Looking for a Hero

by Debbie Macomber

  “Do you object to my asking you a few questions before you go?” Parker asked, standing. He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned against it, crossing his ankles. “Writers have always fascinated me.”

  Bailey made a show of glancing at her watch. She had forty-five minutes left of her lunch hour; she supposed she could spare a few moments. “All right.”

  “How long did it take you to write Forever and a Day?”

  “Forever Yours,” Bailey corrected. She suspected he was making fun of her. “Nearly six months, but I worked on it every night after work and on weekends. I felt like I’d completed a marathon when I finished.” Bailey knew Janice and Michael were grateful, too. “Only I made a beginner’s mistake.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I sent it off to a publisher.”

  “That’s a mistake?”

  Bailey nodded. “I should’ve had someone read it first, but I was too new to know that. It wasn’t until later that I met Jo Ann and joined a writers’ group.”

  Parker folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’m not sure I understand. Isn’t having your work read by an editor the whole point? Why have someone else read it first?”

  “Every manuscript needs a final polishing. It’s important to put your best foot forward.”

  “I take it Forever Yours was rejected.”

  Bailey shook her head. “Not yet, but I’m fairly certain it will be. It’s been about four months now, but meanwhile I’ve been working on revisions. And like Jo Ann says—no news is no news.”

  Parker arched his brows. “That’s true.”

  “Well,” she said, glancing at her watch again, but not because she was eager to leave. She felt foolish standing in the middle of Parker’s plush office talking about her novel. Her guard was slipping and the desire to secure it firmly in place was growing stronger.

  “I assume Jo Ann read the manuscript after you mailed it off?”

  “Yes.” Bailey punctuated her comment with a shrug. “She took it home and returned it the next morning with margin notes and a list of comments three pages long. When I read them over, I could see how right she was and, well, mainly the problem was with the hero.”

  “Michael?”

  Bailey was surprised he remembered that. “Yes, with Michael. He’s a terrific guy, but he needs a little help figuring out what women—in this case Janice Hampton—want.”

  “That’s where I came in?”

  “Right.”

  “How?”

  Bailey made an effort to explain. “A hero, at least in romantic fiction, is determined, forceful and cool. When I saw you the first time, you gave the impression of being all three.”

  “Was that before or after I hit you in the head?”

  “After.”

  Parker grinned. “Did you ever consider that my umbrella might have caused a temporary lack of, shall we say, good judgment? My guess is that you don’t normally follow men around town, taking notes about their behavior, do you?”

  “No, you were my first,” she informed him coldly. This conversation was becoming downright irritating.

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” he said with a cocky grin.

  “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I was hit harder than I realized.” Just when she was beginning to feel reasonably comfortable around Parker, he’d do or say something to remind her that he was indeed a mere mortal. Any effort to base Michael’s personality on his would only be a waste of time.

  Bailey clutched her manuscript to her chest. “I really have to go now. I apologize for the intrusion.”

  “It’s fine. I found our discussion...interesting.”

  No doubt he had. But it didn’t help Bailey’s dignity to know she was a source of amusement to one of the city’s most distinguished architects.

  * * *

  “What else did he say?” Jo Ann asked early the following morning as they sat side by side on the crowded subway car.

  Even before Bailey could answer, Jo Ann asked another question. “Did you get a chance to tell him that little joke about your story having a beginning, a muddle and an end?”

  Jo Ann’s reaction had surprised her. When Bailey admitted confronting Parker with her completed manuscript, Jo Ann had been enthusiastic, even excited. Bailey had supposed that her friend wouldn’t understand her need to see Parker and correct his opinion of her. Instead, Jo Ann had been approving—and full of questions.

  “I didn’t have time to tell Parker any jokes,” Bailey answered. “Good grief, I was only in his office, I don’t know, maybe ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes! A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

  Bailey crossed her long legs and prayed silently for patience. “Believe me, nothing happened. I accomplished what I set out to prove. That’s it.”

  “If you were in there a full ten minutes, surely the two of you talked.”

  “He had a few questions about the business of writing.”

  “I see.” Jo Ann nodded slowly. “So what did you tell him?”

  Bailey didn’t want to think about her visit with Parker. Not again. She’d returned from work that afternoon and, as was her habit, went directly to her computer. Usually she couldn’t wait to get home to write. But that afternoon, she’d sat there, her hands poised on the keys, and instead of composing witty sparkling dialogue for Michael and Janice, she’d reviewed every word of her conversation with Parker.

  He’d been friendly, cordial. And he’d actually sounded interested—when he wasn’t busy being amused. Bailey hadn’t expected that. What she’d expected was outright rejection. She’d come prepared to talk to a stone wall.

  Michael, the first time around, had been like that. Gruff and unyielding. Poor Janice had been in the dark about his feelings from page one. It was as though her hero feared that revealing emotion was a sign of weakness.

  In the second version Michael was so...amiable, so pleasant, that any conflict in the story had been watered down almost to nonexistence.

