A Word with the Bachelor (6 page)

In spite of that he found himself rushing the dog through their routine, working him a little harder until Harley plopped at Jack's feet to be carried home. Jack complied and picked up his pace back to the house, then set the dog down at the foot of the steps leading up to the porch.

Jack stood there for a few moments, looking at the lights glowing in the window. Someone was waiting for him. The realization stirred memories, not all of them good. Once upon a time he'd expected and anticipated a greeting after working all day but that dream had bitten him in the ass. Military training taught him a man didn't stay alive by making the same mistake twice. You might get lucky the first time, but your survival odds went down by a lot after that. In personal relationships, he hadn't even survived the first time.

Now that his head was on straight, he walked up the steps and in the front door. The fantastic smell of cooking food coming from
his
kitchen made his mouth water. Harley just trotted straight to where it was coming from and checked out what was going on.

Jack followed and his gaze was drawn to Erin, who was bending over to check something in the oven. She wasn't wearing the yoga pants, but her snug jeans were a close second in the framing-an-outstanding-ass department.

She looked at Harley, who stopped beside her. “Hello there, handsome. Be careful. This is hot.”

Yes, it was, Jack thought, and he didn't mean the oven.

“He knows,” Jack told her. “Animal instinct.”

Stay away from anything hot because it's going to hurt
. Good advice. Jack made note of that just in case his own instincts needed the reminder.

She closed the oven door and straightened. “Hi.”

“Brew said you were cooking up something special tonight.”

“Did that blabbermouth spoil my surprise?” She planted her hands on her hips and gave him a faux stern look.

“Hey, don't give me the stink eye. I didn't reveal any top secrets.” He couldn't think of a single time that anyone had ever tried to surprise him. That gave him a weird feeling in his gut. “And, no, he didn't tell me what you're cooking if that's what you're asking. But it smells awful darn good.”

“Fried chicken. Macaroni and cheese. From scratch, mind you. Not out of a box. Green beans. Biscuits, also from scratch. Pure comfort food.”

“Why? Do you need cheering up?”

“No, but I thought it would be good for you. Your editor said there's more to a writer than typing words into a computer. Cheryl was adamant that it wasn't just your creativity that needed cultivation. It's about mind, body and spirit.” She shrugged. “Makes sense if you think about it. How can your brain work efficiently if it's not fueled properly?”

If she'd done all this cooking for his body, Jack couldn't wait to see what she had planned for his spirit. There were a lot of things he could think of that had nothing to do with food.

He had to get his mind off how she looked in those tight pants and on to something more unexciting. “There's fuel and then there's fuel. I've had MREs that kept your body going. Basic. But this is carb-heavy.”

“It's good for the imagination,” she said.

The hell with imagination and creativity for crying out loud. He could think of some other parts of him that hadn't had any attention in a very long time. But before he could figure out how to verbalize a segue to that, or even how bad an idea it was to go there, the stove timer started signaling something.

“Mac and cheese is done.” Erin smiled brightly and grabbed some heavy-duty oven mitts, then pulled a big, oblong glass dish out of the oven. She set it on a hot tray to keep it warm. “Dinner is officially ready. Have a seat and I'll set everything on the table.”

Jack did as ordered, but damned if he didn't get the strangest feeling. Not woo-woo, déjà vu weird, but regret. After marrying Karen this was how he'd pictured their life when he was finished with deployments for good. He'd go to work and when he got home she'd be cooking dinner. Mouth-watering smells would be coming from the kitchen. They'd have a little wine, some conversation about their respective days. He'd help her with the dishes, then make love to her. Eventually have kids. It would be everything he'd never had and always wanted. What happened was the exact opposite of that and taught him life was a whole lot harder if you had dreams.

“Are you okay, Jack?” She stood staring at him with the mitts still on her hands.

“Why?”

“You have the oddest look on your face.”

“I'm good.” He'd believed those memories had no power over him anymore but obviously he was wrong. Something about Erin had stirred them up. Forewarned is forearmed and he shook them off. “What can I do to help?”

“You can open that bottle of wine if you want some.”

“I'll open it for you, but I'm more of a beer guy.”

“Okay. Then you can handle beverages. I'd love a glass of chardonnay.”

“On it.”

Jack did as requested and set a wineglass in front of her and got a longneck bottle for himself. In the middle of the table was a platter of golden fried chicken, macaroni and cheese still bubbling and slightly brown on top, green beans and a cloth-lined basket filled with fluffy, flaky buttermilk biscuits. “This looks good.”

“Sit down and dig in before it gets cold,” she advised.

He'd never been quite so happy to follow an order and filled his plate. The chicken was crisp on the outside, tender and juicy in the middle. The mac and cheese was creamy and cheesy and a party in his mouth. And the biscuits? Holy mother of God—don't even get him started on the awesome, warm wonderfulness.

