'Maybe if I drove down there…' she suggested hopefully as they were driving home, the party having lost most of its gaiety because of the mix-up.
'Not a chance,' said Ralph. 'His base camp is so far back in the bush you couldn't get within fifty miles. I'm riot even sure I'll be seeing him.'
He offered to try and send a radio message to Ryan, who would have a radio link in case of emergencies, but Seana vetoed that possibility. 'No, there've been enough mix-ups already,' she insisted. 'If you can't see him personally, I'll… I'll just have to wait until he returns and explain it myself. In fact that might be the best thing anyway.'
'All right, whatever you say,' Ralph agreed. 'But I want your promise that you will explain it—first thing, before you two get involved in one of your never-ending feuds.' And he snorted disgustedly. 'Frankly, I think you're both a couple of dopes. Everybody can see you're in love with each other, but Ryan's too stubborn to admit it and you're too stupid to shut up and give him a chance.'
'I just wish I could believe it was that simple,' Seana replied, hoping her voice didn't betray the singing in her heart. Could it really be possible? Or was Ralph just reading something into his friend's behaviour and making his own interpretations?
The thought of trying to explain to Ryan about his message—more than a month after the fact—was something she tried hard to avoid during the following weeks. Instead, she accepted that it would have to be done, prayed almost every night that Ralph would find an opportunity to do the worst part of it for her, and concentrated on having Ryan's manuscript completed by the time the guiding season ended.
But with less than a week to go, she finally had to admit defeat on the manuscript. There were just too many things that couldn't progress without Ryan's personal attention. She was also finding concentration difficult as her day of reckoning drew closer, and she was missing Mrs Jorgensen and the older woman's advice and support.
Even the regular flow of postcards couldn't make up for that lack, although from the anecdotes on them, Mrs Jorgensen was having a wonderful time in Europe.
It wasn't that Seana was particularly lonely; her job and Ryan's manuscript kept her busy and she saw Ralph on the few occasions he wasn't busy working. But the coming confrontation with Ryan preyed on her mind, so much so that even Frank Hutton commented on her moodiness.
Her delight was overwhelming, then, when Ralph came in to announce that he had finally got in to Ryan's main camp, and that the issue of the missing message was now resolved. 'And I'm damned glad of it, too,' he said. 'I can make enough enemies without having Ryan turn into one just because of something like that.'
'But what did he say?' Seana kept asking. 'When is he finishing up? When will he be back? Is he still angry with me?'
'That, my dear, is something you'll have to sort out for yourself,' Ralph replied. 'Obviously he'll be back after the last day of the season, but he didn't send any specific message, probably for fear I'd lose it.'
'He didn't send any message at all?' Seana's heart was flashing danger signals and she felt strangely lightheaded. It wasn't all resolved then, despite what Ralph had said. Or, she wondered, was it indeed resolved, with her completely out of the picture?
'Only that we'll all have to have dinner together before I leave. I've been transferred, finally, and I'll be going in as number one man at Red Deer right after Christmas.'
He made the comment lightly, but Seana knew how much he had been angling for that particular transfer, which meant a substantial promotion. 'Oh, how wonderful for you!' she smiled, and meant it, despite the immediate sadness at losing such a good friend.
Her own problems were shoved to the background as they discussed Ralph's transfer and his plans involving it, and it wasn't until he had left that Seana began to wonder once more about the lack of a personal message from Ryan.
The final day of hunting season was only a week away, however, and she felt certain she could hold out that long. And she did, but at the expense of jangled nerves and a constant, growing tension that threw an ache into her back and had her so jumpy by the final day of the season that Frank Hutton sent her home early and with a fierce demonstration of his own temper.
'Take a hot shower and three aspirins. Take a cold shower. Shoot yourself, for all I care,' he said. 'But don't come back into my office until you've straightened out.'
He brushed aside her attempts at apology, and once she was home, guilt quickly gave way to anticipation. At least she would have time to properly prepare for Ryan's return.
