Foolish Deceiver Page 8

  The second sounded more challenging to Allie. Salmon-farming was a growing industry in British Columbia. Echo-sounders, working much like a sonar, could be used to count the number of fish in a tank, but a computer was needed to analyse the data. Developing the program wasn't as simple as it might first appear. The sounder recorded not only the fish, but also any air bubbles present in the tank. The program had to be able to distinguish between fish and bubbles. Further difficulties arose when the fish were, massed together, making individual reportings indistinguishable, or, if some of them moved to a different location while the readings were being taken, they would then be counted twice or missed altogether.

  In the end, Allie decided to tackle the salmon-counting problem. It looked as if it could be an all-absorbing one. Although she hated to admit it even to herself, she knew she needed something that would take up all her time and occupy all her thoughts. Her infatuation with Kevin had left a few scars, but they had healed swiftly upon coming to Vancouver Island. She seldom even thought of him now—and, when she did, she wondered what she'd ever seen in him!

  Unfortunately, she didn't think she was going to get over Linc quite so easily. Although she refused to accept that her feelings for him were anything more than another infatuation, she knew there was a quality and depth to them that she hadn't felt when she had thought she was in love with Kevin. Linc would be harder to forget.

  It didn't help matters to know that he was so close. She'd discovered that by standing in a certain spot in the upstairs loft and craning her neck to peer through the high window in the peak of the roof she had a view of his veranda and the moorage in front of his house. Even if she hadn't heard his float-plane leaving every morning and returning each afternoon, she could see whether he was home.

  That knowledge led her into a rather embarrassing moment of weakness. She still had Linc's flashlight and, although she'd vowed she wasn't going to seek him out, on Thursday evening she started down the path connecting their houses with the excuse of returning it. His plane had returned earlier, so she knew he had returned from his work day in Vancouver.

  As she waited for him to answer the doorbell, Allie mentally reviewed what she planned to say to him. She supposed she owed him an apology for the argument they'd had on Saturday night. Since it had centred on Elaine, she wasn't feeling particularly repentant or apologetic, but she had to get it over with if she and Linc were ever going to reach any kind of understanding. She'd been, terribly rude and ungracious about his offer to help.

  The door was answered by Mrs Dorcus. Linc's housekeeper was a lean, spare woman in her fifties with a hatchet face and mouse-brown hair liberally sprinkled with grey, twisted into a severe bun. Linc had told Allie that his son had her wrapped around his little finger, but it was rather hard to believe that.

  'Miss Smith, how do you do?' she greeted Allie politely, stepping back from the doorway to allow Allie to enter the hall.

  'I just stopped in to drop Linc's flashlight off,' Allie said awkwardly. The house was very quiet and, looking past the housekeeper's shoulder, Allie could see that the living-room appeared to be deserted. Was Linc out... with Elaine? She had to know. 'I thought I might have a word with Linc, if he's in,' she said, handing over the flashlight.

  Mrs Dorcus said stiffly, 'He's in the study working this evening. I'll tell him you're here.'

  'It's not that important,' Allie said quickly, but the older woman had already moved off down the hall. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She shouldn't be here. Linc wasn't going to like having to take time out from his work just to talk to her. It was too late now, though. Allie saw the housekeeper knock on a door at the far end of the hall, and faintly heard a curt voice bid her enter.

  Mrs Dorcus returned a few minutes later. Was it Allie's imagination, or had her severe features grown even colder. 'I'm afraid Mr Summerville is tied up right now. He suggested you wait with me for a few minutes, then he will be out to see you. May I get you something ... tea, coffee?'

  'Oh, please, don't bother. I'll be going. As I said, it wasn't all that important.' Allie practically dived out of the front door. Linc wouldn't be expecting her to wait. Why had she come here? Hadn't he made it clear to her a number of times that he was a busy man, that he didn't want her bothering him? She cursed her stupidity all the way back to the cabin. She was an exceptionally intelligent woman—why didn't she ever act like one when it came to Linc?

