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Two
An hour later, after a long hot soak in the tiny tub which was her one concession to luxury, LJ. was just wrapping a towel turban-style around her head when a knock sounded on the trailer door.
Thinking it was her assistant, a high school senior named Bradford Palmington whom she was mentoring, L.J. opened the door with a ready smile on her face.
The smile died on her lips and the words of greeting in her throat when LJ. saw who was on the other side.
The man a few steps below her shifted uncomfortably, apparently aware of the change in her expression and the coolness it conveyed.
“Yes, Mr. Channahon?”
“Oh, and here I thought we were on a first-name basis,” he said, flashing her a winning smile.
That smile might have melted a lesser woman, but L.J. had had practice toning down the wattage. Being the daughter of a handsome salesman and the exfiancée of the college campus heartthrob had given her at least that advantage.
“Just because I was cordial to you in front of your daughter doesn’t mean we are bosom buddies, Mr. Channahon.”
Even as she regretted her choice of words, the man was going from a knowing look to a frown. Boy, was he good-looking, LJ. silently reflected, steeling herself even further against this unwelcome physical pull.
“Oh, she’s not mine,” Cooper Channahon was saying.
“She’s not your daughter?” Now it was LJ.’s turn to frown. That girl was the spitting image of him, and the cretin was denying paternity? “She certainly looks like you.”
“Well, that’s because—” Cooper Channahon hunched his shoulders against the chilly wind. The feel and smell of rain was in the March air. “Do you mind if I come inside? It’s getting awfully cold out here.”
“I’m sorry, but yes, I do mind. As you can see, I’m getting ready to dress and go out. So, if you’ll excuse me...”
The man stood awkwardly, obviously not liking this turn of events. But he didn’t leave.
Instead, he said hesitatingly, “I realize we didn’t get off on the right foot—”
“You didn’t, Mr. Channahon. My sense of balance is perfect.”
“Yes, well, Mona is the one who has the agility of a monkey. I’m much better when I’m off solid ground.”
Oh, dear, thought LJ. And he’d seemed so normal. Was he one of the true believers who had come to attend the Aliens and other Paranormals Convention in the farm next to the field she was working on? Heaven forbid!
The APs had already dropped by to try to extract information as to whether preliminary reports of cultural diffusion among her site and the Maya and Aztec were correct.
The disappointment she felt seemed totally out of proportion with the length of time she’d known this man. He was a stranger, after all.
“Mr. Channahon,” LJ. began in her teacher’s tone.
“What I wanted to say,” he said hurriedly, obviously sensing the dismissal and verbal closing of the door in her tone. “I don’t want you to take out on Mona any disapproval you might have of me. I’m sorry if you thought I was out of line, I’m sorry I tripped and perhaps damaged some ancient burial treasure and I’m sorry if I stared too long at you. I probably violated every politically correct rule of the nineties, but please, don’t take it out on Mona. She’s just a child, and she idolizes you.”
L.J. was torn between admiration for the man’s putting his own child’s feelings above his own discomfort, and exasperation at his assumption that she would make a child suffer for the sins of an adult. She knew firsthand what that was like. And even if she hadn’t had firsthand experience, she liked children—and respected them—too much to ever use them as scapegoats.
“I meant what I said, Mr. Channahon,” LJ. said, her voice as frigid as the rising wind. “Mona is welcome here anytime. And if she’d like, I’ll have my assistant Bradford show her some techniques so she can participate in the dig. We can always use enthusiastic volunteers.”
Cooper Channahon’s eyes brightened. “Hey, that’s great! When Mona heard about your dig from her anthropology teacher, she had to visit the site. She’s a great fan of yours, and she’ll appreciate your generosity.”
“Nonsense,” LJ. said crisply. “It’s rather selfish. Grants are drying up, and funds are being cut all over in this new political climate. I can use all the help I can get.”
Obviously the man was not buying her explanation, because he gave her a knowing look. “Knowing fourteen-year-olds, Mona won’t be much help to you. But it’s nice to give her a job to make her feel important, and let her get a taste of what the field might really entail.”
