In her office there was a succinct memo from Steve lying on the counter. It brought her up to date on the depth and the type of formation they were drilling through. She read it carefully, then tossed it back on the counter—there was nothing unexpected in it. They would have to drill several thousand feet before things started to get interesting.
She glanced around. Apart from unpacking her bags, there was not one thing for her to do. Even the last sample taken from the shale shaker had been logged.
Leslie picked up the report and read it again, her mind wandering. Why hadn't Steve told her that he was a geologist? It was almost as though he'd deliberately omitted telling her that fact. There had been countless opportunities for him to mention it...
"Doesn't it meet your approval? The way you're frowning, I would have to assume you've found some glaring error."
Leslie jumped, her muscles stiffening as Steve's voice intruded sharply into her confused thoughts. Laying the paper on the counter, she turned and forced herself to meet his gaze.
There was a strange guarded tension emanating from him that made her feel very uneasy. Had Ted unwittingly given her secret away?
Swallowing against a knot of nervousness she tried to keep her voice natural, but it quavered revealingly. "I was just wondering why you never said anything to me about your being a geologist, that's all."
His eyes narrowed with a piercing look as he sauntered across the room and stood beside her. He picked up one of the vials that held a sample of rock cuttings and rolled it slowly between his long fingers.
"Ted just asked me the same question. What difference does it make?" There was an evasiveness about him that she found bewildering. He was hedging...but why?
Her uncertainty made her cautious, anxious. "I can't understand your reasons for hiring me. You certainly didn't need me—"
"I never said I didn't need you, Leslie." His abrupt low tone was concealing something. What if Ted had given her away?
'Tm leaving for Vancouver today," he said.
Leslie had one fearful suspended moment of horror when she nearly answered, "I know." Somehow, in an effort to appear casually indifferent, she managed to keep her face expressionless, but her voice betrayed her. "Will you be gone long?"
Steve stared down at her. "Why, do I detect a slight note of concern?"
She lowered her eyes, her long lashes fanning her cheeks as she toyed nervously with the pencil she picked up.
"No answer, Leslie? I must have been wrong."
He tossed the vial back onto the counter and started to walk away. A rush of dismay swept through her, and she knocked over a stool in her haste to reach him before he opened the door. She couldn't let him leave with this odd remoteness left hanging between them.
He turned to face her as she caught his arm. His eyes were like shafts of blue steel, his mouth a grim line, his nostrils flaring.
"Steve, I—" he frightened her to death when he looked at her like that, but she dredged up her rapidly dwindling courage "—I do care, and...and I hope you have a good trip."
She dropped her hand and turned away, suddenly regretting her impulsive action. Her knees nearly gave way beneath her when he caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. She staggered against him as the force of his action threw her off balance, and automatically reached out to steady herself. Her hand came in contact with the hard wall of his chest, and a treacherous weakness overcame her. She shut her eyes against the hot tightness that turned her insides to jelly. Steve's arm came around her. He buried his hand in her hair, and pulled her head back. She didn't dare look at him.
"Dwarf?"
There was something about his softly spoken query, his use of his nickname for her, that dissolved what little resistance she had left. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and pensive with despair. He was watching her with a fixed gaze that seemed strangely uncertain. She swayed against him, her senses bewitched by the spell his eyes cast on her. They stood transfixed, mesmerized by a fascination so overwhelming that it bound them together with an unrestrained power.
The spell was shattered by the sound of someone stomping up the steps. With an infuriated curse, Steve dropped his arms and stepped away. When Frank Logan burst into the trailer, a distance of several feet separated Leslie and Steve.
Leslie deliberately kept her back to the two men as she moved over to the counter and needlessly rearranged some of the written reports. If she'd been granted a second wish that day, she thought ironically, she would have locked Frank Logan in the closet, too.
"Steve, how soon are you leaving? That Jim kid has split his arm pretty bad, and he's going to need stitches—I thought maybe you could take him to Grande Prairie when you go."
Steve's voice was slightly clipped and very controlled. "I can be gone in ten minutes. Where is he?"
"He's at camp in the first-aid room."
"Get him ready to go. I'll have to pick up my luggage from my trailer first, then I'll be right over."
Frank nodded curtly and slammed out. Leslie turned to face Steve.
He was standing with his hands on his hips, an expression of angry frustration on his face. "Damn it anyway!" But when he came toward Leslie and took her face in his hands, his touch was tender. "Leslie, damn it, I have to go." He looked down at her, his eyes filled with regret. Then with a groan, he pulled her against him in a crushing embrace.
"I'll be getting back from Vancouver next week. As soon as I do, you and I are going to have a long talk." He bent his head and kissed her, his mouth moist and gentle against hers. When he lifted his head, the message in his eyes filled her with a beautiful warmth. He shut his eyes briefly, then with fixed resolve, he reluctantly did up his jacket.
Leslie smiled softly as she turned up his collar. She let her hand rest lightly against his jaw, her voice a husky whisper. "Take care, Steve.''