  For a long time she sat brooding on the rose-coloured chesterfield that Elaine had picked out and that Allie had decided she hated. The shadows lengthened, the room eventually falling into darkness. It was nearly midnight before she finally roused herself. Sitting around feeling sorry for herself wasn't getting anywhere. So, she loved Linc and he didn't love her ... didn't even seem to like her very much. She still had her work.

  Knowing she wouldn't sleep, Allie went up to the loft to see Harold. Greg had some contacts with the fishing industry and had got some data for her to use in designing her fish-count program. Instead of running after Linc, she should have stayed at home and started feeding it into her computer. It was still waiting for her. She would start on it tonight.

  By afternoon the next day, Allie had a screaming headache. The characters on the computer screen, which usually held such fascination for her, kept blurring before her eyes, sliding in and out of focus. Typically, she'd forgotten to buy any aspirin, so she didn't have anything for the pain. Finally, she gave up trying to work and went downstairs to lie down for a while. She'd had two, maybe three hours' sleep the night before. A rest would probably do wonders for her head.

  But she couldn't rest. The heat in the small bedroom was stifling, intensifying the throbbing in her temples. She sat up on the bed and glared at the window. Whoever had redecorated the cabin had painted it shut. She'd tried several times to get it open, but to no avail. She'd get it open somehow, she vowed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

  She didn't own any carpentry tools, not even a screwdriver. However, she found a sharp knife in the cutlery drawer and got a rock from outside to use as a hammer. Leaving the back door open in the hope that some of the heat from the bedroom would find its way out, she went back to fix the window.

  Using the knife as a chisel, she gently tapped it with the rock to cut through the paint seal between the window and the jamb. When the lower edge was free, she set the tools aside and tried pushing the window up.

  Damn, it still wouldn't open. Growing impatient, Allie wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, then positioned the knife along the side edge. Using her right hand, she gave the bottom of the knife-handle a hefty wallop with the rock. The rounded stone slid off the end of the knife and crashed into the window-pane, shattering it.

  'Oh, hell!' Allie swore, automatically jerking the hand holding the rock back into the room. There was a great hole in the window, edged with wicked-looking shards of glass. Allie glanced at the rock and found herself staring at blood pouring from a jagged six-inch cut that snaked down the side of her hand and across her wrist. 'Oh, h-hell-ll,' she repeated, letting the rock fall.

  The pain hit suddenly and she gasped, biting her lip between her teeth to keep from crying out. She managed to stagger over to the bed and sit down, cradling her injured arm against her side. Taking a deep breath, she gingerly turned her arm so that she could take another look at the cut. She took only a quick peep, then dropped the knife she'd been holding in her left hand on to the floor and clamped that hand over the wound. Closing her eyes for a moment, she fought off a feeling of faintness.

  Trying to keep calm, Allie took stock of the situation. Along the side of her hand, the cut was little more than a scratch. Where it curved across her inner wrist, though, it was much deeper, and the blood poured from the wound whenever she took the pressure off it. It was obvious she needed some stitches, but how was she going to arrange it?

  Her phone hadn't been connected yet, so she couldn't call anyone to help her. Even if
she managed to make it to the car without further mishap, she couldn't possibly drive with her hand in this condition. All in all, it looked as if she might just sit here and bleed to death, because she had an awful feeling that she had nicked a vein.

  That, however, was defeatist thinking. Things weren't all that bad. She hardly even noticed her headache any more. And, if there was no one to call on for help, she would just have to help herself.

  Very slowly, Allie stood up. The room swooped dizzily for a moment, then settled. Keeping her left hand clamped tightly around her wrist, she moved carefully over to the dresser. She had to release her arm in order to pull open her lingerie drawer. With her left hand, she tossed out the frothy bits of nylon panties and bras until she found what she was looking for. Holding on to the tights, she gingerly made her way back to the bed.

  Seated again, she straightened her injured arm, blinking back the tears of pain the action forced from her. Fumbling with the stocking, she awkwardly started to wrap it around her arm to make a tourniquet. Her fingers wouldn't do what she told them to, though, and the ends of material kept slipping away from them as she tried to tie them together. In the end, they eluded her altogether and the tights slipped to the floor.

