Battle of Wills Read online

  His voice trailed off hopefully, but Seana was too wise to grab at the proffered bait. She settled back demurely in her chair, throttling the anger that seethed inside her, and determined to force Frank Hutton to handle the problem the hardest possible way—if at all.

  There was a lengthy pause as they surveyed each other across the broad desk. Frank Hutton made no attempt to disguise either his impatience or his discomfort; Seana did her absolute best to exude a calm attitude. It was the man who finally broke the silence.

  'Really, I feel quite bad about this,' he said, again pausing hopefully to wait for a response. Seana stayed put.

  And when the white-haired superintendent finally resumed the conversation, it was with the air of a man trapped by desperation but determined to see things through.

  'I'm sure you can understand, Miss Muldoon, that if I had realised you were a… a woman, this would never have gone to this point. I mean, I simply cannot take the responsibility for putting a young, and if I may say so, very attractive young woman out on one of those isolated forestry towers by herself.'

  Again there was that hopeful pause, and Seana found herself facing the growing certainty that he wanted her to say the right words to bail him out of the situation. But despite her growing anger, a seething, white-hot fury that threatened to erupt momentarily, she spoke out finally in a voice placid with false calm.

  She fell back on the ploy once taught her by a university professor, perhaps the single best advice she had gained while seeking her zoology degree.

  'It's a tough old world out there,' he had told his class. 'And you'll find yourself back into a corner far more often than you'd expect. You'll find all kinds of people trying to put words in your mouth and trying to make you accept them as gospel, no matter what they're trying to promote. Don't! One of the fastest ways to stop that sort of thing is just to sit back and ask only one thing—why? By the time they're through answering that question, you'll have all the time you need to formulate your own ideas on the subject and make sure the words in your mouth are your own.'

  It was a trick Seana had found useful, particularly with less professional instructors, but never before in her young life had so much hung in the balance. Still, she hesitated only fractionally before demanding in what she hoped was a firm but rational tone, 'Why?'

  The effect was nothing short of miraculous. Frank Hutton's jaw quite literally dropped, then clamped shut again so firmly there were angry lines in his face. Instead of answering immediately, he stabbed at the intercom and growled, 'Is he here yet?'

  There was no reply, but a second later the office door opened to admit the tall, cat-like figure of… Ryan Stranger.

  There was no opportunity for either of them to utter greetings, or even really to acknowledge each other's presence. Frank Hutton didn't greet Ryan Stranger either; he bluntly demanded: 'Can you give me three good reasons why I should let this woman manage White Mountain Tower this summer?'

  Seana sat bolt upright in her seat. What a loaded, deliberately treacherous question! she thought, and glared at Ryan Stranger as if it were his fault. He returned her glance silently, appraisingly, and although it might have appeared like idle curiosity to Frank Hutton, Seana's own reactions told her it was more than an idle appraisal. This lean, arrogant, red-bearded devil was undressing her with each sweep of his eyes.

  She wanted to look away, but couldn't. She had to force herself to meet those horrid pale green eyes, but she did it. Until suddenly, without warning, he replied to Frank Hutton's question without so much as verbally acknowledging Seana's interest in the discussion.

  'I could give you a dozen reasons why you shouldn't,' he said, 'but I don't think I can answer the question the way you asked it.'

  Seana knew her mouth must be hanging open, but as the fury leaped to her eyes, she was oblivious to her appearance. 'You… you…' she spluttered, unable to find words, to untwist her tongue, to say anything coherent at all. Her mind was lucid enough, but she couldn't link it to her tongue, and by the time she thought it possible, Frank Hutton's answer had her reeling in total confusion.

  'That's a bit rough, Ryan,' the white-haired man was saying. 'I mean, I've already given her the damned job. Don't you think she at least deserves a chance?'

  Ryan Stranger shrugged. 'Not at White Mountain Tower,' he said. 'Damn it, Frank, you know I'm planning to spend the summer up in that area. How the hell am I going to get anything done if I have to spend all my time nursemaiding a woman?'

  As the forestry superintendent replied, Seana felt like some puppet-like observer. Her head kept snapping from one speaker to the other, her mind incapable of assimilating what she heard.