Her touch acted like a catalyst that destroyed his self-restraint. He covered her hand with his and held her palm against his mouth, kissing it with a passion that turned Leslie's bones to water. Her breath caught sharply, and she closed her eyes as the hollow hunger he always aroused in her throbbed within her. Her surrender was instantaneous when he pulled her roughly against him and covered her yielding mouth in an urgent searing kiss. She whispered his name when he tore his mouth away again and molded her fiercely against him.
He held her tightly for a moment, then relaxed his arms and kissed her again. His breath was warm against her lips as he whispered, "You take care, too, Leslie."
Obviously unwilling to let her go, he brushed a wisp of hair from her face with trembling fingers, then held her face in his hands. "If this trip wasn't so damned important, I'd say to hell with it." He kissed her softly on the temple, his hands cradling the back of her head. "Promise me, Les, that we'll talk the minute I get back."
She gazed up at him, her eyes large and solemn. "I promise.'' She reached up and touched his cheek, not caring that her feelings for him were so apparent. It didn't matter. She threw all caution to the wind as she murmured, "I'll miss you so, Steve."
He inhaled sharply, then caught her against him once again, pressing her hard to his chest. "I'll miss you—God, how I'll miss you. These last two weeks have been hell..." He held her for a moment, then eased his grip as he sighed heavily. "I have to go, Les...."
She pressed her fingers against his lips, trying to blink back the tears of happiness that were glistening in her eyes. "I know you do."
He bent his head and kissed her again, then released her. Pausing at the door, he stared at her for a spellbinding moment, then with a muttered oath, he turned and hurried down the stairs.
Leslie stood at the window and watched him go, vaguely aware that snowflakes were spiraling down from the leaden sky.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS STILL SNOWING Friday morning, and by noon the ground was covered with everal inches of snow. Leslie stood looking out the window, her face bathed in awe. It was fascinating how in a matter of hours, a bl
eak, desolate landscape could be transformed into a wintery-white fairyland.
She glanced at her watch. If she left now, she would have time to walk over to the camp for lunch. If anyone saw her, of course, they'd really think she was out of her mind. Even Ted, who could cover miles of rough terrain without breathing hard, always drove over to the camp for meals.
Leslie took a deep breath as she stepped outside. Everything smelled so clean and fresh. The snow squeaked beneath her leather boots as she started walking—she loved wintertime, especially after a fresh fall of snow.
She paused for a momet and let the huge delicate flakes settle undisturbed on the navy blue fabric of her parka. Each snowflake had its own perfectly symmetrical design and Leslie was always fascinated by the fragile intricate patterns. A snowflake had to be one of the beautiful creations of nature.
Leslie sighed with satisfaction and started to walk. After a minute, she pushed the hood of her parka off her head and stuffed her gloves in her pocket—it was funny how warm the air always seemed during a heavy snowfall. And how hushed. There wasn't a whisper of wind through the snow-ladened spruce boughs, and even the steady drone of the rig seemed to be muffled.
The snow piled up beneath the trees with bridal-satin smoothness, marred only by the occasional rock or stump. The pine and towering spruce that crowded both sides of the road made a Christmas-card picture, their branches covered with a thick fluffy frosting. Some saskatoon bushes, which had been bleak brittle skeletons a few hours before, were now crystal coated as they reached gracefully to the sky. While Leslie watched, a blue jay landed on one of the branches, and the gentle movement sent the diamond dusting of snow showering to the ground.
Her absorbed fascination was abruptly shattered when a truck pulled up beside her. Frank Logan reached across the cab, swung open the passenger door and barked at her, "How come you're walkin'? Wouldn't your truck start?"
Leslie's first impulse was to make a sharp retort, but she stifled the urge. Instead she gave him a forced smile and lied. "I didn't feel like cleaning it off so I decided to walk. Besides, it isn't that cold." Logan was not the type of person to be empathetic toward someone who thought snow was beautiful.
"Get in—I'll give you a lift."
Leslie didn't want to get in—she wanted to walk. But she didn't want to give Frank the impression that she was avoiding him. After all, this was the first time he had spoken to her without being forced into it. She climbed in.
He put the truck in gear and started off. There was an awkward heavy silence that made Leslie nearly cringe in the corner.
"Do you do much huntin'?" he asked abruptly.
For a moment she didn't know what he was talking about; then she realized he'd been thinking about the episode with the bear. "No, I don't do any, really. I used to go often with my grandfather, though."
"You're a damned good shot."
Leslie looked at him with dumbfounded amazement. She wouldn't have been any more shocked if he had leaned across and kissed her. Her mouth was still hanging open when he continued, "Don't like killin' animals, I take it."
"No...no, I...I don't." Good grief, now he had her stammering like an idiot!
"Can't see the sport in it myself."
His words were gruff and staccato, and his face looked like it was chiseled out of granite, but there was something...something in his manner that was oddly approachable.
"I suppose all this snow is going to make it difficult at the rig?"
Frank shrugged. "The men grouse and grumble, but with the rig floor closed in, it ain't so bad. Besides, it's kinda pretty." He braked sharply as a rabbit darted across the road in front of them. Leslie looked at him, her brow lined with surprise, her eyes slightly squinted as she considered the man behind the wheel.
