Black Hills Baby Page 4

  Shane didn’t say anything right away, so Cooper added, “Besides, if we use this part in the script, that will be my sperm in the Petri dish. Doesn’t that make me just as open to humiliation?”

  Shane nudged his Ray-Bans lower on his nose and looked at Cooper. “Sometimes you surprise me.”

  “Because I’m not as self-serving as everyone thinks?”

  “No. It’s still all about Coop. But you’re deeper than anyone would guess. I assume you keep that a secret for a reason, though, so I promise not to mention it to either of your ex-wives if we end up auditioning them.”

  The observation pleased Coop but made him uncomfortable, too. Shane saw too much. “Good. Mom called them piranhas for a reason. Any hint of weakness and—” He put a hand to brace himself when Shane stomped on the brakes.

  Taillights flashed red across all lanes, and Shane cursed under his breath. He looked in both oversize side mirrors, then began jockeying for position with a Jaguar. The owner of the smaller car laid on the horn but gave way to superior size and wheelbase.

  A few miles later they took the exit leading toward a grouping of giant pillars. The unusual outdoor sculpture would be glowing like multicolored Jedi swords that evening. “I know what a blow your Mom’s death was, Coop. I can’t help wondering if the reason you’re so gung-ho about this project is that it’s a way to avoid thinking about all the things you don’t want to think about.”

  Coop shifted uncomfortably in the soft leather seat. “I didn’t realize you had a degree in psychology.”

  He hadn’t meant his tone to come off quite so sharp, but he knew it had when Shane sighed. “I’m not saying this idea doesn’t have merit, but if you’re not up front with this woman from the very beginning, the whole thing could blow up in your face.”

  Cooper was sick of thinking about the negatives. His bank balance. His last review. His exes. And the unrelenting death threats – you don’t get much more negative than that. He needed to make something positive happen in his life, and what could be more positive than helping a woman fulfill her dream of having a child?

  “I can be honest.” He scanned the overhead signs for his airline.

  “You’re an actor, Coop. Are you sure about that?”

  He turned to look at his friend. “Hey, I’m not the bad guy here. I’m not the one who gambled away money that didn’t belong to me. And let’s not forget about the bookie who wants my heart on a plate. I plan to do whatever it takes to make this happen, but I promise you, I’ll take…um…” He had to think a moment. “Libby McGannon’s situation into consideration. As far as we know, she’s going to love the idea of turning her ad into a hit show. And why wouldn’t she? It’s win-win. She gets a kid. Her Podunk town benefits from the publicity. I make enough money to get my mother’s evil monkey off my back. Everybody’s happy. End of story.”

  Shane heaved a sigh as the monster SUV came to a stop in a no-stopping area. He put a hand on Cooper shoulder and squeezed. “I know you, Coop. You’re more a brother to me than my own twin. But I’m worried about you, man. You’ve been acting weird since your mom died. Have you made the club scene even once in the past month? No. You’re busy hiding out at your house…alone. No parties. No dozen or so assistants hanging around. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to see you jump into something for the wrong reason and wind up getting hurt.”

  Hurt? The only woman with the power to hurt him was dead. “Thanks, Shane. I appreciate that, man, but I’ll be fine.” He opened the door and got out, then retrieved his carry-on from the back seat. This was the first time in his adult life he’d traveled anywhere without a minimum of four suitcases.

  Shane leaned across the seat to shake his hand. “What if she meets you and decides you’re not the right man for the job?”

  Coop's heart lurched uncomfortably. “Are you crazy? Why would she do that? I’m Cooper Lindstrom.”

  He slammed the door and stepped onto the curb. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought his best friend’s last words were, “My point exactly.”

  ---

  The Rapid City airport had taken strides to modernize, but Libby imagined to someone as worldly and well-traveled as Cooper Lindstrom it would look small and ordinary. She’d been to New York once. With Jenna and her mother when the two girls graduated from high school. Libby had saved for three years to afford it. She’d loved the adventure – the Broadway shows and interesting food--but she’d felt a profound relief to return home. She’d found it depersonalizing to walk for blocks and blocks without seeing someone you knew-–or even making eye contact. Here, she was someone. People recognized her, respected her; and feeling that she was a vital, tangible part of a whole mattered to her.

  She’d been to a few postal conferences in places like Minneapolis, Houston and Phoenix since that New York trip, but Libby always returned home knowing she would never live anywhere else.

  She took the escalator to the second floor since nobody was standing around the baggage area. Cooper's plane from Denver was twenty minutes late. Wind shears at the Denver airport, she overheard someone say.

  “Are you waiting for family?” a voice asked.

  Libby looked at the elderly woman standing a few steps away. Probably ten years younger than her grandmother. Spry. The way Gran had been most of Libby’s life. “A friend. You?”

  “My sister. She and her second husband moved to Tucson so they wouldn’t have to shovel their driveway.”

  “We were pretty lucky last winter. Not much snow to shovel.”

  “That’s what I told ‘em. Then he had heatstroke and had to have his knee replaced from too much golf. Poor Ruby has been nursing him for months. Finally she came back here to pay their property taxes and get a break.” She shook her head. “Makes me glad I’m single. I’m Bea, by the way.”