She spent the rest of the afternoon baking and laying the groundwork for a gourmet dinner, then did her fingernails, had a shower and washed her hair, dithered for nearly an hour over what to wear, did her nails again. And still she was ready far too early. It was barely dark, which meant Ryan couldn't be there for a couple of hours at least.
Seana spent that time pondering over what she would say to him, inventing complicated scenarios and then rejecting her own lines as either juvenile, soppy, or just plain ridiculous. But by ten o'clock even that was wearing thin, and at eleven she ate half of her gourmet dinner and flung the rest in the garbage in a fit of pique. She was in bed at midnight, but didn't get to sleep until nearly three in the morning, her ears so finely tuned to the noise of each passing vehicle that she came bolt upright in the bed if any so much as seemed to slow down.
Work the next morning was a torment, and it got worse when she overheard some forestry people talking during coffee break. It was impossible to catch every word, but the ones she did hear were enough to make her bad temper of the day before seem mild indeed by comparison to the way she felt at the moment.
Her first words when Ryan stepped into the Forestry office emerged without thought or planning; they were a simply emotional example of exactly how she felt. And they fairly dripped with venom distilled by hurt and anger.
'So they finally let you out of jail, did they?'
Ryan sauntered forward far enough to lean with one hand on the corner of her desk before answering, and then he didn't really answer at all.
'You're sure cheerful this morning. Which side of the bed did you get out of?'
'That, Mr Stranger, is none of your business,' she snapped. 'None at all.'
'It sure as hell is my business, if you're going to take all your frustrations out on me,' he retorted, and his eyes gleamed with the first fierce light of the battle to come.
'You're actually proud of yourself, aren't you?' she countered. 'Arrested for common, drunken brawling— and you're proud of it… just about what I'd expect from you!'
Ryan flinched, obviously a flinch of guilt, Seana saw, but there was no guilt in his words when he snapped back at her, his voice raised to match the timbre of her own.
'I certainly don't think I'm proud of it,' he said coldly, 'but I don't see that it's any business of yours if I am. Who do you think you are… my mother?'
'Not… at… any… price,' she replied, the words slowly and deliberately spaced for maximum chill.
'Well, we've got that much settled, anyway,' he sneered. His eyes had turned a darker-than-usual green and his lips had a taut, angry thinness. 'So unless you've married me when I wasn't looking, you've got no damned business questioning my actions at all, have you?'
Seana didn't… couldn't reply. The truth was self-evident and unarguable. Ryan didn't take her silence for acceptance, however, but cocked his head in thought as he stared at her through icy eyes.
'Ah, now I understand,' he said mockingly. 'You're all snarly because I didn't come calling last night. And you heard on the radio this morning about half a dozen guides getting busted for drinking, and as usual you jumped to conclusions. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Muldoon. I don't know what the hell you're talking about.'
He paused, giving her every chance to apologise, to say anything, but Seana's stunned mind refused to function.
'As a matter of fact, I was going to call on you last night, but I couldn't make it back in time. And j
udging from this performance, Miss Muldoon, I'm just as glad I didn't. Hell, if a little bit of typing and kiss or two makes you this possessive, what in hell would marriage do? You'd be wanting to hold my hand when I went to the bathroom!'
That was too much. The apology that had been on Seana's lips was lost in the flash of her own temper. 'I wouldn't marry you if they were giving you away in pairs,' she snapped.
'Wait until you're asked,' he replied, his own temper as hot as hers.
'Don't bother,' she sneered. 'And as for your precious typing, you know what you can do with that…'
'Oh… no!' The anger in his face was altered by a stern, stubborn determination. 'We've got an agreement about that and I'm holding you to it. And now, if you don't mind, dear Miss Muldoon, I'm going off to find my friend Ralph, who at the very least won't scream at me like a fishwife as soon as I walk in the door.'
And Seana was left, half standing and half sitting, her mouth goldfishing in mute rage as he strode through the door and slammed it so hard the glass trembled. Then she, too, was trembling, mostly with anger at herself.
How could I possibly be so stupid? she wondered. It was all ruined now, and beyond doubt it was her own fault. She owed Ryan not one simple apology, but two, and the second was far from simple.