  Realising she was getting slightly panicky, she forced herself to relax for a moment and breathe deeply and evenly, using her uninjured hand to keep pressure on the wound. She was starting to feel decidedly light-headed, and she couldn't afford to pass out.

  'Whatya doin'?'

  The first time Jason had walked in unannounced and asked her that question, she'd thought him a rude, unmannerly little brat. However, this time she felt like kissing him when she turned her head and saw him standing in the doorway behind her.

  'Jason, is your dad home?'

  He shrugged, taking a step into the room. Quickly, Allie forestalled him. 'Don't come in.' Turning her shoulder away from him, she blocked his view of her arm. It wasn't a sight that a young child should be exposed to. 'Jason, would you run home really fast and get your daddy or Mrs Dorcus, and ask them to come back here?'

  'How come?'

  Allie moistened her lips. She'd forgotten that Jason had a maddening trait of questioning every request. 'I just want to talk with one of them. Couldn't you just do as I ask?'

  'But how come?'

  'Just get them, Jason. Please,' Allie pleaded, almost ready to burst into tears. A cold chill was creeping over her, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the fresh air coming in through the broken window. Probably her blood-pressure was dropping from loss of blood. She looked down at her arm. Crimson was seeping through the fingers of her left hand.

  When she looked up again, Jason was standing right in front of her. He was looking down at her cradled wrist, his face puzzled. 'You hurt yourself.' He sounded intrigued, but thankfully not traumatised. 'Daddy put a bandage on my knee when I cut it. You want him to put one on your arm?'

  Allie nodded, tears of relief filming her grey eyes. She had been beginning to think he would keep her arguing all afternoon.

  As Jason turned to leave, they heard his name being called from outside. 'There's Dad now,' the child announced, and dashed out of the room.

  Within a few moments, Allie heard them enter the cabin through the kitchen. 'Come on, Dad!' Jason chided. 'She wants you—'

  'Didn't I tell you not to keep coming over here and bothering Miss Smith?' his father interrupted him sternly.

  'But, Dad, she needs a bandage!' Jason protested, dragging his father into the bedroom by his hand.

  Allie looked over at him, offering him a fragile smile. Although she subconsciously must have noticed it before, it hit her full force just how reliable Linc looked. The panicky feeling that had been growing within her ever since she'd seen the blood died instantly with his arrival. With his firm jawline and direct gaze, he was a man she could depend on.

  'I'm sorry about Jason coming over,' Linc offered, holding his ground at the doorway. 'He slipped away from me.' He smiled wryly.

  'I was glad to see him. I do need a bandage,' she understated. She shifted her position on the bed so that he could see her arm.

  For several seconds, Linc stared at her in stunned silence, the smile fading from his face. Then he was moving, his long legs carrying him in swift strides around the bed to stand in front of her. 'Good heavens, what happened?'

  Allie shrugged. The story of the rock, the knife and the window-pane seemed so idiotic now that she thought about it. It wasn't hard to understand why he assumed she was a 'dumb blonde'. She was in a lot of ways.

  His navy eyes had moved down from her arm to the floor by the bed. He reached down slowly and picked up the knife from where it had fallen at her feet. However, Allie was more intent on the dark stain of blood that marred the grey carpeting.

  'I'm sorry about the carpet. I know it was new.'

  Linc's face had lost its colour, and his eyes held a disturbing look as they met hers.

  Damn, he wasn't going to pass out on her, was he? Allie thought in alarm. A lot of people, great hulking football players even, couldn't take the sight of blood. 'I guess I should have done this in the bathroom where I wouldn't have made such a mess,' Allie joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  'Yes,' he agreed grimly. His firm jaw had hardened to granite and a tiny pulse throbbed at his temple. But at least he didn't look as if he was going to faint. 'I'd always thought the bath was the traditional place.'

  She didn't have a chance to figure out what he meant by that remark, because he placed his arm around her shoulders to get her to her feet. The movement disturbed her injury, and all her thought-processes became directed towards controlling the sudden upsurge of pain.