“Wrong on both counts, Mr. Channahon,” LJ. said. “This is not a mere ‘Let’s give the kid some busy work to keep her happy and out of your hair’ job. While I always like to raise a child’s self-esteem, I do have a job to do. And while you may not think much of the field of anthropology and its useful applications in the modern world—” apparently another trait he shared with Nick “—I love what I do. And I also respect a teenager’s capacity for work... especially in something that obviously appeals to her so much. I’m merely killing two birds with one stone.”
LJ. did not give Cooper Channahon a chance to launch into another apology. She was cold herself, and wanted to blow-dry her hair before she went into Coal City for some groceries.
And dinner.
Her stomach growled just as she was closing the door, and L.J. experienced a momentary embarrassment before her mind moved on to everything she had to do today before she could be ready for further fieldwork tomorrow morning.
Cooper heard the sound of hunger emanating from L.J.’s stomach, and wondered why he felt so attracted to a woman he had just met.
She was not breathtakingly beautiful. She might almost be considered pleasingly plump. Except that her breasts—and he’d had pleasant firsthand knowledge—were on the small side.
His normal preference was for petite, top-heavy blondes. LJ.’s hair was a nice brown, but nonetheless what the guys at work termed “librarian brown.” And she was tall. And her green eyes totally devoid of makeup.
Hearing himself cataloguing a very vital, attractive woman’s attributes, Cooper winced. No wonder many women considered men Neanderthals.
He had just taken her apart as if she were some car, and had labeled all her advantages as if he were weighing a stock portfolio.
When had he become so jaded and insensitive? He’d beat the guy who would ever discuss Mona in such terms—or for that matter, Corliss, even though he knew full well his younger sister could take very good care of herself.
Shaking his head, Cooper headed toward the car parked on a drier section of land some yards away. He’d picked up Mona from basketball practice straight from work, and his only concession to the surroundings had been to change from his imported leather shoes into the newly purchased sneakers. His suit jacket was no match for the remaining bite of an Illinois winter.
Cooper reached his car and got in with a sigh of relief. He warmed up the car a bit before leaving the site marked DIG IN PROGRESS. Visitors Please Sign In At Trailer Office.
The sign was a rustic, homemade affair that indicated funding was indeed being cut. He’d taken part in a dig back in college to fulfill his science requirements in what he’d considered the easiest way. He’d hated science. But he’d found out anthropology was not easy, nor totally boring. But for someone like him ready to take Wall Street by storm, it had been totally irrelevant.
But even he, with his untrained eye, could see that funding was obviously tight.
Pulling away from the site, Cooper frowned. It had to be really tough having to constantly scrounge to perform one’s job. And discouraging.
Yet L. J. Livingston was obviously giving it everything she had.
Cooper could not remember when he’d last felt such enthusiasm for anything—especially his own job as a stockbroker. It no longer seemed a career choice. A highly rewarding job, financially. But a job, just the same.
Accelerating as he reached the main highway—actually, a two-laner, with maximum speed allowed of forty-five miles per hour—Cooper thought of Mona back in the hotel room. Rather than drive back to Chicago, since they had to be at the site at such an early hour, he’d called his brother and asked him if it were okay if they stayed at a hotel overnight
Corbett had gladly given his approval. He really needed to get his head together because, although he loved his daughter dearly, he’d not been much of a supportive father lately and had leaned heavily on Cooper to take up the slack.
Cooper wanted to take L. J. Livingston to dinner, but was afraid she’d dismiss the idea out of hand if he proposed it But would the severe Ms. Livingston summarily reject the offer if Mona were involved?
Cooper didn’t think so. He had not seen a ring on Ms. Livingston’s long, capable finger. And he was sure LJ. would be a stickler for the rules—including wearing a ring if she were either engaged or married.
Any significant others that were not significantly committed did not bother Cooper.
It did bother him that he was going to use Mona as a shield when asking the prickly L. J. Livingston to dinner.
