Black Hills Baby

by Debra Salonen

  “Flatlander feet,” he muttered, setting off on the trail he’d memorized from Libby’s sketch. “Ha.”

  He was out of breath long before he felt he should be. Of course, her drawing didn’t look uphill, either. Hearing the roar of an engine coming up the road behind him, he stepped into the grassy border and paused to catch his breath.

  As the sound got louder, he turned to watch a jacked-up truck of mixed body parts slow to a stop beside him. The beast was too tall for him to see into until the passenger door flew open.

  “Hey.”

  Coop stepped back in surprise. Mac. “Hi.”

  “Want a lift?”

  “I’m supposed to be acclimating. Your sister is taking me hiking on Saturday.”

  “In those shoes?” Mac shook his head. “Get in. I’ll show you the mine, since you’re gonna be part owner.”

  A voice warned that this was not a good idea. Mines had dark holes where a body might go undiscovered for years. On the other hand, he needed to know about the mine for the show. And while Mac hadn’t been exactly friendly, he hadn’t lied about the mine’s productivity, either.

  “Okay. But I’m supposed to meet Libby for lunch.” He climbed into the four-wheel-drive truck and closed the door. “Will we back in time?”

  Mac put the floor shift in gear and let out the clutch with a long, grinding squeal. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  ---

  “I can’t talk for long. Cooper’s supposed to join me for lunch.” She nodded toward the insulated cooler sitting on the picnic table situated under the cottonwood tree behind the post office. She’d hired Mac to create the small, square patio a couple of years back. The wood-and-metal table was slightly warped from exposure to the elements but functional.

  “Just give us a quick update.”

  “What’s your gut telling you?”

  Kat and Jenna had popped into the office a few minutes earlier to invite Libby to lunch.

  “I introduced him to Gran and Mac. And Calvin. Gran called him a flatlander, but other than that she was pretty cordial. Calvin didn’t recognize him, which was good. You know how Cal carries on when he wants to impress somebody.”

  Both women nodded. Everybody adored Calvin…except when he started to describe his past accomplishments.

  “How’d Mac behave?”

  Jenna asked about Mac quite often, Libby had noticed. Probably more than was necessary. Libby hoped her friend wasn’t considering him as a romantic interest. Mac was a great guy, but Misty’s death had left him an emotional basket case. “They spoke. I wasn’t privy to the entire conversation, but Coop was still in one piece when I got there.”

  Kat pretended to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead. “Whew. Close call. Did Mac tell him about the mine?”

  “Yes. But I don’t think Coop believed him. Actually, I don’t know what Coop thinks. Or why he’s here.” She gave in to her growing sense of disquiet. “I know he’s an actor, but he seems to really like it here. I can almost see him taking mental notes about the place, the people. It’s weird. Do you think all actors are like that-–everything in their lives is fodder for some future role or something?”

  Jenna answered. “Mother used to talk about acting all the time. Her life in the theater.” She put air quotes around the word. “She claims life is the palette that colors every role."

  “I don’t know what his motivation is, but I plan to lay out what I want to see on our contract today. Or maybe Saturday. I’m taking him hiking.”

  Kat blinked in surprise. “Why? To see if he’s physically fit? You know it doesn’t take that much effort to deposit sperm in a cup. I’d be willing to bet he can handle it.”

  Libby groaned at the obtuse pun. “Gran insists I show him the real Black Hills, not just the tourist spots. She suggested we hike the Daugherty Gulch trail. Apparently she used to walk that way to Slate Creek School when she was a girl. I don't know if I believe that, but I've been out there hunting with Mac and the view from the top of the ridge is pretty nice.”

  “You can cover more ground if you bike the Mickelson,” Jenna said.

  “I actually suggested that and he went into a long story about his previous triathlon experience. He’s quite funny, you know.” She hadn’t expected him to be so personable and self-deprecating. She had to keep reminding herself that he was an actor, and that meant he knew how to manipulate an audience.

