Hold Back The Dawn

by Duncan, Judith

  "Very well, if that's what you want."

  Gordon shook his head as he went out the door. It was almost frightening. There wasn't a flicker of emotion in her eyes, or in her voice. He had been with Leslie after Mac had died, and she had been devastated by the loss—but nothing, nothing like this.

  After Gordon left, Leslie set the vial back on the counter and walked stiffly over to the window. She folded her arms in front of her and stared across the lease to the rig. It was such a towering giant of a thing—mechanical slave to man, impaled on its massive substructure, its innards relentlessly drilling into the bowels of the earth, unthinking, unfeeling...Leslie shivered and turned away from the window. Oh, God, how could she ever learn to stand it—this awful pain?

  The door of the trailer was yanked open and Steve strode in, his face white with rage. He slammed the door behind him, then approached her with the menacing grace of a stalking cat.

  His voice was an icy sneer. "So, Miss Kaidon Industries, I hear that you are planning to dump the whole project and go running off to Vancouver. It must be nice to be able to walk out on your responsibilities."

  Leslie turned to face him squarely, her face a waxen mask, her body unnaturally stiff. "Kaidon is not withdrawing its financing, so the project is not in danger." Her hands gripped her forearms convulsively. "You told me to get out, so I'm getting out." For a brief moment, Leslie thought he was going to strike her.

  He clenched and unclenched his hands, then snarled, "You used me...you used me to even your score with Luther." He gritted his teeth, his eyes narrow and threatening, his body rigid with barely controlled fury. "The minute you walk out of here, this joint venture with your company is finished, Miss Kairns, and we won't drill another inch. Since you're now a partner, you'd better damned well start acting like one. If Ramco has to sell off some of its acreage to cover its own financing, you know bloody well that Denver Oil is going to move in. Is that what you want, Miss Kairns?"

  Nothing showed on the plastic facade of her face, but in her mind, there was a soul-shattering moan of protest. Don't do this to me, Steve—don't do this.

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly. "Is that what you want?"

  "No."

  "Then," he seethed through clenched teeth, "you had better tell Gordon Donner you wonlt be going with him, because if you don't..."

  He was blackmailing her in the most unforgivable way, but he wasn't finished with her yet. He stood glaring down at her, his hands on his hips. "Your father started this damned company—your grandfather financed it. Now you don't even have the guts to stick out one project."

  If anything could have penetrated Leslie's numbness, that reference to her father and grandfather was it. A convulsive spasm bolted through her, and she turned away abruptly. There was a stifling silence and then she spoke, her lifeless voice only slightly uneven. "I'll stay."

  Some of the edge was gone from Steve's anger, but his voice was still cold and harsh. "And you will stay, until I say you can go."

  "Yes." Silently she was thinking, until you have taken your pound of flesh.

  "Since you are now a partner in this venture, you'll attend the IPAC conference in Edmonton with me. We'll leave here Wednesday afternoon."

  Leslie heard the door open behind her and she assumed it was Steve leaving. But it was Gordon.

  "Leslie won't be returning to Vancouver with you, Gordon. She's going to be staying."

  The businessman's eyes shifted from Steve's grim, unrelenting face to Leslie's rigid back. "Is that right, Leslie?"

  "Yes."

  Gordon pursed his lips, and his face creased with a worried frown. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

  Leslie turned to face him. "Yes."

  He glanced at Steve again, then walked over to Leslie and took her hands in his. "You know that Constance and I would love to have you any time you decide to come."

  She forced a tight-lipped smile and nodded. "I know that." A cold chill feathered down Gordon's spine. Leslie had the exact same look on her face as Vivian Denver did. He had always thought that Leslie's mother was cold and dispassionate. Perhaps, unthinkingly and a little unkindly, he had misjudged the woman.

  LESLIE SAT STARING OUT THE WINDOW of the plane with unseeing eyes. The last four days had seemed like an eerie suspended nightmare for her. Somehow she had managed to do her work with automated precision; somehow she'd maintained the tight control on her reactions. She'd been relieved that Ted had been sent to the east coast to do some troubleshooting for Ramco. If he'd arrived in camp and said one kind word to her, she knew she would have come apart.

