"You've a bad pair there, Leslie," drawled the rancher. "Steve and Jeff are both bullheaded and inclined to want their own way. I hope you can manage the two of them."
Without thinking, Leslie responded, "I think I can."
Hal laughed heartily and nodded his head. "Yes, I think you can." There was such a wealth of amusement and approval in his voice that Leslie suddenly felt very much at ease, even though she was embarrassed.
The other incident happened a short time later. Steve's mother, Doris, had listed off a selection of pies that she had prepared for dessert. One of them was pecan—and pecan pie was Leslie's absolute favorite. When she stated her preference, everyone at the table could tell by her tone of voice that Doris had indeed made a hit. The delighted smile on the woman's face as she handed Leslie a large helping confirmed Steve's prediction. Leslie had a terrible time to keep from laughing when she glanced at him and saw the wicked sparkle in his eyes. So he had been telling the truth.
Steve read her thoughts and gave her a look that said clearly, "See, I told you so."
The holidays had been wonderful from then on...
Sighing, Leslie straightened up and took a sip of her coffee. Yes, she was really sorry the holidays were over, but at least Steve was here with her.
She combed her hand through her hair, a worried look on her face. It would be so perfect...if only this deception over Kaidon was out in the open. Damn!
She and Steve had decided not to set a date for their wedding until they knew the outcome at Redwillow, and Leslie was foolishly hoping some miracle would happen that would solve all her problems. The thought of losing Steve was too awful to contemplate.
With another deep sigh, she turned from the window and walked across the room. Setting her cup on the counter, she glanced at her watch, then picked up her jacket. Steve would be back from breakfast by now, and after all her dismal thoughts, she needed the reassurance of his warm welcoming smile.
When she entered his office a minute later, however, she felt as though she had walked off a cliff into thin air. A horrible feeling of vertigo swam over her as she stared dumbly at the scene before her.
Gordon Donner, her partner from Kaidon Industries, was sitting on the sofa across from Steve's desk, puffing on a cigar, his bald head shining like a smooth melon beneath the glare of the light.
No! It couldn't be. But it was.
By a supreme effort of self-discipline, Leslie rigidly braced her weak sagging body. Somehow she managed to compose her face before Steve realized what an awful shock she had just received.
Both men looked up as she closed the door. Steve smiled, his eyes lighting up with love when he saw her. "Good morning, Leslie. I didn't expect to see you for at least two hours."
She smiled back at him, and for an instant, as their eyes locked with a silent intimate message, she forgot the crisis at hand. He could turn her to putty with one glance.
She lowered her eyes as she felt a blush color her cheeks."Good morning."
Gordon stood up and Steve introduced him. "Leslie, I'd like you to meet Gordon Donner, president and chief executive officer of Kaidon Industries. Kaidon is the company that has entered into an exploration agreement with us for Redwillow. Gordon, this is Leslie Kairns, our project geologist. It was she who initially identified Redwillow as having the potential of a major gas field.''
Gordon's face was perfectly calm, but his eyes were sparkling with a devilish glitter as he took Leslie's outstretched hand. "Well, well, I must admit I didn't expect the geologist to be a charming young lady, Miss Kairns. Steve's told me a great deal about his fantastic geologist, but I must apologize, I was expecting a man."
The lies you tell, she thought, then laughed, partly out of sheer relief and partly out of genuine amusement. Here she was, being introduced to her own business partner. And there was Gordon, acting like he had never seen her before in his life. He was being very cautious about protecting her identity, and she loved him for it. Her secret was safe—for the time being.
"I think Steve deliberately avoids making any reference to my gender. He seems to take a fiendish delight in springing me on the unsuspecting."
The gleam in Gordon's eyes intensified. "Yes, my dear, I can understand his delight—you certainly are unexpected. But that may backfire on him someday, mighten it?"
Leslie's eyes widened with alarm. Would Steve catch the subtle innuendo in Gordon's remark?
