A Word with the Bachelor

by Teresa Southwick

  “Mistakes?” One dark eyebrow lifted.

  “I was going to say missteps.”

  “Same thing.”

  “But it sounds so much better. You can trust me on that,” she teased.

  “Yeah.” The words pushed the laughter from his expression and replaced it with a smoky intensity.

  “Do you want me there for the interview?”

  “To keep me on the straight and narrow?”

  “Moral support,” she said to clarify.

  “It’s not technically in your job description, but...yeah, I’d appreciate it if you had my back.”

  “Of course I do.”

  While they talked he ate and finished all of his French toast. “Did I mention that this is really good?”

  “No.” The unexpected compliment from this particular man made her warm and gooey inside. “But thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

  Because there wouldn’t be many more. Erin didn’t say that out loud, but the thought stayed in the air between them.

  They finished their coffee, but it seemed to take longer than usual. Then she glanced at the time and reluctantly stood and grabbed their plates.

  “Time to get to work.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go upstairs and get organized.”

  “I’ll be there by nine,” she said.

  “Promises, promises.” He grinned, then turned and left the kitchen. Moments later the front door closed.

  Without moving Erin stared at the place where he’d just been standing. She felt blinded by the brightness of that smile, so different from the hard-faced man he’d been the first time they met. This man was going to leave a mark on her heart.

  But there was no time to dwell on what she couldn’t change. As quickly as possible she did the dishes then wiped down the kitchen table and counters. When all was as shiny and bright as Jack’s smile, she went out the front door and up the stairs to his office.

  After knocking once she went inside and saw him behind his desk. She saluted and said, “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  The corners of his mouth curved up. “The salute needs work.”

  “So does this room.” She frowned at the stacks of paper on his desk and file folders placed haphazardly on every flat surface, including the floor. Had it been this bad yesterday when she came up here after their conversation? She wasn’t sure. Apparently that talk had put her in a fog, but she’d bet that it was now officially worse than she’d ever seen. He must have been very busy last night. “You call this organized?”

  Jack calmly surveyed the chaos surrounding him. “I know where everything is.”

  “Hmm.” She settled her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t strike you as the tiniest bit hypocritical that you were skeptical when Aggie said she knew where everything in the thrift store was?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not.” She sighed.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She moved closer. “Someone has to. How in the world do you concentrate in here?”

  “One way to look at this is motivation to be in a world of my own creation.”

  “I hope your imaginary world is tidier than this one,” she said ruefully. “Seriously, it must take you forever to find anything?”

  “At this point in the book I don’t need to. All the research is in the manuscript and I scroll through as necessary.”

  “Then why not put it away?”

  “No reason. Habit. My process.” He leaned his forearms on the desk. “So, are we done with this topic? Mac is in crisis.”

  “He’s not the only one,” she muttered.

  “I heard that.”

  “Sorry.” She moved a pile of folders to the floor in order to sit in her customary chair facing the desk. “Is he trying to decide whether to go after the dirty bomb or the bad guy?”

  “No. He’s thinking he made a mistake hiring someone to answer the phones in his new office.”

  “Since he just set up shop, I’m guessing it doesn’t yet look like an office supply store threw up in it.”

  “Focus.” He was enjoying this.

  “Okay. What is he questioning about his hire? Is she young? Too young for him? Old? Experienced or not? Pretty? A temptation? In danger?”

  “Wow. I’m almost sorry I said anything.” He sat back, looking shell-shocked. “All of that off the top of your head?”

  “Yeah. That’s my job.” She crossed one leg over the other. “The thing is you need to make some decisions about...what’s her name?”

  He thought for a moment. “Let’s call her Winnie.”

  “Short for Winifred? Seriously? Because you don’t like her in particular? Or women in general. No offense to anyone with the name.”

  “Watch it. There’s that whole characterization-of-women thing. The name is arbitrary.”

  “True, but what you call her can define character.”

  “Point taken.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “So, in your opinion are there any other things I should think about for Winnie?”

  “Is she going to be a recurring character? Does Mac have a history with her? Maybe she’s a down-on-her-luck stranger with no skills that Mac hired out of the goodness of his heart.”

  “He doesn’t have a heart,” Jack said wryly.

  She grinned. “Her life might be an open book or there could be skeletons in her closet.”

  “My head is spinning—”

  “Maybe she’s an ex-con who did time for manslaughter. Or she—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Hold it.”

  “All I’m saying is she can be as simple or multilayered as you want. Just don’t limit yourself with too many hard-and-fast facts if you decide that she’ll be a recurring character.”

  He blew out a breath and stood, then started to pace. “That’s a lot to think about.”

  “No pressure, but this is going to be a long-running series. The direction you go is important.”