  Steve had flown to Calgary the same day Gordon had left Redwillow. Before he'd left, he had warned Leslie that if she tried to avoid the conference in Edmonton, he would come get her and drag her there by her hair if he had to. She didn't doubt him for a minute.

  She leaned her head back against the headrest, then glanced at John McRory. He was sitting in the seat beside her, a sheaf of papers spread out on the top of his briefcase. He looked as exhausted as she felt. He had been very understanding—but then, he understood better than anyone how she was feeling. He never mentioned Steve, but frequently talked to her about her father. Leslie felt as though she had really come to know her dead parent, and that had provided her with some inner peace. John had given her a photo of him, and every time she looked at it she had the most peculiar feeling. Even she could see the remarkable resemblance.

  John glanced at his watch, gathered together his papers and, with a deep sigh, lifted the lid of his briefcase and slipped them inside. He snapped the locks closed, then slid the case under the seat in front of him.

  He smiled ruefully at Leslie as he dropped his pen into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. "I'm afraid I haven't been very good company for you on this flight, Leslie."

  She returned the smile. "You were excellent company, John. I was too tired to talk anyway."

  "Yes, I know you were." He patted her hand. "I was wondering if you would do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening?"

  "I'd like that...very much, thank you."

  "Good." He glanced at his watch again. "I hope it doesn't take forever to arrange for the car rental."

  It didn't, in fact, but getting to the hotel took a while. From the airport they had to drive into the center of the city, and traffic was exceptionally heavy. By the time they arrived at the Westin Hotel, Leslie was developing a throbbing headache. It was caused, she knew, from a combination of exhaustion, lack of food, and a buildup of anxiety. She felt somewhat more secure when she realized that John's room was across the hall from hers. She felt safe with John.

  After sleeping soundly for nearly two hours, Leslie had a long shower. She felt obliged to take some pains with her makeup and hair, but she did it with little enthusiasm. She had just finished dressing when there was a knock at the door.

  Without looking in the mirror, Leslie picked up her silver evening bag and went to answer it. She felt the blood drain from her face as a constricting band of tension squeezed her chest. It wasn't John. It was Steve.

  He braced his arm against the doorframe as he silently studied her with narrowed eyes. Leslie felt like she had been frozen into immobility by his look, and she felt every muscle in her contract against the awful ache that suddenly encased her.

  He looked so handsome—and so very remote. The awareness seemed to stretch between them like a silent scream, and Leslie felt her control falter. Those blue eyes that could be so warm with love and laughter were now ice cold with anger and distaste.

  The door behind Steve opened, and Leslie felt a nearly hysterical sense of relief when John McRory stepped into the hallway. His voice was calm and assured. "Steve—I didn't know that you had arrived. Leslie and I were just going down to dinner.'' He smiled at Leslie as he adroitly maneuvered past his nephew and drew her into the corridor. "You look lovely, Leslie.'' He tucked her arm firmly through his and squeezed her hand reassuringly. Leslie was s
o grateful for his tactful intervention that she felt weak.

  John nodded toward Steve. "Why don't you join us? You can bring me up to date on what's happening with our operating agreement on the east coast."

  Please say no, she thought wildly. Please say no.

  "Sounds like a good idea," said Steve as he fell into step with them.

  The dinner wasn't the ordeal that she'd expected. After two goblets of very good wine, Leslie felt less jumpy, and she could tell by her inner warmth that the wine had put some color back into her cheeks.

  John and Steve talked business, and that suited her perfectly. She found it interesting, and she didn't have to say anything.

  It was about nine o'clock when they finally left the dining room. They were walking through the lobby toward the elevators when John and Steve paused to speak with an old acquaintance. Leslie wanted to avoid introductions and explanations, so she walked ahead a few paces, then stopped to read the notices on the bulletin board concerning the conference.