  'You'd hardly have to nursemaid her,' said Hutton. 'She was practically raised on a tower, this girl. Damn it, man, she's Mike Muldoon's daughter!'

  'I don't care whose daughter she is,' Ryan Stranger snapped. 'A forestry tower's no place for a woman unless she's too damned old and ugly to be anywhere else.'

  'You're nothing but a chauvinist,' replied the forestry man, the same man Seana would have faced with an identical charge only moments before. There've been women on the towers for years. Hell, there was a woman on Bald Mountain Tower way back… back when Seana's dad was a ranger at Grovedale.'

  Ryan Stranger's tone was implacable. 'Look, Frank, you asked for my opinion and I'm giving it to you. If you want this girl on a tower, be my guest. Put her on Copton Tower, or Kakwa, or any damned tower in Alberta except White Mountain. I've got too much to do this summer to be worrying about taking care of her.'

  Seana's unrestrainable roar of rage halted any attempt at a reply by the superintendent.

  'Stop! Stop it this very minute!' she cried angrily. 'I don't know which of you decided that I need a… a nursemaid, but you can just forget it. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.'

  She would have continued, oblivious to the fact that she was close to tears and her face was white with an anger that might totally erupt at any instant, but Ryan Stranger shook one huge fist at her, a gesture so unexpected it halted Seana as abruptly as if he had actually struck her.

  'Yes, we know about that, don't we?' he said in a soft, menacing tone. Then he rose lithely to his feet and stalked cat-footed to the door, where he turned for a final word to Frank Hutton. 'You please yourself on this one, Frank. But if you're smart you'll take my advice.'

  He was through the door, closing it softly and yet angrily behind him, before either of the room's remaining occupants could reply.

  'Well, that was a bit much,' Frank Hutton finally remarked. 'I'm… surprised at Ryan, although I'm damned if I know why I should be. And I'm sorry to have put you in such a hot seat, Miss Muldoon. I really don't know how to make it up to you, except to say that of course you have the job.'

  Seana could barely reply; so firm a hold had her anger that she was almost afraid to open her mouth. The absolute nerve of Ryan Stranger! And the audacity! How dared he say such things on the basis of a single incident?

  'Well, I'm certainly pleased at that,' she finally managed to say. But her mind wasn't on the job; she was thinking only of Ryan Stranger and how thoroughly, hatefully nasty he'd been.

  'No question of it,' Frank Hutton said. 'Actually, I'd invited Ryan to drop by so you two could meet. Or rather so he could meet Sean Muldoon, as I honestly thought of you. Since you'll both be working in the same area, I thought it best to have the… er… formal introductions in a sort of… official situation, if you get what I mean. Save any possible problems later with regard to responsibility and authority…'

  'I gather you're trying to say that Ryan Stranger is inclined to be a bit heavyhanded in his dealings,' Seana retorted. 'Yes, I think I've got the message. He's a regular little dictator, isn't he? Well, don't worry about that aspect of things; I'm quite certain I'll be able to handle Mr Stranger without any trouble at all—not that I expect I'll be seeing much of him now in any event.'

  'Don't be too sure,' replied her new boss. 'He's pr
etty hot-tempered, but it never lasts long. He'll turn up sooner or later, you can bet on it. Just remember, Seana, that White Mountain Tower will be your tower; you're in charge and you're responsible. If Ryan does try to pull anything that seems… er… irregular, you've only to get on the radio and somebody will be out to set him straight.'

  Seana shrugged her shoulders to disguise the tremor that fluttered through her slender body. It would be folly to let Hutton realise that she wasn't really that confident in her ability to handle Ryan Stranger, and yet…

  'You're certain you wouldn't rather put me on another tower? I mean, I wouldn't want to be responsible for causing trouble between you or anything,' she ventured.

  'Hah! Ryan Stranger can cause quite enough trouble on his own,' Frank Hutton snorted. 'No, it's White Mountain Tower for you, and if Ryan doesn't like it he can put it someplace uncomfortable. Can you be ready to go in the morning?'

