Battle of Wills Read online

  In the evenings, once the ever-later dusk had gathered in soft shadows around her cabin, she would sit and watch as the silent great horned owls pursued their prey among the night creatures which sought food near the cabin.

  The lack of human companionship was far less of a problem than she had anticipated. Because of the radio network she felt almost as if she were part of a family, and it was impossible to be lonely with the radio serving as a sort of umbilical cord linking her to so many faceless voices, each with an individual personality.

  Her imagination put a gnome-like face to Mike Rosichuk and the various other tower people, but it couldn't, for some reason, dismiss the one face she decided she would rather forget entirely. At least, she thought, Ryan seemed to have taken her message to heart; she neither saw nor heard from him, although his name was often enough on the radio as he seemed to visit every tower but her own.

  The occasional rains had thoroughly softened up the road to her tower, making it impassable unless there was extremely good reason for its use. This, too, contributed to the lack of visitors, as the forestry people knew better than to tear up a road without good reason.

  But the road was relatively dry by the time Seana's supply of drinking water was nearly gone, and since nobody seemed to have time to bring any, she asked on the Friday evening sked if she might chance driving out to Spirit River the next morning to get fresh water and some other, less vital supplies.

  The answer was unexpected; she wasn't to leave the tower because she'd be getting fresh water delivered that very night, and she should expect visitors on the following day as well. Interference, however, prevented her from getting any more details, and she sat through her dinner wondering about it.

  Wondering… and suddenly as excited as a child at Christmas. Her first visitors; discounting of course the intrusion of Ryan Stranger. But who could it be?

  'Strange,' she said aloud. 'A month ago it would have worried me terribly, but now I don't care who it is that's coming. I guess I haven't adapted as well as I thought.'

  Then she laughed, idly wondering if talking to her-self aloud might be a sign of something more than poor adaptation to the relative isolation.

  And when no vehicle arrived by nine o'clock, she began to really worry, especially as she had postponed her evening bath to avoid being caught in the tub.

  But that, too, gradually became irrelevant, and she sat calmly on the porch sipping tea made with the last of her good water, simply waiting patiently. The radio said somebody would come… so they would. She had faith in the radio.

  The first muted rumblings of a truck engine filtered gently through the night stillness, sounding at first like the distant growl of some huge animal. Seana listened, growing increasingly impatient as the first beam of headlights flicked across the tops of her jackpines, then disappeared as the truck moved down into the last gully. Finally she saw the lights again, and a moment later it rumbled into the clearing, blinding her as it moved forward to park squarely in front of the cabin.

  'Well, well, ladybug… don't you look all peaceful and quiet in the moonlight!'

  Ryan Stranger! Seana felt her face go suddenly hot, and the hackles at the back of her neck stiffened in recognition of that hateful, haughty voice. She answered his greeting, but the hostility in her voice was ill-disguised.

  'Good evening, Mr Stranger. And to what do I owe the questionable pleasure of this unexpected visit?'

  'Just playing water-boy. Dick's truck broke down this afternoon, so we did a bit of a switch. Hope you don't mind too much.'

  'Not at all,' she replied. But she did! Why did it have to be him, of all people?

  He didn't reply, but immediately busied himself heaving down the plastic containers of clean, cold fresh water and stacking them one by one on the porch of the cabin. Seana could only watch, unable to help because of the weights involved, but knowing she should at least be preparing fresh tea or coffee to offer him when he was done.

  And instinctively, she knew that despite her muddled and ambivalent feelings towards Ryan, she couldn't in conscience avoid the obligations of traditional bush hospitality. So she withdrew into the cabin and got the coffee pot, returning to the porch only long enough to dip it into one of the new water containers. She didn't bother to light her pressure lamp, but instead lit two of the candles she'd come to use instead. Then she sat down and waited, gazing at the gentle dance of the flames, and the shadows that played within the open grate of the heater that radiated a comfortable glow into the cabin.