But he soothed his own conscience with the knowledge that Mona would love the idea. She already liked going out to dinner with her favorite uncle—since he was an easy touch who let her order whatever her junk-addicted little heart desired.
His niece would enjoy the experience even more with her idol present.
Three
“You really think she’ll go for it, Uncle Coop?”
“Monie, unless you call her, we’ll never know, will we?” Cooper answered for the third time as he carefully hung his suit jacket on the chair facing the somewhat decrepit desk. He took off his cuff links, and laid them by the tie that was already neatly folded on the desk. He wished he had other clothes to change into, but the best he could manage was a quick shower. Ms. Livingston did not strike him as a woman who spent too much time getting ready. But he had not had a chance to go shopping and get some casual clothes.
Mona moved toward the phone. “What if she says no?”
“Then you go over tomorrow, work your little fanny off and hope she asks you to the site again. And tonight we’ll rent movies and gorge on pizza and ice cream.”
“You know I can’t eat too much junk, now that I’m a starter on the team,” Mona began, chewing her lip as she played with the receiver. Seeing storm signals in her uncle’s eyes—a rare but definitely serious occurrence—Mona began dialing. “You’ll bring me another time if she says no?”
Cooper suppressed a sigh of impatience. Had he ever been such a combination of cocky self-assurance one moment, and then jellyfish indecision the next? Smiling at his niece, he decided, yes, he had. And probably worse.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he intoned, laughing at Mona’s dramatic rolling of eyes.
He went toward the bathroom, getting towels and soap ready—thoughtfully, Mona had asked for fresh towels, as three large fluffy ones lay in total disarray on the bathroom floor—and listened to the conversation briefly. When Mona’s eyes lit up like Buckingham Fountain on a clear summer night, he waited...
And watched his niece pump her fists in the air, and jump up and down. Affectionately, Cooper reflected that not only was Mona likely to get a firstclass scholarship, but that she could probably play pro ball in Europe—if she wasn’t so dead set on being the next Margaret Mead. Or better yet, Indiana Jones.
“Where to, Unc Coop?” Mona excitedly cut into his musings.
“Don’t know the area. Ask Ms. Livingston to suggest a restaurant, and we’ll meet her there in half an hour. Unless she wants us to pick her up?”
Unrepentantly, Cooper watched his jumping-jack niece relay his answer to her idol. It was cowardly, a truly craven thing to do, but on Wall Street he’d learned the end justified the means. Anything to procure that goal.
In this case, not only did Mona’s happiness depend on this, but he was quite willing to ride on his niece’s coattails. Until, that is, Ms. Livingston got to know him a little better, and he could erase that godawful first impression he must have made on her.
Once Mona had the details down, Cooper went for his shower, which set an all-time personal best for brevity.
“What made you decide to go into the field of anthropology, Ms. Livingston?” an excited Mona asked forty-five minutes later.
LJ. put down her glass of red wine and smiled at the youngster.
“I’ve always loved learning, and adventure, Mona. There were so many things I wanted to study—astronomy, geology, zoology, history...so I picked the science of man. It encompasses everything and I get to live vicariously every time we discover something of significance, something that allows us to shed light on where we come from, how we got here—and hopefully will help us predict where we are going.”
“But isn’t it somewhat boring?” Cooper asked. “I mean, most people think of skeletons and lost mines and rediscovered ancient civilizations, but very few scientists ever find another King Tut’s Tomb, King Solomon’s Mines—or even a reconstituted T-Rex or raptor.”
“And the real scientist doesn’t expect it, nor particularly desire it, Mr. Channahon,” L.J. said in even tones. But the look in her eyes as she pinned him to the chair told Cooper Ms. Livingston had seen through his somewhat thin ruse of using Mona to get her to have dinner with him—and didn’t think much of his maneuvering, or him.
“Please call me Cooper,” he began, but Mona, bless her heart, bridged the awkward moment, and with her youthful tunnel vision, pursued her own interest.
