by ID Johnson
He glanced at her for only a second. “That must be really hard.”
His answer was sincere and nonjudgmental, as if he truly understood what it must be like to be a writer who couldn’t write. It took her a minute to formulate a response. “It has been,” she admitted. “I mean, people think the first book was easy, but they didn’t see the blood, sweat, and tears. They didn’t see the drafts that ended up deleted or the stories that got thrown to the wayside because they just weren’t good enough to see the light of day. Just because the media says you’re an overnight sensation, that doesn’t mean you haven’t spent hundreds of nights bleeding your heart out for a story that just won’t come together.”
He reached over and gently squeezed her forearm where it rested on the truck seat for just a second. It was a small gesture of reassurance, but it was enough. In that instant, it seemed like Memphis understood more than anyone how she felt, pent up with a million words inside, but never the right ones at the right moment. Olivia continued. “I’m very lucky in that I get to do something I love for a living, but that doesn’t make my job easy. I think people assume it is—because I can wear my pajamas all day and don’t have a commute. But some days, it’s hard; other days, it’s impossible.”
“I couldn’t do it,” he replied. “I mean, writing was never my strong suit. I love a good story, but I couldn’t write one to save my life.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “I seriously doubt I’d be able to do anything you’re responsible for out on the oil rigs either,” she reminded him.
“True,” he said with a shrug. “Although most of it isn’t as hard as you might think. The most important thing is to always be overly cautious in everything you do so you don’t start a fire or otherwise get anyone killed.”
“That has to be a lot of pressure for everyone,” she said, and then giggling, added, “literally.”
He laughed. “Is that some sort of a writer’s joke?”
“I guess so.” The snow outside was beginning to pick up a little bit, but she could still see the road, and Memphis was driving at a careful pace. “Do you like it out there?”
It took him a moment to answer. She could see him mulling over his response. “I do,” he said. “I work on so many different rigs, it’s hard to get to know anyone. They all know I won’t be around long. They’re nice enough, but some of them have been working together for years, so they’re not really going to go out of their way to bond with a guy like me who is only going to be there for a few weeks.”
Olivia thought that made perfect sense. “So what do you do in your free time when you’re out there?”
“I don’t get a lot of it. Mostly sleep, honestly. I do read some, believe it or not.”
“I believe it.”
“Action, political intrigue, that sort of thing. Mostly, though, while I’m working, I’m working.”
“And you don’t mind that you don’t have any close friends on the rigs?” She hoped she wasn’t being too intrusive.
Once again, he took his time in answering. When he did, his voice was quiet, deliberate. “I took the job to isolate myself, and so far it’s doing exactly what I wanted it to do.”
Olivia knew there had to be a reason for that. People don’t generally take themselves away from friends, family, society at large, for no reason. But she didn’t want to pry. She felt like he would tell her when he was comfortable, if she got to spend enough time with him so that he ever felt comfortable. “I can understand that to a point, I guess,” she shrugged. “I went out into the woods to isolate myself so I could concentrate on work. But I do miss my family, and I am looking forward to going home. Sooner rather than later.”
They were almost to town, and Memphis made a turn off of the highway toward the little village where there was a general store. “I miss my mom a lot when I’m out there. We’ve always been close. In fact, I probably need to call her when I get back to the cabin. I like spending time with Nash and his family, too, but we can go weeks without talking and just pick right up where we left off. I’m as close as a person can be to grandparents that always lived hours away. And I’ve got a few close friends I miss from time to time, but that’s complicated.”
She noticed his countenance changed when he mentioned the topic of friends, so she decided to steer clear for a bit. “What about your dad?”
Memphis swallowed hard, and Olivia wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have asked that question either. “It’s always been a little hard for me to understand how a man could walk away from his family like he did.”
They pulled to a stop in front of a small general store where a few people bustled in and out. She imagined he would take this opportunity to avoid a further answer to her question, but he didn’t. Shifting the truck into park, he turned to look at her. “My dad has been trying to make up for it these past few years, and I appreciate it. Nash was able to accept his explanation, his apology. But I guess I just haven’t gotten there yet.”
Olivia nodded. The sadness in his brown eyes tugged at her heart, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, to comfort him. That didn’t seem quite appropriate, though, considering she just met him. “I hope that this trip helps the two of you figure some things out and move on,” she said, sincerely.
A small smile formed on his handsome face. “Thank you, Olivia. I appreciate you listening. There’s not too many people I care to talk about such personal things with.”
Now she was smiling, though she averted her eyes and focused on the seat of the truck momentarily, unable to hold his gaze. “I’m a pretty good listener. I think you have to be in order to write stories people believe and want to read.”
“That makes sense,” he said, nodding and then turning back around to face the front of the truck. When she glanced back up at him, he had a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he was actually pondering everything she’d just said. After a moment, he turned the truck off and asked, “Are you ready to go get some coffee?”