  Only when the coffee was ready did she step outside to call Ryan, but she didn't get the words out before his upraised finger, ominous in the silver moonlight, bade her to silence. And as she tiptoed over to where he sat in silence near the corner of the porch, she saw the reason.

  It was the white moose, gleaming like a ghost in the soft light as he stalked silently up the roadway, the bell beneath his chin swinging gently and his now-enormous antlers, still covered in velvet, carried like weightless shadows atop the mule-like head.

  In the uncertain light he moved like a vision in a sort of slow-motion movie, his long, fragile-looking legs taking short, almost dainty steps as he moved closer and closer to the cabin. Despite the night stillness, he seemed more quiet still, moving like a wraith, a ghost from some ancient Indian legend. Seana, who had seated herself near Ryan when first viewing the animal, felt herself shifting even closer as the huge shape drifted in and out of the shadows, moving always nearer to the parked vehicles.

  The seconds passed like hours, but suddenly Seana felt Ryan's arm close round her waist, gently, as if she, too, were something fragile in the moonlight. And neither of them seemed to breathe as the ghostly bull moose stepped nearer, huge nostrils fluttering at the scents in the night wind. And it seemed as if in that moment her own senses became somehow sharper, and she could see the dark eyelashes against the moose's shining dark eyes and white hide, could smell the pungent odour of the coffee within the cabin, the fresh, clean scent of the water in the barrels nearby and the warm, husky smell of the man so close to her, so close and yet somehow far, far away, lost in his own enchantment at the ghostly vision before them.

  Her eyes dropped from the moose to pick out the curling, shadowy tendrils of Ryan's hair and the strong, clean-lined planes of his face above the flame of his beard where the moonlight struck it.

  The hand at her waist hadn't moved since he had placed it there, but she was conscious still of it as' a negligible weight against her hip. His fingers didn't move, but there was a curious sensuousness to the imperceptible touch and she had to resist the urge to shift even closer to him, to draw some of the vibrant male strength she could feel.

  He seemed not to move, not even to breathe, and Seana realised in that instant that she, too, was breathing only in light, shallow draughts, her own body knit into a rigidity that belied her physical awareness of the man and her spiritual awareness of the huge forest giant before her.

  Far in the distance, muted by the thickness of the jackpines and the barriers of hill and valley between, the moon-song of a coyote filtered through as a haunting, distant melody, and then another joined in and the song swelled… and yet another, and another… and it became a symphony of music from another place, another time, another world. Because Seana and Ryan Stranger stayed unmoving and the ghostly, shimmering bull moose seemed not even to hear.

  A hunting owl, silent as a wraith on powder-feathered wings, stooped for a careless mouse in the chopper-pad clearing, but again the moose seemed indifferent, though his long, mule-like ears seemed to twitch slightly at the animal's tiny squeak of dying.

  The bull reached the edge of Ryan's truck and dipped his muzzle to sniff at the vehicle's bumper, the huge antlers carefully kept from touching the metal-clad body of the camper and the splayed but somehow dainty hooves pawing only slightly at the ground below. The animal's snuffling investigation became audible then, and with the sound he lost some of his phantom veneer. Seana felt it, and so
did Ryan, who for the first time tightened his grasp on her waist so that she became aware of his touch as a distinct, physical thing.

  The moose walked entirely round the vehicle, each long-legged, cautious pace seemingly in slow motion. The closeness and the effects of the moonlight on its snowy coat made it seem larger than it really was, though Seana knew the animal would stand more than two metres at the shoulder, with most of its height in the disproportionately long legs. The massive antlers, still covered in the velvet in which they had grown, looked as if they were covered in heavy frost that was only just beginning to feel the touch of summer's heat. And near the tips of the antlers, the velvet was beginning to shrink and peel; within another few weeks the moose would be spending all his spare time working the antlers against small trees and bushes to relieve him of the itchy, peeling velvet.

  Having thoroughly inspected Ryan's truck, the moose paused briefly, then strode purposefully forward to give the same attention to Seana's tiny car, which was truly dwarfed by the size of the visitor.