“But that’s exactly what I want to do,” Mona said. “I want to be the next Indy Jones.”
LJ. turned her gaze on Mona, and the green eyes miraculously softened. Cooper felt his chest tighten at the thought of those bedroom eyes trained on him with less animosity and in more secluded surroundings.
“That’s not what a real anthropologist is all about, Mona,” she said softly. “I’m afraid that while the Indiana Jones series makes for wonderfully entertaining films, they cause the serious archaeologist to shudder at the inaccuracies and careless handling of what would be priceless relics, had they really existed.”
Mona squared her little chin pugnaciously and said, “Well, I intend to combine both accuracy and adventure in my work. I’m sure I can rediscover an Atlantis, or a new mummy’s tomb.”
“What about your basketball, Mona? Just a year or two ago you were intent on becoming pro,” Cooper reminded her.
“If I do join a woman’s league in Europe or South America, I’ll just be postponing my real dream,” Mona said after taking a sip of orange juice. “And if I do, it will be only long enough to finance my education and my research trips and expeditions.”
“Well, I’m sure if anyone can accomplish combining Mead, Leakey and Indy into a career, it’s you,” LJ. said.
As the waiter approached with a tray laden with food—most of it Mona’s—L.J. asked Cooper, “That was an astute observation, Mr. Channahon. Have you ever taken an anthropology course?”
Cooper waited until they sorted out their dinners. He noticed LJ.’s hidden quick smile at the plethora of plates surrounding Mona like Indians circling the proverbial wagon train in those musty Westerns, and felt his spirits lift. Anyone that attuned to a youngster could not remain unthawed for long.
At least he hoped not. So far, Dr. Livingston did not seem to be responding to what his sister, Corliss, had called his legendary charm.
Which reminded him. “Would you prefer to be addressed as Dr. Livingston?” LJ.’s initial friendliness toward him had deteriorated after Mona’s lethal comments, and he wanted to make sure Mona did not overstep her boundaries.
LJ. almost choked on a piece of shrimp. “For heaven’s sake, no! Not only does it remind me of that old African Continent chestnut I’ve had to hear all my life, but it’s far too stuffy.” Turning to Mona, who was helping tame her spaghetti with a fork and a bagel, she offered, “You may call me LJ.”
Mona’s eyes lit up, but she waited until she gulped her spaghetti down before saying, “Thank you, Ms. Livingston. I mean, L.J.,” she added shyly.
Cooper hadn’t seen the shy side of his niece in ages. She really had a bad case of hero worship.
He just hoped that Dr. Livingston—he would always remember their inauspicious beginning, and it was going to take a while for him to accustom himself to thinking of her as L.J.—realized it.
As their eyes met across the table, Cooper saw that L.J. had, indeed, recognized the extent of Mona’s adoration. Her look was less frosty, and her gaze telegraphed reassurance.
Cooper’s fierce protectiveness quieted. He had been at the hospital when Mona had been born. His brother, Corbett, had been out of town on business, and because of a blizzard, had not been able to return immediately when the baby had made a premature appearance. Corliss had still been away at school, and Cooper had been at Lauren’s and Mona’s sides when the doctors had not been sure if either of them would pull through.
As much as he liked L. J. Livingston, he would never let anyone harm Mona or make her unhappy.
Not even a woman he was coming to like and admire as much as L.J.
Mona’s piping voice distracted him from those dark hours, a long time ago...
“You stated you were not married, right, L.J.?”
His niece’s question alerted all of Cooper’s senses. It sounded like the beginning of a typical Mona interrogation.
He knew there had to be one good thing about being closely related to a teenager...they really did go where angels feared to tread.
“No, I’m not,” L.J. said, her voice laced with amusement.
To disguise his curiosity, Cooper offered her some more wine, which she declined. He served himself one more glass, and set the bottle down.
“Because I was wondering, like, if you had a husband, or boyfriend, or something, wouldn’t it be hard to be here, so far away.... I mean, won’t it take you weeks to excavate this site?”