This Frank Logan was out of character, not the same person she thought he was. Maybe, just maybe...
This is getting to be a habit, she thought as she threw caution to the wind. "It is pretty—that's one reason I decided to walk. You don't see things the same way when you're driving."
"Nope, you don't. I like snowshoein' in weather like this. It's, well...relaxin'."
Leslie looked at him as he parked beside the steps that led into the camp complex. This time her smile was a genuine one. "Thank you for giving me a ride." She would have liked to have said more, but she wisely left it at that. She didn't want to put him off, just when things were beginning to look up.
Leslie had to struggle to keep from laughing at the look of disbelief that swept across Ted's face as he came into the kitchen and saw Frank Logan sitting across the table from her. When he finally sat down beside her, his expression was sphinx-like and inscrutable, but Leslie knew him too well to miss the wicked twinkle in his eyes.
He greeted them both, then looked directly at Frank. "I heard this morning that you've given Ernie his notice." Ernie was one of the mudloggers, but he wasn't Ramco staff. Several members of the support staff were contracted from independent companies— water haulers, casing and cementing crews, and mudloggers.
Frank nodded his head. "Yep, I did."
"What happened?"
"He was drunk on shift last night. I'm runnin' him off the minute I can get a replacement for him."
"With this weather, it's going to be a while before we can get someone else out."
"Yeah, I know." Frank didn't sound too happy about that. He looked at Ted, his eyes like cold steel. "He was drunk once before on shift, and I told him then it was the last time. We're gettin' into a formation where we're bound to hit pockets of gas. I ain't riskin' a kick that could blow the rig apart and my men with it because some ass—some damned fool can't get his head together."
Leslie looked at Frank and silently scored up a point for him. He had given the man a second chance, even though he could have lost his own job over it. Leslie had the feeling that Frank Logan didn't much like "running people off," but he would do it in a second if it jeopardized the safe operation of the rig.
Drinking on the job was no minor offense. In fact, the crews weren't allowed to have any liquor with them while they were in camp. Ramco ran "dry camps" for two reasons—the first, because it was dangerous. Anyone working on the rig who was not in total command of his senses could be the victim of a serious accident, or the cause of one. Secondly, it kept the brawling to a minimum. Leslie had heard several stories about parties getting out of hand, the ensuing ruckus leaving the camp half destroyed.
Leslie looked at Frank, and hoped she wasn't doing something impulsively stupid, when she said, "I've had a course on mud logging, Frank. If you want, I could cover Ernie's shift until you find a replacement. You're right about the formation—it could be risky."
Ted looked at Leslie as though she had just taken leave of her senses. Frank himself said nothing, but kept on eating, seemingly deaf to her suggestion. He carefully cleaned off his plate with a crust of bread, then pushed it away from him. Finally he looked at Leslie and shook his head. "Nope—a twelve-hour shift of mudloggin', plus your own work—it's no good."
Leslie was disappointed that he had refused her offer; it had been her way of extending a peace offering. Frank drained his coffee cup, then set it down on the table with a gesture of finality. "But I was thinkin' that you, Ted and me could split the shift."
Ted looked like someone had just hit him in the stomach, while Leslie grinned broadly. "Essie just brought out some blueberry pies," she said. "I'll go snag one for us."
LESLIE WAS GLAD to have the extra work. It filled her time, leaving her little time to think. Her thoughts were a jumble, and the more she tried to sort out the confusion, the worse it became.
There were times when she was so filled with elation that her spirits soared; then there were other times that she was coldly aware of the impossibility of anything permanent developing between Steve and herself. She had purposely avoided telling him the whole truth, and he would despise her for that.
How he would react to the fact that Luther De
nver was her stepfather was questionable. She had no illusions about how he would react when he found out she was the major shareholder in the company that was financing the exploration program for Redwillow. He would be furious about the deception, and she couldn't blame him for that because she loathed duplicity herself. What frightened her more than his anger was the nagging suspicion that he would have nothing more to do with her when, and if, he found out.
Her doubts were further compounded after she screwed up enough courage to tell Ted what she had done. He had been deeply concerned about her decision not to tell Steve that she was, in fact, the major shareholder of Kaidon Industries. After much reasoning, however, she had convinced him that there was no other way.
Ted's weathered face had set in a worried frown as he slowly shook his head. "Steve's going to feel like you've bought him, Les. As sure as hell, that's how he's going to feel."
Leslie had never looked at it from that point of view, and Ted's observation haunted her. Because of that, she made one definite decision—she was going to keep her identity a secret for as long as she could. And if her anonymity was threatened, she would be the one to tell Steve the truth. He would not find out the facts from someone else—she owed him that.
BY SUNDAY the snow was deep and drifting. A grader, fitted with a large V-plow, had cleared the twenty miles of company road, but by suppertime the wind had picked up momentum. When Frank came to relieve Leslie in the mud-logging shack at midnight, he confided to her that he expected the road to be impassable by morning.
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