  “That's the other side of Tigerville, right? I could drop you off by the McVey place and pick you up afterward. I know right where that trail comes out on Mystic Road because Mom and I got lost out there trying to find the slate quarry.”

  Libby looked at Kat, wondering what had changed to make Jenna suddenly so helpful where Cooper was concerned. “I thought Saturdays were reserved for your mother’s weekly shopping trip.”

  Jenna made a face. “She twisted her ankle. No swelling but enough pain that she doesn’t want to risk reinjuring it. I’d planned to wash windows at the Mystery Spot, but I could do that while you’re hiking.”

  “Thanks for offering. I’ll run the plan past Cooper, and let you know.” Libby checked her watch. “He should have been here by now. I’m going to have to eat. Do you guys want some? I have plenty.”

  She opened the red-and-white plastic cooler and grabbed a tuna salad sandwich. Both friends shook their heads. “We’re going to iron out Kat’s day-care schedule for the boys this summer. I’m hoping Tag can work for me a couple of mornings a week once the Mystery Spot opens up.”

  “What will Jordie do while Tag’s working?” Libby asked after chewing a bite of her sandwich. Finely minced red onion was her secret ingredient, and she’d been looking forward to seeing if Cooper liked it.

  “That’s what we need to discuss,” Kat said. “The boys are inseparable but partly out of my need. I think it would be good for them both to have some time apart, and Tag is old enough to handle a few hours at a job. But Jordie will be jealous when his brother has spending money and he doesn’t. We’ll see.”

  Libby wondered if parenting one child would be half as complicated. Probably not.

  Jenna snatched a couple of chips from the open bag turned to leave. “Sorry to abandon you, but we want to get a table at the Tid before it fills up. Call me later.”

  Since Libby’s mouth was full, she nodded, but before the two were out of sight she remembered something she wanted to ask. “Hey, Kat, what’s Rufus Miller making that you liked enough to suggest he sells it on the internet?”

  Kat murmured to Jenna and they both laughed. To Libby she called, “I’ll tell you later. You might want to buy one.”

  The pair continued on their way, but their laughter lingered in the quiet of the ally. Libby might have been annoyed if she weren’t so worried about what had happened to Cooper. Was he lost? Impossible if he’d followed her directions.

  “Flatlanders,” she muttered, remembering something her grandmother said at the onset of every summer. “More trouble than they’re worth.”

  Trouble, maybe. But that didn’t mean she wanted anything to happen to him while he was here. He was Cooper Lindstrom after all. And she hated to think what might happen to Sentinel Pass if anything bad befell the highly public television personality. She could almost picture those horrible TV news vans parked up and down the street. Five-second sound bites that would leave a horrible taste in everyone’s mouth.

  “Beloved television personality Cooper Lindstrom is missing, and presumed dead,” she heard an imaginary commentator say.

  She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. She wrapped up the remainder of her sandwich and carried the cooler to her car. She didn’t want to believe her fear meant she’d already come to care about him.

  This was a business arrangement. She barely knew the man.

  But he kissed you.

  He’d turned out to be interesting. Funny. And far more complex than she’d expected.

  And you liked it.

  She absolutely had to keep their rela
tionship superficial for the sake of her plan.

  No fish lips where Cooper Lindstrom was concerned.

  She slammed the door with more force than necessary, then looked around sheepishly to see if anyone had witnessed her uncharacteristic act.

  Okay. So she liked him. That didn’t mean she was going to do something stupid like fall in love with the man. He already had a return ticket back to La-la land, for heaven’s sake. The idea of there ever being anything more between them than what was expressly written in their baby contract was ridiculous.

  She wasn’t a groupie and didn’t plan to become an online member of the Cooper Lindstrom fan club.

  Not under her own name, anyway.

  Chapter 7

  “So, is this the part of the story where you find a deep hole and push me in to get rid of the body?”

