A Word with the Bachelor (15 page)

He sat on a stool at the bar, the one farthest away from anyone. Delanie Carlson was drawing a beer from the tap and gave him a nod, letting him know she would be right with him. Communicating without words, what a concept. And a welcome change.

After setting the glass in front of a cowboy, the redheaded bar owner walked over to him. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hi.”

“What can I get you?”

“Beer and burger,” he said.

“Coming right up.”

After drawing another beer, she set it on a cocktail napkin in front of him. She didn't ask how he liked his burger or if he wanted cheese because she already knew. There was something to be said for no surprises. He liked that.

While waiting for his order, Jack sipped on his drink and looked around the dimly lit interior. He recognized the checker from the grocery store, the one he'd never engaged in conversation until shopping with Erin. The mayor and her husband, who owned McKnight's Automotive, where the jeep got serviced, were sitting at a table with his daughter, Sydney, and her fiancé, Burke Holden.

Before Erin he'd been able to come in here and ignore everyone else. Now he couldn't.

Delanie walked over with a plate containing his food and set it in front of him. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Instead of moving away, she rested her forearms on the bar, as if settling in for a chat. He hated to admit it but he craved a little company. Nothing heavy, just shallow small talk.

“How's business?”

“Good. Look at you initiating conversation.” She smiled as if he was the star pupil.

“I've got skills.” He ate a couple of fries.

“Maybe. But not so much with people.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “Until Erin.”

He grabbed a few more fries, intending to stuff them into his mouth, but stopped halfway there. Hearing someone say her name out loud was an awful lot like a sucker punch.

He didn't want to talk about her. “What's new?”

“Same old, same old.” Delanie picked up a cloth and used it to wipe nonexistent spots off the shiny wooden surface of the bar. “So the rumor is that she left town earlier than expected.”

Jack knew the “she” in question was Erin and figured the bar owner didn't share his inclination to avoid the subject. He put down the fries and took a drink of beer.

After a sip, he set it on the cocktail napkin and said, “It was time for her to go.”

“Really? Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you look kind of lost. A little miserable. I'd have to say lonely.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he retorted.

“For the average person. But I'm not easily fooled.” She didn't bat an eye at the irritation in his voice. “People are my business. I listen, watch and talk to them every day. I've pretty much seen and heard it all, every story. Breakup, fight and lies. Even when someone is lying to themselves I can spot it a mile away. One look is worth a thousand words.”

“I thought that was a picture.”

“Whatever.” She lifted one shoulder. “The point is I can see right through you. So why don't you tell me the real reason she left.”

“Even if I do, how can you trust it? I make stuff up for a living,” he warned.

“Didn't I just get finished explaining that I can spot a lie in a lineup?”

“Isn't there someone in this place who needs a refill?” Please, God.

“Touchy, aren't you?” Delanie looked around and seemed satisfied that everyone was happy. “And that was an attempt to distract me. Good try, but not good enough. Tell me why she left.”

Jack thought about walking away and a couple of months ago he would have. But not now. And he refused to add “since Erin.” “She went through my files.”

“You mean writing files?”

“Yeah.”

“The ones where you put things about making stuff up?” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“It's the principle.” When he said it out loud his reasoning seemed trivial, inconsequential.

“So you let her go.”

Jack wondered at the phrasing. She could have said he fired or terminated her, but didn't. “He let her go” put a very personal spin on what happened.

“She was leaving anyway.”

“That's what she said.”

“You saw her?” Jack shouldn't have been surprised but he was.

“Just before she left,” Delanie confirmed. Her expression turned accusing. “You made her cry.”

That one stuck. But he wouldn't let her know. “How can you be so sure it was about me?”

“Oh, please, Jack. Anyone with a brain could see how she felt about you. And you were a son of a bitch to her.”

“She was leaving anyway. Sooner was better than later,” he said again.

“Was she?” Delanie let the question hang there.

“Yes. She has a life somewhere else. Blackwater Lake was just a pit stop.”

“Know what I think?”

“I have a feeling you're going to tell me,” he said.

She grinned. “I think you found an excuse to be mad at her.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So you could hide behind your self-righteous indignation. That way it wouldn't hurt when she was gone.”

