A Word with the Bachelor

by Teresa Southwick

  Delanie hesitated as if she wanted to say more, then nodded. “Coming right up. And coffee.”

  “Yes.”

  The other woman turned away but not before the tears slid down Erin’s cheeks. This was so much harder than she’d thought it would be. She was going to miss Blackwater Lake, the community spirit, the people.

  Most of all she was going to miss Jack and was pretty sure she would forever.

  * * *

  Jack figured he had a couple more days to put in before the rough draft of his book would be finished. His editor should be happy he was working. After saving the new pages to the computer and a flash drive, he stretched then stood up. It was past dinnertime and he was hungry. The way Harley was looking at him meant the dog was hungry, too.

  “Let’s go, bud.”

  He grinned when the little guy raced over to the door. After walk, go was the word that made Harley quiver with anticipation. Jack, on the other hand, wasn’t quivering with anything these days. Erin had been gone a week but he refused to believe he was doing anything but just fine on his own.

  He opened the office door and Harley bounded down the stairs, then waited patiently on the front porch for Jack to let him inside. While he flipped on the lights, the dog ran down the hall into every room, as if searching for something. Moments later he came back and gave Jack the where-the-heck-is-she? look.

  “Phoenix. Unless Corinne Carlisle needs a nosey book coach.”

  Jack listened to the sound of silence, the same sound he’d heard for the last seven days. No rattling pans in the kitchen. No closing cupboard doors. No amateur, ladylike swearing over lumpy gravy. If he didn’t have Harley he would be talking to himself. The funny thing was that before Erin he hadn’t minded that. Never gave a thought to the weirdness of talking only to his dog for long stretches of time. The fact that he thought about it now was annoying.

  “Damn it.” Harley trotted over as if to ask what was wrong. Jack dropped to one knee and rubbed his furry head. “She ruined the isolation for me.”

  And that wasn’t all. She’d gone through his personal things. More unforgivable was the fact that she’d been right. She figured out that the lonely little boy in the Harley books was him. She’d looked inside him without permission and he couldn’t stand the pity he saw in her eyes. Now he would never have to see it again because he’d never see her again.

  That thought didn’t make him feel as satisfied as he wanted to.

  Jack opened the refrigerator and checked out its contents. There were multiple leftover containers where alien life forms were growing. This was the last of what she’d cooked for him. He shut the door with a little more force than was necessary.

  “A beer and a burger,” he said to no one in particular.

  Jack put out Harley’s food and made sure his water dish was full, then grabbed his keys from a hook on the wall. He felt a little guilty when the dog followed him to the front door. “Don’t be inviting your friends over to party, bud.”

  It was cold outside but somehow it penetrated in a way he’d never noticed before. Just his imagination, he thought, as he walked to where the jeep was parked. The empty space beside it seemed to mock him. How stupid was that? He’d spent a lifetime being a loner and a couple months with a mouthy substitute teacher who got in his face all the time wasn’t going to change that.

  He would be fine. In a day or two.

  Jack drove to Blackwater Lake and followed Main Street to Bar None. He pulled into the parking lot, which had quite a few cars for a weeknight. After settling in a space he exited the car and walked toward the building, with its neon flashing beer bottle in the window. On a sign over the roof proclaiming the name of the establishment there were crossed cocktail glasses.

  When he walked inside people sitting in booths and the scattered tables looked up. A couple of them lifted a hand in greeting. That was different.

  He recognized Kim Miller and her husband, Luke, teachers at the high school where he’d talked to the kids. April Kennedy sat at a table with Sheriff Will Fletcher. His bar buddy was part of a couple so Jack would have to go solo. That was okay. He was dusting off his loner cred anyway.

  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

  Jack 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?