"Do you mean it?"
Dean made the appropriate sign over his heart. "Cross my heart and hope to choke." As a little girl, her father pledging to cross his heart and hoping to die had frightened Lindsey, so he'd modified the saying.
Lindsey smiled. "Okay. Seven."
The smile faded, however, as she watched her father, after a peck to her cheek, walk from the office. She turned to Walker.
"Do you think he'll show up?"
"Yeah. He'll show."
"How can you be so sure? His track record isn't exactly sterling."
"I just know," he answered, grinning as he added, "Besides, I'll kick his butt if he doesn't."
"That'll be the day—when you and Dad fight."
Walker's grin faded as he thought of his best friend. "Yeah."
Lightening the mood, Lindsey said, "I don't suppose I can buy you a cup of coffee?"
"I'd love to, but there's no way I can get away. Not with Gerri out and all the zoo animals loose and on the prowl."
As if to prove his point, the phone rang. He sighed.
"Let me get out of here and let you go to work," Lindsey said, heading for the door. Before Walker could answer the phone, she turned and said, "I thought you said I'd gone and gotten ugly."
The truth was that Walker could never remember thinking anyone more beautiful—beautiful and something more. Alive. Lindsey was alive. Appealingly alive.
The grin recaptured one corner of his mouth. "It's remarkable what a little rest will do."
Lindsey's heart gave a bumpy thump-thump at the sight of his all-male smile... and at his words. She said nothing. She simply smiled, waved, and walked out the door.
Walker watched her go. Curiously, her absence left him feeling... flat. Deflated. As though life had shifted from technicolor to black and white. He had no idea how long he stood staring at the spot where she'd been only seconds before. When the ringing of the telephone finally penetrated his consciousness, he felt like a first-class fool. What was wrong with him?
Brushing thoughts of Lindsey aside, he reached for the phone. "Gal-Tex," he said. "May I help you?"
Chapter Four
When the telephone rang, Walker ignored it. He'd had his fill of telephones for one day. Besides, the cool water felt too good to abandon as he lazily glided the length of the swimming pool. It had rained earlier in the afternoon, which meant that his knee had ached all day and he really needed this exercise. Badly. Plus the heat had set in with a vengeance once the rain had stopped, making the night air thick and sticky like a blob of bubble gum. No, he thought, as the water purled across his body, the last thing he needed was another phone call.
And yet...
What if it were Adam calling about the baby? Or what if it were Bunny needing something? Or what if it were Lindsey calling to say that her father hadn't shown up, after all? This last had been on Walker's mind all evening. Surely Dean had kept his promise. Surely Dean wouldn't disappoint Lindsey again. Would he?
Before he knew quite what he was doing, Walker converted his gliding strokes into something faster and in seconds hefted himself onto the side of the pool. He'd again swum in the nude, the way he most often did, owing to the sheltered privacy the redwood fence and privet hedge provided. Then, too, the houses in this secluded neighborhood were set discreetly apart. He reached for the portable phone that lay on the glass-topped table even as his bare backside registered the heat still contained within the concrete.
Adjusting the phone's On button, Walker said, "Hello?"
There was a pause, then, "Am I interrupting anything important?"
The voice belonged to Lindsey. The memory of her standing in the office doorway that afternoon came to mind. The memory was clothed in denim—clinging denim. As always, he was uncomfortable with these errant thoughts. Denying them, he grabbed his watch and checked the time. Ten minutes after ten o'clock. Surely she'd have called earlier if Dean failed to show.
"No," Walker said, "I was just getting in a few laps." Before she could answer, he added, "How did the evening go with your father?"
At the mention that Walker had been swimming, a bold—even a brazen—image flashed through Lindsey's mind. The image consisted of sun-tanned skin, silver-tipped ebony hair foresting a wide chest, the same ebony-tinted hair scoring stomach and legs and...
She focused on the question Walker had asked. "Who knows?" she said in answer.