  Coop had meant the question as a joke. He hoped. But his guide, who had outfitted him in a protective hard hat with a built-in spotlight and a respirator that was hanging loosely around his neck, didn’t appear amused.

  “So she told you about Misty, huh?”

  “Misty?” The hairs on the back of his neck pricked to attention.

  “My late wife. There were some who speculated that I had a hand in her death.”

  Coop swallowed. The damp chill he’d first embraced suddenly turned unpleasantly cold. “S…she died here?”

  “No. Car accident. No witnesses. Highway patrol figures something spooked her-–a deer, maybe. She was going too fast, overcorrected and flipped over the guardrail. We didn’t find her for a couple of days.”

  Mac’s flat tone sounded like a recording, but Coop heard the tenor of anguish beneath the man’s delivery.

  “We’d just had a big fight. Decided to split up. I wouldn’t let her take Megan.”

  “Your daughter.”

  Mac blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Didn’t Libby tell you anything?”

  Coop pushed back his hardhat. “She mentioned being an aunt, but I’m still trying to figure out the whole cast.”

  “Cast,” Mac repeated. It came out like a four-letter word. “You make us sound like a sitcom or something. We’re just your typical screwed-up family in a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere. My sister’s a beautiful, amazing woman who thinks having a baby will make up for the fact she’s never found a guy worthy of her. I’m a truck-driving miner with a little girl who’s afraid of the dark. She won’t set foot inside this mine, so I spend every spare nickel on babysitters.”

  Before Coop could ask why he bothered when the return on his time was so poor, Mac said, “Hard-rock mining gets in your blood. Like an addiction. Not like smokin’ or drinkin’. Those you can quit. I did both in the past.”

  “Like gambling?” The question popped out unplanned.

  Mac shrugged. “I suppose. Yeah, maybe. You keep thinking the next inch or two is going to produce color. A major vein. The kind that gets investors interested and brings in some serious money that will make up for all the time and money you already wasted.”

  Coop wondered if his mother had felt the same way. He didn’t understand what drove her to spend every spare minute on a habit that ultimately cost her-–and him–-everything, but he could see certain parallels between Mac’s life and his own. When something controls you, the people around you suffer.

  “So you said you’d show me around. How deep does this go?”

  “I’m not actively working this part of the mine at the moment. But if I were, I’d reopen a fissure my dad found a few months before he died. There was a cave-in, and until I clean it out and make sure it’s braced adequately, I can’t tell you much more. I pretty much played out the lode gold I was working before Misty died.”

  “Can I see it?”

  Mac shrugged. “Why not? Wait here. I’ll go back to the office and call Libby to see if she’ll pick up Megan for me.”

  Wait here? Alone? Mac didn’t give him time to reply. He turned and, three steps later disappeared into the gloom.

  Cooper used the heavy metal flashlight he’d attached to his belt loop to look around. The tunnel was wide enough to accommodate a vehicle, which made him wonder why they’d walked. Heavy timbers had been erected in a way that reminded him of a ride he’d once taken at Disneyland. Was this really how modern miners did it? He doubted that, but then, Mac had indicated this was the oldest part of the Little Poke.

  He stepped closer to the wall and rested his hand on the surprisingly smooth surface. The rock was cool to the touch and moist, yet he didn’t see any water coming from anywhere.

  He shined his light upward and his breath caught in his throat. There. A small snakelike trail of something glittery. Gold?

  Surely it couldn’t be that easy. No, of course not. The pretty yellow material was probably the fool’s gold he’d read about. One historical account had greedy scam artists filling a scatter gun with gold flake and shooting it into the wall of a mine to fleece some unsuspecting investors out of their cold, hard cash.

  Well, this gold mine may be played out, he thought, seeing no further hints of color, but he’d come here looking for a different sort of gold mine. And that required him to start thinking with his head. His mother might not have given him much credit for being able to handle numbers, but he knew this much–-one plus one, when they were the right combination, added up to a whole lot more than two.