That hit closer to the target than he wanted to admit. But not hitting the bull's-eye qualified as a near miss. Which made her attempt off-the-mark. “You couldn't be more wrong.”

“Has anyone ever told you that when you bury your head in the sand you leave your backside exposed?”

“Yes.”

“And you don't think that's what you're doing?” she persisted.

“No.”

“Then you're a jack-ass. No pun intended, Jack.”

He'd abandoned being a loner to come here and be insulted? Didn't matter how close to the truth she was. He drank the last of his beer. “On second thought, can I get this burger to go?”

“Sure thing. I'll take care of it.” Just before she turned away there was a look on her face that said her work there was done.

A minute or two later she came back with a to-go container for his uneaten food. “Take care, Jack.”

“Yeah.” Next time he wouldn't turn his back on this woman.

He'd thought a beer and a little trivial conversation would help, but that was his mistake. Another in a growing list.

He drove home and pulled into his space, with the empty one still there beside it. After grabbing his cold, crappy burger in a box, he got out and walked toward the porch. Again he had the sensation of being punched in the gut.

There were no welcoming lights or comfort-food dinners to look forward to. The scent of her skin was still there, but growing fainter every day. No one to plot his book with.

After having Erin, being alone sucked. And there was no hiding from it any longer.

Chapter Fifteen

J
ack watched the digital clock
on the microwave until it showed 9:05, then poured himself another cup of coffee
and sat down at the kitchen table again. If Erin was here he would be late for
the status meeting.

But Erin
wasn't
here.

He could do what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it. For
the last two weeks he'd been doing just fine without her. The book was finished
and he was reading it through one more time before sending the completed
manuscript to his editor. He knew something was off, but couldn't quite put his
finger on what was missing.

“Erin would know.”

Jack didn't realize he'd said that out loud until Harley jumped
up and looked hopeful before scurrying out of the room. The animal was going to
find Erin, same as he had been for the last two weeks. Moments later the dog
came back and stared at him as if to say “Do something to bring her back.”

“I know you're missing her, buddy.” He reached down and
scratched the animal's head. “As much as I'm savoring my self-righteous
indignation I understand where you're coming from. But work is waiting.”

After grabbing his coffee mug, Jack headed for the front door
and Harley trailed after him. He'd waited until after nine every morning for the
last two weeks and felt a brief flash of anticipation before reality sank in
again. There was no sunshine to look forward to. If she'd never been here he
wouldn't know what he was missing.

He opened the office door and glanced around. Everything was
just as he'd left it. Because no one was there to move stuff. Irritated, he set
down his mug on his desk, right where the coffee stain was. No sissy coaster for
him.

The printed-out manuscript was waiting for him and he sat down
to finish editing. The action scenes were fine, the dialogue crisp, funny in the
right places and moved the story forward. But every time Mac's assistant showed
up on the page everything came to a grinding halt. And changing her name
wouldn't solve the problem.

She was flat and one-dimensional. Mac's coffee was always
waiting. She did exactly as told, never pushed back and was boring as hell. She
didn't put pens and pencils in the mug where they belonged or put that coffee on
the coaster he hated, or cook the best comfort food he'd ever tasted.

So there was something missing in his work, too. The female
character Erin said this story needed wasn't her.

Jack remembered Delanie saying he'd found an excuse to be mad
so it wouldn't hurt when Erin was gone. If she was right, the strategy was a
complete failure because the pain tearing through him now hurt as surely as if
someone put a bullet in him.

And he'd made her cry.

“I'm an idiot, Harley—” Without looking he reached down,
knowing the dog would be there. He rubbed his hand over the furry head and
didn't feel the calm that usually settled over him. “A real bastard—”

The phone rang, startling him, and he looked at the caller ID.
His editor. He picked up the receiver and hit the talk button. “Hi, Cheryl.”

“Jack? Is that really you? Not a voice-mail message?”

“I deserve that.”

“After avoiding me for months?” There was just a touch of
sarcasm in her voice. “No. Don't beat yourself up. My feelings weren't hurt at
all.”

“Okay. Take your best shot. Get it out of your system.”