She let out her breath in a low controlled sigh when Steve laughed, "It has already, Gordon. Believe me, it has already!" He was looking at Leslie with an eloquently suggestive stare.
After a breathless moment of eye-to-eye contact, she lowered her own eyes shyly. The color in her cheeks deepened as he laughed softly. He could rattle her so easily!
Later in the day, Leslie found out that Steve had invited Gordon to Redwillow to see the Ramco operation firsthand. Leslie gave a silent heartfelt thanks for Ted's absence. When he returned from his time off, she hoped Gordon would be gone. Separately they were bad enough, but together, the chances of a slip were multiplied. The two men had known each other for such a long time that one of them would be bound to make an innocent slip, exposing their comfortable relationship. It would simply be too big a risk.
John McRory arrived in Redwillow the following evening, and he, Gordon and Steve spent the best part of the next day closeted in Steve's trailer.
That afternoon Frank Logan and Leslie went over to the camp for a coffee. They were sitting in the kitchen, indulging in Essie's fresh cinnamon buns when Leslie laughingly suggested that John, Steve and Gordon were probably planning a takeover of one of the major oil companies.
Frank's voice was clipped with puzzled amazement as he reached for another roll. "Didn't Steve tell you about what happened while you were gone?"
"He said that there were some problems, but that you had them under control. What did happen?"
"Well, let's see now—I'll have to think on it to get it in the right order. First of all a new mud man showed up here, one I ain't ever seen before. Never thought much about it—these contract guys are always changin'. Anyhow, we lost circulation right after. I was madder 'n hell, but that ain't uncommon—mudmen can screw up the mud without even tryin'. Most of the time we're better off if they stay in camp and play gin rummy. Let the derrickman look after the mud."
Frank stuffed half a roll into his mouth, and Leslie could have screamed in frustration. But she managed to keep quiet as she waited for him to wash it down with a gulp of coffee. "What happened next?"
"Well, we had to suspend drillin' and start weightin' up the mud, addin' barite until we finally got circulation back. Could've been dangerous.
"That was the first thing, but I didn't get suspicious until a bunch of the hands went into town for a few beers one night. A couple of gents came over to the table and started askin' them a bunch of nosey questions. How deep was the hole, what formation we was in—stuff like that. Course, the rig hands don't know a hell of a lot about what's goin' on, except that it's bloody cold work and they get fed three times a day "
"What about the two men in the bar?" It was a blatant attempt to get him back on track.
"Oh, yeah. Well, one of these gents told the crew they were looking for experienced rig hands, and they offered them wages that was just plain ridiculous, they was so high. The hands told me—'n I straightened 'em out on that." Frank stuffed the rest of the roll into his mouth, and Leslie had to clench her hands into fists to keep from pounding him. She gritted her teeth together as he reached for another roll.
Suddenly he grinned a little sheepishly. "I guess I'm kinda prolongin' the agony, ain't I?"
Leslie felt the exasperation dissolve in her and she laughed. "You certainly are. Here I am, hanging on to the edge of my seat, and you keep eating those damned cinnamon buns!"
"Good, ain't they?"
"Frank—!" It was a suppressed squeal of irritation.
He cast a wistful look at the tray of rolls, then hea
ved a resigned sigh. "Well, I figured somethin' was up, so I started keepin' a close eye on things. There used to be a lot of dirty dealings in the oil patch, and I figured somethin' pretty dirty was cookin' here. Real late one night I caught two scouts—they turned out to be the same two from the bar—snoopin' around under the shale shaker, tryin' to catch a sample. Mark was with me and we hung a good lickin' on 'em and run 'em off."
Leslie burst out laughing. Mark was about six foot four, and two hundred and some pounds of solid muscle; Frank was as tough and as strong as drill pipe. If he said a "good lickin'," then he meant a "good lickin'."
The amusement in Leslie's eyes died abruptly, and a very familiar uneasiness climbed up her spine with icy fingers. Luther was up to his old tricks. She stared at her coffee cup, her mind in such a turmoil that she never even noticed as Frank ate two more cinnamon buns.
