Page 96 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

LINDY

I stared at the book revisions my editor sent me. The markups were like the last two books she’d done, finding typos and grammar issues that were always there no matter how much I searched. But there was a note at the end that I couldn’t get past.

This is the steamiest book yet! The plot is good. The characters are good, but there’s something missing. It’s… hot, but lacks feeling. Something’s off and I can’t put my finger on it.

I knew exactly what she meant. Those sex scenes I wrote and Lucy loved made my panties wet.

But they were only sexy. Word porn to tantalize the readers.

But the hero and heroine didn’t gel. It lacked feeling as she said.

I couldn’t even blame it on my mood because I sent her the file before I went to Las Vegas.

“Fuck!” I said, resting my elbows on the table and setting my head in my hands.

“Why are you swearing at your computer?” Bridget called. “I can’t believe bookkeeping is that frustrating.”

She was in the laundry room folding towels.

While she still stayed at Mav’s she popped in every day to check on me. She didn’t say it, but I knew. She never folded towels voluntarily.

The fixes from the tree were done. Drywall was replaced. Paint completed. Even the new stove was in. There was no outward–or inward–sign that a tree ever fell on the house.

I realized she was used to me working after hours. Thought Claudia was a slave driver. Just like Dex had. I took a breath, let it out.

Just thinking about him still hurt, but I’d survived so far.

“Bridge, come here.”

She stuck her head out of the laundry room. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, just… come here.”

She set the folded towel on the table and settled into a chair across from me.

“I have something to tell you.”

The look of panic stole over her face.

“Sorry, nothing bad. But… well, I’ve been keeping a big secret.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, pushing her glasses up.

“I know I said I’ve been working at night here on my laptop,” I tilted my head to the screen. “But it’s not work. Not accounting work.”

“Okay,” she said again.

“I… I’m writing romance books.”

There. I said it.

My heart was in my throat with panic at what she was going to say.

A slow smile crept across her face. “Really?”

I nodded.

“That’s so cool! Can I read it? Are you published? What’s your pen name? Do you have those hot man covers that are so sexy? Is it pirates? I love pirate romance.”

I stared at her and blinked a few times. “You like pirate romance?”

She nodded avidly. “I mean, is there a better example of ravishment than a woman captured by a high seas pirate with the body of a calendar model?”

I burst out laughing. I laughed and laughed until I cried.

“Oh, Lind, I’m sorry. Whatever I said I’m sorry.”

She came around and hugged me.

“I never knew you read romance,” I said, wiping my eyes and sniffling.

“Who doesn’t? Wait. How long have you been doing it?”

“Two years.”

“Two years?” she said, her voice rising. “Belinda Joan Beckett, I’m mad at you. How dare you get on your Huffy bike about me not telling you about MIT and you kept this a secret?”

“Your professor seduced you, Bridget, and stole your notes. There is no comparison.”

“This is huge. Why would you not tell me?”

“I don’t want anyone to think I’m a perv, pretty much. I haven’t told anyone. Except Dex.”

“He knows?” Her eyes widened in surprise about that one.

I nodded.

“That must’ve been hot.”

“I told him about it and then he asked if he could read the story I was working on and I told him no. He didn’t ask again.”

“Speaking of Dex…” she said, using this as a segue to him. “Did you sign the papers?”

It had been a week and I hadn’t touched the documents from his lawyer. Stared, yes. Signed, no. I shook my head.

“Why not?”

“Because… well, because.”

“Because you love him.”

I sighed. “Yeah. And if I sign, then it’s over.”

I looked down, felt miserable all over again.

“He can’t stop playing hockey,” she said.

“I know. That’s why this won’t work.”

She shook her head. “Do you love him?”

“Yes!” I repeated.

“Then be with him.”

“Where? In Denver? Finland? Vegas?”

“Denver, yes. Vegas, yes. Finland, maybe.”

“My job is here.”

“Your accounting job, which you don’t even like. You just admitted you’re writing romance. You went to school for creative writing. This is what you’ve always wanted to do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then do it! Go to Denver. Be with Dex and write romance.”

“I have this house.” I glanced up at the ceiling, waved an arm in the air.

“So? It’s not going anywhere. Or sell it.”

“Sell mom and dad’s house?” The idea seemed insane. And scary.

She softened, hugged me again. “Mom and Dad never expected you to stay in this house. It was their house. They wanted you to go have a life of your own.”

“I have a life,” I countered quickly.

“You do, but you love someone not from Hunter Valley. You can move away from home, Lindy!”

“But–”

“Dex can’t leave Denver. You know it. But he’s not going to skate forever. I mean, he’s got maybe… five years left.”

I never thought about that. Never really considered that his career had a time limit. He was big and strong and the way he played in that exhibition game, I couldn’t imagine him having to retire. Besides, he was young.

“It’s not him here in Hunter Valley or nothing. He’s Mr. Right. You know it. Aspen and I only said make him Mr. Right Now to get you to give him a chance. But he can be both, Mr. Right and Mr. Right Now. He’s everything.”

Her words made me feel something besides heartache. They stirred excitement. Hope. Scariness.

“I don’t–”

She stood, went to the counter, picked up the toaster and tipped it so we could both see the list I taped there when I was fourteen. “He’s everything on this list. And more.”

Then she turned, pulled on the plug, then brought the toaster over.

“Mr. Right is portable, Lind. Nowhere on it does it say he has to be all those things plus being from here.” She shoved the appliance at me and I grabbed it, full of surprise. “Take your emotional support toaster, the list of everything that’s right about Dex and move away from home.”