Hold Back The Dawn

by Duncan, Judith

  Once inside her trailer Frank set her gently on the sofa, his movements slow and gentle as he carefully eased his arms from around her.

  "I'm goin' to leave you just for a minute, Les—I want to send Gus out to check the road and see if it's open so we can get you into Grande Prairie to the hospital."

  Leslie closed her eyes in assent. "Please don't tell anyone what happened, Frank—not even Ted."

  He stared at her deadly white face, marred by a trickle of blood oozing down her temple. There was a grim look on his face as he growled, "I won't tell Ted or McRory you're hurt, but I'll have to tell them I'm leavin' the lease. And I'm goin' to have to get Mike—he can strap you up so the pain ain't so bad. It's goin' to be a hell of a trip over them damn rough roads."

  Leslie looked at Frank, her eyes pleading. "Just Mike, Frank—no one else." Mike was the medic for the camp, and Leslie knew if Frank told him to keep his mouth shut, he would keep his mouth shut. Frank stared at her for a brief second longer, then he shook his head and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

  Leslie eased her head back until it rested against the back of the sofa. She hurt all over—her hip, her knees, her head, her ribs. She felt like she had broken every bone in her body, but that was to be expected after bouncing down thirty feet of stairs.

  Opening her eyes, she stared blankly at the cupboards. The sharp scalding pain was finally easing into a steady intense ache. Gingerly she eased herself forward until she could stand up. She steadied herself against the wall when dizziness swept over her. Creeping over to the sink, she turned on the tap and dampened the end of the towel under the cold water. She was just about to wipe the dried blood and perspiration from her face when the door crashed open behind her.

  "What in hell is this crap about Frank Logan taking you to Grande Prairie today? I made it very clear you weren't leaving here until I said you could go!"

  Leslie's hand tightened on the rim of the sink, and she began to tremble violently. She was in no condition to cope with another burst of Steve's anger.

  "Damn it, Leslie, don't turn your back on me when I'm talking to you!"

  Leslie heard Frank shout as Steve grabbed her injured arm and spun her around. An awful searing pain shot through her, and the bolt of fire in her shoulder drove her to her knees. The room began to turn in a sickening spin, and she fought to hold on to a thread of consciousness as she felt herself sway. Strong arms caught her and held her firmly before she could crumple to the floor.

  Frank Logan's voice was loud and strangely distorted as she rested her head feebly against his shoulder. "Hell, man—what in blazes do you think you're doin'? Can't you see the girl's been hurt?" Frank's big hand caught her firmly by her good shoulder as he carefully eased her back. "Are you okay, Les?"

  "Yes." Her voice was barely audible.

  Steve's voice sounded oddly strangled as he crouched down beside her. "What happened to her?"

  "She lost her footin' and fell down them damn rig stairs. She says her shoulder's dislocated."

  "She what?"

  "I said..."

  "Never mind—I heard you." She felt Steve's hand on her hair, and she wondered dully why it was shaking. "Leslie?"

  With a massive effort she lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes dark and glassy. He was very pale, and his expression was one of bitter self-reproach. Leslie forced a ghost of a smile.

  He sucked in his breath sharply and jerked his head back. He'd reacted as though she had slapped him.

  "I sent Gus out to check the road. If it's clear, I'm drivin' her into Grande Prairie to the doctor."

  There was an edge to Steve's voice that Leslie had never heard before. "It isn't open. Mark radioed in about an hour ago. The main road is clear, but the rig road is drifted in solid, so he had to go back to Grande Prairie." Steve reached out and gently traced the dried trickle of blood back up to the throbbing lump on her head. He tenderly parted her hair with his fingers, then swore softly as he slipped his arm around her waist. "Let me help you up, Les—you can't stay down here on this cold floor."

  She swayed against him as she stumbled to her feet, and his arm tightened around her as he held her against him. There was a tense silence, and when he finally spoke his voice was strained. "We can't get you out of here today, and we can't leave your shoulder like that." There was a heavy pause, then he continued, "I'm going to have to reset it for you."