Walker halted the towel he was passing through his hair. A renegade drop of water ran down the ridge of his straight nose. "He did show up, didn't he?"
"Oh, yeah, he showed up."
"Well, did you talk to him?"
"Not really. I mostly talked at him."
"I see," Walker said, seeing only too clearly. Dean wasn't into communication these days.
"In short," Lindsey said, "he told me to mind my own business. Oh, he wasn't quite that blunt. No, as a matter of fact, he was that blunt. He told me that what was going on between him and Mother was their business only, that no third person, not even a daughter, could sit in judgment on a couple's marriage, that no one could judge what two other people were feeling in their hearts." Lindsey gave a weary sigh. "And if you tell me that you told me so, I'll scream."
Or cry, Walker thought, hearing the strain in her voice. She was trying hard to control her emotions. As always, he wanted to protect her, shield her. In fact, the thought of her crying did strangely painful things to him.
"Hey," he said, "get that chin up off the curb before it gets run over."
"And how do you know my chin's on the curb?"
"Having been there a time or two myself, I recognized the sound of one's voice bleating against concrete."
Lindsey giggled, then sobered. "What really upset me was his categorical rejection of counseling. He doesn't need counseling, he said. He wasn't nuts, he told me." She sighed again. "Oh, Walker, he's so different. I mean, he is and he isn't. He's still my dad, but he seems like someone else, too. And when did he start dressing like... like... I don't know, like he was twenty instead of forty? Not that forty is old or anything," she hastened to add.
Oh, but it was, Walker thought, drawing the towel through the hair on his chest, which was now as silver as it was black. It was at least old enough for a man to know that he couldn't recapture his youth, which was what Dean was trying to do.
"Don't be too hard on him, Lindsey. He's being hard enough on himself right now."
"I know that. I could hear his suffering. He practically admitted that he still cares for Mother, but that he just can't be tied down right now. What does that mean, Walker? I thought that loving someone was wanting to be tied down to them—for forever."
The image of that kind of loving bondage was not an unpleasant one for Walker. It was what he wanted, too. It was what he'd missed so sorely since his wife's death. "Not everyone defines love the same way. Plus people change. Their needs change. What you need or want today, you don't need or want tomorrow."
"In other words, people fall out of love?" Lindsey asked, then didn't even give Walker a chance to answer. "I don't believe that. If people fall out of love, they were never in love."
Walker heard the idealism of youth, an idealism that reality had not yet tarnished. The hard, cold truth was that people did fall in love, then grow apart... and the reasons were many and myriad. Life was never static. People were never static. And yet, Walker had always believed that in an ever-changing, dynamic world, love was the only thing that stood a chance of surviving. The commitment that some couples were able to make did outlast everything, perhaps even the people themselves. Hundreds of times over the years, he had imagined that he could feel the love Phyllis had left behind. So, perhaps the truth was that Lindsey was right. Maybe be was faulting her for her naivete when he should be applauding her maturity. Maybe some people did fall in love for forever, while others just fell into something less than love.
"Are you there?" he heard her ask. The tone of her voice suggested bewilderment at
the silence.
"Yeah, I was just wondering when you grew up on me.
This time the silence came from Lindsey. Her heart skidded to a stop before galloping forward. "Is that what I've done?"
"Yeah, I think so," he answered, images of her playing through his mind once more. He saw her standing in the airport, all prettiness and bright eyes. He saw her standing in the office doorway, all curves and long, silky hair. He heard her talking of love, all wisdom and maturity.
"Well, I hear that it happens to everyone sooner or later," she answered.
"Yeah. Sooner or later."
Lindsey made no reply.
Neither did Walker.
Each let the silence, like a soft, fluffy cloud, drift about them. A subliminal tension, however, floated along with the silence. Even had he been aware of the tension, Walker would have denied it, for it felt a lot like the tension, the sexual tension, that crackled between a man and a woman. The right man and the right woman. Unaware of his movements, Walker drew the towel into his lap in order to hide his nakedness.