  So soon? And yet, Seana wondered, what else should she have expected? It was spring; the grass was drying despite the tendrils of late snow in the shady places. Farmers would be starting to do their spring burning, one of the worst hazards for a forest surrounded by settlement.

  'Yes, I suppose so,' she replied, not really sure but unable to think of a good reason not to start the next day. At the very least it would mean less of a hole in her small financial nest-egg.

  'Good,' he said, rising to shake her hand. 'Welcome to the Alberta Forest Service, Seana. I'll have Mrs J. make all the arrangements this afternoon, and first thing tomorrow we'll get you loaded and on your way.'

  He ushered Seana from his office, apparently unaware that she moved almost as if in a daze, and turned her over to Mrs Jorgensen with a brief list of instructions about food, water, schedules and equipment.

  'My goodness, child, you look absolutely exhausted!' the older woman exclaimed as soon as Frank Hutton was safely back in his office. 'I suppose you drove all the way from Edmonton this morning, too. Have you very much to arrange before you leave tomorrow? It'll be your last chance for some time.'

  'No, I've got nothing at all to organise, really,' Seana replied dully. 'Except… oh, it doesn't matter anyway.' She sagged wearily into a seat opposite Mrs Jorgensen.

  'Well, with six hours of driving behind you, I suppose you've not had time to arrange anywhere to stay tonight,' the woman said. Without waiting for a reply, she rummaged into her purse and hefted an enormous key-ring before detaching one key, then wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed both to Seana.

  'Here's my address, and this is the key to the back door,' she said. 'Why don't you go straight there, grab a shower and have a good long nap. I'll be home about four-thirty and we can plan a nice, leisurely meal and then send you off in the morning with a proper breakfast and a good night's sleep behind you.'

  Seana tried to argue, but Mrs Jorgensen waved aside her objections as being of no consequence whatsoever.

  'Nonsense, my child. I've lived alone these past three years—since my Tom died—and I'd be the first to admit I don't think much of it. I'd more than welcome the company and you look as if you need the sleep. Now be off with you; I've work to do if we're going to have you properly equipped for tomorrow.'

  Seana found the large old house without difficulty, and in keeping with a last-minute directive from her hostess, parked the car in one half of the empty double garage. She took her purse and battered old suitcase with her and found her way to the back door.

  Inside, the house had a slightly cluttered but homey look; it was clear Mrs Jorgensen couldn't ever be termed houseproud. A brief tour sufficed to find Seana the spare bedroom, and she quickly deposited her belongings before idly wandering through the rest of the house.

  The living room yielded considerable information about its occupant. Family portraits hung in convenient places, intermingled with oil paintings of vivid, mountainous scenes and landscape studies. The furniture was heavy, old-fashioned but comfortable, and had obviously seen a lot of use over many years.

  She roamed the kitchen to discover Mrs Jorgensen's obvious love of cooking. It was large, beautifully planned from the viewpoint of a working cook, and displayed many unusual cooking utensils hung from the walls and cupboards.

  There were a few dishes in the sink, obviously from Mrs Jorgensen's breakfast that morning, and without really thinking about it Seana set about washing, drying and putting them away. She gazed idly out the window into the well-treed back yard as she did so, but her mind was seeing only the incredible chain of events that had occurred that day. She was still thinking about that when she finished the dishes, took a quick shower and lay down on the soft feather quilt in the guest room.

  It was like a silent movie as the scenes flickered behind her closed eyelids—the steep hillsides of Smoky River Crossing, the tortured advance of her car against the headwind, the masses of traffic at Clairmont Corner. And then a new set of scenes, the lithe, catlike movements of Ryan Stranger, the cold but fiery gleam in his pale eyes, the very clothes he wore, so familiar to memory but unexpected in the modern world. Faded jeans and a woollen shirt beneath a scarlet bush vest, beaded Indian moccasins peeping from the moccasin rubbers on his feet, the fire of sunlight on his beard…

  A breeze filtered through the half-open window, so Seana reached down to pull the eiderdown over her, luxuriating in the warmth and wondering idly if her own new sleeping bag would provide such comforts on White Mountain Tower. Then her mind drifted again, recounting Ryan's assistance that morning, contrasting it to his angry, unexpected attitude later in the day. It made no sense.

