Two Alone (28 page)

Unwittingly her father had echoed Cooper's theory—that their feelings were due largely to their dependency on each other. "Under the circumstances, wouldn't forming an attachment to him be natural?"

"Yes. But the circumstances have changed. You're no longer isolated with Landry in the wilderness; you're home. You have a life here that mus
t
n'
t
be jeopardized by a juvenile infatuation. Whatever happened up
t
here," he said, hitching his perfectly groomed head in the direction of the window, "is over and should be forgotten."

Cooper had said as much, too. Bur i
t
wasn't over. Not by a long shot. And it couldn't be forgotten. What she felt for him wasn't going to weaken and eventually die from lack of nurturing. She hadn'
t
formed a psychological dependency on him
t
hat would disappear as she gradually resumed her previous life.

She'd fallen in love. Cooper was no longer her provider and protector, but something so much more. He was
t
he man she loved. Whether they were together or apart, that would never change.

"Don't worry
,
Father. I know exactly what I feel for Mr. Landry." That was the truth. Let her father draw his own conclusions.

"Good girl," Carlson said, patting her shoulder. "I knew I could count on you to come out of this stronger and smarter than ever. Just like your brother, you've got your head on straight."

She had been home for a week after spending almost a week in the hospital recovering from the first operation on her shin. The scar didn't look much better than it had before the surgery, but the doctor had assured her that after the series of operations, it would be virtually undetectable.

Aside from a little tenderness in her leg, she felt perfectly fine. The bandages had been removed, but the surgeon had advised her to keep clothing off the leg and to continue to use crutches for support.

She had regained the few pounds she'd lost after the plane
crash. She spent a half hour or so each day lying in the sun on the redwood deck of her pool to restore her light tan. Her friends had been true to their promise, and since she couldn't easily get to a salon, they'd brought the salon to her. A hairdresser had trimmed and conditioned and restored her hair to its usual glossy sheen. A manicurist had resculptured her nails, She'd also massaged a pound of cream into Rusty's dry, rough hands.

As she watched the manicurist smoothing away the scaly redness, Rusty thought about the laundry she had washed by hand, then hung up
t
o dry on a crude outdoor clothesline. It had always been a contest
t
o see if the clothes would dry before they froze. I
t
hadn't been all that bad. Not really. Or did memory always make things seem better than they actually had been?

That could be applied to everything. Had Cooper's kisses
re
all
y
been that earth-moving.
Had his arms a
nd
whispered words been
t
ha
t
comforting in the darkest hours of the night? If not, why did she wake up frequently, yearning for his nearness, his warmth?

She had never been so lonely.

Not that she was ever alone—at least not for prolonged periods of rime. Friends dropped in to bring trifling presents that would hopefully amuse her because she seemed so morose. Physically she was coming along nicely, but
h
er spirits hadn't bounced back ye
t
.

Friends and associates were worried about her. Since the airplane crash, she was not her usual, jovial self at all. They kept her stuffed with everything from Godiva chocolates to carry-out tacos to covered dishes from Beverly Hills's finest restaurants, prepared especially for her by the head chefs who knew personally what her favorite foods were.

She had lots
of
time on her hands, but she was never idle. Her father's prediction had come true:
she
was suddenly a celebrity real-es
t
ate agent, Everybody in town
who
wanted to sell or buy sought her advice on the fluctuating market trends. Each da
y
she took calls from prospective clients, including an impressive number of movie and
Television
people. Her ear grew sore from the hours spent on
t
he telephone. Ordinarily she would have leaped over the moon for a client list of this caliber. Instead
she
was
plagued with an unchar
acteristic ennui that she could
n't explain or overcome.

Her father hadn't said any more about developing the area around Rogers Gap. She hoped that idea was officially a dead issue. He came by her house each day, ostensibly to check on her progress. But Rusty suspected, perhaps unfairly,
t
hat
her
father was more interested in quickly harvesting this crop
of
new business than in her recovery.

The lines around his mouth became tense with impatience, and his jocular encouragement for her to get back to work was beginning to sound forced. Even though she was following doctor's orders, she knew that she was stretching her recovery time for as long as she could. She was determined, however, not to return to her office until she felt good and ready.

On this particular afternoon, she groaned in dread when the doorbell pealed through her house. Her hither had called earlier to say that because of a business commitment he wouldn't be able to come by that day. Rusty had been relieved. She loved her father but had welcomed the break from his daily visi
t
, which never failed to exhaust her.

Obviously his meeting had been canceled and she wasn't going to get a reprieve after all.

Hooking her arms over her cru
t
ches, she hobbled down the hallway toward her front door. She
’
d lived in this house for three years. It was a small, white stucco building with a red tile roof, ver
y
southern California in design, tucked into an underclif
f
and
shrouded with vividly blooming
bougainviliea. Rusty had fa
llen
in love with it the minute she saw it.

Propping herself up on one crutch, she unlatched and opened the door.