"So," he asked, "what do you do from here? I mean, about your parents?"
Lindsey wondered what he'd thought about during the silence. She wondered, too, what he would have thought if he knew what she'd thought about during the silence; namely, did he swim in the buff? The thought that he might left her in definite need of a full breath of air.
"Well," she said, pushing this thought aside, "I'm not my father's daughter for nothing. I've inherited every ounce of his stubbornness. I'm going to hang around, at least for a little longer, to see if he comes to his senses. It's obvious I'm going to have to lead him in the right direction."
"Lindsey—"
"Don't!" she said. "Don't caution me about interfering. Don't tell me that it's none of my business. Don't tell me that I shouldn't involve myself in someone else's marriage, even if the marriage is that of my parents. Don't tell me that I should pack my bags and go back to London."
"I thought you were going to Timbuktu."
Lindsey could hear the grin that nipped at Walker's lips. "I'm going there only if you'll go with me."
"After today, I'm tempted. Believe me, I'm tempted." Even as he spoke, the endless phone calls rang in his head.
"Well, actually, that's what I'm calling about," Lindsey said, adding, "And I'll bet you thought I called just to whine."
"That never crossed my mind."
"Well, maybe it should have, because that's what I did. And I'm sorry."
"Don't ever apologize for sharing with me how you feel. You're my—" He started to say godchild but, for reasons he didn't acknowledge, he chose another word. "You're my friend."
Lindsey had no problem with that description of their relationship. She wanted to be his friend. The only problem was she wanted to be something else, as well. Some- thing like his lover. In due time, she thought, she'd test the waters. She no longer wanted to live in a state of limbo. Even if it meant losing Walker completely, she had to know if they had a future.
For now, she'd settle for "friends." "You're right. We're friends. Listen," she added, "did you find anyone to fill in for Gerri?"
"I called the temporary-help agency, but the woman I needed to talk to was at lunch. She didn't return my call—not that she could have gotten through."
"Why don't you let me help you out? I'm going to be here and I do know my way 'round an office."
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. I'll even work for free."
"Oh, I think we can do a little better than that."
"Does that mean, yes, I'm hired?"
Walker chuckled. "I'd be crazy to refuse that kind of offer."
"Then it's settled. I'll see you at eight in the morning."
"Thanks," Walker said, his mood sober.
"You're welcome." There was a slight pause before she added, "I'll see you in the morning."
"Lindsey?" Walker said, sensing that she was about to hang up.
"Yes?"
"I wasn't going to caution you about interfering. I was just going to tell you not to expect a miracle."
"Oh, but I do," she said. "They happen only if you expect them."
And that, Walker thought minutes later as he once more lazily swam the length of the pool, might very well define the difference between youth and middle age. Youth still expected miracles, while middle age dared them to happen.
In the days that followed, Lindsey and Walker each made a heretofore unknown revelation. Lindsey learned that her father's list of excuses for spending any extended time with her was endless, while Walker learned that the office of Gal-Tex was smaller than he'd ever imagined.
As for Lindsey and her father's excuses, she tried to be patient and understanding. She knew that he was uncomfortable around her. This fact saddened her, primarily because they'd always been so close, but she understood that that very closeness was now working against them. He knew that Lindsey wanted answers, but answers were something that he couldn't, or wouldn't, give. This pressure to explain was always there when they were together. As was a certain guilt. At the core of everything, Lindsey sensed that her father felt guilty about hurting her as he most assuredly was.
On the other hand, Walker was beginning to envy Dean his list of excuses for staying out of the office, although he never truly formalized the thought. That would have been too telling, too troubling. That would have forced him to ask some questions that he knew he was avoiding. Questions like: Why was he suddenly aware of Lindsey's least little movement? Why was he going out of his way to avoid any physical contact with her? When had the office shrunk to dimensions more appropriately represented not by feet squared against feet, but rather by the fragrance of her perfume squared against her lilting voice?