When she finally looked at him, her face was very grave. "Have there been any other incidents?''
"Nope. We got a couple of extra men in to patrol. I imagine that Steve and John and that Donner gent are tryin' to figure out who's behind it."
No, they aren't, thought Leslie, because they already know. What they were trying to figure out was how they were going to stop him. Her uneasiness turned to dread. She knew how, but there would be an element of risk for her.
By the time she returned to the lease, she had decided what she was going to do. She was sticking her neck out, but she had no other choice. Gordon wouldn't do it unless the suggestion came from her.
With her stomach in a knot, she walked over to Steve's trailer and went in. Gordon was seated at one end of the sofa and John McRory at the other, his arms folded across his chest.
Steve was sitting at his desk, his hands clasped behind his head. He smiled at Leslie. "Hi. Where have you been—over to the kitchen pigging out on Essie's cinnamon buns?"
For an instant Leslie looked like a small child who'd been caught red-handed, then she grinned ruefully. "I hate it when you do that, Steve McRory!"
He laughed, then gave her a menacing look. "At least you could have been decent about it and brought us some."
Taking off her jacket, she sat down in the chair by his desk and stretched out her legs, her smile one of unmerciful satisfaction. "I would have, but Frank ate them all."
John grinned and shook his head. "If Frank wasn't the best tool push in the country, I'd run him off for that!"
Leslie smiled faded. When she looked at Steve her face was solemn, her voice quiet. "Frank was in a talkative mood. He told me what happened over Christmas."
Steve sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "I hoped you wouldn't find out about that. It isn't your concern."
"It is my concern." Leslie was aware that Gordon's eyes were suddenly riveted on her with a guarded alertness, but she continued in a steady voice. "It's one of Luther Denver's contrivances, and we all know it. It's obvious that he doesn't know Kaidon Industries is supporting the program financially, and he's still attempting to box you in a corner. He would do anything to get his hands on some land in Redwillow, including sabotage."
John stood up and went to the window. "We realize that, Leslie. We just aren't too sure what's the best way to stop him."
Leslie looked intently at Gordon, her eyes questioning. He gave her an imperceptible nod and she inhaled slowly. "If he knew Ramco had very secure financial backing, he'd realize his scheme is a futile one."
There was a flash of admiration in Gordon's eyes as he laced his fingers across his chest and nodded his head. "You're right, Leslie—I'm sure of it. And I would be more than willing to publicly acknowledge Kaidon's investment in Redwillow."
Steve shook his head, his face concerned. "I'd rather not publicize it, Gordon. If the size of this venture ever hit the papers, it would create a rash of speculation in the Grande Prairie area. People would naturally start investing in businesses and land in the hope that the area would boom. If the basin is productive, there would be no damage done. But if it's nonproductive, they could lose their life savings.''
Gordon rubbed his nose and pursed his lips. "You have a good point, Steve." He was reflective for a moment, then said, 'Then I'll contact Mr. Denver personally. He certainly isn't going to make a public statement, especially when Denver Oil ignored the potential of Redwillow."
Steve looked at John. "What do you think?"
"I think it's our only recourse. We can't allow this to continue."
Leslie knew he was thinking of Nora's death. She stared at her hands for a moment, then she glanced at Steve. "There's one thing I don't understand. Why does Luther have such a grudge against Ramco? It seems like he won't be satisfied until he destroys the company. What drives him—why is he so vindictive?"
John McRory exchanged an intent look with Gordon Donner, and Leslie experienced a stab of uneasiness when neither of them would meet her questioning gaze. John turned and stared out the window again, his bearing tense. Obviously both men were avoiding her question.
Steve seemed to be unaware of the stifled atmosphere as he rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "There is a vendetta, Leslie—over something that happened years ago."
She tried to ignore the uncomfortable edginess that was nagging at her as her attention focused on Steve. "What happened?"
