He didn't answer her for a moment, then he turned to face her. "I don't know, really. I just don't want you to think my prejudice is based on some triviality."
"Your prejudice, if you want to call it that, is based on an awful tragedy."
Steve rested his elbow on the top of the piano and faced her squarely. "Look, Les, Ted and I have been going over the Redwillow material for the last hour. I'm very impressed with the calibre of research you've done. Since you've done the basic groundwork, it would be senseless and risky to bring in another geologist to finish the investigation."
Leslie tried to ignore the swell of hope that was growing in her.
Steve continued. "I'm quite prepared to go with you until the preliminary study is completed." He was watching her closely, his eyes hooded. "This means a great deal to you, doesn't it?"
Leslie didn't answer immediately. For the first time in her life she was experiencing the bitter taste of venom. Luther Denver was a detestable human being. He had ruined the lives of others, and had very nearly ruined her life, too. It was time for her to even an old score, not only for Ramco Exploration, but for herself. It was time Luther Denver learned the meaning of defeat—a defeat he would understand. If the big-basin theory was sound, the company who tapped it could make millions. Luther would understand that—the loss of money.
Her voice was nearly unrecognizable even to herself when she finally answered. There was an implacability in it that had never been there before. "Yes, it's important to me. I need to know if I'm right or wrong.'' She didn't realize her face was set with rigid determination as she remembered her confrontation with Luther. "For my own credibility within my profession, I need to know."
"That's so very important to you?"
It was important to her only because she wanted desperately to rub Luther's nose in defeat. "Yes," she replied.
"Very well, as long as my own position is perfectly clear and there are no misconceptions."
"There are no misconceptions." Leslie's voice was low and controlled. The thought of Luther Denver filled her with loathing.
"Nor are there any on my part."
Leslie was jolted out of her intense state by the raw anger in Steve's voice. He was very angry with her, and once again, she didn't understand why. Neither did she understand why she suddenly felt so empty and so very much alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT FEW DAYS were the most demanding and confusin Leslie had ever spent in her entire life. The pressure was on for the development of the project plan for Redwillow. Steve could only estimate when Denver Oil would release their landholdings in that area, but he wanted Ramco to be ready to roll when they did.
He had come up with a brainstorm—to dig up the geological records on every well that had been drilled in that area in the last twenty years. The records turned out to be a gold mine of information. Leslie's primary job was to transpose all the information available onto various maps, and to color code the data to give a comprehensive visual picture of what lay beneath the heavily treed, undulating topography of the district. It was fascinating work, but painstakingly slow, for it had to be precisely transferred latitudinally and longitudinally. There was no margin for error.
Then a huge cross-section map of the geologic structure had to be drafted, to present a picture of the various rock formations and their locations. It was intense nerve-wracking work, because eveything had to be checked and double-checked.
What Leslie found even harder to cope with was Steve's cool detached attitude toward her. He wasn't unpleasant or overly demanding, and he certainly didn't expect anything more from his employees than he was prepared to give himself. She didn't understand why his conduct should unsettle her the way it did, but it was making her feel edgy and uncomfortable. The more uncomfortable she felt, the harder she worked to overcome the feeling of inadequacy. She was caught in a vicious circle, and the strain was beginning to show.
He unsettled her with every impersonal glance, with every word, with every touch, and no matter how hard she tried to rationalize her own strained behavior, she could find no answer. She couldn't understand what was happening to her.
Here was someone she hadn't even known until a few days ago, and for some reason, it was essential that he approve of her. The odd time he bestowed a nod or a warm smile, Leslie felt as though she had been given the world. Yet he frightened her, too. He threatened her with his air of casual confidence, his magnetism, his intensity. He made her acutely aware of how insignificant she was, how vulnerable, and that also frightened her. She didn't understand. Nothing made sense.
