Merle relaxed back into the warm water, closing her eyes momentarily. She hoped Leon would decide to settle on the gas well so the job would be over. From the indications she had, it would be a good well. On the other hand, they might decide to go for broke and drill deeper in hopes of finding oil. That would mean the job could take several more weeks.
Realising she was starting to doze off, Merle got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself. Her hair was slightly damp from the steam and listlessly she began combing out the tangles. It had grown a lot over the summer and she knew she should have it cut. On the other hand, maybe she wouldn't, she thought, brushing it away from her face. She kept it short because it was easier to take care of when she was working, especially if she was camping in the bush. Maybe she wouldn't take another scouting job when she finished this one.
The hand holding the brush froze. Though she had occasionally entertained doubts, felt discouraged about her job, this was the first time she had ever seriously considered quitting. As the idea grew, she knew that was what she wanted to do. She was tired of the loneliness, the long hours of boredom which no longer seemed rewarded when she gathered some clue.
Her thoughts went to Greg Larson, the way she had let him kiss her, caress her. She hadn't even liked him, but because she needed the information he had, she had actually encouraged him. Had he really fallen in love with her? Merle shuddered as her thoughts veered to the question. She had been hurt by Leon, but it had been a hurt of her own making. Had Greg felt the same way she did—the tearing agony that was always beneath the surface? She turned away from the mirror, unable to bear her own image. Was she so despicable that she had deliberately put someone through what she had been going through since Leon had sent her away? And would she continue scouting and do the same thing again with another man and another well?
But how could she quit? What would she do? She disliked secretarial work, which was the only other job skill she had. 'You could get married.' She knew that would be her mother's advice. There were a couple of men other than Jack Franklin that she dated when she was in Calgary and she knew that with encouragement, she could extract a proposal from either of them. But was that what she wanted? Would she really marry someone she didn't love? She couldn't do it when she was twenty and engaged to Paul, could she now simply because she didn't know what else to do with her life? And if she did, would that be any different than leading Greg Larson on?
Slowly, she resumed brushing her hair. She remembered how she had felt that morning when she was cooking breakfast for Leon. It had felt like being married to him—and she had been very happy that morning. She had acknowledged that she loved him, but until now she had never thought beyond having an affair with him. Marriage to Leon—she had always viewed marriage as a form of woman's bondage, of being chained to a man by a bit of legal paper. But what of loving and sharing and giving? Marriage to Leon would be that. Perhaps a marriage licence was merely the final link in the chain of love that bound a man and woman.
Merle walked to the bed and pulled the covers back. Discarding the towel, she pulled on her nightgown and slipped between the sheets. As she turned restlessly beneath the bedclothes, she cursed once again her carelessness at misplacing her sleeping pills. She would need one tonight. It was going to be a lot harder than usual to keep the tears at bay. 'Days, weeks, a long time': those had been Leon's words. Leon hadn't wanted to complete that chain. If he had said 'forever' and forged that last link, she knew that she wouldn't be sleeping alone tonight in a motel room, somewhere off the No I Highway between Medicine Hat and Calgary.
When Merle arrived on the hilltop the next morning, the crew had just finished pulling out the core sample. The truck from the firm that supplied test equipment was parked near the office and Merle knew they would be examining the core here at the site and not sending it to Calgary.
She waited impatiently for them to finish the tests on the sample, wishing she were back in a busy office. At least there would have been people around instead of this infernal solitude. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts. She felt she would have gladly typed a four-hundred page report just to keep her mind occupied. Leon, her job, her future: the problems tumbled around in her head all through the long, hot day. She couldn't even go back to the motel because she didn't know when or if they would do a drill stem test and she had to keep an eye on the site.
When the sun dipped to the horizon that afternoon, she still hadn't come to terms with her life. The geologist hadn't ordered a drill stem test and, when sundown approached, Merle knew he would probably wait until the next morning. As she started the walk back to the truck, all she had to show for her day was a painful throbbing behind her temples.