  “Libby. Nice to meet you.”

  “You married?”

  “Nope.”

  “Smart woman.”

  Libby smiled. During the truly awful period when her brother’s marriage was coming apart at the seams, she’d been glad to have avoided the marriage trap. Lately, not so much. She would have liked to be loved by someone, even once. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had to go to such extremes to conceive a child. But since that wasn't going to happen...

  She started to ask the woman where she lived when Bea suddenly let out squeal that could have come from a thirteen year-old girl. She grabbed Libby’s arm and pointed. “Look. Look there. That’s Cooper Lindstrom. Live. In person. I can’t believe it. Not twenty feet from my sister. And she doesn’t even see him, the twit.”

  Libby assumed she meant her sister was a twit, not Cooper. Her heart sped up as she watched the man who obviously rocked Bea’s world stride into hers. He was taller than she’d pictured. Fabulous posture. Chin high – to avoid making eye contact? Dark glasses helped in that effort, too. Trademark blond hair looking perfectly tousled.

  His black pants were made of some lightweight material with just enough pockets to appear both trendy and functional. His unbuttoned, long-sleeve white cotton shirt worn over a black T-shirt apparently took the place of a coat, although she’d warned him that spring in the Hills could include showers and a cold spell. His black lace-up, low-rise boots were a combination of leather and mesh fabric. They looked pretty ordinary but probably cost more than she made in a week.

  He moved with purpose, like a person who knew his place in the world and was comfortable with that. Libby was envious. Until she reminded herself that he was an actor. He was probably trained to evoke a certain persona even when he wasn’t on stage.

  Libby cautiously stepped away from the woman who'd moved her hand to her chest as if she might swoon. “Excuse me. My friend’s arrived. Nice talking with you.”

  She didn’t like the way her knees suddenly turned wobbly, but she forced herself to intersect the stream of pedestrians headed toward the stairs and the first-floor luggage carousel where they’d agreed to meet. “Ahem,” she said, j
oining him in stride. “I’m Libby.”

  He stopped as though he’d put both feet in glue. His chin turned. Was that hint of a cleft real, she wondered or the result of surgeon’s scalpel?

  “You are?” He removed his shades. “Your photo doesn’t do you justice.”

  She felt her cheeks heat up under his scrutiny. She knew she couldn’t hold a candle to some of the young starlets he’d dated – if the tabloids could be trusted. But she had applied a tiny bit of foundation, blush and mascara that morning.

  “How was your flight?”

  His grin provoked a collective inhale from the people around her. “Windy. We circled Denver for nearly an hour before we could land. Then it was hold-on-to-your-hats, boys, we’re going in.”

  She liked his voice. It sounded chipper and bright. “Wind sheers are dangerous. I’m glad you didn’t crash.”

  “Me, too.” He quickly glanced around. “Um…maybe we should keep walking. Makes me less of a target for autograph seekers.”

  Libby frowned. Nobody seemed that interested in him, although she spotted a few people looking their way. “Luggage?”

  He lifted the shoulder with a black leather strap over it. “I’m traveling light.”

  There was something in his tone that made her think the common phrase meant something more. She pointed toward the main entrance. “My truck is in the short-term lot.”

  “Short-term lot,” he repeated, his head cocked to one side as if hearing the expression for the first time.

  “They don’t have hourly parking in L.A.?”

  He blinked. “What? Oh, no, of course, they do. I was thinking about something else.” He replaced his sunglasses.

  Libby shook her head and dug out her own pair. Six dollars at Target. She was pretty sure Cooper Lindstrom couldn’t say the same about his.

  They were three feet from the door when she heard a high-pitched voice call “Woo-hoo, Libby. Wait a minute, please.”

  Libby paused and looked over her shoulder. Bea--the woman she’d been making small talk with--was approaching at warp speed, a giant pink suitcase in tow and another woman following behind looking frantic and confused.

  Libby let out a low groan and leaned toward Cooper. “She’s a fan of yours. Recognized you before I did.”

  He looked at her a moment then turned around, smiling as if he was just about to meet his best friend in the world. “Hello, there. Lovely to meet you two, but we’re in a bit of a hurry. I hope you can forgive us.”

  “Oh, please. Just one photo,” Bea pleaded. To her sister, who was breathing hard enough to worry Libby, she hissed, “Tell me you have your camera.”

  Flustered, the silver-haired woman started digging in her purse. Seconds later she triumphantly held up a disposable that she nearly dropped when she tried to pass it to her sister.

  Libby could see where this was going and curious onlookers were starting to back up behind them, so she herded the two older women to one side and motioned for Cooper to follow. “I’ll take the photo. Let’s move over by this wall to avoid so much glare. Here we go…”

  She positioned the women where she wanted them then looked at Cooper archly. “Well…”

  He responded to his cue adroitly, hopping into place between the sisters. He looped his nicely muscled arms carefully about each woman’s shoulders.

  “Smile.”

  She couldn’t prevent the slight intake of breath when she met his gaze through the viewfinder. My God, he was handsome. Alive and vital. Perfect. Her stomach turned over and whatever was left of her breakfast nearly came back up. She swallowed hard and snapped the shot.