She would wake up at night, her soul aching with an emptiness that was alien to her, almost as though a vital part of her had been stripped away. She became more and more solemn as the inner turmoil gnawed away at her. Why this peculiar haunting dissatisfaction? Why this sensation that her life hung suspended in some gray void?
Every time she tried to identify the source of her misery, an image of Steve McRory would develop in her mind. When it did, she would clamp her mind shut on that Pandora's box and throw herself into her work in an attempt to drive the confusion from her mind.
Ted's attitude didn't help either. He seemed to have a perpetual air of restrained amusement that was a further irritating factor. Leslie didn't understand his amusement. She didn't understand anything.
The more confused she became, the more she withdrew behind her professional facade. Before long she felt like an overextended rubber band.
Leslie rubbed the back of her neck wearily in an attempt to ease the tension. They had been working in some unused office space attached to a warehouse that belonged to Ramco. The lighting wasn't the best and it was stuffy; that didn't help either.
She forced herself to concentrate on the huge topographical map of northern Alberta that was rolled out on the table before them. The parcels of land that Denver Oil and other companies held were marked in various colored blocks. The unclaimed land remained untouched.
Ted and Steve were discussing the strategy for acquiring the property they wanted without tipping their hand to other oil companies.
"One thing Ramco has going for it, Steve, is that you're a relatively small company. The majors are going to pretty well ignore what you're doing."
Steve straightened up and stretched, then ran his hands through his thick hair with a tired sigh. "Yeah, I hope so." He gave Ted a rueful look, his voice heavy with irony. "Just tell me again that this whole damned thing is a marvelous challenge and that we're thriving on every minute of it."
Ted snorted and shook his head. Leslie felt so frustrated and so drained that she could have happily torn the map to shreds. She couldn't stand the tension one second longer. "Well, I don't know about you two," she said, "but if I could get my hands on one of those big, fat, wax kindergarten crayons, I'd take the black one and scribble all over this damned map."
Steve's eyes widened slightly, but his voice was devoid of any expression. "Really?"
"Yes, really! I'm sick to death of this thing."
Steve's smile was cool and slightly sardonic. "But wouldn't that be unprofessional, Leslie?"
She stared back at him, her voice tinged with petulance. "It might be unprofessional, but it would be so...so...so satisfying."
He flipped open his briefcase and handed her a large black-felt marking pen. "Will this do?"
It was an open challenge. Leslie looked at the pen—it was so damned tempting! But she couldn't. She thought of the hours and hours it had taken her to transpose the lease boundaries onto that map. If she ruined it, she would just have to do it all over again. She felt like throwing a massive temper tantrum, and knew she had to get out of there before she exploded.
Without looking at either one of them, she picked up her bag and jacket, then headed for the door. "I'm going home!"
Ted called something after her as she flew down the stairs, but she didn't hesitate. She had to escape.
It wasn't until she was back at the McAl
listers' that a feeling of panic really hit her. She had to get outside for a while and burn off some of the awful nervous energy that was building like a mighty river of water behind a very shaky dam. She had never experienced anything like this before. Even more alarming, she was afraid of finding out why.
Instinctively she knew she had to do something physically exhausting. Otherwise she would go mad. She raced up the stairs and ripped off her clothes, ramming her legs into an old pair of jeans and pulling on a sweat shirt that had Rocks Make Great Pets emblazoned on the front. She shoved her feet into her old track shoes, then raced back downstairs, where she scribbled out a note for Maggie and stuck it on the front of the fridge with a magnetic butterfly. She couldn't get out of the house fast enough.
Once on the sidewalk, she broke into a full run. There was a beautiful park half a block from the McAllisters' where she jogged every day. This afternoon it was going to be no easy lope, but a hard fast pace that would absolutely exhaust her.
And that's exactly what she did. She ran until the perspiration soaked her whole body, until the muscles in her legs felt like sharp knives. She ran until she simply couldn't take another step. Then she collapsed on the grass, her whole body heaving as she fought for breath. She shouldn't have run like that without warming up first, but she'd just had to. Everything had felt like it was pushing in on her, smothering her, trapping her.