  And only then did it seem to notice the cabin and the statue figures on the porch. Dipping its head, the massive antlers swaying like some grotesque clown's hat, the moose stepped one single space forward, and Seana felt herself tauten inside with the first hint of fear. Then she became even more strongly aware of Ryan's hand at her waist, pressing her over against his shoulder as if bidding her not to move, not to even breathe.

  Another step, head even lower, and Seana could feel the man beside her tensing as the animal's enormous ears wriggled like separate beings as it tested the night air for information about what its weak eyes were seeing.

  A third step, and she could see the large, sensitive nostrils quivering and the baleful eyes, now somehow red in the moonlight, peering directly at them. The animal's ghostliness had changed with its nearness; now it was malevolent, a powerful, vivid and dangerous strength that overshadowed the human presence on the mountain.

  Seana cuddled closer to Ryan, no longer needing any urging but feeling as if she could somehow draw from his calmness and his own solid, elemental strength.

  Then, so quietly she could hardly believe it, the moose started backing away, moving a dozen quick steps to the rear and then turning for a final look at the cabin and its human figures before turning to stalk off as silently as it had come.

  When the animal reached the shadows at the edge of the tower clearing, it was as if it vanished in thin air, leaving Seana with her waist locked in Ryan's strong right arm and her eyes straining to follow the ghost as the familiar night sounds returned to the clearing.

  Neither she nor Ryan spoke, but she could feel the tension going out of him, to be replaced with a surge of physical awareness that seemed to tingle through his fingertips to rouse her own sensuality. She suddenly became aware that her left hand, though she couldn't remember putting it there, was across his broad shoulders, her fingers tangled in the shock of curls at his nape. And she could tell also that he was acutely aware of her touch, and of the curves of her body against him.

  His fingers were moving, tracing gentle, tantalising designs on the miraculously sensitive curve of her hip. She felt in one part of her mind that she should move away, but her body was still mesmerised, both by Ryan's touch and by the splendid primitiveness of what they had just seen. If anything, she moved closer, feeling her breasts tauten as his touch moved into the small of her back, moving in small, delicious circles of pleasure.

  She turned her head towards him, knowing his eyes would be on her, his lips ready to claim her own. The place, the moment, held magic that would hold them both, and if he kissed her she would erupt like tinder-dry forest to the torch, without even a show of resistance.

  The thought sobered her, but not enough. Green eyes, glowing with an unholy light in the glitter of the moon, locked with her own and she saw the gleam of teeth flashing against the burnished glow of his beard, felt the total, animal awareness of her as a woman.

  His lips moved towards hers, but when they touched it was only briefly, tenderly, the kiss one might bestow upon a baby. And in his eyes she saw the knowledge that he could have taken her, and that he knew how easy it would have been—perhaps even better than she.

  Seana stiffened, and as if he read her thoughts Ryan dropped his hand from her waist. She moved even more quickly, pulling her hand away from his neck and springing to her feet, almost running as she shouldered open the cabin door and made her way to the table. She was shaking uncontrollably, her face and neck were on fire, but most obvious was the curious weakness in her legs and the prickly, over-sensitive heat where his fingers had rested on her hip.

  She was astounded to find that the coffee was still hot, steam rising from the cups and from the pot on the stove. It seemed like hours they had been on the porch, yet it must have been only moments.

  She turned to the doorway as Ryan entered, moving in a long, catlike stride to stand looking down at her where she stood with a cup in each hand. His eyes were alive; she could once again feel his desire for her, his purely physical need of her body, her very soul.

  She fended it off by handing him one of the cups, which he took with a silent nod and the mocking lift of one shaggy eyebrow. He didn't sit down, but stood there cradling the cup in two hands, sipping slowly at it and then drinking the remainder in one long, slow draught. Then he handed it back.

  Seana wanted, inconceivably, to rush into his arms, to feel them closing around her, to bring back the magic of a few minutes ago, and to make new magic. But she also feared her own reactions, knew somehow it wasn't the time, perhaps not even the place. And obviously Ryan felt it too.