And that's when Jack had an epiphany. He had an attitude and was aware of it. He took great pride in his attitude, nurtured and cultivated being aloof and sometimes abrasive if necessary. Or, as he liked to think of it, succinct. But his attitude just couldn't stand up in the face of this feast.

“Erin, this is really good.”

She smiled and the pleasure of his compliment glowed in her eyes. “I'm glad you like it.”

“This is pretty much the perfect meal in my opinion.”

“I thought it might be.” She took a sip of wine.

“Why?”

“Well, who doesn't like fried chicken or macaroni and cheese?”

“Please tell me this isn't about that stupid saying—the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

“Oh, please, Jack. We both know you don't have a heart.” She laughed. “This is about how hard you've been working. Night and day as far as I can tell. I just wanted to make you something good.”

“Mission accomplished. And you really nailed the menu.” He took another golden brown chicken leg from the platter and bit into it, barely holding back a groan of pleasure.

“I'm no stranger to cooking for a man and tackling his taste buds.” She forked up a bite of green beans.

“Your fiancé?”

“Yeah.” The glow in her eyes slipped some. “He battled cancer and had chemo and radiation. His appetite dropped off to almost nothing and he was a big guy. He needed calories in order to fight the disease and it didn't matter whether or not they were the healthiest. Kale smoothies or chicken and dumplings. Which would tempt you more?”

“The second one. Hands down.”

“The sicker he got, the harder it was to get him to eat. Toward the end it took what felt like hours to get a meal into him.”

“Sounds like it was a tough time.”

“Yeah.” Then her perky hat fell off and she sighed. The sound was full of all the sadness and heartbreak she obviously had inside.

Again Jack kicked himself for throwing sarcasm at her personal life that first day she'd shown up on his doorstep. “How long was he sick?”

“Three years.”

“A long time. And he proposed before the diagnosis?”

“Yeah.”

“But you never married.”

She pushed macaroni around her plate without looking at him. “There was a lot going on and the time never seemed right.”

Jack had proposed to Karen just before he left for his first deployment because there was an instinctive need to be connected to someone and something from home. It wasn't a completely rational thing and was more about spirituality and not being alone. A man got pretty damn spiritual when he was facing the possibility of dying. And with her guy it was more than a possibility. He knew his shelf life had an expiration date.

“But he wanted to get married.” It wasn't a question and a shadow slipped into her eyes. “He got weaker and weaker. Couldn't manage to do that.”

He
, not we, Jack thought. There was something she was keeping to herself and that seemed out of character for her. Something she was holding back.

But still, he couldn't help admiring her loyalty, which was more than he could say about his ex. She'd walked out and flatly refused to even try working on the marriage. Erin had never taken the in-sickness-and-in-health-till-death-do-us-part vow, but had lived it anyway.

He respected her for that, along with her determination. Unless she decided to direct it at him. She deserved someone as good at thinking about someone besides himself as she was.

Jack wasn't that guy.

Chapter Six

“H
ow are you coming with those research topics?”

Erin was almost getting used to Jack Garner syndrome, which was what she called the way her heart skipped when he walked into a room. She had her computer set up on the kitchen table and looked away from the screen when he got her attention. Although, technically he'd gotten her attention when he appeared in the doorway looking very Jack-like. Which was to say that his animal magnetism was on full display. But he'd asked a question and it required a response, even a sarcastic one. Sarcasm was the only place where she could hide.

“Research? Really?” She leaned back in the chair. “You're suddenly in a hurry because you can't write the next scene in the book without knowing the mating habits of the blue-footed booby?”

“Fascinating creatures.” His lips twitched.

“You're not fooling anyone.”

Harley padded into the room and looked expectantly at Jack. He looked at the dog, then her. “I'm not trying to.”

“Right.” And she was the Duchess of Doubtville. “This research is nothing more than a distraction to keep me from bugging you.”

“I think of it more as a flanking maneuver.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “An end run around your editor. Battle of wills. Cut off your nose to spite your face.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Very mature.”

“Let's just call it my process.” He leaned a broad shoulder against the doorjamb, folded his arms over his chest and grinned.

Erin's mouth went dry. She'd been there for over a week and thought she'd seen the best that Jack could throw at her. But she'd been so wrong. His scowl brimmed with sex appeal but the oh-so-masculine and tempting smile on his face right now could flat out make a woman's clothes come off.

Insert change of topic here. “Speaking of your process... How did the pages go today?”

“Oh, you know—” He lifted one of those swoonworthy shoulders in a shrug.

“Actually I don't. That's why I asked.” The brooding look was back and that made her nervous—on a number of levels. But she focused on work. “Please tell me there are pages.”

“Okay. There are pages.”

His tone was flat with shades of mocking and she didn't know whether or not to believe him. “Let me look at them.”