She stretched out in the warm sun, her body now heavy and relaxed. Through half-closed eyes she watched the fat, fluffy, white clouds float lazily across the brilliant blue sky. A peaceful serenity settled gently on her, and she drifted into a relaxed slumber.
She awoke with a start much later, blinking against the brightness. Rolling over, she squinted at her watch. Four o'clock. Maggie and Ted would soon be home for dinner. She hauled herself to her feet and stretched lazily, her body free of the tension and edginess that had plagued her all week.
She broke into an easy lope as she headed toward home. Her route took her past the empty swings, which looked forlorn and forgotten in the October sun. On impulse she stopped and turned around, a smile on her face as she trotted back to them.
Sitting down in one, she pushed off with her feet and started pumping. In no time she was soaring, her spirits flying free as a sense of well-being bubbled within her. She breathed deeply, relishing the smell of autumn, which sort of reminded her of pipe tobacco. She hummed to herself as she hooked her arms around the sturdy chains and leaned back to let the momentum carry her along. It was then that, from the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of color.
Leslie's head snapped around, her eyes wide with alarm as her lips mouthed a silent, "Oh, no!"
Steve McRory stood leaning against a tree, puffing on a pipe, a wry grin on his face as he watched her swing. Leslie sat up abruptly, her knees suddenly shaky as she continued to stare at him, her cheeks red with embarrassment. He rapped the dottle from his pipe and stuck it in his sweater pocket, then pushed himself away from the tree and sauntered over to the swing.
When the swing arched toward him, he swept her up in his arms, then, stood there holding her, a lazy smile on his face as he studied her expression. Leslie was suddenly filled with a sense of harmony. She was caught in the hypnotic spell of his magnetism as she stared up at him.
"Well, well. So you do let Leslie out to play once in a while." His voice was as seductive as a gentle caress, and a strange warmth spread through her as he continued to hold her.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, captivating her with his masculine charm. "What's the matter, Leslie, has the cat got your tongue, or are you getting yourself all geared up to claw my eyes out?" His voice was tinged with laughter.
The spell was broken, but the harmony remained. She finally returned the smile, her eyes dancing. "Well, it's hard to think of a slicing rebuttal when you've played hooky and have been literally caught in the act by your boss." She stared pointedly at his strong arms, which were holding her so easily.
He tipped his head back and laughed, then he set her down to face him, his arms draped across her shoulders. "And what did you do while you played hooky—swing for three hours?"
She shrugged her shoulders sheepishly as she slanted a glance up at him. "No, I...I came out here to try and run off my frustrations."
He brushed back a tendril of hair that blew across her face. "Sounds like good therapy. How far did you go?"
''I...I'm not sure. Maybe three miles."
Steve raised his eyebrows. "Really? Do you do that often?"
Leslie felt her cheeks color with embarrassment and she bent her head.
"Leslie?"
She looked up at him and grimaced. "I run nearly every day, but I don't usually go that distance."
His voice was gentle but probing. "And why so far today?"
She didn't answer him; what could she say? How could she explain without sounding like an idiot?
"Have I been driving you too hard at work?"
Her head shot up and she stared at him. "Oh, no! No, it isn't that. Sometimes it seems like everything is closing in on me, and—"
"And that's how you deal with it?"
"Yes." She stuck her hands in her pockets, keenly aware of the weight of his arms across her shoulders. "I'm sorry I created a scene at work today, Steve. I didn't plan to have a snit just so I had an excuse to come home."
He laughed softly. "I'm glad to hear that." With one arm still draped across her shoulders, he pulled her alongside of him. They started strolling leisurely toward the road. "After the distance you did, I don't suppose you feel like doing another circuit with me?" There was an odd timbre to his voice. It sounded as though he expected her to say no, and he wished she wouldn't.