  She deliberately closed her eyes more tightly, trying to blank out the mental pictures that sprang unbidden to her sleepy mind. It was a gesture wasted; all she did was intensify the image of Ryan Stranger's face, bringing it into clearer focus as he himself had done when he had stared down into her eyes by the roadside.

  Damn the man anyway, Seana thought. And to think that she was still indebted to him! No matter his rude and quite inexplicable behaviour in Frank Hutton's office; he'd helped her and given her gasoline, and she would—must—find some way to repay him. And soon!

  'I'll do it, too,' she said aloud, sitting upright in the bed with her eyes suddenly wide open. 'And I'll be damned and double-damned if it'll be the kind of repayment he expects!'

  And yet, when she closed her eyes again, the thought of Ryan Stranger taking his payment in a kiss seemed far less disagreeable than it ought. Until she forced herself to remember his actions in Frank Hutton's office, the way he had ridiculed her, deliberately tried to keep her from the job she so desperately wanted.

  Insufferable chauvinist! she thought. How totally unfair to turn completely against her because of one single, isolated incident. Was it her fault the winds had been so strong? No. Nor was it her fault that Frank Hutton had decided she would be located at White Mountain Tower, but somehow she felt sure Ryan Stranger would blame her for it.

  Finally she drifted into proper sleep, but even then the tall, lean, swaggering figure stalked through her dreams, pale eyes alight with mischief, muscular fingers reaching out to grip her shoulders, sensuous mouth twisted into a sneer that bespoke desire and yet rejected her.

  She woke to the tinkling sound of Mrs Jorgensen setting the dining room table, and when she opened the bedroom door it was to the delicious smell of a pork roast nearing readiness in the oven. Surprised, Seana looked at her wrist-watch and nearly fainted. It was a quarter past seven!

  'Oh, how could you let me sleep so long?' she exclaimed upon entering the dining room to find the table set and Mrs Jorgensen setting out a chilled bottle of wine in a cooler.

  'I figured you'd sleep as long as you needed to,' was the reply. 'That drive up from Edmonton is a killer if you're not used to long-haul driving, and I'd suspect you're not. Besides, from the look of your eyes you did need the sleep.'

  'You're right,' Seana admitted. 'But you certainly should have got me to help with this. It's not fair that you've worked all day a
nd then had to spend hours preparing dinner as well. Not while I was busy sleeping my head off.'

  'Fiddle-faddle,' Mrs Jorgensen replied. 'Besides, it looks as if you've done your share already. I don't usually leave my breakfast dishes like that, either, I'll have you know, but this morning I was in a bit of a hurry.'

  Mrs Jorgensen moved towards the kitchen as she spoke, leaving Seana little choice but to follow, and it wasn't until they were through the doorway that Seana realised the table was set not for two—;but for four.

  She was about to ask about it when her hostess began talking about something quite different, and before Seana had a chance to ask, the other woman changed the subject yet again.

  'Right, half an hour to go,' she announced briskly. 'I'm off to change in a minute, but before I go, may I ask if you've brought along anything… er… sort of dressed-up casual to change into? I suppose not, seeing there's not much call for fancy clothes at the tower. Hmm… best you come with me and we'll see what we can find.'

  'But won't what I'm wearing be suitable?' Seana asked, 'or have you somebody special coming? Oh, dear, I feel I'm really in the way. You should have said something.'

  'Nonsense—it's because of you that I've invited our guests,' was the reply. 'Now come along. I've got a light caftan that should be just right for you. You'll have all you want of jeans and T-shirts before the summer's out, my child. Tonight you're going to celebrate your new job in style.'

  And style it was! The 'light caftan' was actually a flowing dream of soft mauves and lilacs that fitted Seana perfectly and suited her colouring even more perfectly. Much more suitable, they both decided, than her rather severe job interview outfit.

  'It's ideal,' declared her hostess. 'In fact, after seeing it on you, Seana, I don't think I could ever do it justice again. So consider it a welcoming present and wear it in good health.'