One thing was certain, she had never seen Ryan so angry. If his mood continued until he found Ralph, she was sure to hear more about it that evening, when she and Ralph were going out for dinner to celebrate his transfer.
'And he'll probably shout at me too,' she thought ruefully as she stepped out of the shower and started getting ready. She was ready, as usual, on time, wearing a soft gold blouse and a skirt of black silk with a fine gold thread woven through it.
But he didn't arrive at eight o'clock, which rather surprised her, because Ralph, unlike Ryan, was usually very punctual. And when he hadn't arrived by eight-thirty, she began to wonder if the two men hadn't decided on some unique form of revenge, but a knock at the door a moment later made her thrust away such unkind thoughts. Carefully wiping the scowl from her face, she ran to open the door, and the first thing she saw was a huge bouquet of flowers.
'Oh!' she cried delightedly, then raised her eyes to meet the mocking appraisal of Ryan Stranger.
'Very lovely,' he said, making no attempt to disguise the admiration in his voice.
'Oh,' Seana said again, then stammered in her confusion, 'Er… come in, please. Ralph will be here in a moment, I should imagine. Would you… er… like a drink or something?'
'No, thanks; we're already late,' he said. 'My fault, which probably shows I shouldn't try to stand in for somebody as punctual as Ralph. He was… called away on a final anti-poaching mission, so I came instead.'
Seana stood there, silent, and before she realised what was happening, Ryan had lifted her coat from the closet and was placing it around her shoulders. He took the flowers out of her nerveless fingers and laid them down on the sideboard. 'They'll keep,' he said. 'Shall we go?'
And suddenly she was sitting in his truck, aware somehow that it was washed and polished and clean inside, but less certain of how she'd got there.
Neither of them spoke for the first few moments, but it was Ryan who broke the silence, in a voice so soft Seana barely heard him.
'What did you say?' she asked, unsure she had heard it correctly.
'I said I was sorry about this morning.'
'Oh.' Unaccountably, his apology served only to bring back hostile memories, and she had to bite her tongue to keep her temper in. She counted to ten, slowly, before continuing.
'I'm sorry too. And really, it was my fault.' She thought the admission would choke her, but amazingly, once it was out, she felt several pounds lighter and not choked up at all.
'Umm-hmm.' That took a moment to soak in, and then she had to bite her tongue again, but still the start of her retort slipped past.
'What? You… you…' She began to splutter before it got worse, but Ryan was already interrupting.
'… nice fellow. Splendid fellow, even. After all, I did apologise, even if it wasn't my fault, which you've admitted. Besides, I brought you flowers, didn't I?'
She turned to find his eyes laughing at her, and though she knew it was the cue for her to laugh too, his mockery only made her more angry.
'Take me home, please,' she demanded.
'Why?' His voice was innocuously bland. Suspiciously so.
'Because it's obvious if you and I stay together we're going to end up fighting,' she said acidly, 'and I'd rather it wasn't in public.'
'Okay.' His reply was curiously soft, but he turned the truck right at the next corner, away from downtown, and Seana closed her eyes and relaxed in what she saw as a major victory. Then she opened them again and realised that while they were no longer headed downtown, they weren't going to Mrs Jorgensen's, either.
'Where are you going?' she asked in sudden, suspicious confusion.
'Where we can have dinner—and fight—without making a public spectacle of it,' he replied, still softly.
'What? Just a minute… you can't… I won't…' Seana was stammering and knew it.
'Seana… please just shut up? And there was a deadly calm about the way he said it. She sat. What else could she do… they had passed the city limits and she wasn't about to jump from a truck going sixty miles an hour down a highway in the darkness.
They passed Clairmont, and a few minutes later passed the highway fringe of Sexsmith, whereupon Ryan ignored the next curve in the highway and sent the truck straight ahead along a narrow gravel road, the old, original highway into the Saddle Hills, Seana realised, and wondered if he could be heading for White Mountain Tower by some unknown route.
But a few miles farther, he swung on to an even narrower, snow-choked track leading into the edge of the hills, a track so deeply rutted he had to force the truck on in its lowest gears to manoeuvre the steep inclines.
