The Surprise of His Life (4 page)

"Let
me look at you," Bunny said, giving Lindsey a quick once-over. Though the
women had talked frequently, at least once a week, it was the first time they'd
been together since Lindsey had left for London. "You look
wonderful," Bunny announced. "Doesn't she look wonderful,
Walker?"

A
suitcase in each hand, Walker had just come abreast of the women. He glanced
over at Lindsey and winked. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking she'd gone
over to England and gotten herself uglied up."

Lindsey
grinned. So did her mother. The latter's smile was small, but genuine. Again,
the action hurt Lindsey's heart, simply because smiling had once come so
naturally to her mother. Lindsey's guess was that smiles had been few and far
between of late. They were likely to become even more scarce.

"And
what would you know about ugly?" Bunny teased. She and Walker were always
teasing. "Except other than what you see in the bathroom mirror every
morning?"

Walker
laughed. Lindsey wondered just what he
did
look like in the mornings.
She knew with a dead certainty, the kind you'd stake your life on, that it was
nowhere near ugly. In fact, she'd put her money on be-still-my-heart sexy. The
kind of sexy that spelled a scratchy stubble of beard, the kind of sexy that
spelled bare chest covered in dark spirals of hair, the kind of sexy that—

The
sound of Walker's voice brought her back to reality, and reality was that they
were standing in the quiet, cool den of her parents' home.

"Where
do you want these?" he asked. The question was directed toward Bunny and
referred to the luggage he still carried.

"You
can put them in our ro—" Bunny stopped. Pain streaked across her face.
"You can put them in my room." At the surprised look that Lindsey
gave her mother, Bunny added, raking her fingers through her hair, "I, uh,
I've been sleeping on the sofa in the den." What she didn't say, but what
was implied, was that there were too many memories in the bedroom she'd shared
with her husband.

Lindsey
had known that her father had asked for a divorce; she even understood, at
least theoretically, what that entailed. She shouldn't have been surprised to
discover that he'd moved out of the house. And truly, a part of her wasn't.
Another part of her, however, had obviously, for defensive purposes, denied
that possibility. Or, at least, had conveniently overlooked it. The fact could
no longer be overlooked. The fact also hurt. Deeply.

Lindsey
glanced up to find Walker's gaze on her. It seemed to silently ask, "Are
you all right?"

The
very fact that he was there, and that he cared, made the hurt bearable.

"I
could sleep in my old room," Lindsey said to her mother.

Bunny
forced a smile. "With two thousand bears? Or rather," she said,
stroking the head of the teddy bear that Lindsey still held, "two thousand
and one?" Looking up at Walker, Bunny settled the issue with, "The
back room."

Walker
didn't argue.

"C'mon,"
Bunny said to her daughter as she slipped her arm about her waist and squeezed,
"I've made us some coffee."

Coffee
turned out to be not only a freshly perked brew made from home-ground beans,
but also an apple spice cake—Lindsey's favorite. Under the circumstances,
considering the stress that her mother was under, Lindsey felt like crying when
she saw the cake.

"Ah,
Mom, why did you go to this trouble?" she asked, knowing the answer even
as she asked it. There was a breed of woman who considered cooking a religion
and the kitchen as a place of worship. For them, cooking was an expression of
love. Her mother was one such woman. Her father had often teased that he'd
married her mother only because of her ability to cook. Lindsey wondered what
excuse he'd offer as to why he was divorcing her.

"It
gave me something to do," Bunny said, automatically filling a mug with
coffee.

Lindsey
noticed that her mother's hand trembled. She longed to take the hand in hers
and still the shaking. Instead, she set the teddy bear on the countertop and
reached for the pitcher of cream her mother had just removed from the refrigerator.
As though it had been innately programmed in her genes, as though it wouldn't
do to do otherwise, Bunny had placed the cream pitcher on a paper doily.

"Coffee?"
Bunny asked when Walker appeared in the doorway.

"No,
thanks. I need to run. I'm doubling as a secretary these days."

"Is
Gerri still out?" Bunny asked.