  She glanced up at him and experienced a different kind of pain when she saw the gut-twisting distress in his eyes. She didn't trust her voice, so she only nodded.

  "Do you want me to fetch Mike?" asked Frank.

  Steve looked down at Leslie, and she shook her head in response to his silent question. She knew Steve had had an extensive course in industrial first aid, and she would rather that he did it.

  "No, but you could see what he has in the way of medication in the drug cabinet...and you could bring back one of those good slings."

  "Right—an' I'll get someone goin' on that road. Mebbe we can have it open by mornin'."

  Frank turned to go, and Leslie reached out and touched his arm. "Thank you, Frank."

  The tool push nodded self-consciously. "Was nothin'—I'll be back in a flash."

  As soon as he left, Leslie looked up at Steve, her face taut with pain as she whispered hoarsely, "Let's get this over with."

  Steve's jaw flexed stiffly, then he sighed as he glanced down at her, his eyes unreadable. "Yes, I guess we'd better."

  He kept his arm around her as he guided her into the bedroom, where he turned her toward him, his face set in unyielding lines. "I have to take your parka off, Les, and it's probably going to hurt like hell when I do."

  "I think I'll sit down." Her shaking legs wouldn't support her much longer.

  "Do you want to wait until we can give you something to dull the pain?"

  She shook her head.

  Steve swung the chair around and Leslie sat down. He crouched in front of her and unzipped her parka, then carefully slipped her left arm out of the sleeve. She grasped on to the seat of the chair as he tucked the bulk of the coat behind her back. Glancing at her pale rigid face, he took a deep breath as he gently began to ease the right sleeve down her arm.

  Leslie clenched her teeth against the searing pain. Steve's fingers were trembling as he undid the buttons of her plaid flannel shirt, but it was the only indication that he was affected. With the same gentle care, he removed her shirt, then pressed his hands forcefully against his thighs.

  It was only then that Leslie noticed the beads of perspiration on his forehead. She reached out and wiped his brow with the palm of her left hand. Her heart was filled with compassion when he rested his head against her knees.

  He didn't move for a minute, then, silently, removed her boots and socks. "Can you stand up for a second? The snow has melted on your jeans and they're damp."

  His arm supported her as he unbuckled her belt, undid her zipper and stripped her pants off carefully. She heard him swear and she glanced down. There was an ugly purple bruise spreading from her hip to just above her right knee.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, then stood up, his face pale. His voice was clipped and hoarse. "You have to lie down, little one—close to the edge of the bed."

  She did as he asked. The pain was far worse when she was lying down, and she closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. His fingers probed her shoulder and she sucked in her breath. Then she felt him grasp her arm and brace his knee high up on her ribs.

  A bolt of white-hot electricity ripped through her with such a devastating force that it left her shaking violently from the shock. Her jaws were locked together, her muscles rigid and she fought down the churning nausea in her stomach. She felt Steve check her shoulder, then he caught her face in his hands.

  "Leslie?"

  She opened her eyes and stared at him. He looked so haggard and drained. He smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead, then covered her with the comforter. "I'll
be right back, Leslie—Frank just came in."

  She was shaking so badly that she couldn't unclench her teeth to answer him. She closed her eyes and tried to stop shivering, but she was so cold. At least that ordeal was over.

  She opened her eyes when Steve came back into the bedroom. He set a bottle of capsules and a glass of water on the night table, then started unwrapping a length of gauze.

  Leslie eased herself over on her left side and tried to struggle into a sitting position. Steve slipped his arm around her back and supported her uninjured shoulder. He folded the sling, then quickly and efficiently bound her arm snugly against her breast, in such a way that there was little pressure on her shoulder.

  He opened the bottle of capsules and shook two into his palm. "These are pretty potent, so they should help the pain. It will likely take half an hour before they start working, though."

