A Word With The Bachelor

Jack started after the dog, who instantly ran down the path that skirted the lake. She stared at his back, the man’s, admiring his broad shoulders and muscular back that tapered to a trim waist and really nice butt, wrapped with just the perfect amount of snugness in worn denim. How the heck had those two hijacked her walk?

She could go in the opposite direction but since the whole purpose of her being here was to get his book finished, probably talking to him would be a good idea. Even though she was furious.

His long legs had chewed up a fair amount of distance by the time she’d made up her mind and she hurried to catch up. When that happened, she fell into step beside him. Her mind was spinning from his revelation and she needed to organize her thoughts. If she’d been alone that wouldn’t be a challenge, but the manly scent of his skin combined with the smell of pine effectively made thinking difficult.

Apparently Jack didn’t have any thoughts to organize because after a few moments he said, “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“I didn’t think you paid enough attention to me to know what’s characteristic for me.”

“In the army you learn pretty fast that paying attention to your surroundings means survival.”

“And you see me as a threat to that?” She was being petulant. He could just sue her.

“Not my personal safety, no.”

“Then you think your way of life is at risk by my being here? You’re wrong, Jack. I’m only trying to help you.” As they walked she met his gaze and tripped over the uneven ground. Instantly he grabbed her arm to steady her. Being touched by him easily scattered the few thoughts she’d managed to gather. She mumbled under her breath, “Pigheaded...stubborn—”

“Harley—” At his voice, the dog turned and headed back. “I heard that.”

“Ask me if I care.”

“Let me take a wild guess. You’re mad.”

“Give the man a prize.” She refused to look at him and only heard the surprise in his voice. “I am so ticked off. You have wasted so much time. Why in the world didn’t you say something when I first got here? When I tried to have a conversation about what was going on? You had numerous opportunities to come clean, yet you shut me out. Why?”

When Harley sniffed at his boots, Jack squatted down and rubbed his head. He looked up and said, “Because I’m used to being the guy who’s inserted into a hot zone to fix whatever is wrong.”

Holding her breath, Erin waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she figured that was as close as he’d get to admitting he wasn’t used to needing or asking for help. She sensed he almost never did it and the fact that he had took all the irritation out of her. Or maybe she was just a pushover because of her acute attraction to him, but that didn’t change anything. There was a problem and they had to find a way to fix it.

“Okay, we know you can write a successful book. You wrote a bestseller.” She knew she’d hit a nerve when his jaw tensed and a muscle jerked. “There’s no reason you can’t do it again.”

“Says who? Maybe I only had one book in me.” He watched Harley sniff the side of the path then pick up a stick, which he dropped at Jack’s feet. He picked it up and threw it as far as he could.

“Your creativity just needs a jump start.”

He tilted his head and looked at her. “What happened to if you stared at a blank screen long enough you’ll get bored and write something on it?”

“I did say that.” She thought for a moment. “But it helps if you know what you’re going to write.”

He snorted. “Are you going to give me the pantsers-and-plotters speech again?”

“That was a definition, not a speech. But I’ll remind you what I said about talking out the plot. Discussing the hero’s goals. His mind-set since we last saw him.”

“Any thoughts on that?” He all but growled those words, as if his asking-for-assistance muscles were rusty.

“Yes. But feel free to tell me I’m full of it. The point is to toss out ideas and see what feels right in your gut.” She slid her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans. “Mac had no emotional growth in the first book because he went into fight-or-flight mode almost right away.”

“So he’s still aimless.”

“Right. Unless he’s independently wealthy, he has to have been thinking about what he’ll do to support himself since leaving the military.” Her mind was spinning. “Come to think of it, we don’t really know why he left. He was a career soldier and his reasoning could be explored in this book.”

Jack nodded absently. “Yeah.”

That was encouraging, she thought. An affirmative instead of sarcasm. She dipped her toe in a little further. “When we get back, it might help to just talk it through and you could take notes. Or record the conversation if you’d rather. Instead of jumping straight into the writing, you can figure out the inciting incident that sets the story in motion, then some loose turning points as a structure for the story.”

“And tomorrow there will still be a blank screen.”

“Give yourself permission to write badly,” she suggested.

His look was wry. “Yeah, because that’s what I learned in the army. Permission to be a screwup, sir.”

“Maybe it sounds crazy, but you might find it surprisingly freeing.”

“And that’s supposed to be creative?” he asked skeptically.

“Won’t know unless you try.” She thought for a moment. “Some authors start their day by jotting down stream-of-consciousness writing.”

“You mean gibberish?”

“Probably not something you’d publish,” she admitted.

“Then I guess you could say I’ve already done that. The pages you read are unpublishable and probably fall into the stream-of-consciousness category,” he said sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant. You just write whatever pops into your mind,” she explained.

“Sounds like a waste of time if you ask me.”

“It’s just an exercise.”