Lindsey
recognized the name of the woman who'd been the company secretary/bookkeeper
for several years. She knew that Gerri was divorced and had a teenage son. She
also knew that, at least at one time, Gerri had had eyes for Walker. If Walker
had known it, he'd ignored it. But then, maybe he'd changed his mind. Eighteen
months was a long time. And, if he was still ignoring Gerri, was there someone
else he wasn't ignoring? Maybe even several someone elses?

"Yeah,"
Lindsey heard Walker say, "and she's gonna be out a lot longer. The doctor
says she has mono."

"Oh,
no," Bunny said. "I knew she wasn't feeling well. Dean said... I knew
she wasn't feeling well."

"What
are you going to do?" Lindsey asked.

"Call
one of those agencies specializing in temporary help, I guess." Walker
grinned, slashing deep groves into his cheeks. His whisker-shadowed cheeks,
Lindsey couldn't help but notice. "When, and if, I can find the
time."

The
telephone rang. Bunny reached for the phone hanging on the kitchen wall.

Walker
waved a goodbye to her and looked over at Lindsey, who called out, "Thanks
for meeting me."

"No
problem."

"Hello?"
Bunny said into the receiver. She said nothing for a moment, then stammered,
"Y-yes, she got in. No, no... she's right here."

The
ashen shade of pale which she turned, plus the fact that her hand gripped the
receiver with white-knuckle force, drew both Lindsey's and Walker's attention.
Walker, concern etching his face, halted in the act of leaving.

"It's,
uh, it's your father," Bunny said as she passed the phone to her daughter.
The woman immediately picked up a rag and began to wipe at the already clean
countertop.

"Hello?"
Lindsey said, her gaze on her mother.

"Hi,
sweetheart," came the voice of Dean Ellison.

Memories
swirled about Lindsey—memories of piggyback rides, memories of stories about
wolves and trolls and monsters read in a deep, exaggerated basso, memories of
dancing on the tops of her daddy's feet. Lindsey felt her throat tighten with
emotion. She also felt a twinge of the anger she'd felt before. Why did her
father, this man she loved above all others, have to go and change everything?

"Hi,
Daddy," she said, unable to hold on to the anger.

"How
was the flight?"

"It
was good."

"Did
Walker meet you?"

At
the mention of Walker's name, Lindsey glanced up. Walker was standing in the
doorway, looking at Lindsey. She smiled. "Yeah, he met me."

"Good,"
Dean replied, but Lindsey could hear her father's mind changing gears. She could
hear the conversation shifting to the reason for the call. "Listen,
sweetheart, I'd planned on seeing you tonight, but I'm stuck out on one of the
platforms. Looks like I'm not going to be able to get away."

Disappointment
raced through Lindsey. She wanted to talk to her father. The sooner, the
better. She wanted to work this nonsense out, so that everything could go back
to being the way it was.

"I'm
sorry," Dean said, sensing Lindsey's mood.

"If
you can't get away, you can't get away."

Walker
stepped back into the room. "What's wrong?" he mouthed.

"He's
out on a platform and can't get away," she answered Walker, then said into
the receiver, "No, I was talking to Walker. He asked what was wrong."

Lindsey
could have sworn that her father sounded a little flustered when he added,
"Is Walker there?"

"Yeah,
we just got home."

"Well,
look, I won't keep you, sweetheart," Dean said. "And I promise to see
you tomorrow. Okay?"

"Sure,"
Lindsey answered. Her mother hadn't looked up. She was still wiping the
countertop and arranging the cream pitcher just so on the paper doily.
"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tell
Walker that I'll—" Dean began, but never got to finish.

"Let
me talk to him," Walker said, covering the distance to the phone and
reaching for it.

"Walker
wants to talk to you," Lindsey said, and handed over the receiver.

"Hey,
what's going on?" Walker asked, one hand splayed at his waist.

"Oh,
hey there," Dean said, hastily tacking on, "Look, I'm still out at
Rig Three."

"Is
there a problem?"

"No.
I mean, yes and no."

"What's
wrong? I thought all you had to do was fly in a replacement for the defective
part."

