The Surprise of His Life (9 page)

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."

Twenty
minutes later, concerned despite the positive rhetoric he'd spouted for
Lindsey's sake, Walker drove by the apartment Dean had rented after moving out
of his house. Walker was on the verge of pulling into the driveway when the
front door of the apartment opened. A redhead, a smiling, hair-tousled redhead,
stepped— bounded—onto the small porch. Dean stepped onto the porch, as well. As
though reluctant to part with her, he pulled her back into his arms. The only
thing that Walker's brain would register was that he wished he hadn't promised
Lindsey that her father was fine. Not that, in a technical sense, Dean wasn't
fine. In fact, he was a little too fine.