  “As you might have guessed,” Jo Ann said, breaking into her thoughts, “I like Parker Davidson. You were right when you claimed he’s hero material. You’ll have to forgive me for doubting you. It’s just that I’ve never followed a man around before.”

  “You like Parker?” Bailey’s musing about Michael and his shifting personality came to a sudden halt. ‘You’re married,” Bailey felt obliged to remind her.

  “I’m not interested in him for me, silly,” Jo Ann said, playfully nudging Bailey with her elbow. “He’s all yours.”

  “Mine!” Bailey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re nuts.”

  “No, I’m not. He’s tall, dark and handsome, and we both know how perfect that makes him for a classic romance. And the way you zeroed in on Parker the instant you saw him proves he’s got the compelling presence a hero needs.”

  “The only presence I noticed was his umbrella’s! He nearly decapitated me with the thing.”

  “You know what I think?” Jo Ann murmured, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I think that something inside you, some innate sonar device, was in action. You’re hungering to find Michael. Deep within your subconscious you’re seeking love and romance.”

  “Wrong!” Bailey declared adamantly. “You couldn’t be more off course. Writing and selling a romance are my top priorities right now. I’m not interested in love, not for myself.”

  “What about Janice?”

  The question was unfair and Bailey knew it. So much of her own personality was invested in her heroine.

  The train finally reached their station, and Bailey and Jo Ann stood up and made their way toward the exit.

  “Well?” Jo Ann pressed, clearly unwilling to drop the subject.

  “I’m not answering that and you know why,” Bailey said, stepping onto the platform. “Now kindly get
off this subject. I doubt I’ll ever see Parker Davidson again, and if I do I’ll ignore him just the way he’ll ignore me.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Absolutely positive.”

  “Then why do you suppose he’s waiting for you? That is Parker Davidson, isn’t it?”

  Bailey closed her eyes and struggled to gather her wits. Part of her was hoping against hope that Parker would saunter past without giving either of them a second’s notice. But another part of her, a deep womanly part, hoped he was doing exactly what Jo Ann suggested.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Parker said to them as he approached.

  “Hello,” Bailey returned, suspecting she sounded in need of a voice-box transplant.

  “Good morning!” Jo Ann said with enough enthusiasm to make up for Bailey’s sorry lack.

  Parker bestowed a dazzling smile on them. Bailey felt the impact of it as profoundly as if he’d bent down and brushed his mouth over hers. She quickly shook her head to dispel the image.

  “I considered our conversation,” he said, directing his remark to Bailey. “Since you’re having so many problems with your hero, I decided I might be able to help you, after all.”

  “Is that right?” Bailey knew she was coming across as defensive, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

  Parker nodded. “I assume you decided to follow me that day to learn pertinent details about my habits, personality and so on. How about if the two of us sit down over lunch and you just ask me what you want to know?”

  Bailey recognized a gift horse when she saw one. Excitement welled up inside her; nevertheless she hesitated. This man was beginning to consume her thoughts already, and she’d be asking for trouble if she allowed it to continue.

  “Would you have time this afternoon?”

  “She’s got time,” Jo Ann said without missing a beat. “Bailey works as a paralegal and she can see you during her lunch hour. This afternoon would be perfect.”

  Bailey glared at her friend, resisting the urge to suggest she have lunch with Parker since she was so keen on the idea.

  “Bailey?” Parker asked, turning his attention to her.

  “I...suppose.” She didn’t sound very gracious, and the look Jo Ann flashed her told her as much. “This is, um, very generous of you, Mr. Davidson.”

  “Mr. Davidson?” Parker said. “I thought we were long past being formal with each other.” He dazzled her with another smile. It had the same effect on Bailey as before, weakening her knees—and her resolve.

  “Shall we say noon, then?” Parker asked. “I’ll meet you on Fisherman’s Wharf at the Sandpiper.”

  The Sandpiper was known for its wonderful seafood, along with its exorbitant prices. Parker might be able to afford to eat there, but it was far beyond Bailey’s meager budget.

  “The Sandpiper?” she repeated. “I... I was thinking we could pick up something quick and eat on the wharf. There are several park benches along Pier 39...”

  Parker frowned. “I’d prefer the Sandpiper. I’m doing some work for them, and it’s good business practice to return the favor.”

  “Don’t worry, she’ll meet you there,” Jo Ann assured Parker.

  Bailey couldn’t allow her friend to continue speaking for her. “Jo Ann, if you don’t mind, I’ll answer for myself.”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry.”

  Parker returned his attention to Bailey, who inhaled sharply and nodded. “I can meet you there.” Of course it would mean packing lunches for the next two weeks and cutting back on Max’s expensive tastes in gourmet cat food, but she supposed that was a small sacrifice.

  * * *

  Parker was waiting for Bailey when she arrived at the Sandpiper at a few minutes after noon. He stood when the maitre d’ ushered her to his table. The room’s lighting, its thick dark red carpet and rich wood created a sense of intimacy and warmth that appealed to Bailey despite her nervousness.