The road finally ended in the yard of a small farm, but Ryan switched off the headlights before Seana caught more than a glimpse of a large, rambling log cabin and outbuildings of the same material. Leaving the truck running, he flung open his door and stepped down into the snow.
'Stay here; I'll be back in a minute.' It was a command she couldn't disobey. She had no confidence in her ability to handle the heavy truck, even presuming she could have got it turned around in the first place. She sat, silent and wondering, as she saw a glimmer of lamplight spark within the house. The doorway became a small, lighted rectangle through which Ryan's shadow drifted as he crossed the yard and returned to the vehicle. Seconds later he was opening the passenger door and lifting her into his arms.
'What? You… you put me down!' she cried, wriggling to get free. He merely ignored her, stomping carefully through the deep snow and kicking open the door. Once inside, he set her gently down on the dry floor. Then he shrugged off his heavy coat and led her over to where a fire, newly born, was clawing its way through the kindling in a huge stone fireplace.
'You'd better leave your coat on for a few minutes, although it won't take long to warm up,' he said. 'Would you like a drink?'
Seana stood, staring into the flames as she tried to interpret the curious tone in his voice. 'Yes, I think I would, actually,' she said at last. 'Brandy, please. But where are we?' The words all seemed to run together.
'Home.' Ryan threw the word over his shoulder as he busied himself mixing drinks. Seana, chilly despite her coat, moved closer to the fire and perched on the edge of a large, old-fashioned chair near the edge of the hearth. She looked up as he crossed the room with the drinks on a small tray, and suddenly realised that this was a Ryan Stranger she had never seen before. There was none of his usual rough-hewn casualness; his hair was neatly combed, his moustache and beard trimmed close, if still curly. His shirt was of a soft, pale green that picked out the highlights in the perfectly-knotted tie. And his suit, she realised with a start, was perfectly cut and exceptionally expensive.
Suddenly as warm
as she had been cool only seconds before, she rose to throw off her coat, but halted at his commanding look.
Wordlessly, he set the tray on a coffee table, took her coat politely and left the room with it. Seana picked up her drink and was seated again when he returned.
Ryan lifted his own glass in a silent toast, smiling brightly at her, then turned his attention to the flickering fire, which cast more light into the room than came from the single coal-oil lantern on another table in the corner.
They sat, each staring into the flames, until the drinks were finished. Then Ryan silently refilled the glasses, and when he brought Seana's to her, said quietly, 'It'll be a few minutes before dinner. You don't mind if I leave you here?'
She nodded silently and turned to stare into the flames again as he left, quietly closing the door behind him. Then, curious, she left the drink and wandered slowly through the huge room. The walls, contrary to her first impressions, were not log, but softly polished planks of what appeared to be maple. An ancient rifle hung above the mantel, along with a pistol of equal vintage and a weird, unusually attractive painting that looked like a section of cave wall with a crude, primitive, wolf-like figure dominating it. As she moved through the room, her eyes kept returning to the painting, though she was unsure why it so attracted her.
The furniture was a blend of heavy, solid old pieces and newer, apparently hand-made fixtures that also radiated solidarity. The floor was covered in various skins, including one of a huge grizzly bear, and there were the massive antlers of deer, moose and elk on the walls.
The bar where Ryan had mixed the drinks also appeared to be hand-crafted, matching some of the other newer furniture.
Returning to the fire, she picked up her drink again and stood silently staring at the wolf painting, drawn to it, absorbed by the primitive subtlety. She didn't hear the door open behind her.
'Do you like it?'
Seana turned, startled for an instant; then she calmed. 'Yes, I rather think I do. It's certainly unusual… rather compelling, in a way.'
'It was done by a guy who used to be a towerman, down on Copton Tower. He's an art instructor at the college now, I think. That painting is the only thing of its type he ever did, to my knowledge, and I bought it before the paint was hardly dry. Now I think he specialises in pen sketches that are very popular and very expensive, but nothing like this.'
Battle of Wills Page 16