  “Yeah. I can see that.” He stopped and met her gaze. “I’m going for a run.”

  She stood to face him. “I didn’t mean to complicate this for you.”

  “No. You’re right. I just need to clear my head before it explodes. I won’t be long.”

  “Is there anything you want me to research?”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it. Classic literary secretaries. To avoid minefields, better known as clichés. Meet me back here in an hour.”

  “Roger that.”

  He grinned again, then went out the door with Harley hot on his heels.

  Erin walked downstairs, set up her laptop on the kitchen table and pulled up what she could find on TV and movie secretaries or executive assistants. After an hour, she went back upstairs and knocked once before entering. Jack wasn’t at his desk.

  “Hello?”

  There was no answer, which told her he hadn’t returned yet. She’d printed out a lot of research pages for him and looked, without success, for an uncluttered place to put it. Temptation to tidy up his office had her fingers itching even though she remembered what he’d said that very first morning after she’d arrived. About a man’s office being sacred. But an hour ago he’d said he didn’t need any of this stuff so where was the harm?

  She wouldn’t do much. Just the little table by his desk. She took the files on top and put them neatly in the corner filing cabinet. There were loose papers underneath and she rifled through them, some of which were drawings. Of a dog that looked a lot like Harley. Jack was creative with more than just words.

  Beneath the stack of drawings was another file labeled Adventures of Harley the Wonder Dog. Flipping through it she saw a compilation of charming stories that could only be targeted for children. Tales of a Chinese crested dog who compels a young
boy to confront bullying. Other ones about bravery, friendship and loyalty. The writing was completely captivating. And that’s the reason she never heard Jack open the office door.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Jack—” Heart pounding, Erin stared at the man in the doorway. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Obviously. I repeat—what the hell are you doing with my stuff?”

  She glanced at the file in her hand, the one she’d been so absorbed in that she didn’t know he was there. “I did the research and printed out a bunch of information. You’d be surprised how much material there is on fictional secretaries.” She was babbling. “Anyway, there was no place to put it.”

  “So you decided to read my private file?” His eyes narrowed and a muscle jerked in his jaw.

  Some part of her mind registered that he’d taken a shower after running. His hair was damp and he’d changed into worn jeans and another long-sleeved T-shirt with ARMY in bold black letters on the front. It was as if someone had correctly dressed him for a movie scene. He was in full warrior mode and so not happy.

  “You make it sound as if this was premeditated,” she said. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “I don’t care how it was. The fact is you’re looking at something that I didn’t give you permission to read.”

  “The fact is,” she countered, “you haven’t given me permission to read very much of anything.”

  “So you went rogue, behind my back, to read this? That’s not even part of your job description.”

  “Okay. Then tell me what it is.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, please, Jack. You were an elite soldier trained to remain calm in combat situations when the average person would freak out and come unglued. But you’re unglued now over this?” Defiantly she held up the file. “Don’t insult my intelligence and tell me it’s nothing.”

  “Don’t insult mine by claiming what you’re doing is cleaning up.” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “You’re looking through my stuff. That’s called snooping.”

  “I was putting things in order,” she said, defending herself. “Then I snooped.”

  She was hoping a confession laced with humor would bring his intensity down a notch, but couldn’t have been more wrong. He looked angrier, if that was possible. More disturbing was how clipped his voice had been and the fact that now he wasn’t saying anything at all. Since she’d first arrived he’d gone from a man of few words to downright chatty. He actually bantered with her, which was her favorite thing. But he wasn’t doing it now.

  “Jack, this is the truth... I was rearranging the stack of papers beside your desk and I saw this file—Adventures of Harley the Wonder Dog. How was I supposed to resist that? I was curious. So sue me. I read them and the stories are wonderful.”

  He simply stared at her.

  “Every one has a message, a lesson, a take-away. For instance, the little boy with no friends that Harley latches on to, paving the way with other kids. Or the child who’s being bullied, then rescued by a small, funny-looking dog.” His expression didn’t soften. If anything it got darker. “The last one was a real heart-tugger. The boy without a dad who brings Harley home and hides him from his mom—”

  “Enough.” The tone was razor-sharp.

  Erin would have stopped anyway because of the “aha” moment. The light went on. “The little boy in all these stories is you.”

  “Right,” he said sarcastically.

  “I suggested you do stream-of-consciousness writing as a creative exercise and even told you it could be about Harley. You took my advice. This is what you’ve been working on so late every night.”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  “I don’t think so. It makes sense. The covert midnight sessions and your reaction right now prove I’m right. And you’re acting as if I stole something from you.”

  “Your words.”

  “You’re twisting them.” Erin shook her head. “The thing is, you claimed not to be good at anything except being a soldier and it has to be said. You’re wrong. I love these stories. And I love you.”