  Take Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd, for example. Pairing them up in Moonlighting--his mother's favorite show from the 1980s--had been genius. You take a fish out of water and put him in a totally unexpected place then give him another fish to swim with and--violá--prime-time romantic comedy. And if you found two fish with the right chemistry, you’d feed the love-starved audience a line they couldn’t resist.

  “People love dichotomies,” Rollie told him one. “How else can you explain all the young chicks who go for me?”

  They’d laughed, but Coop had to agree with him to some degree. Although in Rollie’s case the girls were drawn to his money and his cozy little five-point-two-million-dollar shack on the Pacific.

  Coop spotted a ledge that looked wide enough to sit on and crossed his ankles, leaning back against the rock. To wander aimlessly would be foolish. To get freaked out or pissed off equally futile. His only choice was to wait. And to pass the time, he'd work up a few interesting possible scenes using the dichotomy theory.

  Soft, spoiled beach bum meets strong-willed, self-disciplined postmaster. Her brother gets him lost in the mine. A sort of hazing thing. The postmaster comes to find him.

  He closed his eyes and imagined their dialogue.

  You’re a hard man to lose.

  I’m not lost, but I am hard.

  PM looks shocked. Didn't your mother teach you it's not polite to talk like that around a lady?

  Who says you’re a lady?

  She tosses her head of shoulder-length shiny auburn hair and puts her hands on her hips. You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? But I’ve got news for you. I could have had any of the men in this town over the years. My standards are too high. And you’re not even up to their level yet.

  She turns to leave, but he blocks her path. Maybe you’d have more fun if you came down to my level.

  She protests, but a close-up shows she’s interested, too.

  He moves in to kiss her. She really does have beautiful lips that haven’t been kissed in way too long. He can feel her quivering with anticipation. She moistens her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

  “Hey.”

  The voice that called out wasn’t Libby’s. In fact, it wasn’t even female. And it was followed by a bright light in his face.

  He muttered an oath and jumped to his feet, praying his canvas hiking pants were bulky enough to hide his body’s response to his imagination. Good grief. He’d kissed dozens of women on camera and never gotten an erection.

  A camera. That’s what was missing.

  “Did you hope I’d wander off and fall into some bottomles
s pit?” He batted at the beam of light in his eyes. “Was this part of the freak-out-the-city-guy routine? Well, guess what, I’m not freaked.”

  Mac lowered the light to chest level. “I don’t know. You look kinda red in the face.”

  “I'm pissed off. I don’t like games.”

  Mac shrugged and started off again, waiting this time for Coop to follow. “I thought that’s what you did for a living. Host some kind of game show.”

  “It’s a talent show. And before that I worked on two soaps and had a few parts in several prime-time series.”

  Mac acknowledged Coop’s career with a careless shrug. “I don’t watch television. My late wife used to have the damn machine on from the time she got up in the morning till she fell asleep at night. I drew the line at having one in our bedroom. I mean, if you’re gonna look at a TV instead of each other, you deserve it when your marriage goes south.”

  “So that's what happened to my marriages. I thought it was me.”

  Mac ignored the comment. He didn’t speak again, which, unfortunately, left Coop with time to analyze his daydream. In theory, there was nothing wrong with it. He’d always planned for his hero to develop some fiery sexual tension with the heroine. And naturally, as he’d told Shane, he planned to play the lead. But the problem came from the fact the person he’d been kissing in his mind wasn’t his ex or any other actress playing Libby. She was Libby. The real Libby.

  And that was a very bad thing.

  Use your head, man. Any emotional entanglement would spell disaster for his project-–the project he needed to save himself from financial ruin and the jaws of a bloodthirsty bookie. Falling for Libby was the worst thing he could do.

  So he’d be cool. He’d keep his distance-–both emotionally and physically. After all, his ex-wives were proof that he didn’t do love well, so why risk everything for something he was sure to screw up?