woman geologist here, but then Frank doesn't have much use for geologists, period. He thinks they're just excess baggage that tend to clutter up the works. Anyway, he finally admitted that you probably won't be much worse than most. He won't hinder you in any way—he won't help you much either, but then, maybe that's just as well. He said he wouldn't touch you with a forty-foot barge pole, so at least he won't get close enough to strangle you."

  Leslie sighed with relief. Trust Ted to take a direct approach to a problem and put everything back into perspective. Steve was glowering out the window, and he looked like nothing would please him more than strangling Ted. Ted knew, Leslie suspected, exactly what Steve was thinking, but he charged on anyway.

  "I told Frank that you and I have always worked together as a team—"

  "Ted, that's an outright lie!"

  "Well, I don't know if it is. I never really specified that it was oil-patch work—anyway, let me finish what I was saying. I told him that we'd worked together a long time..."

  "That's another one!"

  "It isn't really. When you work for someone like Luther Denver, two years seems like a long time. Now let me finish. I said that we had gotten to know each other pretty well and if I sat down and had a game of crib with you, he wasn't to get his nose out of joint because something might be going on."

  Leslie couldn't help it; she started laughing. She was beginning to feel slightly hysterical. Last night Steve had dismissed her; this morning Ted was talking as though she was here to stay. Steve was fuming and Ted was as pleased as punch. She didn't have a clue what was going on, and she was too tired, too cold and too hungry to care.

  She looked from one man to the other as she wiped the tears of mirth from her
eyes. "But, Ted, I'm not staying."

  "Of course you're staying." It was a firm statement, delivered with absolute certainty, and it confirmed her suspicion that Ted had bulldozed Steve's objections out of the way. Ted's eyes were challenging her to stay and fight it out. When Leslie looked at him uncertainly, he clinched it with a slightly devious tactic. "The old man would have wanted you to, Leslie.''

  Leslie's eyes revealed the stab of sorrow she experienced at the mention of her grandfather. But the look was fleeting; Leslie lifted her chin stubbornly. Mac Kairns would have wanted her to stay. He had no patience with quitters.

  "I'll stay," she said simply.

  Steve glared at her, his face rigid. He flung her keys on the counter of the cupboard as though they were contaminated, then strode out of the room. Leslie watched him go, her heart wrung with a terrible sense of loss. Their mutual anger had driven a wedge between them, dashing any hope she had for even the most casual association. She was completely alienated from him now. From here on, it would be a very strained employer-employee relationship. Her stomach twisted into a tight ball as she fought down the frightening desire to cry.

  EXHAUSTION WEIGHED HEAVILY UPON HER for the remainder of the day as she set about putting her trailer in order. First she unpacked all the supplies and equipment that she had had sent out and arranged it accordingly. When she had organized the work area to her satisfaction, she began on her living quarters. By the time she'd unpacked everything, no one would have recognized the barren little suite that it had been only hours before.

  Most of her meals she would eat at the camp, but she had still decided to bring along ample provisions to stock her own kitchen. There would be times that she would prefer to remain in her own unit, and other times when she would be unable to leave the trailer because of security reasons.

  Since Steve wanted to keep Ramco's drilling program confidential, this particular exploration, or wildcat well, would be classified as a tight hole. After a predetermined depth was reached, very rigorous security measures would be enforced to prevent other companies from scouting Ramco's operations. Traffic into the well site would be strictly controlled, and Tight Hole signs would be posted on the lease road and on the four corners of the lease property. Any unauthorized persons found on the lease could be legally prosecuted, but usually they were dealt with in a discreet but not too delicate fashion by the drilling crew.

  Telephone conversations were transmitted by satellite to prevent oil scouts from intercepting confidential well data contained in the morning reports. The reassuring presence of the large dish antenna on the lease ensured reliable and secure communications with the outside world.

  Ordinarily, a geologist was on site during only part of a drilling program. But since Leslie had taken a very extensive course in mud logging in Houston, Texas, Steve had asked her to closely supervise this aspect of the operation. A mudlogger was on site twenty-fours hours a day to monitor what was happening down hole as the drilling progressed. The geologist and the mudlogger were the only people who had ready access to the most crucial data concerning the type of formation and the underground pressures that were being encountered.

  Because of this accumulation of information, the mudlogger's trailer and the geologist's shack would be locked when unattended, and all pertinent data would be kept under lock and key at all times.

  Security was so rigid that only the geologist, the driller, the tool push and the "company man" were allowed on the rig floor when core samples of target formations were removed from the core barrels. The cores would then be crated and shipped, under guard, to the Calgary lab.

  Since Ramco was still securing land rights in the area, it was essential that there should be no leaks. As the previous exploration in Redwillow had produced only low-volume finds, Ramco was still counting on the rest of the industry to disregard their wildcat venture.