  Erin hadn’t planned to say the last part but she’d never meant anything more. It was the honest truth. The only part she wished she could take back was Jack’s reaction to hearing what was in her heart. It didn’t seem possible, but he looked even more furious. Any second she expected his eyes to turn red and shoot fire.

  He didn’t move a muscle, until he did. Without warning, he crossed the space between them and took the file out of her hand. With a take-this look, he dropped it in the trash by the desk. “That’s cleaning up.”

  “No, Jack. You need to send these to your agent. To Cheryl—”

  He backed up several steps, as if he couldn’t stand being so close to her. “I can’t work with anyone I can’t trust.”

  No, she thought. I’m not ready to leave. Don’t do it. Don’t say it. “Your editor hired me. You can’t do this.”

  “Watch me.” He moved to the door and opened it. “I’m taking my dog for a walk. Don’t be here when I get back.”

  “No, Jack. Calm down—”

  “Harley—”

  For the first time Erin noticed the dog standing between them. He’d been so quiet and now she could see that the animal knew something was very wrong. He didn’t react to the four-letter word that normally made him quiver with excitement. But after whining sadly and a last look at her, he followed Jack out the door.

  Erin took the hesitation to mean the little guy cared about her and it was some comfort. Not much, but some.

  She’d never been fired before. Certainly not by the man she was in love with. But he’d been quite clear and left her no choice. She was only here for the work and he refused to deal with her during the remainder of her contract. There was nothing left but for her to go.

  The file in the trash caught her eye and she reached down to fish it out. She pressed the cardboard folder and its contents against her and whispered to the empty room, “No, Jack, that’s cleaning up.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take Erin long to pack her things and load them in her rental car. She fought the urge to hang around until Jack returned from the walk, to try to change his mind. She didn’t because he was in no mood to listen and, frankly, another rejection from him would destroy her.

  So, with a heavy heart and a last look at the house and marina, she drove away from it and pulled out onto Lakeshore Drive. It must have been her state of shock, or muscle memory, but somehow she ended up in town. To get to the airport a hundred miles away, she needed to go through Blackwater Lake anyway.

  The car needed gas and it wouldn’t hurt to pick up a sandwich. The odds of her getting hungry any time in the foreseeable future were slim, what with a knot the size of a Toyota in her stomach. But she forced herself to be practical, even though every instinct she had was advising her to curl into the fetal position.

  After filling up the gas tank she stopped at Bar None. It was sort of on the way out of town, at least that’s what she told herself. The truth was darker and really more stupid than she’d have given herself credit for. Anyone here would know Jack because this was where he’d made his first friends. And she had an overwhelming need to unburden herself.

  She went inside and hesitated, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior. As it happened the place was empty, except for owner Delanie Carlson. She was standing behind the bar polishing glasses.

  Erin walked over and sat on a stool. “Hi.”

  “Hey, yourself.” The other woman looked at the door as if expecting it to open. “You alone?”

  Completely, Erin thought, pain slicing through her. “Yes. I’d like to order a sandwich and cup of coffee. To go.”

  “You mean t
wo, right?”

  “No. Just the one.” Only that morning she’d thought how lonely cooking for one was going to be, never thinking it would come so soon. Before she was prepared. “Turkey club, please.”

  “Okay.” Delanie set the short glass down on the bar’s scratched but gleaming surface. “What’s Jack up to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Isn’t it your job to watch him?” That was supposed to be funny.

  “It was—” Erin blinked back the emotion that choked off her words.

  “Was?” The other woman’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I was always only temporary.” Even though part of her had never abandoned hope that Jack might ask her to stay. What a fool she’d been.

  “But this is...sudden.”

  Erin lifted one shoulder, putting all the nonchalance she could muster into the gesture. “If you have to go... Go.”

  “I can’t believe Jack is letting you leave so easily.”

  There was a spurt of hope, which was dumb, but Erin couldn’t help it. Any more than she could stop the question. “Why would you say that?”

  “He was different with you. Lighter, somehow, if that makes any sense. Happy, and I think he hasn’t been for a long time, if ever.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.” Erin had thought the same thing but found out the hard way how wrong she’d been. “But he doesn’t need me.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Delanie frowned.

  “The book is nearly finished.” Along with several children’s books that he threw in the trash. Idiot. “My time is up a little early. So I’m heading back to Phoenix.”

  “Maybe you should stick around a couple days. Just in case he needs something.”

  “He won’t.” Not from her. She was untrustworthy. When she got to the airport, she’d call Cheryl and report. The long drive would give her time to figure out how to explain her early exit. But that’s not what was bothering her so much. The reality was that Jack handed back her heart because he didn’t want it, or anything else from her. “I really need to get on the road so if I could just have my sandwich—”