She was several hundred yards from the Blazer when she noticed a plume of dust rise a few feet in front of her. Frowning, Merle stopped walking and stared at the spot where the disturbance in the sand had occurred. Unable to fathom what it could have been, she was about to walk on when something whizzed past her cheek. She heard a splintering sound as it hit the branch of a tuft of sage brush behind her.
Someone was shooting at her!
She was dropping to the ground when the third bullet hit a nearby rock, shattering it. One of the fragments caught her on the cheek and she felt the stinging cut as she flattened herself to the ground. Merle lay rigid with fear as she waited for the next shot. She counted the seconds, wondering if each one would be her last. She was bleeding from the cut, but she ignored the warm liquid that was spilling down her cheek, turning the sand crimson.
She didn't know how long she lay there, centuries maybe, but she knew by the growing darkness that the sun had finally gone below the horizon. She waited several more minutes before moving. Finally, when it was almost completely dark, she eased herself off the ground and, running in a half crouch, made it to the Blazer. Her only thought was to get back to the motel, to the safety of her room.
She covered the seven miles to the motel in five minutes. Jamming on the brakes, she jerked the Blazer to a stop and jumped out, slamming the door behind her. She was about to dart into the motel when she saw Leon's red Blazer parked two spaces away from her truck. The shaft of pain that shot through her almost caused her to double over. Until this moment her mind had been too numbed by panic to consider who had fired the shots. Did he hate her this much? Wave after wave of anguish washed through her, undermining further the thin edge she had retained on her sanity. How would she bear this final blow? How could she live knowing he hated her enough to try to kill her?
She stumbled into the motel, tears blinding her. He hated her enough to kill her. The words ricocheted around her mind over and over again. She reached the door to her room and fumbled the key out of her pocket. Her hands were shaking as she tried to insert it into the lock and she dropped it. Merle leaned weakly against the door, trying to gain enough composure to reach down and pick it up.
Merle heard footfalls approaching along the hall and kept her face turned to the door. An involuntary tremor passed through her. How could he have done this to her? The footsteps halted behind her. Merle stiffened her spine, resolutely keeping her back to the corridor. She couldn't bear to face anyone, to talk to anyone right now.
'What's wrong?' Leon demanded with harsh impatience.
She didn't turn around. 'Go away,' she whispered, huskily. She felt the fragile hold she retained on her control starting to slip. The key to her room still lay at her feet and she reached down to pick it up, clutching the doorknob for support.
Leon clasped her shoulder when she had straightened and was trying to fit the' key into the lock. 'What's wrong?' he reiterated, his tone softened with reluctant concern.
Merle jerked away from him. His touch was like a hammerblow on her already shattered nerves, and she spun around, screaming, 'You know what's wrong! You did this to me!'
The blood drained from Leon's face when he saw hers. Tears were streaming from her eyes, mingling with the caked blood from the gash on h
er cheek. 'Oh my God!' He saw her sway and his arms went out to catch her.
She cringed away, flattening herself against the door, her eyes dilating. 'No, don't come near me,' she ordered, her voice tinged with panic. She eyed him warily and Leon could read the fear in her eyes. 'Don't hurt me.'
'What happened?' he asked urgently. She stared at him mutely, the rise and fall of her breasts uneven. 'Please, Merle, I'm not going to hurt you, but you have to tell me what happened to you,' he coaxed, forcing a gentler tone.
'You know,' she muttered, wrapping her arms around her. She lowered her head, feeling suddenly cold and empty. 'I knew you were angry with me,' she said bitterly, 'but I didn't think you would do anything like this. I thought… I didn't know you hated me that much.'
Leon heard a door open, followed by laughter as a couple entered the hallway. 'Merle, we can't talk here. Let me have your key and we'll talk in your room.'