  'Let's get you in the bathroom now, and I'll try to fix you up enough to drive you into the hospital.' He looked over to his son. 'You go home and stay with Mrs Dorcus. Tell her I don't know when I'll be back.'

  'It was good of you to wait, but I guess they're going to make me stay in here tonight.'

  Using her left hand, Allie distractedly fingered the nap of the blanket covering her, then ceased the movement as she felt a twinge of discomfort. Her right hand was swathed in bandages, but this hand hadn't totally escaped. Tape covered it, holding the needle from the transfusion bottle hanging beside the hospital bed in place.

  When Linc made no reply, Allie went on, 'I hate these places. I wish I could go home.' She knew she was chattering inanely, but she felt so awkward in Linc's company that she couldn't seem to help herself. What were you supposed to say to someone who had probably saved your life? Especially when you'd made an ass out of yourself afterwards.

  Linc had brought her into the emergency-room at the hospital several hours earlier. Before a medical person would even look at her, there were a million forms to fill out. The whole procedure had been complicated because she'd only recently moved to British Columbia and she was covered under another province's health insurance plan. Linc had managed to cut through the red-tape finally—which was a good thing, since she hadn't been much use. By that time, she'd been feeling pretty dreadful, what with the pain in her hand and the blood she'd lost.

  Maybe that was why later she'd raised such a fuss when the doctor had tried to send Linc out of the room while he examined Allie's arm before stitching it up. She'd clung to Linc's hand with her uninjured one and refused to let him leave. In the end, he'd been forced to stay and watch the whole gruesome procedure.

  Later on, though, she'd let him go while the nurses cleaned her up and put her in one of those ghastly hospital nightgowns. They'd given her a shot of something and afterwards she'd fallen asleep. She hadn't really expected Linc to still be there when she woke up. However, he was sitting in a chair by her bed when she opened her eyes.

  'Hospitals aren't that bad. Maybe you ought to plan to stay a few days,' Linc suggested.

  Allie grimaced. 'I don't think that's necessary. I'll be fine by tomorrow. They're only keeping me in for this.' She gestured to the transfusion ap
paratus.

  Linc hesitated before speaking and she gave him a curious look. At last, he said, 'Are you sure about that ... about being fine, I mean?'

  'Of course.' She had to admit it gave her a little thrill to think that he was so concerned about her. It was tempting to lie here and play the frail Camille, even if that wasn't really her style. Unfortunately, though, concern made Linc look frightfully grim. 'I'll be right as rain tomorrow,' she assured him brightly.

  He gave her a searching look filled with doubt. However, he veered on to a new topic when he spoke. 'You should have waited to see me last night. I was in the middle of an important phone call when Mrs Dorcus came in to tell me you were there. I would have seen you afterwards if you had waited.'

  'It wasn't that important, and I didn't want to bother you.'

  His firm mouth pursed in exasperation. 'I wish I'd never said that to you! I'll admit that I do have a lot to do, but nothing I do is that important.' His eyes moved to her bandaged hand and arm, staring at it so intently that Allie felt he was almost blaming himself for the accident. 'I want you to promise me that next time you need someone to talk to, you'll come to me. I'll make time to see you. I don't mind.'

  Allie was taken aback by his vehemence. 'OK,' she said meekly. Perhaps he was blaming himself for what had happened, although there was no need. Even if they had been on better terms, she might not have asked him to fix the window. She'd acted on impulse, spurred on by the heat in the bedroom. It really wasn't Linc's fault.

  Before she could explain, though, he went on, 'I want you to think seriously about staying on here in the hospital for a couple of weeks. They can do a lot to help you. I know you've had a rough time of it lately, what with being out of work and all. I'm afraid that Clare let slip that you'd been involved with some man before you came here and the relationship had gone sour. But you can't let it beat you!' Linc declared passionately, leaning forward in his chair. Mindful of the transfusion needle, he gingerly grasped the fingers of her left hand and stroked them gently. 'People still care about you. Clare and Greg ... myself—we care. Your life has value.'