“That's just mean. Giving me permission takes all the fun out
of it.” She laughed. “But I'll do my best. It wasn't hard at all to juggle the
publishing schedule or put promotion on hold for you.”

“I'm a son of a bitch.” He'd just called himself worse and
didn't blame this woman for dumping on him even more. “I guess you're wondering
about the book. You should know—”

“I'll get to that, but there's something else I need to talk to
you about.”

Absently he rubbed Harley. “I get it. You're not finished
chewing me out.”

“No, I am. That's not it.” There was a pause. “You've been
holding out on me, Jack.”

“I thought we already established I'm a jerk and my book is
late.”

“No. I meant the Harley books.”

He went still. “The what?”

“The children's stories with the Chinese crested dog.”

“Still don't know what you're talking about.” He'd trashed the
file.

“Erin sent me a folder with stories about a little boy who
triumphs over adversity with the help of his dog.”

Jack hadn't realized they were gone. The last time he'd seen
them was when he took the file folder from Erin and threw it away. The bag of
trash from his office went into the big container at the marina store, where it
eventually was hauled off. And that was that. Or so he'd believed.

He waited for the anger to help him camouflage the pain but he
was fresh out. That hadn't been the case when he found Erin reading his stuff.
He could talk about it rationally because his editor was probably just trying to
decide whether or not he had a screw loose.

“Those aren't really stories as much as creativity exercises.
Just ignore them.”

“Are you crazy?”

He hadn't thought so, but now he wasn't sure. “Why?”

“They're completely wonderful, Jack. Who'd have thought you, of
all people, could write like this? With a message for children. Where did that
come from?”

Erin knew, he thought. She'd figured out almost right away that
the little boy in the stories was him. She saw into his soul and surely couldn't
care about him after that. So he fired her. And made her cry.

He was a rat-bastard son of a bitch.

But Cheryl was waiting for an answer. “Like I said, it was
something I did to get the writing motor started.”

“It worked.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“I sent the proposal over to the children's division and they
love it.”

“What?”

“I hope that was all right.” She must have heard something in
his voice because for the first time she sounded doubtful. “You did send them to
be considered for publication, no?”

He hadn't sent them at all. It took someone who believed in him
to pass them along. Where was your self-righteous indignation when you really
needed it?

“It's all right” was all he could think of to say.

“Good. Because there will be an offer coming. We'll contact
your agent and he'll be in touch.”

“You're serious about this? You really want to buy them?” That
sounded an awful lot like “you really like me?” But he couldn't hold back the
question.

“This is a new career direction. Just in case you decide to
kill off Mac Daniels,” she said. “A lot of well-known authors are branching into
children's and young adult genres. I just never thought you would be one of
them.”

“Should I be insulted?” he asked.

“I can't stop you and it's not what I meant.” She laughed. “It
was a compliment. But, fair warning, we're going to want you to do some
media.”

Before he'd met Erin, he would have shut down the idea. But
he'd done the interview for the Blackwater Lake newspaper and lived to talk
about it. Logan had told him the issue with the article about their local author
had set a record for newspaper sales. And he never would have agreed if Erin
hadn't talked him into it. Since she showed up at his door life had done a
one-eighty on him and nothing bad happened. If he didn't count her leaving.

“I'll do media,” he said.

“Wow.” There was stunned silence for a moment. “That's it. Just
wow.”

“Was that sarcastic?” he asked.

“Maybe a little.” Again there was a pause before she said,
“About the other book. The sequel to
High Value
Target
...”

“It's finished.”

“Great. I can't wait to read it,” she said.

“About that—”

“Jack, you have to let it go sometime. No one likes a clean,
problem-free manuscript more than me, but I really need to see this book.”

“Look—” He leaned back and stared at the empty chair in front
of his desk, the one where Erin always sat. If she could hear what he was about
to say there would be no living with her. Actually there was no living with her
now. Self-righteous indignation completely deserted him and the dam on his pain
crumbled, letting it all rush in. “The book needs a little tweaking. Not the
story. It's fine. Just something isn't right.”

“I don't know, Jack—”

“I know it's a lot to ask and I don't deserve it, but can you
give me a couple of weeks for a small revision? I'll send you a detailed
outline.”