Leslie's sense of well-being suddenly soared to a new plateau. With supreme effort she managed to keep her face expressionless as she studied him up and down, her eyes assessing. He had on an old sweat-suit top that had definitely seen better days and a pair of blue jeans that were in worse shape than hers. But he had on an expensive pair of joggers. She studied his feet, then stuck out one of hers in comparison, her face set in mock concern.
With laughing eyes she asked, "Do you suppose my track shoes will actually run in company like that, or will they sit here and sulk?"
His face relaxed into a broad grin. "They don't look like sulky sneakers to me, but then maybe they're sneaky sulkers."
Leslie groaned loudly, then laughed. 'That's a rotten pun, Steve McRory—but I guess we'll take you on anyway." She grimaced as she looked at his long muscular legs. "Well, maybe you're on. You can probably walk faster than I can run." She looked up at him, her face alive and full of laughter.
His expression suddenly became serious, and he slowly traced her jaw with his finger. His voice was so low it was almost a whisper. "Leslie, I have this feeling that I'll never quite catch you, no matter how hard I run."
Her breath stopped as she looked up at him. Their eyes met for a spellbinding moment, and Leslie tried to quell the bubble of warm excitement that swelled within her.
Steve's mood was suddenly light as he slipped his arm from her shoulder and caught her hand, pulling her along with him as he started off in an easy jog.
There was something strangely intimate about running beside him, their arms occasionally brushing together as they ran through the park. The grass was richly carpeted with a brilliant red-and-gold mosaic of fallen autumn leaves, the wild grasses like amber and bronze touches on a canvas. The mountain ash trees were gloriously dressed in their magenta leaves and jeweled with the bright red of their autumn berries. It was all like a glorious tapestry, embroidered with golden sunshine and the bright blue sky.
They ran an easy mile in companionable silence, the only sound their heavy regular breathing and the crunch of dried leaves beneath their feet. Finally Leslie turned her head and grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling with high spirits, her face flushed with exertion and good health. She indicated her feet with a wave of her hand. "You kno
w...they won't...stop unless...yours do. It's a case of...keeping up...with the Joneses."
Steve threw his head back and laughed as he sharply checked his long stride. Leslie staggered to a halt beside him and wiped the beads of perspiration from her face with the sleeve of her sweater. She bent over at the waist, letting her arms hang limp until her breathing returned to normal.
When she straightened up, she felt suddenly shy and discomposed. Steve was sitting on the grass, his arms draped across his flexed knees. He was watching her intently.
She sprawled out on the grass and tried to think of something to say to break the silence. He was probably staring at her like that because she looked like such a wreck.
"You'll likely slap my face for saying this, but you look marvelous right now, Leslie."
She rolled up into a sitting position and crossed her legs Indian fashion. Her voice was imperious and stilted. "But, of course." She ran her hands through her damp tousled hair and lifted her chin regally. "Coiffured by Grizelda Gruesome, makeup by Sarah Sweat!"
Steve laughed and tossed a handful of dried leaves at her. "Miss Kairns, weren't you ever told that ladies do not sweat—they glow."
"Ladies may not sweat, Mr. McRory, but dwarfs definitely do!"
He laughed again as he leaned forward and ruffled her hair, then caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger and lifted her face. "Feeling better?" The question was a gentle query that spoke clearly of his concern.
She grimaced, her face pink with embarrassment. She nodded, her voice contrite as she met his level gaze. "Yes, I feel better. To cop a term of Ted's, I get in a 'twist' now and again, and I've often been told that I resort to childish tactics when I do."
He took both of her hands in his, his eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter. "The important thing is, are you feeling properly untwisted now?"
She grinned at him and made a face. "I'm so untwisted I think I'm unravelling."
He chuckled and pulled her to her feet as he stood up. "Just hang together until I get you home. Maggie sent me out to get you with a warning look in her eye, so I'm not keen on facing her if I bring you home looking too frayed!"
Hold Back The Dawn Page 6