  Oh, Lord, what have I done?

  ---

  The drive from the airport circumvented, for the most part, the sprawling town of Rapid City that Coop had observed from the air. He made a mental note to visit it as some point then gave his attention to the scenery as they headed into the mountains. Despite one traffic stop for road construction and an amazing number of motor homes on the highway, the pace was so noticeably different from what he’d left that morning, he felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders begin to relax.

  Although Libby, he observed, was gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. Poor girl probably would have suffered a meltdown if she’d been on the 405 that morning.

  He didn’t feel right about openly taking notes–-that would raise questions he wasn’t prepared to answer--but he tried to pay attention to their route and the general lay of the land, since he’d promised to provide Shane with some idea of what kind of logistics the production crew would be facing once they started filming.

  “We don't have time to stop anywhere today, but I’ll try to point out some sights on the way home,” she told him. “That big dome is part of Reptile Gardens. It's a popular tourist attraction. We’re going to pass by the Stratosphere Bowl, although the road is blocked off now and you have to walk in a mile or so to see it.”

  “What’s that?”

  She rattled off something about meteorological records that he didn’t quite get.

  “It was made by a meteor?”

  She looked at him several seconds before replying, “No. The bowl is a natural depression. I’m not sure how it was formed. My friend Jenna’s dad could have told you. He was a geologist. But it’s famous because someone launched a weather balloon into the atmosphere from there and it set some kind of record. I haven’t been there in years.”

  “Oh.” Don't ask questions that make you look dumb, he could hear his mother say.

  A few minutes later his tour guide pointed to a green road sign that said Rockerville. “Was a mining boomtown. Then it became a tourist boomtown. Then the new highway went in and that was the end of Rockerville's popularity,” she said.

  He leaned forward to look around her as they zoomed past. Although it was difficult to see much through the trees, he spotted what could have been a movie set of an Old West ghost town, deserted and falling into disrepair.

  They passed by the charred evidence of a forest fire that had obviously jumped both lanes of the highway. Her voice changed as she filled him in on the details. "Mac's a volunteer firefighter. He was on the line three days with this one. He says that the ones that are started on purpose are the hardest to swallow."

  “What are the winters like here?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Some people call this the banana belt.” She looked at him, her lips pulling to one side of her face wryly. “All things being relative, of course. We still get our share of below-zero temps and snow. But nothing like it used to be in my grandmother’s day.”

  The four-wheel-drive SUV provided a marvelous vantage point -- except in those spots where the land fell away into cavernous voids protected by rather flimsy-looking guardrails. He didn’t think he was afraid of heights-–he’d skied in Vail, for heaven’s sake--but he’d subtly leaned his elbow on the center console and turned his attention on her.

  She glanced at him then returned her gaze straight ahead, giving him a clear view of her profile. Firm, straight jawline ending in femininely rounded chin. Her nose was small, almost delicate in relation to her other features. He really liked her lips, generous and creased in the corners just enough to tell him she smiled a lot. But she could stand to have her brows waxed, he decided.

  She put on the blinker and stepped on the brake.

  “Are we almost there? Do we go past Mt. Rushmore? I’ve never been there. Can you believe that?”

  “No. No. And…yes.”

  Definite humor in her tone.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  She looked appalled. “Of course not. I was making light of the fact that you haven’t been to the Black Hills before. Despite the number of motor homes we just passed, South Dakota isn’t the premier destination for most vacationers.”

  “Okay. I was just making sure you don’t have a blond bias.”

  “Not at all. One of my best friends is blonde. And she’s very smart. In fact
, she’s working on her teaching credential.”

  Cooper wasn’t really worried about what she thought of him – not yet, anyway. He generally didn’t have any trouble getting women of all ages to like him. But he was curious about her. She seemed surprisingly aloof for someone who wanted his sperm.

  Neither spoke for several minutes. Cooper was content to mentally catalogue the mountain beauty that was neither Tahoe nor Rocky Mountain National Park. The more he saw, the more he unwound. He almost felt as though he were coming home.

  Which made no sense at all.

  The road followed the shore of a dazzling blue lake. Libby told him the name as they passed by a historical marker, but he missed it. His brain was preoccupied with figuring out a way to work the location into his story. He really hadn't expected to be impressed by the land's beauty.

  A few miles further, she slowed again, this time putting on the opposite blinker. She had to stop to wait for oncoming traffic to pass.

  Cooper looked around. The road made a T, and on the inside corner, to the right of where they were turning, sat a huge white teepee flanked by two log cabins. Four or five cars and a camper trailer were parked in the gravel lot near a billboard inviting shoppers to buy Native American crafts--pottery, carvings, leather moccasins… The list went on, but Libby turned sharply, cutting off his view.

  “I’d like to come back and look around sometime. Interesting place. Is the owner Native American?”

  “In a past life, maybe.” Her laugh held a certain insider quality that made him envious. “My friend Char owns it. She’s as white as me, but she claims to feel a spiritual affinity for the American Indian and has been ritually adopted by at least one Lakota tribe.”