“I am dying to go get some coffee!” Olivia exclaimed as she pushed the truck door open. She took her time getting out, afraid it might be slick. The last thing she needed to do was face plant or end up on her behind in front of this handsome cowboy. Before she even cleared the running board, Memphis was there, holding on to her forearm to keep her from slipping. Once she was out, he closed the truck door, and led her up the curb to the sidewalk, like a perfect gentleman.
Olivia felt tingles up her arm from his touch, despite her heavy coat and his thick gloves. “Thank you,” she said, as he let go and held the door open for her. She paused for a second before stepping in, caught in his brown eyes.
Memphis tipped his hat, smiled, and said, “After you, miss.”
Feeling crimson creep into her cheeks, Olivia stepped through the door. Chivalry isn’t dead, she thought to herself. It’s just moved south of the Mason-Dixon line.
At first glance, the store appeared to have just about everything a person might need in a jam. Even though it had been snowing here off and on for weeks, the shelves looked fully stocked. Olivia didn’t hesitate to make her way down the aisles as quickly as possible until she found the coffee. Scanning the different containers, she realized they didn’t have her favorite brand. At home, she always used her Keurig, but she had known better when she packed for the cabin and bought two tins of grounds. Whatever happened to the second one, she had no idea, but she knew she’d have to buy a similar product today, and since they didn’t have the kind she wanted, she picked up the biggest tin of the next best thing.
“You sure you only need one?” Memphis asked, standing behind her shoulder.
She turned to eye him, trying to tell if he was joking or not. “It’s thirty ounces,” she said. “It’s enough for two hundred forty cups of coffee.”
“So two then?”
Giggling, Olivia swatted him playfully on the arm. “I do have a little bit of an addiction, I guess. But I think this will last me another week or so.” The thought th
at it might not be that long at all crossed her mind, but she didn’t voice it. If she got her book done ahead of schedule, she’d promised to return home, and so far there was no reason to do anything other than that, no matter how much she liked the feel of his hand on her arm. Besides, for all she knew, he might be planning to leave the day after New Year’s.
“What about creamer, milk, whatever else frou-frou stuff you girls like to put in your coffee so that it’s not really coffee?”
He was clearly teasing her; she could tell by the smirk on his face. Still, she couldn’t help but be slightly offended. “I’ll have you know I drink my coffee almost black,” she replied, her nose in the air. “Not that it matters. A person should be able to put whatever he or she likes in their own beverage.”
“You want to make them Irish then?” he asked, gesturing with his head at the next aisle over where there was an abundance of liquor products.
Olivia wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks. I’m not that kind of writer.”
He laughed. “I have heard some of the most popular novels of all time were written while the author was inebriated.”
“Well, not mine,” Olivia said, sternly. She didn’t bother to add she was having enough trouble writing stone cold sober. “I really think this is all I need.”
“How are you on food? Got enough to eat in case the power goes out?” He began to lead her slowly down the aisle toward the check out.
“I have the generator,” she reminded him.
“I know, and it looks like it’s in good order. But just in case.”
“You checked my generator?” She couldn’t help but be surprised. When had he done that?
“I gave it a once over the other morning when I was checking on your car. I didn’t start it or anything.”
Olivia shrugged. “Huh, thanks,” she said, not quite sure what to make of a guy who checked on her generator when he thought she was married. Unless he’d never bought the whole Brutus story. “I really think I’m okay.”
“No beef jerky or baked beans?”
He had that goofy grin on his face again, like he had the day before when he asked where her living room was, and Olivia wondered why he found non-perishable food items to be so amusing. “No, thank you,” she said. There was just one other customer in front of them, and the older woman had several items in her basket. Olivia glanced out the window and saw that the snow was beginning to pick up. She hoped they’d make it back before the really treacherous weather hit.
“What’s it about?” Memphis asked, casually leaning on the counter behind her as Olivia tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation between the cashier and the woman in front of them.
“What’s what about?” she asked, turning to face him.
“Your novel.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure why the question caught her off-guard. She’d been asked that same exact question thousands of times before in the last year. “It’s um, historical romance. Set just before the Civil War.”
“Like the beginning of Gone with the Wind?”
“Yes, I guess so.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at him. There were so many other books more comparable to hers than that one. Just because her title was similar didn’t mean the story was. But then, he probably wouldn’t know that; Memphis didn’t look like much of a romance reader, and he’d mentioned he preferred action and intrigue earlier.
“And the one you’re writing now?”
Olivia ran her hand through her hair. “It, um, takes place during the war.”
“Will there be another one—after the war?”
She offered him a smug smile. “I hope so.”
“There will be.” He sounded very sure of himself as he turned around to straighten a few items on the counter.
The woman in front of them took her bags and waved goodbye to the cashier, and Olivia handed over her coffee with a greeting of, “Good afternoon.” The thought that Memphis had all the confidence in the world in her ability to write yet another novel made her feel warm inside, but she wasn’t sure it would translate to self-assurance once the time came. Besides, she still had plenty to write on this one.
