Matchmaking Mona. Diana Mars
startled him and his precarious balance was shot to hell. Cooper flailed about, even as he spied a woman’s rounded face and sparkling green eyes. Those eyes went from shining with amusement to widening in alarm as Cooper pitched forward and fell on their owner.
Mona’s squeals penetrated his cerebellum, but the woman he fell on did not even utter a sound as he slammed into her and drove both of them into the ground.
Even though he tried breaking his fall, Cooper knew that his two-hundred pound frame would flatten anything in its downward arc.
His victim took the brunt of the fall and became almost embedded in the moist soil. Cooper lifted his upper body from the woman’s softly curved chest, leaned on his elbows and said, “Dr. Livingston, I presume?”
L. J. Livingston breathed in deeply and stared upward into a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She noticed that beyond giving her some breathing room, the man did not immediately budge. As a matter of fact, from the way he was ogling her, he didn’t seem to have any intention of moving anytime soon.
Well, she’d certainly remedy that, LJ. told herself sternly.
“In the flesh,” she said in her most professorial voice.
She groaned inwardly when she realized that her standard answer to the inevitable comments about her name took on a new meaning.
His blue eyes brightened and he seemed intent on continuing that line of thought when his legs straddled her thighs, and he seemed almost to be looking for a more comfortable position.
But he obviously recalled himself to his surroundings, which, at the moment, were mainly her. He got up in one fluid movement, then grabbed her hand and pulled her up with a mighty tug, freeing her from the mud encasing her backside.
But not before the clasping hook she had attached to the belt of her pants caught on his.
Some extraneous noise intruded into this pleasant predicament, and Cooper realized it was Mona, asking worriedly, “Are you guys all right? Or are you two in some sort of coma? You haven’t answered me in aeons!”
Cooper did not bother answering, but LJ. did, calmly.
“Yes, we’re okay. I may not have answered before because the wind was knocked out of me, but amazingly, I still seem to be in one piece.”
Belatedly, Cooper looked over at the tall, handsome woman in front of him. Sheepishly, his eyes took in the formerly forest green blouse and slacks, as well as the smudges of mud on the woman’s soft, pink cheeks. Her golden-brown hair was a mess, and it looked as if a family of pigeons had decided to make it its nest.
“I’m really sorry, Dr. Livingston. I’m sure your intention of studying this dig did not include scrutinizing it so intimately.”
Although LJ. was sure the man did not mean anything by it, the word intimate seemed to float in the air between them, heavy with meaning and fraught with tension. LJ. knew the power of physical attraction on first sight, and after her disastrous experience in college with Nick, she zealously guarded against that type of experience.
Which was why she had to be especially careful with this man. Neither of them were teenagers, and the effect he was having on her hormones was magnified by age and experience.
“No, I can’t say it did. I like getting into my work, but not this close up and personal.” L.J. unclasped the hook bonding their belts and anatomy together, and stepping back a breathable distance, extended her hand. “I’m L. J. Livingston.”
Cooper took the strong, long-fingered hand in his, and watched it being dwarfed by his own.
“Sorry about the mud,” he apologized as their fingers made a sucking noise as they shook hands.
Mona giggled, and the innocent sound broke some of the tension between the two adults.
“No need to apologize, Mr.—”
“Channahon. But please call me Cooper.” Blue eyes twinkling. Cooper added, “After all, I feel as if I really know you.”
L.J. chuckled and said, “All right. And I’m L.J.”
Looking at Mona, who was taking in the interchange between the two adults with avid eyes, LJ. added, “Your daughter is a delight. She’s really enthusiastic about this project.”
“Oh, he’s not married,” Mona added quickly. “Are you, Dr. Livingston?”
Taken aback, L.J. answered, “No, I’m not. Unless you happen to count my work,” she added, smiling.
“I know what you mean,” Cooper said, his eyes alighting on the soft, very kissable mouth.
L.J. felt his look like a gossamer touch, and caught herself before moistening her lips. Noticing the teenager’s gaze shifting back and forth between her and her father, LJ. felt she’d better get herself together. Not only were teenage glands overactive and hyperactive at Mona’s age, but teenagers seemed to think they had a vested right in interfering in everyone’s business even while loudly proclaiming their Godgiven right to privacy.
“Oh? Are you interested in anthropology, too?” LJ. asked.
“No, I’m afraid that’s Mona’s department. She wants to be the next Margaret Mead or Dr. Leakey.”
“Yeah. He says that anyone wasting their time on old bones and garbage doesn’t have much of a life or any grip on the real world.”
LJ.’s brown eyebrows shot up, even as Cooper’s stomach plummeted.
“Oh?”
The single word was a death knell ringing loudly in Cooper’s ears.
“I don’t agree, but he thinks that anthropologists don’t have a life. They just dig up someone else’s past so they can live vicariously.”
“I’d hate to think what—Cooper, was it?—thinks about librarians and other academics.”
“Oh, they’re just as bad, according to him. They need to get their faces out of those moldy romances, and date some real men for a change.”
L.J. looked from Mona’s big blue eyes to Cooper’s, so similar to his daughter’s, and said, “I read romances.”
The teenager obviously sensed she’d said something out of place, for the tension that had decreased grew again. But for an entirely different reason.
“If you don’t mind,” LJ. added coolly, “I’d like to get to the trailer and change. My back is beginning to stiffen up.”
“Of course,” Cooper said contritely. “We shouldn’t have kept you.”
“Just because you flattened her like a pancake doesn’t mean I get to lose out. Does it, Dr. Livingston?”
The cajoling quality of Mona Channahon got to her. L.J. knew she should refuse. After all, she didn’t think much of men who did not take their responsibilities seriously. There was no way Cooper could be anything but the teenager’s father. Their resemblance, from the tall, rangy bodies to their light blue eyes and dark brown hair proclaimed their blood relation.
But the girl was not at fault if the man was an irresponsible lout. And he could not be all that bad, from the obvious affection they both shared.
At least he had not totally abandoned his child.
As others so routinely abandoned those who loved them. As her father had done. As Nick had.
Realizing both Channahons were waiting for her answer, and that her back, sore from a week spent in the field, was indeed tightening, LJ. began walking and said, “No. Of course not. You can come tomorrow and observe.”
“I want to help out!” Mona said, excitedly clapping her hands.
L.J. looked at Cooper, who nodded his head in silent assent. “Ah, L.J.—May I call you LJ.?,” he began, carefully placing his ruined Nikes on