“They're not prime-time ready.” He reached down to rub Harley's head when the dog put a paw on his leg.

“I'm not asking for Pulitzer Prize quality,” she said. “Just let me take a quick look. Make sure the story starts off with a bang—”

“No one gets shot in the first paragraph.”

“Don't be so literal. That's not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” He moved farther into the kitchen. “But I'd rather talk about you.”

“What about me?” she asked warily.

“Your loyalty. It's admirable.”

This was about Garret and she didn't want to discuss anything more about her fiancé. She'd said enough last night. Apparently comfort food loosened her tongue. She'd danced around why there'd been no marriage and the truth was that he'd wanted it very much. Erin was the one who'd found excuses not to take the step. It was inherently dishonest not to have explained to the man she'd agreed to marry why she couldn't go through with it. And that wasn't admirable.

“I have a better idea,” she said. “It's after two. I have no idea what you've been doing all day but this is the first time I've seen you. That equals hard work as far as I'm concerned. And you need a break. Let's go into town for groceries.”

His blue eyes narrowed like lasers on her. “Now who's employing a flanking maneuver?”

She decided to take a page from his book, so to speak, and ignore that question. “Do you remember what I said about filling up the creative well?”

“Yes, but—”

“Keeping yourself isolated isn't the best way to cultivate inspiration. Besides, we're almost out of coffee.”

“Uh-oh. Threat level goes to DEFCON five.” But the expression on his face said the diversion hadn't worked and he wasn't quite finished with her yet. “I'd like to know more about the kind of man you accepted a proposal from.”

This guy was mission-oriented and he had his sights set on her. But she just might have the mother of all flanking maneuvers. “Harley. Walk?”

The animal barked and started dancing around Jack. He ran to the door and back yipping excitedly. Jack met her gaze and saluted. “Well played.”

It was her turn to grin and she didn't even care that he had her number.

A half hour later, after walking the dog, he drove the jeep up Main Street in Blackwater Lake. It was rush hour, if you could call it that here in this small but growing town. Chalk up the traffic to people from businesses along the main drag getting off work. For Erin the slow pace was an opportunity to check out Jack's stomping grounds a little more thoroughly.

They passed the Harvest Café with the adjacent ice-cream parlor beside Tanya's Treasures, the gift shop. Then there was the Grizzly Bear Diner, with its life-size statue of a ferocious-looking bear standing on rear legs with teeth bared and claws primed.

“I want to go to the diner sometime,” she said. “Is the food good?”

“Never been there.”

She couldn't believe that. “You've lived here how long?”

“A year and a half—give or take.”

“And you have not once stepped foot in that restaurant?”

“No.”

Erin waited but it seemed there wouldn't be an explanation coming anytime in the foreseeable future as to why so she took a shot in the dark. “Bar None is the extent of your social networking?”

“Didn't we already establish that loners tend to be alone?”

“Yes, but Jack—”

“What?”

“That's just so—” She struggled to come up with a word that wasn't quite so harsh, then decided what the heck? “It's so lonely.”

“Not if that's what I want.” He glanced over then, but the darn aviator sunglasses hid his expression. Apparently he saw something that deserved a comment. “And I order you not to feel sorry for me.”

“That's just ridiculous,” she scoffed. “You can't command someone how to feel.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a terrible soldier?”

“Yes.”

They were stopped at a red light and he gave her a long look. “Really?”

“No. I was just messing with you.”

The corners of his mouth curved up. “That's what I thought.”

Up ahead Erin saw a little storefront called the Photography Shop. In the window there were cardboard figures of an old west dance hall girl and a gambler with the faces cut out for tourists to pose for a picture. Behind that were what looked like framed photos of local scenery.

She pointed. “Stop there. I want to go in.”

“You're messing with me again, right?”

“No. I want to look around.”

“I don't.”

“Then wait in the car with Harley.” She glanced at the dog, who sat quietly in the rear seat. Then she looked at Jack and noted the muscle jerking in his jaw. “Or, you can throw caution to the wind and take a social field trip.”

Erin really thought he was going to pay no attention to her request, but when the light turned green, he made a left turn and went around the block in order to pull up in front of the place. The lettering on the window said April Kennedy was the photographer. She remembered Sheriff Fletcher saying he was engaged to April and since his office was right across the street, she figured his fiancée owned this place.

She opened the car door and said, “I won't be long.”

Just before she got out, Harley whined and she felt a little guilty about leaving him behind. The little guy didn't understand that his beloved human was calling the shots.

When she opened the shop's door an overhead bell tinkled and the two very attractive women inside looked at her. Both were in their twenties, one a strawberry blonde, the other a brunette.

“Hi. I'm Erin Riley.”

“Jack Garner's research assistant.” The brunette held out her hand. “April Kennedy.”