Erin glanced up at him and felt a little flutter around her heart, the one that made it hard to take a deep breath. The way his biceps strained against the material of his black T-shirt made her want to touch and find out for herself what they felt like.

It was obvious that Jack was in excellent physical condition, which meant he’d retained habits from his time in the army that kept him in shape. She knew he ran three or four times a week. There was workout equipment in the upstairs bedroom. One didn’t just jump into a fitness regime. Maybe she could explain this to him in a relatable way.

“What do you do before a run?” she asked.

His gaze narrowed on her. “Why?”

“Bear with me. I have a point.” Their shoulders brushed as they walked. Personally she was glad the bushes and trees around them weren’t tinder-dry because the sparks would have ignited them. She drew in a breath. “What’s your preexercise routine?”

“I stretch out. Warm up.”

“Exactly.”

He looked at her as if she had a snake draped around her neck. “I thought you had a point.”

“Stream-of-consciousness writing is like stretching your muscles for work.”

“Shouldn’t I put that energy into something productive?”

“The point is to not think about work. Free your mind and let the ideas flow.”

His expression was still skeptical, but he asked, “What should I write about?”

“Like I said. Anything that pops into your mind.”

Jack looked down at the dog, who had thrown himself on the ground at his feet. Automatically he picked up the animal and rubbed his hand over the hairless back. “I still say it’s a waste of time.”

This man was results-driven. He’d spent over a decade in an organized, mission-oriented environment. The creative process was the polar opposite. But if she could give him a focus, he might be more inclined to give it a try.

As they headed back to the house, she watched him with the dog. His protectiveness with the animal. The way he automatically picked up Harley when he got tired. Jack had done the same thing that first day when she’d arrived. There was a bond between the two and that homely little creature might just be what he cared about most in this world.

“Write about Harley,” she suggested.

“What?”

“Stream-of-consciousness warm-up exercises. Think about your dog and jot down whatever comes into your mind.”

With the dog curled happily in his arms, Jack stared at her for several moments. She wondered how it would feel to be safely tucked against his wide chest, wrapped in his strong arms.

Then he shook his head. “It’s official. You’re crazy.”

About you, she thought.

For a moment Erin was afraid she’d said that out loud. Fortunately, the words stayed in her head, where they belonged. He already knew she was attracted to him. If she confirmed it he would say I told you so and send her packing.

* * *

Erin didn’t want to get out of bed after a lousy night without much sleep. And that was all Jack’s fault. He was a bundle of contrasts. Gruff and argumentative with her; tender and protective of his unattractive pet. He measured out a quarter cup of organic chicken or grass-fed beef for Harley’s meals! He was a really off-putting combination of macho and mush.

And she knew very little about him. Was there a girlfriend? Wife? But those questions fell into personal territory, which technically made it not her business. And don’t even get her started on the geographical situation here. Last night she’d heard him pacing like a predatory tiger.

Back and forth. Back and forth. At least an hour. Maybe more.

Then it got quiet and she’d waited for him to come downstairs to bed. That kept her tense and wide-eyed for a long time. Her body tingled and her skin was hot whenever he was in the master bedroom just across the hall from where she slept. She would challenge anyone to try sleeping when every nerve ending was sparking like a live electrical wire.

After starting a reread of his bestselling book, she finally fell asleep sometime after one o’clock. Now it was six in the morning. Soon she’d need to start breakfast, then meet Jack at nine in his office. If she hauled her hiney out of bed there was just enough time to get in some yoga. Maybe some flexibility poses would flex thoughts of the difficult man out of her mind.

She put on her nylon-and-spandex capris and the stretchy, racer-back tank top she wore for workouts, then rolled out her mat. Mountain pose was first. Standing straight, heels down, shoulders directly over hips. Breathe. Then raised arms. Grounded in her heels, shoulders away from ears and reaching through her fingertips. She held that for the required time and went into the standing forward bend. Exhale and fold down over legs. Let head hang heavy with feet hip distance apart. That was followed by the garland pose, which she hated.

For the lunge pose she started with the right leg forward and the left straight and strong, the heel reaching. She repeated switching legs. About an hour later she’d gone through her routine and worked up a sweat. She rolled up her yoga mat and stood it in the corner next to the unpacked boxes stacked there.

After leaving her room she listened for sounds of Jack and heard none. His bedroom door was opened, meaning he wasn’t there, and she thought he’d either slept upstairs or gone for an early morning run. In the kitchen she pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and started to twist off the top when she heard the front door open and close.

Jack walked into the room and his shorts and sweaty gray T-shirt told her she’d been right about the run. He looked her over from head to toe and there was a dark sort of intensity in his eyes.

Erin felt the power of that look slip deep inside, tapping into a place where she wanted to be just a tiny bit wicked. He didn’t even have to say a word to make her respond to him. When she felt as if she could speak without stammering, she said, “Do you want water?”

“Yeah.”

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle, then handed it to him. “So, exercise is the word of the day.”

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