The cashier looked to be in her mid-thirties, and she nervously glanced out the window every few seconds as she told Olivia her total, accepted the cash, and bagged her coffee. “Hope it doesn’t get too bad,” she said.
“Do you live around here?” Olivia asked as the woman slipped her receipt into the bag and handed it over.
“About a mile away. I just don’t like to drive on the slick stuff.”
“Roads are pretty clear right now,” Memphis assured her.
“Good. I get off in half an hour,” she replied, letting out a sigh.
Olivia scooted out of the way so that the next customer could use the counter, but Memphis added, “You’ll be fine so long as you take it slow. There shouldn’t be too much more on the roads before you leave.”
The woman looked relieved. “Okay, thank you. You folks be careful and have a nice day.”
“You, too, Stephanie,” Memphis said with a smile, and the woman’s face brightened noticeably. She turned to the next customer and greeted an older man who clearly didn’t have the same aversion to beef jerky Olivia had since his basket was overflowing with it.
Memphis offered Olivia his arm as they approached the door, and she gladly took it. He also took the coffee from her and looped the bag over his other arm before using it to hold the door open for her, though he never let go as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“I think you made that woman’s day,” Olivia remarked, careful of her footing as they made their way to the truck.
“Who? Stephanie?” he asked, innocently.
“Yes. Just by speaking kindly to her and using her name. Her face lit up.”
“Oh, well, mama always said it’s best to be polite.” Memphis opened the passenger side door for her and didn’t let go until Olivia was safely in her seat. He carefully made his way around to the driver’s side, and Olivia couldn’t help but follow him with her eyes. He climbed in and tucked the coffee into the seat between them. “Do you think it needs a seat belt?” he teased.
Giggling, Olivia said, “Maybe. If anything happens to it, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
He put his own seat belt on and started the truck. “Well, I’d suggest we find a diner around here and get you some fresh brewed for the trip back, but I’m not sure we should waste any time.”
The snow seemed to pick up just a bit more every few seconds. Olivia agreed. She’d love to spend time in a little diner like Bishop’s with Memphis, but not now. Thoughts of him sitting across from her in her favorite booth while they enjoyed a fresh slice of apple pie had her daydreaming, and she didn’t realize he was talking to her until the sentence was half out. “… missing New Year’s with your family.”
She assumed he said it was too bad she’d be missing New Year’s with her family, and the thought did crush her heart just a bit. It would’ve been so much better if she’d had her novel finished before the holidays, and thinking about how that hadn’t happened made her feel more like a failure than ever before. “I may head home early… if I get done.”
He glanced away from the road to look at her for a second, and Olivia thought she saw disappointment there. Could he really be enjoying their time together as much as she was? “Too bad,” he muttered. “But I guess you need to see your folks.”
“Actually, my parents are on a trip to Cabo,” she explained. “My brother and sister are at my house, though. I’d like to spend some more time with them. My sister and her husband have two little girls, and my brother brought his girlfriend.”
“It must have been tough to walk away from all that family at your house,” Memphis replied as he steered them through the falling snow.
Olivia considered his words. It hadn’t been as hard as it should’ve been. “I needed some quiet,” she replied. “I love my family, but I was beginning to panic about missing my deadline. I a
m a very… punctual person.”
He nodded. “I thought you might be.”
“Is it that obvious?” she turned to look at him, hoping he didn’t see her type A personality as a flaw.
“No, not at all,” he replied. “I just thought you seemed like the kind of person who likes to follow through with their commitments.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it,” she said. “So… I did enjoy spending time with my family. I do enjoy it. And I would like to be with them on New Year’s—New Year’s Day, anyway—but if I don’t get finished….”
“You will.” His hand was on her arm again, and electric shocks ran through her body. “Olivia, I have no doubt you’ll write an even better book than you did last time.”
He didn’t let go quickly, as he had last time, and she considered what might happen if she slid her hand up to take his. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. This was only temporary, and she needed to remember that. He’d be going back to Houston soon, and she’d likely never see him again.
Olivia decided to change the subject. “You don’t mind spending New Year’s in a cabin with your family?” she asked still reveling in the feel of his fingers on the underside of her arm and wishing her coat wasn’t so thick.
“I didn’t have anything better to do,” he shrugged. “I’m glad my work schedule fell so that I had this time off.”
“Did you have Christmas off?”
“No,” he replied, shifting a bit in his seat. “Spent it on a rig.”
“That sounds terrible,” she said, unable to keep herself from saying how she really felt.
“It honestly wasn’t that bad,” he shrugged. He pulled his hand away and returned it to the steering wheel. Olivia wasn’t sure if it was because the road was slick or if he just suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“What did you do before?”
“I had a normal job, at a corporation in downtown Houston,” he replied. “I designed fittings for machinery.”
“Is that sort of what you do now?”
“In a way, though this is definitely on-the-job, right-in-the-middle-of-the-action work. There aren’t a lot of opportunities to get something wrong and learn from your mistakes.”