Cooper said nothing. Neither did she. They just stared at each other for a long time before she silently moved aside. He stepped through
t
h
e
arched doorway. Rusty closed the door and turned to face him.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"What ar
e
you doing here?"

"I came to see about
y
our leg." He looked down a
t
her shin. She stuck it out for his inspection. "It doesn't look much better."

"It will." His skeptical gaze moved up to meet hers. "The doctor has promised it will," she said defensively.

He still seemed doubtful, but let the subject drop. He took in his surroundings, pivoting slowly. "I like your house."

"Thank you."

"It's a lot
like
mine."

"Really?"

"Mine looks sturdier, maybe. No
t
decorated as fancy. But they're similar. Large rooms. Lots of windows."

She felt she had recovered
enough
to move. Upon seeing him, her one good knee, which she relied on for support, had
t
hreatened
to buckle beneath her. Now, she felt confident enough to move forward and indicated for him to follow her. "Come on in. Would you like something to drink?"

"Something soft."

"Lemonade?"

"
F
ine.
"

"It'll only take a minute to make."

"Don't bother."

"No bother. I was thirsty for some anyway."

She maneuvered herself through the dining room and into the kitchen at the back of
t
h
e
house. He followed. "Sit down." She nodded toward the butcher-
b
lock table that formed an island in the center of the kitchen and moved toward the refrigerator.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"No thanks. I've had practice."

She turned her head, ready wi
t
h a smile, and caught him staring at the backs of her legs. Thinking that she was going to be alone all day, she'd dressed in a ragged pair of cutoffs and hadn't bothered with shoes. The tails of a chambray shirt
were
knotted at her waist. She'd pulled her hair up into a high, scraggly ponytail. The effect was a Beverly Hills version of Daisy Ma
e
.

Caught staring at her smooth, bare legs. Cooper shifted guiltily in his chair, "Do
e
s it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your leg."

"Oh. No. Well, some. Off and on. I'm not supposed to walk or drive or anything like that yet."

"Have you gone back to work?"

Her ponytail swished against her neck as she shook her head. "I'm conducting some business here by telephone. The messenger services love me. I've kept them busy. But I haven't quite felt up to dressing and going to the office."

She took a can of lemonade concentrate out of the refrigerator where she'd had it thawing.

"Have you been busy since you got home?"

She poured the thick pink concentrate into a pitcher and added a bottle of chilled club soda. When some of it splashed on the back of her hand, she raised it to her mouth and sucked it off. That's when she turned with the question still in her eyes.

Like a hawk, Cooper was watching every move. He was staring a
t
her mouth. Slowly, she lowered her hand and turned back to her task. Her hands were trembling as she took glasses down out of the cabinet and filled them with ice cubes.

"Yeah, I've been busy."

"How was everything when you got back?"

"Okay. A neighbor had been feeding my livestock. Guess he would have gone on doing that indefinitely if I'd never
t
urned up."

"That
's a good neighbor." She had wanted to inject some levity into the conversation, but her voice sounded bright and brittle. It didn't fit the atmosphere, which was as heavy and oppressive as a New Orleans summer. The air was sultry; she couldn't draw enough of it into her lungs.

"Don't you have any help running your ranch?" she asked. "Off and on. Temporary hands. Most of them are ski bums who only work to support their habit. When
t
hey run out o
f
money they work a few days so they can buy lift tickets and food. The system works for both them and me."

"Because you don't like a lot of people around." "Right."

An abysmal depression came over her. She s
t
aved it of
f by
asking, "Do you ski?"

"Some. Do you?"

"Yes. Or I did." She glanced down at her leg. "I may have to sit this season out."

"Maybe not. Since the bone wasn't broken." "Maybe."

And that, it seemed, was all they had to say. By tacit agreement, they ended the inane small talk and did what they really wanted
t
o do—look at each other.

His hair had been cut, but was still unfashionably long. She liked
t
h
e
way it brushed the collar of his casual shirt. His jaw and chin were smoothly shaven, but if one single hair in his mustache had been altered, she couldn't tell it. The lower lip beneath it was as stern and unyielding as ever. If anything, the grooves bracketing his mou
t
h looked deeper, making his face appear more unrelievedly masculine. She couldn't help but wonder what particular worry had carved
t
hose lines deeper.

His clothes weren't haute couture, but he would turn heads on Rodeo Drive and be a refreshing change from
t
he dapper dressers. Blue jeans s
t
ill did more for a male physique than any-other garment ever sewn together. They did more for Cooper's body than for most. Of course, there was more to work with— so much more that the bulging denim between his thighs made Rusty's stomach flutter.

His cotton shirt was stretched over a ches
t
she s
t
ill dreamed about. The sleeves had been rolled back
t
o reveal his strong forearms. He had carried a brown leather bomber jacke
t
in wi
t
h him. It was now draped over the back of his chair, forgotten.