"Mr. Dowell won't be able to return your call until tomorrow, these are the figures you asked for, and here is a cup of coffee, which you didn't ask for, but which you look as if you can use."
Walker glanced up at Lindsey's approach. It was Thursday afternoon, her third day of work, and there was no denying that office efficiency had improved a hundred times since that chaotic Monday. There was also no denying that, despite the unrest he felt in her presence, an unrest he couldn't define or explain, he was nonetheless glad she hadn't returned to London. Her energy, her spirit was definitely habit-forming.
"Thanks," he said, reaching for the cup she was offering him, but taking great pains not to touch her. A part of him realized the strangeness of that. Why shouldn't he touch her? He'd touched her a hundred times over the years. Another part of him, however, just accepted the restraint as prudent.
"Oh, by the way, this is the last of the coffee," Lindsey said, thinking that Walker looked decidedly appealing with his end-of-the-day appearance. His hair had been mussed by busy fingers, while his cheeks and chin had darkened with stubble. He'd loosened his tie, pink and black and a perfect match to his pleated black slacks, giving him a roguish look. The look played havoc with her senses, but then her senses had been taunted and teased by his proximity all week.
"Have you checked in the cabinet above the sink?" Walker asked. "Gerri usually keeps a spare can."
In way of an answer, Lindsey crossed the room and opened the cabinet door. She stood on tiptoe, bringing her weight to the balls of her feet, which were encased in simple, but stylish white heels. The white skirt she wore, which normally struck her at midcalf, rose upward, allowing the hem of her slip to show.
Walker instantly spotted the delicate lace edging the undergarment. Like a siren, it beckoned to him and, once it seized his attention, it wouldn't let go. He stared at it, wondering how something as simple as silk and lace could be so out-and-out powerful. But it was. In fact, it was so powerful that it conjured up other images—images of lace-trimmed bras, images of skimpy, lace panties, images that were startling and more than a little unsettling.
"Yeah, there's a... can." Lindsey faltered at the stark, starved look in Walker's eyes, but before she could do more than
wonder as to the why of it, it disappeared, leaving her to think that she had imagined it, after all.
Diverting his gaze back to the papers on his desk, Walker said, in a tone crisper than usual, "I need to talk to your dad. He's out on Platform Four. Will you see if you can get him, please?"
Telling herself that wishful thinking did strange things to a person, Lindsey, via ship-to-shore connection, contacted the rig and asked to speak to her father.
"I see," she said. "How long ago did he leave? Fine. No, no message. We'll see him back here in the office. Yeah. Thanks." She hung up the phone. "He's been gone about three hours."
Walker checked his watch. It was four o'clock—give or take a tired Thursday minute. Even considering dropping the helicopter off at the airport, he should have been back in the office by now.
"Shouldn't he be back by now?" Lindsey asked, echoing Walker's thoughts.
Walker shrugged. "He may have had an errand to run. He'll be here."
He wasn't there by five o'clock. Concerned, Lindsey called the airport. The Gal-Tex helicopter had been logged in a little after three o'clock.
"I don't understand," she said. "Doesn't he usually come to the office when he isn't out on the platforms?"
"Yes and no," Walker said, trying to downplay the incident. He was doing it not only for Lindsey's sake, but for his own, as well. The truth was that Dean usually was at the office when he wasn't on site. "Like I said, he probably had an errand to run. He sometimes has to chase down parts." At the worry that still shadowed Lindsey's eyes, Walker smiled and pointed her in the direction of the door. "Go home. The day's over. Your dad's okay."
"If you hear from him—" Lindsey began.
But Walker cut her off with, "I'll tell him to call you."
Lindsey smiled. "Have you noticed that I'm sounding like the parent here?"
Walker grinned, primarily because he couldn't stop himself when subjected to the grandeur of Lindsey's smile. "Trust me, parents worry needlessly about ninety-nine per cent of the time. Your father's fine. I promise."
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