  She’d been inside the Sandpiper only once before, with her parents when they were visiting from Oregon. Her father had wanted to treat her to the best restaurant in town, and Bailey had chosen the Sandpiper, renowned for its elegance and its fresh seafood.

  “We meet again,” Parker said, raising one eyebrow—that hero quirk again—as he held out her chair.

  “Yes. It’s very nice of you to do this.”

  “No problem.” The waiter appeared with menus. Bailey didn’t need to look; she already knew what she wanted. The seafood Caesar salad, piled high with shrimp, crab and scallops. She’d had it on her last visit and thoroughly enjoyed every bite. Parker ordered sautéed scallops and a salad. He suggested a bottle of wine, but Bailey declined. She needed to remain completely alert for this interview, so she requested coffee instead. Parker asked for the same.

  After they’d placed their order, Bailey took a pen and pad from her purse, along with her reading glasses. She had a list of questions prepared. “Do you mind if we get started?”

  “Sure,” Parker said, leaning forward. He propped his elbows on the table and stared at her intently. “How old are you, Bailey? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  He nodded, but was obviously surprised. “According to Jo Ann you work as a paralegal.”

  “Yes.” She paused. “You’ll have to excuse Jo Ann. She’s a romantic.”

  “That’s what she said about you—that you’re a romantic.”

  “Yes, well, I certainly hope it works to her advantage and to mine.”

  “Oh?” His eyebrows lifted.

  “We’re both striving to becoming published novelists. It takes a lot more than talent, you know.”

  Hot crisp sourdough rolls were delivered to the table and Bailey immediately reached for one.

  “The writer has to have a feel for the genre,” she continued. “For Jo Ann and me, that means writing from the heart. I’ve only been at this for a few months, but there are several women in our writers’ group who’ve been submitting their work for five or six years without getting published. Most of them are pragmatic about it. There are plenty of small successes we learn to count along the way.”

  “Such as?”

  Bailey swallowed before answering. “Finishing a manuscript. There’s a real feeling of accomplishment in completing a story.”

  “I see.”

  “Some people come into the group thinking they’re going to make a fast buck. They think anyone should be able to throw together a romance. Generally they attend a couple of meetings, then decide writing is too hard, too much effort.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m in this for the long haul. Eventually I will sell because I won’t stop submitting stories until I do. My dad claims I’m like a pit bull when I want something. I clamp on and refuse to let go. That’s how I feel about writing. I’m going to succeed at this if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  “Have you always wanted to be a writer?” Parker helped himself to a roll.

  “No. I wasn’t even on my high-school newspaper, although now I wish I had been. I might not have so much trouble with sentence structure and punctuation if I’d paid more attention back then.”

  “Then what made you decide to write romances?”

  “Because I read them. In fact, I’ve been reading romances from the time I was in college, but it’s only been in the past year or so that I started creating my own. Meeting Jo Ann was a big boost for me. I might have gone on making the same mistakes for years if it wasn’t for her. She encouraged me, introduced me to other writers and took me under her wing.”

  The waiter arrived with their meals and Bailey sheepishly realized that she’d been doing all the talking. She had yet to ask Parker a single question.

  The seafood Caesar salad was as good as Bailey remembered. After one bite she decided to treat herself like this more often. An ex
pensive lunch every month or so wouldn’t sabotage her budget.

  “You were telling me it only took you six months to write Forever Yours,” Parker commented between forkfuls of his salad. “Doesn’t it usually take much longer for a first book?”

  “I’m sure it does, but I devoted every spare minute to the project.”

  “I see. What about your social life?”

  It was all Bailey could do not to snicker. What social life? She’d lived in San Francisco for more than a year, and this lunch with Parker was as close as she’d gotten to a real date. Which was exactly how she wanted it, she reminded herself.

  “Bailey?”

  “Oh, I get out occasionally,” but she didn’t mention that it was always with women friends. Since her second broken engagement, Bailey had given up on the opposite sex. Twice she’d been painfully forced to accept that men were not to be trusted. After fifteen months, Tom’s deception still hurt.

  Getting over Tom might not have been so difficult if it hadn’t been for Paul. She’d been in love with him, too, in her junior year at college. But like Tom, he’d found someone else he loved more than he did her. The pattern just kept repeating itself, so Bailey, in her own sensible way, had put an end to it. She no longer dated.

  There were times she regretted her decision. This afternoon was an excellent example. She could easily find herself becoming romantically interested in Parker. She wouldn’t, of course, but the temptation was there.

  Parker with his coffee-dark eyes and his devastating smile. Fortunately Bailey was wise to the fickle hearts of men. Of one thing she was sure: Parker Davidson hadn’t reached his mid-thirties, still single, without breaking a few hearts along the way.

  There were other times she regretted her decision to give up on dating. No men equaled no marriage. And no children. It was the children part that troubled her most, especially when she was around babies. Her decision hit her hard then. Without a husband she wasn’t likely to have a child of her own, since she wasn’t interested in being a single mother. But so far, all she had to do was avoid places where she’d run into mothers and infants. Out of sight, out of mind....