  A cold shiver rippled down her spine and her skin shrank with revulsion as a voice, a very familiar, sneering voice snapped out behind her. ''Well, I see little Leslie has finally had her professional coming out. How nice."

  Leslie turned to face Luther Denver with an icy calmness. She suddenly realized that she was no longer afraid of this man. "Good evening, Luther. I didn't think snakes came out at night."

  Her open disdain and her haughty bearing caught him completely off guard—but only for a moment.

  "Well, well, the whimpering mouse has turned into a cat with claws. You surprise me...I didn't think you had it in you."

  "You never had any idea what I was capable of, Luther. But then, you were never particularly astute at reading people."

  Fury blazed in his eyes and he took a threatening step toward her, his voice shaking as he ground out, "There's a rumor that you threw the Kaidon fortune behind Ramco. Who were you buying, Leslie—the company or the man? I hear you and Steve McRory are an item."

  Leslie shrank neither from him nor from his sneering comment, but determinedly held her ground. "The joint venture was indirectly arranged by you— did you know that, Luther? After you machinated a lack of financial confidence in Redwillow, I had no choice but to back them financially.''

  "But I'm certain Steve McRory was only too delighted to see all that money dumped into his project.''

  "He didn't even know. Steve McRory isn't the type of man anyone can buy—he isn't like you.''

  Luther's hand jerked at his side, and Leslie unconsciously braced herself for a blow, but he restrained himself. He was livid with rage, and his eyes bulged as he flexed his hand threateningly. "If you had swung Kaidon Industries behind Denver Oil ...You owed it to me—all that money—and you took it toRamco."

  It was then that Leslie realized how his irrational jealousy was like an insidious sickness within him. She stared at him scornfully. "Owed you, Luther? I owed you nothing. You despised my father, and you treated me like garbage because of it. If there's anybody I owe, it's Ramco—especially after what you did to them in South America."

  "You filthy little bitch!" He would have struck her then, but John McRory stepped in front of Leslie and grabbed Luther's arm. His face white with controlled fury, his voice slicing, John growled, "Touch her, Luther, and so help me, I'll kill you. It would give me supreme pleasure to break your goddamned neck."

  Luther stared at John for a second, then he yanked his arm away, swearing violently as he turned and strode away.

  Leslie started to shake, and for one awful second she thought her knees would collapse beneath her, but John slipped his arm around her waist. His face was still etched with anger, but his voice was gentle. "Come on, Leslie, I think both of us need a good stiff drink."

  She glanced up at him, her face bloodless, her lips so stiff she could barely speak. "I think we do." She looked away, and her stomach plummeted as a sick feeling rose within her. Steve had obviously witnessed the whole ugly encounter, and the look on his face was savage. But strangely enough, she sensed that this time his white-hot rage was not directed at her. Without uttering a word he turned away and strode rapidly across the lobby toward the main doors.

  Leslie tipped her head back and took a deep shaky breath. "How much did he hear?"

  "Every word." Unexpectedly, John chuckled. "You pack a verbal wallop, my dear. It did my heart a world of good when you called him a snake."

  Leslie had an uneasy feeling. "He'll try to even the score, John."

  John grinned down at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement and admiration. "Perhaps, but he's an idiot if he tries to tangle with you, Leslie Jordan Kairns, and he probably knows it. If you wanted to, you could ruin him."

  Leslie didn't say anything—she was feeling too apprehensive. Luther would attempt a retaliation; she knew it in her bones.

  By the next morning, Leslie felt as though she had driven herself to the extreme limit. She had slept very little during the night. The incident with Luther had shaken her, adding to the already formidable pressure she was under. She desperately wanted to go back to Redwillow, but she was certain that Steve would never permit it. Somehow she had to find the energy and strength to get through the next two days. But she simply couldn't take much more.

  She was in a banquet hall, seated between John and Steve, trying to concentrate on the speaker. But she had another blinding headache that was beginning to make her feel ill. She pressed her hands to her temples in an attempt to dull the pounding in her skull.

