A Word With The Bachelor. Teresa Southwick
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place. Take it from me. I left for a lot of years, but couldn’t stay away. There are good people here.”
“I look forward to meeting them.”
“What’s your hurry, Sheriff?” Jack hadn’t been particularly social so the question was unexpected.
“I have paperwork to finish up at the office. Then I’m taking April out to dinner.”
“Is that your wife?” Erin asked.
“Fiancée.” Will Fletcher’s rugged features softened when he smiled. “But us getting married is long overdue. We’re making plans to rectify that. Can’t be soon enough for me.”
“Congratulations,” she said.
“Thanks. Good luck with the book, Jack.”
Erin had a feeling she was the one who needed luck helping Jack with the manuscript. His cooperation would be a good place to start. “He seems nice.”
“I suppose.”
“He said people are friendly. Have you met a lot of folks since you’ve been here?”
“No.”
“Have you made an effort?”
“No.”
“I’m going out on a limb here and say that everyone you’ve become acquainted with has been a customer here at Bar None.”
There was a challenge in his eyes when he met her gaze. “So?”
“Have you ever heard the saying that ‘no man is an island’? You have to reach out and meet people halfway. On top of that, writing doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You have to fill up the creative well. That happens with experiences and to have those, being sociable helps.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good,” she said.
“And, Erin?”
“Yes?”
“It occurs to me that the armed forces of the United States don’t need to stockpile weapons. All the brass needs to do is turn you loose on the enemy to talk them to death.”
She wondered whether or not to be offended by that, then decided one of them needed to be an optimist. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
* * *
The morning after taking her to town, Jack went upstairs to his office, leaving Erin in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. She was a good cook. If his editor ever spoke to him again he’d have to thank her for that. The omelet, fruit, toast and coffee was the best morning meal he’d had in a long time. Whatever he threw together was maybe one step above the army’s MREs—meals ready to eat.
He turned on his laptop and opened the file “Mac Daniels,” which was the name of his ex-army ranger, Special Forces hero. After reading through the pages he’d written, he said, “This sucks.”
If the pages had been printed out, he’d have wadded them up and tossed the balls of paper across the room. They weren’t and he deleted them. Right now he’d take a black ops mission over this. But army rangers never quit and he was literally on borrowed time with this project. After he’d left the military and his wife left him, he’d been pretty sure that being a soldier was the only thing he was good at.
Then he wrote a bestselling novel and the publisher wanted the second book on the two-book contract he’d signed, but he was late turning it in. What if he was a one-hit wonder? Maybe he was only good at soldiering. If he had to throw in the towel on this book, that would prove he’d been right.
The sheriff’s words from yesterday drifted through his mind.
“Work in progress, my ass,” he mumbled. He didn’t need luck as much as inspiration.
There was a knock on the door and since he used the living room of the upstairs apartment for his office, technically the knock was on the office door. If he said nothing, would she go away?
Erin opened it and poked her head in. “Reporting for duty, sir.”
Nine on the dot. It was as if she was punching a time clock. Harley ran inside and settled in his bed next to the desk. Little traitor had been hanging out with her.
Instead of inspiration, what he got was another challenge. “I work alone.”
“Not any more” was what he expected out of her but that’s not what she said.
“Let’s talk about the book.” She moved in front of the desk.
It was exactly what she’d said yesterday. “I’m a writer, not a talker.”
A look crossed her face that said she’d noticed. “Tell me about the story. This is the sequel to High Value Target, so the hero is Mac Daniels.”
He nodded an answer, if only to prove that he was telling the truth about the writer-versus-talker thing.
She tilted her head and shiny, gold-streaked brown hair slid over her shoulder. “I’m curious. When you named this character, did you mean for it to rhyme with Jack Daniel’s, the whiskey? An inside joke? Or was it coincidence?”
Sharp girl, he thought. But the only answer he gave her was a small smile.
“Okay then. Moving on.” She settled a hip on the corner of the desk and met his gaze. “I read the first book. Mac was a reluctant hero and took down the bad guys. What is his goal in this book?”
Jack wanted to squirm and this is where Ranger training came in handy, other than a war zone, of course. He’d learned how to stay in one position without moving for hours. “Mac is trying to stay alive.”
“It’s a good goal.” She thought for a moment. “So who or what is standing in his way?”
“You mean who’s after him?”
“Is someone after him? If so, why?”
Jack was still working out those details. It was what he did. On his own. This was his work-in-progress. His office. And that reminded him. “Look, Erin, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Okay. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m not comfortable with this arrangement.”
“And I’m not leaving.” Her eyes flashed and her expression was locked and loaded on stubborn.
“No. I meant you bunking down up here.” With unfettered access to his office. On top of that, the whole place was now filled with the scent of sunlight and flowers. And...her. How was he supposed to concentrate when his work space smelled like a girl?
“If you’d like I can pitch a tent outside,” she said with more than a little sarcasm.
Jack wondered if that look on her face frightened the teenage boys in her English classes. It sure didn’t work on him. For over ten years his job had been about dealing with life-and-death conflicts. Erin Riley didn’t intimidate him at all.
“That won’t be necessary.” Although the idea was interesting, she didn’t look like an outdoors kind of woman. More a hotel-and-happy-hour type. When she’d shown up and made it clear she wasn’t leaving, he’d figured the spare room up here would be best. It wasn’t. “I’d like to move you into the spare room downstairs.”
“I don’t want to throw your routine off—”
“Too late.” He leaned back in his chair. “The thing is, if I want to work during the night, I wouldn’t want to wake you.”
“Whatever you want.”
Jack happened to be looking at her mouth when she said that and the words turned into something that was a very bad idea. “Okay, then. Your job is to move your things to the spare bedroom downstairs.”
“And