Matchmaking Mona. Diana Mars

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      Four

      The words were spoken casually, and Mona dug into her fruit salad, picking up her favorite, the pineapple bits.

      LJ.’s fork remained frozen on the way to her mouth for an instant. Then she set it down.

      The shocked look on her face was quickly replaced with one of concern. Her hand went to Mona’s slender wrist.

      “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean—”

      Mona looked up quickly, and then back down to her salad. She said casually, “Oh, that’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

      LJ.’s comforting hand remained on Mona’s for another instant, her face a study in compassion. It was at that moment that Cooper realized he could easily fall in love with Dr. Livingston.

      The thought struck fear into his heart. He had dearly loved Lauren, and had seen the devastation the loss of his brother’s high school sweetheart had wrought on his previously carefree younger sibling. Corbett had not recovered yet. He was dazed and confused, daunted before the prospect of raising a teenager without the levelheaded, loving discipline of Lauren.

      Cooper pushed that fear aside. Lauren had never been a strong, healthy person. She had been advised against bearing children, but had decided to have Mona at all costs. It had eventually cost Lauren her life.

      L.J. seemed a more robust specimen of womanhood. At least, he hoped to God she was. It had been agonizing dealing not only with the loss of a dear sister-in-law, but with the heartache his brother and niece had experienced.

      Cooper noticed L.J.’s concerned glance. She was obviously puzzled by Mona’s casual attitude. Cooper had been worried at first, too. Mona had never cried.

      But Mona was a tough kid. She had obviously resolved her pain and loss in private.

      Once 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 СКАЧАТЬ