He sighed and rocked back in his chair, balancing his weight on the two hind legs as he once again laced his hands behind his head. "When Uncle John started Ramco, he had a partner by the name of L.J. Owens. Early in the developmental stage of the company, a wealthy industrialist was brought in as a financial backer for one of their larger projects. This fellow had a daughter who happened to be engaged to Luther Denver. To make a long story short, she jilted Luther, and she and L.J. planned to be married.''
Leslie could feel the blood drain from her face as her stomach shrank and a cold feeling of foreboding settled upon her. Her eyes locked on Steve, her breathing shallow and rapid. "And...?"
Steve reached forward and rested his arms on the desk, his head lowered as he abstractedly toyed with a magnetized pile of paper clips. "Unfortunately, L.J. was killed in an accident the week before he was to be married. There was a bad kick at one of the locations and the rig caught fire."
Leslie could hear the dull throb of her pulse as it echoed in her head, and it seemed like her voice was coming from a long way away. "Did Luther eventually marry this girl?"
Steve shrugged. "I have no idea. All I do know is that Luther has been trying to even the score ever since."
Leslie's lips were stiff, her body rigid as she turned toward John McRory. "John, did he...did he eventually marry the girl?"
John slowly turned to face her, his face very grave.
He stared at Leslie fixedly, then sighed heavily and reluctantly nodded his head. "Yes...yes, he did, Leslie."
Steve looked at Leslie, suddenly bewildered. "Les, what's wrong?"
Leslie was trembling violently, and she clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists to control their shaking as she whispered hoarsely, "L.J.'s name— what was his name, John?"
John looked at Gordon, his eyes bleak, then looked back at Leslie and answered with a gruff clipped voice. "Leslie Jordan Owens."
Leslie buried her face in her hands and moaned in anguish, "Oh, my God!"
Steve stared at her, then at John. Suddenly his face went white with incredulity as the facts began to register. His reaction was instantaneous. He sprang to his feet and threw the chair out of his path as he strode toward Leslie, pulling her rigid body into his arms. His eyes flashed blue fire as he cradled her protectively against him and pressed her stricken face against his chest.
His voice was like a rapier, piercing and edged with cold steel. "What in hell were you thinking of, John? She didn't know—my God, she didn't even know who her father was, and she had to find out like that! How bloody damned insensitive can you be? Why in hell didn't you tell me the whole story?"
Leslie was totally unaware of what was happening around her—she
was oblivious to Steve's seething rage, to the distorted conversation that was echoing around her, to the worried looks that Gordon and John exchanged.
She had her eyes clenched shut, and she was frighteningly pale as she clamped her teeth together in an attempt to control the convulsive shaking that possessed her. She felt as if she was frozen. Her muscles were stiff and unresponsive, and she was cold, so cold.
Though her body was numbed by the awful shock, her mind was a jumble of frenzied thoughts. Her father...no wonder Luther had despised her! No wonder he was so ruthlessly determined to annihilate Ramco.
Eventually, through the confusion, a new terrifying realization dawned. The tragedy had come full circle. The grim history was being interwoven with the lives of father and daughter. In a way, in an indirect way, she had unwittingly inherited his place with Ramco. Her father...
She looked up, her eyes dark with shock. "Steve..."
"Shh." He eased her away from him and guided her over to the sofa, where he sat her down. "I'll be right back." His voice was gruff with concern as he touched her white face with his fingers.
It wasn't until he walked away from her that Leslie realized that, except for them, the office was empty. She huddled on the sofa, her face buried in her hands as the horrible reality of what she had just discovered kept churning around and around in her mind.
This explained everything—her mother's remoteness, her emotional fragility. It even explained the peculiar look that had flitted across Gordon's face when she told him about Ramco. It was so obvious that both he and John knew the whole story...but it was also obvious that Steve didn't.
"Leslie, can you sit up a bit?" She lifted her head as Steve slipped his arm around her shoulders. "I want you to drink some of this."
He held the glass to her lips and Leslie took a swallow, then grimaced with distaste. It was straight Scotch. She gulped down the contents of the glass, then shuddered. She hated Scotch.
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