The April who was engaged to the sheriff, which explained how she knew who Erin was. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lucy Bishop.” The other woman gave her a friendly smile. “Co-owner of the Harvest Café.”

“I saw it. Looks like a nice place,” Erin commented.

“It is. Lucy cooks all the food and it's really good,” April said enthusiastically.

“I look forward to checking it out.”

“So, is there something I can help you with?” April asked.

“I saw the photos in your window. Looks like scenes of the lake and mountains around here.” Erin settled her purse strap more securely on her shoulder.

“They are.”

She studied the breathtaking shots of twilight, when the mountains were backlit by the setting sun. And other scenes of the lake at different times of day. “Any for sale?”

“Not many,” Lucy said, only a little rueful. “I've bought quite a few.”

“My best customer.”

“That will change once the walls in my new condo are decorated. Then you and Will need to be regulars at the café so I can pay for it all.”

“Like we aren't in there all the time now,” her friend scoffed.

That was probably where the sheriff had taken her after announcing to her and Jack at Bar None that he had a dinner date. “So you have a new condo?” she asked Lucy.

“Yes. Brand-new. Barely moved in. It's just at the foot of the mountains. Awesome views in the summer and winter.”

“That's exciting.”

“It is.” But Lucy's attention shifted to the window that opened onto Main Street. “But maybe not as exciting as that dog.”

Erin figured the animal's whining had gotten Jack out of the car. She glanced over her shoulder to confirm. “That's Harley. He's a Chinese crested.”

“Is that Jack Garner with him?” April asked.

Erin smiled at the man standing guard over his pet. “Yes.”

“I'd like to meet him,” Lucy said.

“Me, too.”

“He's a little shy. Be gentle with him.”

The other two laughed, then April went behind the counter where the cash register was sitting and pulled out a camera. “I have to take some pictures of that dog.”

Erin and Lucy followed the photographer outside, where she was introducing herself to a wary Jack. He was giving her camera the death glare.

“Do you mind if I take some pictures of your dog? He's quite unusual. And I promise to make copies and give you some.” April gave him a hopeful look.

He thought for a moment then said, “Okay.”

She held up the camera and Harley froze as if he was posing. He even moved his head a little to the left and right as she snapped away. Then he turned sideways, as if for a profile picture.

“He's a natural.” Erin laughed. “Jack, you should get him an agent.”

“He's very unusual,” Lucy said.

“Yes, but he grows on you,” Erin told her. She looked at Jack, who was still watchful and alert. On guard. “I've heard that dog owners take on characteristics of their pets.”

April studied him as if trying to confirm the truth of the words. “Would that be a good thing?”

Jack shrugged. “Harley is a better man than me.”

The two women laughed but Erin got the feeling he wasn't entirely joking.

“So, how do you like Blackwater Lake?” Lucy asked him.

“Nice place.”

“Didn't you buy Jill Stone's property on Blackwater Lake Marina?”

“Yes.”

“It's beautiful out there. Quiet. Good spot for a writer,” Lucy said.

The guarded expression on Jack's face told her it was time to change the subject. “This town is really different for me. I'm from Phoenix.”

“I've been there,” Lucy said. “I liked it a lot.”

“Thanks for not making a crack about the dry heat.”

“She's a little touchy about that.” Jack almost smiled and gave her a look. He seemed to relax a little now that the focus had shifted away from him.

She could take one for the team. This couldn't have gone better. They had dragged him into a conversation but he was still socializing. She liked being a bridge.

“Well,” Lucy said, “I managed to sneak away after the lunch crowd cleared out, but it's time to get back to the café for the dinner rush. Nice to meet you, Erin. And Jack, I hope you'll come by and check out the food at my place.”

“Never know,” he said.

“I really liked your book. I'm sure the next one will be even better than the first. I can hardly wait until it comes out.”

“Don't hold your breath.” Without another word he turned his back and got in the car.

Erin couldn't help feeling that the bridge she'd patted herself on the back for building moments ago had just collapsed on her head.

* * *

“Okay, so you've had a good brood. Now it's time to stop sulking and get it off your chest.”

Jack turned off the jeep's ignition after pulling the vehicle to a stop at the house. They'd barely spoken while grocery shopping and neither of them had said anything on the drive back from town. Now the first words out of her mouth were that he was in a mood?

He released his seat belt and glared at her. “What happened to you supporting me?”

“That's what I'm doing.” She wasn't the least bit intimidated by his look.

“If this is being supportive, I think I'll take my chances solo.”

She took off her seat belt and angled her legs toward him. “Do you want to talk about what happened back there and why it made you crawl back into your man cave?”

For purposes of this conversation it would help him out a lot if she didn't smell so damn good. Like flowers and sunshine. And look at him being all poetic. That proved his point. He couldn't think straight when her particular brand of soft skin and spirited push-back was so close he could grab her up and kiss her.