  Leslie's one big concern was that Luther Denver might find out she and Ted were employed by Ramco. If he did, he would surely realize that they had taken their theory to a rival company. And unfortunately, he still held extensive land rights in Redwillow. John McRory had been unperturbed by Leslie's concern when she'd shared it with him. He had assured her that Ramco's strategy was so well planned and so well camouflaged that Denver wouldn't realize what was going on until it was too late.

  The afternoon was almost over when Leslie was finally satisfied that everything was where it should be. She was so tired she could barely stand, but there was only an hour before dinner and she knew if she lay down she would never wake up in time. Perhaps a walk around the lease would reenergize her.

  Ted had recommended, with his usual bluntness that she stay off the rig until he could take her up, or Frank Logan might drown her in the mud tanks. With a certain amount of dry humor, she decided that Ted was probably right. But it should be acceptable for her to do a little exploring, as long as she stayed out of the tool push's way.

  Leslie slipped into her jacket and slung her camera case over her shoulder. Opening the door, she shivered as an icy blast of wind caught her. Resolutely she stepped out into the bleak grayness of a dismal fall day and closed the door behind her. There were a few flakes of snow falling, and the wind held a warning of more to come. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to realize that the temperature was dropping. She turned up her collar and slipped her hands in her pockets as she slowly surveyed the scene around her.

  A sharp pang of regret shot through her, for the heavy timber on the lease had been bulldozed away, leaving the drill site scarred and desolate. Ramco, she knew, had environmentalists on staff to carefully supervise the preparation of the lease and campsite, as well as the construction of the access road. They ensured that no unnecessary destruction took place, but Leslie felt a certain sadness that the untouched wilderness had to be razed for the development of energy resources.

  She shrugged off the feeling and started walking toward the rig. Halfway there she looked back at the trailers—four of them—which were located on the extreme northern boundary of the lease. The dense bush had not been cleared behind them, so towering spruce and jack pine loomed above the brick-red units, which were lined up so precisely that they looked like a misplaced engineless train. The geologist's shack was to the west, then the tool push's shack, and then Ted's, as the drilling supervisor, or "company man." Ordinarily that would be all, but because of the magnitude of the program, Steve had elected to remain in the field. His trailer was located next to Ted's.

  With a sigh Leslie turned back toward the rig, her gaze sweeping up the massive steel skeleton that was the derrick. She felt so small and insignificant. Everything was huge, powerful, exaggerated, magnified. No words could adequately describe it.

  She took a wide-angle shot of the pipe racks, where thirty-foot lengths of drill pipe, drill collars and steel casing lay waiting for the drilling to begin. She took another shot of the drilling platform. It was crawling with men who were rigging up, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. She hesitated for a moment, then jogged across the stripped uneven ground, slowing to walk as she passed beneath the substructure and coming to a halt beside a rectangular boarded pit that was known as the cellar. In the center of the cellar was another hole lined with large diameter conductor pipe.

  That was it. This was the beginning of the actual borehole. Very soon the drill pipe, with the attached bit, would be lowered into that hole, and the drilling of the well would begin.

  Leslie felt awed as she stood staring down at the black hole. Thousands of feet beneath her might be the largest reservoir of natural gas ever discovered in Canada. She stood there a long time, totally motionless, as the realization of what this could mean broke over her. By the grace of God, they could discover enough natural gas to provide energy for the whole of Canada for decades to come. She felt overcome by the immensity of its potential.

  After a while she walked back toward her trailer, scuffing her boots distractedly through the gray soil, totally abso
rbed in her thoughts.

  "Leslie!''

  She jerked her head up, her reverie shattered. Ted was standing by his truck, waving to her. She loped across the lease toward him, her camera clutched in her hand.

  "Hi! I was just out poking around."

  He leaned back against the fender of his truck and lit a cigarette. "Well, what do you think?''

  Leslie slung her camera over her shoulder, then ran her fingers through her hair. "I think I should have been a teacher," she responded, her voice tinged with wry skepticism.

  Ted straightened up and grinned as he walked toward the cab. "Don't get discouraged, girl. You'll get used to the grind." He yanked open the door and motioned her in. "Come on. I'll drive you over to camp—it's time for supper."

  Leslie climbed in, laid her camera on the seat and slumped back. She hadn't been over to the camp yet, and she really dreaded going. One reason she had remained in her trailer all day was that she could avoid Frank and Steve. Now she would have to face them both, and she cowered at the thought. Frank would probably toss her out the door, and she was certain that Steve would ignore her completely. She wasn't sure which confrontation would be the worst, but she was so numb with exhaustion that she doubted if either one of them would have much effect on her tonight. In the last thirty-six hours she had had exactly two hours of sleep.

  Sighing heavily, she rested her head against the back of the seat and stared out at the thick forest of spruce that was sliding past the truck window. She should have never taken on the job—she was completely out of her element.

  As they pulled into the clearing where the camp was situated, she shrugged off her feeling of despondency and straightened up in her seat.

  Having never been to a rig camp before, she surveyed the trailer complex with interest. She was fairly familiar with the layout of this particular camp because she had seen the blueprints for it when she'd been working in Ramco's operations department.