  Leslie put them in her mouth, took a sip from the glass of water that Steve had handed her and swallowed the capsules. He took the glass from her shaking hand and set it on the table, then said, "You'd better lie down; you look like you're ready to collapse."

  She shook her head. "I'd rather sit up. Everything starts spinning when I lie down." She wouldn't be able to stand the pain when she was laying flat—not until the pills started working.

  "In other words, your shoulder is less painful when you sit up."

  Her eyes flew to his face, her wide-eyed expression registering her surprise. His smile was stiff as he stared down at her. "I can see right through your little deceptions now, Leslie."

  An overwhelming feeling of remorse shot through her and she bent her head, trying to blink back her scalding tears. She felt so miserable and isolated, and she wanted nothing except to be left alone with her physical pain and emotional despair.

  Steve caught her chin with his hand and tilted her head up, but she couldn't look at him. She couldn't bear to witness his icy disdain. "I'm sorry, Leslie— that was very cruel.''

  She looked at him then, her eyes blurred with unshed tears. "I don't blame you for feeling how you do about me.''

  He gently wrapped the comforter around her shaking body, then sat down beside her, his arm braced behind her, supporting her back. "How do you think I feel about you?" His voice was flat and expressionless.

  She stared at her hand, which was clenched in her lap. "I think you wish you'd never laid eyes on me."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  She nodded her head as she wiped away the tears with her fingertips. "Yes."

  "How did you fall down the stairs? They weren't icy."

  It was a totally unexpected question, and it left her feeling particularly vulnerable. "I was careless."

  He spanned her chin with his hand and forced her to meet his unwavering stare. "You were crying, weren't you?"

  She didn't answer him—there was no need. "You're going home as soon as we can get you out of here," he said.

  Home, she thought bleakly. I don't have a home. Releasing his grip, Steve stood up and walked out of the room. So the end had finally come. Leslie pressed her hand over her face as she was stricken by a soul-shattering grief for the loss of what might have been. She sat huddled on the bed, her endurance broken. He had just walked out of her life, and she could no longer bear the pent-up agony that clawed at her. The tears began to fall, and raw racking sobs ripped through her as she finally broke down and wept violently. Her inner dam had finally shattered with the stress.

  Strong arms encircled her, and her head was cradled firmly against a broad chest. Nothing else registered as all the loneliness, fear and anguish she had locked away for so long raged forth in a stormy tempest terrible to witness.

  Steve drew her across his lap and rested his cheek on her head as his arms tightened around her. His face was a gray tormented mask; he said nothing, but instead let her purge her pain with the unrelenting tears.

  Leslie didn't remember much after that. The medication cocooned her in a drifting ethereal numbness, leaving her with only vague impressions. She had become a functioning robot.

  She remembered Steve dressing her the next morning, and she recalled some of the trip to Grande Prairie; she also remembered boarding a commercial flight, and changing planes in Edmonton. But it wasn't until they had been in the air some time that the drugged disjointed sensation cleared and she became aware of what was happening. She felt vaguely alarmed when she realized it was dark out. She had lost an entire day, and she remembered practically nothing of it, except that Steve had been with her constantly.

  She glanced at the man beside her. He was slouched in the seat, his head tipped back against the headrest, his fingers laced across his chest. For an instant she thought he was sleeping, but then he blinked and she realized his eyes weren't completely closed. He was obviously thinking about something very deeply. He looked haggard, his face lined with tension and fatigue.

  He must have sensed she was watching him and he turned to look at her. "Are you feeling uncomfortable?"

  She shook her head. "No, just numb."

  He checked the sling to make sure it was snug, and he saw her try to swallow. "Is your mouth dry?"

  "A little."

  "It's the medication that's doing it." He signaled to the flight attendant, then turned to her again. "Would you like a glass of juice?"

  "Yes, please."

  Steve murmured something to the stewardess, then glanced at his watch. Leslie didn't have the energy or strength to check her own. It didn't matter anymore; her time had run out.

  "Here's your juice, Les. We're only a few minutes from touchdown."