  He bent to kiss her, again that chaste, friendly, tender kiss, without fire, without any feeling of riotous emotion. Then he stepped away, without touching her in any way except so fleetingly with his lips.

  'It's late; you'll be needing your sleep,' he whispered—and was gone, as silently and ghostlike as the giant white moose. Seana stood unmoving as his truck grumbled to life and swung round to head off down the road. She wanted to wave, to make some gesture, but the feeling of rejection was too strong, too disappointing.

  She was in her bed and nearly asleep when she realised she hadn't even asked him about her visitor the next day. He would have known, surely—or would he? She touched at the brand-like spot on her hip and thought that Ryan Stranger knew altogether too much, where she was concerned. Certainly, in retrospect, he knew better than she; he had saved the magic.

  The morning dawned cold and misty, a direct contrast to the evening before and a circumstance that would have delighted Seana had she been awake to see it, since it would mean minimal tower duties and more time for her as yet unknown visitor. But she wasn't awake when the whisky-jacks began their morning scolding; she didn't even hear the growl of the car as it worked its way up the steep track. Her first waking realisation was of a loud thumping on the cabin door, making her leap from the bunk and grab for her clothing with almost comic haste.

  Then she flung open the door and exclaimed with delight at the sight of Mrs Jorgensen, laden with parcels and scowling in mock fierceness.

  'What have you been doing with yourself up here— staying up all night with the coyotes?' the grey-haired woman demanded. 'Or might wolf be a better term? I was surprised not to find Ryan's truck parked here when I arrived this morning.'

  'Lord, are there no secrets in this world?' Seana asked, covering her embarrassment with jest. 'I thought I came up here for privacy!'

  'All things are relative,' Mrs Jorgensen smiled. 'Now how about getting the coffee on… I could do with a cup or two, and I know Ralph will drink half a dozen. He'll be here in half an hour or so, I imagine, so you'd best get it on and keep it hot.'

  While Seana busied herself getting the coffee together, Mrs Jorgensen began opening the parcels to reveal fresh, still-warm bread and breakfast rolls and , succulent Danish pastries. 'You can't have all this,' she cautioned Seana. 'If we don't leave some for Ralph he'll start in o
n your grocery supply, and you'd end up facing starvation before the next grub run if he did that!'

  Seana laughed, then sobered suddenly with the realisation that she had virtually nothing substantial to feed herself that day, let alone visitors. She had long since disposed of her fresh meat supplies, and having discovered a personal aversion to the noise of the generator, she had since turned the fridge into a storage cabinet and was living exclusively from tins.

  'Goodness, don't worry about that,' Mrs Jorgensen laughed when Seana confessed her concern. 'I just happen to know that Ralph netted a poacher yesterday, and if he doesn't show up with some prime venison or moose steaks I'd be very surprised. Of course he's supposed to dispose of the meat to local Indians or welfare cases, but he'd be a strange fish-and-wildlife officer if he didn't think of a pretty girl like you being a needy recipient. Not that we'd ever mention such a thing, mind you. The powers of the system aren't to be trifled with, not at all.'

  And as she had predicted, Ralph arrived with an enormous moose tenderloin, though he declared it was beef and wouldn't be shaken in his statement.

  'It should do the two of you for dinner,' he declared, and laughed when Seana insisted it would keep her in meat for a week at least.

  'Not if you agree to the rest of my proposal,' he said. 'There's a dance on tonight at Spirit River and I've already conned Hutton into letting you spring free… if you'd like to come, of course.'

  'I'd love it,' Seana declared without the slightest hesitation. The chance to be among people—crowds of people—again seemed like a breath of spring.

  'Great! There's no real fire threat, but it could be the last chance you'll have to take a day off if the weather dries off, and I think it will.'

  He tossed down the remainder of his coffee. 'I've got to make a patrol over to the B.C. border, so it might be seven o'clock by the time I get back. If I'm early I'll join you for dinner, but don't depend on that.'