There was a long, tense silence before Cheryl sighed. “Okay.
You've got two weeks. Max.”

“Thanks. You're the best.”

“Yes, I am. After all, I sent you Erin.”

“You did.”

That was a blessing and a curse. Living the blessing was the
best time he'd ever had. The curse part he could do without and had no one but
himself to blame.

“She really brought out your creativity, Jack. At the risk of
patting myself on the back, I have to say that she's good for you.”

If ripping a guy's heart out was the goal, then yeah, she was
good for him. But that was information better kept to himself, so he did.

“So what did you do to her?”

The question came out of left field and caught him off guard.
Somewhere this professional conversation had taken a personal turn. “I'm not
sure what you're asking.”

“I don't think that's true. But you're a man so I'll explain.
Erin is different since she spent time with you. I sent you an outgoing,
cheerful young woman to help with your manuscript and she came back distant and,
there's no other way to say it...she's sad.”

Jack drew in a breath. He was a writer. Words were his weapon
of choice. But he couldn't think of anything bad enough to call himself for what
he'd done. And apparently she hadn't told Cheryl about being fired or his editor
would have mentioned it.

“Jack? You didn't hang up on me, did you?”

“Still here,” he answered.

“I'll say it straight out. I'd like to know what happened
because you broke my book coach.”

From his point of view she'd broken him. When Erin arrived he'd
been a fat, dumb and happy loner. Now he was talking to his dog about plot
twists. But this woman deserved something. “What happened is that she brought
out more than just my creativity.”

“You fell in love with her.” Cheryl wasn't asking a
question.

And he wasn't going to tell her she was right. His editor
shouldn't be the first one to hear the truth.

“I'm sorry for the delay on this book. I apologize for any
inconvenience to you and the publisher. It will never happen again. You'll have
it in two weeks. I give you my word on that.”

“Okay, Jack.”

After saying goodbye he hung up. There was a manuscript to deal
with, then the real work would start.

He'd made Erin cry and somehow he had to fix that.

* * *

Erin sat behind the desk in front of the classroom and
monitored the seniors who were taking a pop quiz. They didn't know it wouldn't
count toward their grade and was basically busywork. In about fifteen minutes
the final bell of the day would ring and she could go home and curl into a
protective ball. It had been her go-to coping mechanism since Jack threw her out
a month ago.

How long would she feel so empty inside? she wondered, because
this funk showed no sign of letting up anytime soon.

The flip side of the final bell was that she'd have to assume
her coping mechanism in her lonely apartment. Maybe she should stop at the
dog-rescue shelter again and get a pet for companionship. She'd really become
attached to Harley. And Jack... Her eyes filled at the thought of him but crying
in front of a room full of teenagers wasn't an option. Darn it, why did she have
to go and fall in love with him?

She looked at the clock again. “Okay, class. Time is up.”

There was a collective groan and automatic protests of not
being finished with the test they'd griped about taking in the first place.

“Mrs. Castillo warned you she would do this and instructed me
to be firm.” She stood. “Please pass your papers forward.”

The sound of paper shuffling filled the room and her back was
turned, which was why she didn't hear the door opening or see who walked in.

“Who's the dude with the weird-looking dog?” one of the
students asked.

Erin whirled around and saw Jack just inside the door with
Harley in his arms. After one bark, the little guy wiggled until Jack set him
down. His paws had barely hit the ground before he ran to her.

She dropped to one knee and took his noble little face in her
hands, scratching him under his chin. “Hi, Harley. You're such a handsome dog.
I've missed you.”

“Miss Riley? Should we notify the office?” one of the guys
asked.

“It's okay,” Jack said. “I stopped to see the principal and for
probably the first time I wasn't even in trouble.”

The kids laughed at his joke and it would have been funny to
her under different circumstances.

“I know him,” Erin said. “This is Jack Garner, the author of
the runaway bestselling book
High Value Target
.”

“Why did Mr. Pascale let you in with the dog?” a girl
asked.

“I vouched for him,” Jack explained. “I have permission just
this once. And if anyone asks, he's a service dog.”