  She nodded her head as she took the glass from him. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until she began to drink, and never had apple juice tasted so good. She drained the glass and handed it back to him.

  He passed the empty glass to the waiting attendant, then adjusted Leslie's seat into an upright position and checked her seat belt. She heard the jet engines change pitch, and the Fasten Seat Belt sign flashed on. Pressing her head back against the headrest, she closed her eyes. She hoped the landing was a smooth one so it wouldn't jar her shoulder and start it aching again. She wanted to maintain this disconnected feeling for as long as she could.

  The landing was smooth, but Leslie didn't open her eyes until the plane taxied up to the terminal and stopped. She unbuckled her seat belt and watched the other passengers as they clamored out of their seats and gathered their belongings from the overhead compartments.

  She glanced at Steve and wondered why he wasn't moving. In response to her questioning look, he said, "We'll wait until the plane empties. You don't need someone bumping into that shoulder."

  She dispassionately wondered what he was going to do with her when they did deplane. He wouldn't abandon her—Steve wouldn't do that—but she hoped that he wouldn't come with her to the McAllisters'. She would much rather that he simply put her into a cab and send her on her way with a minimum of fuss.

  A terrible ache grew in her breast, and tears hovered dangerously close to the surface. She had to hang on to herself until he was gone—she desperately did not want to create another scene.

  Steve stood up and grasped her elbow as he helped her out of her seat. Her legs felt like rubber, and she staggered slightly as she slipped into the aisle. He steadied her, then retrieved their coats from the overhead compartment. He held Leslie's as she slipped her left arm into the sleeve, then he draped the coat carefully over her injured shoulder and handed her her shoulder bag.

  The aisle of the plane seemed ten miles long as Leslie started toward the exit. She wanted to get off the plane, out of the terminal and away from Steve McRory as fast as she could. She had to get away from him before she came unglued. She had no resources left with which to fight the terrifying panic that was growing inside her.

  She stumbled as she stepped onto the enclosed ramp, and Steve grabbed her arm and held on to it firmly as he guided her through the ramp corridor and down the stairs.

 
As they walked through the door to the arrival area, Steve scanned the crowd as though he was looking for someone. He altered their course and Leslie felt a cold knot of dread when she recognized Steve's father standing on the outskirts of the crowd gathered along the luggage conveyor belt.

  She came to an abrupt halt, her face very pale. How could she possibly face a member of Steve's family?

  Glancing up at Steve, her mouth trembling, she nervously grasped her shoulder bag against her. "Steve, I can take a cab to the McAllisters' "

  He turned toward her, his features suddenly inflexible, his eyes piercing her like blue shafts of steel. "What in hell are you talking about?"

  She felt confused and uncertain. "You said...you said you were taking me home..."

  He scrutinized her with an odd unreadable stare, then slipped his hand up the side of her neck and captured her chin in his hand, his voice low and determined. "I am taking you home, Leslie—and home has never been the McAllisters'."

  "I don't understand—"

  "This isn't the time or place for a discussion," he said tautly. "Come on. Dad's waiting for us."

  He never gave her an opportunity to respond, but gripped her elbow and piloted her over to his father. 'Hi, dad."

  "Hello, son." Hal McRory smiled warmly down at Leslie. "Hope that trip wasn't too hard on you, Leslie. Steve said you took quite a fall."

  She glanced up at Steve, then gestured selfconsciously as she looked at his father. "I'm just bruised a little."

  Steve snorted, and Leslie could feel herself flush as he spoke to his father. "Where's the car, dad?"

  Mr. McRory motioned to the glass doors just behind him and grinned. "It's right outside, parked in a No Parking zone."

  Steve gave his father a rueful amused look, then glanced down at Leslie. "Why don't you take Leslie to the car, and I'll get the luggage."

  Hal nodded. "Sure thing."

  "Make certain no one jars her shoulder—and help her when she gets into the car—and you'd better put her in the back seat." Steve turned away.