Matchmaking Mona. Diana Mars
again, it was Mona herself who bridged the sudden silence.
“How come you don’t have more people helping you?”
L.J. paused while the waiter came over to serve them coffee—Mona decided on a fat-free double-chocolate yogurt—and declined dessert. Cooper asked for an apple pie with scoops of vanilla, strawberry and black cherry ice cream.
At the parallel raising of female eyebrows, Cooper grinned unrepentantly. “Hey, I’m having fruit for dessert! I’m having my vitamin C for the day.”
Mona rolled her eyes, and finished the last of her large fruit salad serving.
“The reason I don’t have more people helping out, Mona,” LJ. answered her, “is that funding is awful tight. I have to beg, borrow or steal to get necessary equipment, money and even qualified people.”
“That means you’re desperate enough to take on a kid like me?”
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” L.J. quickly denied. She seemed to realize belatedly that the endearment had slipped out a second time. A lot of people “deared” and “sweethearted” strangers right away, but L.J. had never been one to instantly assume familiarity.
Mona, though, had brought out her protectiveness right away. Maybe, because in some ways, despite Mona’s outward tough-guy image, she reminded L.J. so much of herself at that age—ready to take on the world on the outside, a quivering mass of hurt and insecurity on the inside.
Did Mona’s father realize that, too?
From the affectionate look on his face, perhaps he did, also.
“A kid like you, as you put it, is a valuable asset. I’ve had grown-ups that have volunteered for digs because they thought it’d be a cool thing to do, something to relate at the country club when they got back. But they were not too careful with the pottery, or minimal skeletal findings. And anything resembling garbage, a lot of people refuse to treat as valuable.”
“And if I recall correctly,” Cooper added, “that is how you tell about the history, living conditions and evolution of a people over time—by the layers of debris accumulation.”
LJ. nodded her head, pleased at Cooper’s comment. “That’s right. So when I run into someone as informed as you, Mona, and as enthusiastic, I know I won’t have to constantly remind him or her of how valuable each tiny, seemingly insignificant piece of evidence is.”
Mona’s flat chest expanded to twice its size. “So you think I’ll be of some help?”
“I think you’ll be a great help,” L.J. said, smiling. “And I’ve called Bradford, another high school kid who comes in to help me on weekends. He lives in Morton, a couple of hours away, and couldn’t make it today. But he’ll be there tomorrow, to show you the ropes.”
“And how old is this Bradford guy?”
L.J., who seemed surprised at Mona’s sudden change of demeanor, answered, “He’s a senior. He’s seventeen.”
“Is he going to lord it over me?”
“Mona!” Cooper gave his niece a stern look. “You’re not in charge of this excavation. You’re there to give Dr. Livingston a hand, anywhere she sees fit. That’s what volunteers do. They help out where needed and take directions from anyone in charge. Got that?”
Mona turned bright pink, and Cooper was sorry he’d jumped at her. But he knew how stubborn his niece could be and did not want her to get in LJ.’s way. Despite what the good doctor had said, LJ. was really giving a high school freshman the chance of a lifetime, and Mona better appreciate it. Mona had always been spoiled, but after Lauren’s death, everyone had tread even more softly around her. Maybe too softly.
“Oh, I’m sure everything will go along swimmingly,” LJ. said lightly, noting the identical pair of blue eyes locked in silent combat. “But if you don’t mind, I have to get going. I’ve still to organize some things before tomorrow. I’d hoped the article in the daily paper would not have come out for another couple of weeks yet, to allow me to get things in order first, before volunteers and visitors start dropping in.”
“We could always come back next weekend, if that would be easier for you, L.J.,” Cooper offered.
“No, that’s all right. You’re here now, and Bradford can instruct Mona in some grid techniques before there are too many people around—most of them gawkers.”
L.J. got up, and Cooper followed suit. “Oh, please, just finish your dessert. I hate to eat and run, but I’m really crunched for time.”
As she was about to pick up the check, Cooper forestalled her. “Please consider this a donation to the cause.” He smiled.
LJ. returned the smile. It was nice to again see the woman hidden behind the serious professor, thought Cooper.
“Thank you.” Turning to Mona, L.J. added, “And thank you, too, Mona, for the lovely company and conversation.” Including Cooper in her glance, she added, “See you both tomorrow.”
The weather was miserable. Mona had not given Cooper too much of a hassle when he’d gotten her up at five, but he’d worried about the drizzling rain and biting wind from the north.
He’d picked up some hot coffee, hot chocolate, bagels and doughnuts from the all-night diner, and had been surprised to find two people in LJ.’s trailer already: one, the high school kid named Bradford L.J. had mentioned last night, and a second male, which instantly raised his hackles.
L.J. introduced them.
“Cooper Channahon, this is Dr. Roarke Gallagher. Roarke, this is Cooper and Mona Channahon. Mona will be helping out.”
As both men sized each other up and stiffly shook hands, both teenagers looked on in wide-eyed interest. L.J. took the bags with drinks and food from Cooper and inspected them.
“Wonderful. We’ll actually get to eat well this time. Roarke brought some muffins and fruit, as well as some juice.”
“How thoughtful of him,” Cooper almost snarled.
“Likewise,” Roarke Gallagher answered. His urbane smile revealed a row of perfect white teeth, and Cooper had a sudden urge to rearrange them. Not just the teeth, he reflected, but the smooth cap of straight chestnut hair. And perhaps add the finishing touch of a couple of raccoon rings around those smoky gray eyes, which Cooper was certain many women, bless their misguided hearts, would consider sexy.
The question was, just how sexy did Dr. Livingston find Dr. Gallagher?
And more suspiciously, just why had Dr. Gallagher appeared just when Cooper had been ready to stake his own claim?
Turning to L.J., Cooper decided to ask.
“How come Dr. Gallagher so thoughtfully decided to drop by on a Saturday morning at six o’clock with some juice and muffins?”
Cooper knew he was being less than civil—heck, he was being downright rude, and he half expected to be told to mind his own business.
He’d never considered himself a jealous man, but the longer one lived, the more one found out about oneself, he told himself with the half of his brain that was not being governed by his raging testosterone level.
The implied question was: Does he do this all the time? And the corollary was, maybe he didn’t drop in on Saturday morning, maybe he was already there from Friday night?
“Dr. Gallagher is with a foundation that concentrates its efforts on the Mississippian culture,” LJ. replied frostily. “Since the CAA—Center for American Archaeology—has recently flooded, and everything in the museum has been evacuated, he has some free time on his hands. He’s a visiting lecturer, but will be doing fieldwork and writing a book on the area—you know, the ‘Nile of North America.’ His help will be invaluable.”
Cooper