"Yeah,
well... I thought I'd just hang around to see if the part works. You know how
much trouble we've had with this drill. I just want to make certain everything's
okay before I fly back in. With our luck, I'd just have to turn around and fly
right back out."

The
silence that followed suggested that Walker was having trouble making sense out
of his partner and friend's reasoning. For one thing, they weren't accustomed
to baby-sitting a part. For another, if the part didn't work, if it, too, had
to be replaced, Dean would have to fly in for another replacement.

Dean
was obviously hearing the same lack of logic, for he rushed ahead with,
"I'll, uh, I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Right,"
Walker said. "Tomorrow." Stretching, he replaced the receiver on the
wall phone.

"Problem,
huh?" Lindsey said.

"Yeah.
Rig Three."

Lindsey
looked at Walker; Walker looked at Lindsey.

"I
didn't know what to do about dinner," Bunny said, overbrightly and with
the words tumbling over themselves, "so I thawed a chicken. I mean, I
didn't know whether you'd be going out with your father or what, so I thawed a
chicken just in case. We could have fried chicken or chicken and dumplings or I
could make that chicken casserole you like."

"Anything's
fine, Mom, but don't go to any trouble—"

"It's
no trouble. We've got to eat," Bunny said, opening the refrigerator and
seizing the chicken as though it were a lifeline to her sanity. Her back to
Walker, she said, "And why don't you join us, Walker?"

Lindsey's
eyes found Walker's. "Why don't you? That is, if you don't already have
plans." Lindsey held her breath, wondering if Walker did, indeed, have
plans for a Saturday night. If the women of Galveston had any sense, he was
booked through the weekend, through the rest of his life.

"Why
don't I take you two out?" Walker asked, unaware of Lindsey's relief.

"Nonsense,"
Bunny said. "You're tired, Lindsey's tired. We'll eat in." As she
said this, she pulled open a drawer and extracted a knife. She began to cut up
the chicken with what could only be called exuberance. "Hand me a bowl,
would you, Lindsey?"

Lindsey
did as bade.

"Is
seven o'clock okay with you, Walker?" Bunny asked.

"That's
fine. See ya'll then."

"You
two have to decide how you want this chicken cooked," Bunny called out,
her fingers still going a mile a minute. "We could have chicken spaghetti
or lemon chicken or—"

"What
if you just fry it, Mom?" Lindsey asked, knowing that was how Walker
preferred his fowl.

A
lazy grin spread across Walker's mouth as his gaze meshed with Lindsey's.
"Now you're talking chicken."

Lindsey's
gaze lowered to his lips, lips that had haunted her night and day for the past
year and a half. She thought on a suppressed sigh, Now you're talking a
first-class reason to cross the Atlantic.

"You
need another piece of chicken," Bunny proclaimed that evening over dinner
as she reached with trembling fingers for the platter in the middle of the
table.

Walker,
who had arrived precisely at seven, newly showered and shaved and wearing
crisply creased khaki pants, held up his hand. "Un-uh. I've already had
three pieces."

"Then
what about another roll?" Bunny asked, turning back the daintily
embroidered folds of the bread cover.

"No.
Thanks. I'm fine."

"Tea.
You need more tea," Bunny said as she pushed back her chair and started to
rise.

"Stay
seated, Mom. I'll get it." Lindsey rose, walked to the cabinet and
returned to the table with a pitcher containing an amber-colored liquid. She
smiled at Walker as she refilled his glass.

"Thanks,"
he said, noticing that for all she'd been through, both emotionally and
travelwise, she looked good.

In
fact, she looked better than good. She looked downright pretty. As he took in
the billowy cloud of blond hair, the curvy hips encased in jeans, the high
heels that made her long legs seem even longer, he was once more struck by the
new maturity that she wore so becomingly. He was also aware of a subtle fragrance
that alluringly arrived seconds before she did. The fragrance reminded him of
sweetness, freshness, youth. Youth. For all of her newfound maturity, Lindsey
was still young, which was probably the reason she looked good after the taxing
week she'd had. On the other hand, he was tired, his knee hurt, and he was in
less than the greatest mood of his life knowing that he had to work the
following afternoon even if it was Sunday. Without a secretary, he'd gotten
behind.