Matchmaking Mona. Diana Mars

      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