  Steve leaned over, his voice indifferent. "Is something wrong?''

  She looked at him, her eyes glassy. "I have a bad headache. Would you mind if I went up to my room?"

  For an instant she thought he was going to ignore her request, but finally he nodded and swung his knees into the aisle so she could pass.

  The banquet hall was on the second floor of the hotel, and as she walked across the large reception area toward the elevators, she heard someone yell behind her, "There she is!"

  Suddenly she was surrounded by reporters shoving mikes in her face, and a claustrophobic panic gripped her as flashbulbs exploded around her, blinding her with sunburst brilliance.

  "Miss Kairns, are you now prepared to take up the reins of Kaidon Industries—our source tells us that was Mac Kairns's intention."

  "Miss Kairns, what exactly motivated your involvement with Ramco Exploration?"

  "Miss Kairns, would you look this way and smile?''

  "Miss Kairns, Miss Kairns, Miss Kairns," reverberated in her head like a burst of machine-gun fire, and her panic grew into paralyzing terror when she realized she was hemmed in, totally unable to escape.

  Then Steve was beside her, his arm around her shoulders. With a seething oath he knocked the camera out of the hands of one photographer who was blocking their way and roughly pushed him aside. There was a confusion of shoving and a commotion of loud voices, then a respite of silence.

  Leslie realized numbly that they were in an elevator. The door slid open, and a silent angry Steve caught her arm and propelled her swiftly down the corridor. He paused outside his door, and Leslie was jarred out of her numbness when she realized he was searching his pockets for his room key.

  A new feeling of panic rose within her. She didn't dare go into that room with him. She was just too raw and exposed to cope with him alone.

  She retrieved her key from her purse and quickly unlocked her own door. She never had the chance to shut him out, however. Steve pushed his way into the room behind her and quickly closed the door and set the dead bolt.

  Leslie shivered when she heard loud voices approaching down the corridor. "Can they get in here?"

  His voice wasn't unkind when he answered, "No, they can't get in here." Then she heard him mutter under his breath, "I'd like to see them try."

  She collapsed into one of the easy chairs, her hands clasped into white-knuckled fists as she made a conscious effort to stop shaking.

  Steve walked
over to the window and stood staring out, his hands jammed into his pockets. "I'd like to know how in hell they found out."

  Taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, Leslie answered him, her voice wavering, "It has all the markings of one of Luther's stunts. I expected him to retaliate—and he knows how I'd hate publicity."

  Steve turned around, his shoulders set with anger. "Luther is turning into a monumental pain in the ass. I talked with Frank this morning, and he said that someone tried to break into my office last night. Then the water hauler told him that those two scouts were seen on the lease road earlier."

  Leslie didn't respond, but her mind was in turmoil. One thought kept occurring over and over again, and Leslie's face became fixed with resolve.

  This vindictiveness of Luther's had to be stopped before there was another tragedy. John had been right—she could ruin Luther if she wanted to, and that gave her a sense of power she had never experienced before. Yes, she would have to be the one to deal with Luther Denver.

  A sharp pang of unbearable loneliness stabbed through her as she glanced at Steve's back. This nerve-racking exposure would be tolerable only if he could forgive her, but she realized it was a fruitless thought. She bowed her head and blinked back the tears that were scalding her eyes as Steve strode to the door.

  "I'm going down to have a talk with the management about security. You be sure and lock the door after me."

  She nodded her head, unaware that he was watching her with a bleak look on his face. The door clicked shut, and wiping the tears from her eyes, she moved across the room to secure the lock.

  She remained motionless for a moment, then, with a set look on her face, went to the phone and dialed. After a brief silence she said, her voice decisive, "I'd like to place a person-to-person call to Mr. Gordon Dormer at Kaidon Industries in Vancouver, please.''

  IT WAS EARLY EVENING when John McRory went across the hall and knocked on Leslie's door. Steve had told him about the episode that morning, and he wanted to check on her before he went down to the banquet. It would have been very traumatic for Leslie, and he was certain she was nearly at the end of her endurance.