Merle shook her head, her fingers tightening on the key. 'No, I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone, just leave me alone. You've done enough to me.' She turned her back on him, and tried once again to open her door. Finally, her shaking fingers managed to insert the key into the lock and she turned the knob.
Leon was right behind her as she slipped through the opening. She tried to force the door closed behind her, shutting him out, but he propelled it inward and forced his way inside.
Angrily, Merle faced him as he slammed the door behind them. 'Get out of here! I told you to leave me alone.'
'Not until I find out what happened. Somehow you seem to think I'm responsible, so I at least have a right to know what I'm supposed to have done.' His own temper was rising, and anger chiselled his features into harsh lines.
'You know damn well what you've done,' Merle retorted. The tears had started again and she brushed them away impatiently. When they continued to flow she turned her back on him. She dug her nails into her palms, trying to stop the silent scream that was echoing in her head from breaking free. 'Leon, just get out of here,' she pleaded unsteadily, her anger dissolving with her composure. 'I know you despise me, hate me, but have a little mercy. I'm not going to tell anyone what happened if that's what you're worried about. So, please, just leave me alone.'
He came up behind her and touched her arm. She flinched away from him as though she had been burnt. A sob rose in her throat and her shoulders shook as she suppressed it. She heard Leon mutter something but couldn't make out what it was because the blood was roaring in her ears. She was losing the battle to control the emotions churning through her and knew at any moment she would break. At last, she sensed him move away, then heard the slam of the door closing behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A few minutes later, Merle lay huddled on the bed, her shoulders shaking with sobs, her face buried in a pillow. She didn't hear the door to her room open, didn't hear the man go into the bathroom and run the tap. Only when she felt the edge of the bed depress and Leon's hand on her shoulder, gently turning her, did she realise he had returned.
She stared up into his face, bewildered, her eyes drenched with tears. Putting his arm around her, he helped her to sit up and pressed a glass of water into her hand. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a vial of capsules. Opening it, he shook out one of the small red tablets and put it into her free hand. 'I want you to take this, Merle. You're overwrought; it will calm you down.'
She looked from the pill resting in her palm, to the bottle, recognising her sleeping pills. They must have been in the bathroom all along. How did he always know where her things were when she didn't even know herself?
'Merle, please,' Leon said gently, taking the capsule from her and holding it to her lips. 'Take the pill. Then, I'm going to clean up your cheek for you, okay?'
Bemused, she allowed Leon to place it in her mouth, then took a sip from the glass of water to wash it down. Leon took the glass from her and set it on the bedside table. He picked up the first-aid kit he had placed there earlier and opened it. Taking out a bottle of antiseptic, he poured some on to a wad of cotton and started wiping the blood from the gash on her cheek.
Merle continued to stare at him, noting the grim concentration on his face as he carefully tended the cut. When it was cleaned, he took a plaster from the kit and covered the gash. The task completed, he smiled stiffly at her. 'It doesn't look too bad. It should heal in a few days and I don't think it will scar.'
He stood up and started replacing the supplies in the first-aid kit. 'Why are you doing this, Leon?' Merle asked.
He didn't reply, but continued filling the kit. When he had finished, he snapped it shut, then turned to face her. The pill was doing its work. Her eyes no longer held that wild look they had earlier and the trembling had stopped. 'Merle,' he said firmly, 'I know you insist I know what happened, but I don't. Now that you've calmed down a little, do you think you can tell me what got you into this state?'
Merle stared down at the bedspread, her fingertip tracing the pattern of the quilting. 'One of your men shot at me,' she answered quietly, then looked up at him, her eyes dark and accusing. 'They wouldn't do that unless you told them to.'
He studied her face with narrowed eyes, his own face pale under his tan. 'Tell me exactly what happened out there this afternoon.'
In a remote, unemotional tone, she related what had happened after she left her position on the hill that afternoon. The sleeping pill was taking hold of her now, and her words began to slur as she talked. Finally, she reached the end of the story and yawned.
'Go away, Leon. I want to sleep now. You don't have to pretend your innocence any more.' She curled up on the bed, putting her back to him. Within seconds she was asleep.
'What the hell are you doing in my room?'
Leon jerked awake. Merle was sitting in the bed, the blankets pulled up under her armpits, covering her breasts. She looked very young, with her hair tousled from sleep, her colour high. Her eyes, though, looked like a pair of steel daggers and from her expression, he was glad they weren't; she would have used them on him to cut him into shark bait.
He sat up straighter, flexing the muscles in his back and rubbing the stiffness that had settled in his neck after spending most of the night in the chair.
'I asked what you're doing in my room? I suggest you get out before I change my mind about calling the cops.' This was starting to become a habit: waking up and finding Leon. At least, this time he wasn't in the bed. She swallowed hard, wishing he didn't look quite so disturbingly attractive in the morning light. His light brown hair was ruffled as though he had combed his hand through it. He was wearing a pale yellow sports shirt, open at the neck, the sleeves rolled to the elbow to expose tanned forearms. His slacks were faintly crumpled, though the material stretched taut over his hard, muscled thighs as he shifted in the chair.
Her heart gave a little jerk as the memory of his lovemaking flashed through her mind, his nude body pressed against her. Her eyes drifted to his mouth, the finely chiselled upper lip, the lower lip, full and sensuous. She knew his kiss, the mobile pressure of that mouth on hers. Her pulse quickened and her tongue came out to moisten dry lips. Appalled by what she was thinking, what she was wanting, she jerked her mind back to the present. For Lord's sake, Merle, he tried to kill you! She glared at him with renewed venom.
He was unable to suppress a smile as he took in her murderous stare. She reminded him of a little bantam hen getting ready to fly into a rage, her feathers ruffled and wings flapping.
She saw the twist of his lips and her own compressed in silent fury. Her robe was lying across the foot of the bed and Merle reached down and dragged it to her. Keeping the covers pulled up, she shrugged into it then jumped out of bed and stalked over to the phone. She was lifting the receiver when Leon said calmly, 'If you're calling the RCMP, I already have.' She turned to look at him and he smiled at her benignly. 'They should be here to talk to you in…' he glanced at his watch,'… about a half an hour.'
'You called the poli
ce?'
'Last night. You did say someone had shot at you?'
'Yes, but…?' Merle spread her hands in a bewildered gesture. He was the one who had shot at her, or at least, given the order. It didn't make any sense for him to have called the police.
'I didn't have anything to do with the shooting, Merle,' he answered the unspoken question. 'I went out with the police last night to question the men at the well. It doesn't look like any of them are responsible for the shooting, either. You left the hill a few minutes before sundown and the shots were fired while you were on the way to your truck. Is that right?'
Merle nodded.
'Most of the men were on the site at the time because of the core testing. The ones who weren't can all account for their whereabouts and they weren't anywhere near the hill.'
'And where were you?' Merle demanded. Who would want to shoot at her if it wasn't Leon or the rig workers?
'I drove down from Calgary yesterday afternoon. I reached the motel about a half an hour before sunset and went for a swim. I was only just going out to the site when I saw you,' he explained patiently.
'I don't understand.' She shook her head in a confused motion.
'Whoever took those shots at you had nothing to do with Puma Resources, Merle. You'll just have to trust me on that.'
'Trust you?' she cried, struggling to hang on to her indignation. 'After all you've done to me this summer, you expect me to trust you?' Though the question was delivered in a cutting tone, that hard, cold ball of misery that had resided in the pit of her stomach ever since last night was slowly starting to thaw. She could handle the shooting. After all, she was an oil scout and sometimes these things happened. Once, some workers from a site she had been scouting had chopped down the tree she was using as a vantage point while she was still in it. What she couldn't handle was knowing Leon, the man she was in love with, had wanted to have her killed.
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