Finding Fire (8 page)

"Will do. I'll go home and practice." He
stands, towering above me. I study his hands and now understand why
I described them the way I did on page twenty-six.

I watch him leave,
wondering if he'll like the scene coalescing in my head. It'll mean
a bit of a rewrite. Will he be able to handle an on-the-page
emotional breakdown, or will I have to write it in Sarah's point of
view? I turn back to my computer and open a new document. I hear
him whistling "
Bridge over Troubled
Water"
as he walks away.

*****

And, as a bonus, I had the
chance to eavesdrop on my characters when they thought I wasn't
around. This interchange happened during the writing of the
climactic scenes of
Finding
Sarah
.

Three

"You know, I'm getting sick of just sitting
around here at the mercy of my writer," Sarah complained. She
squirmed, trying to get comfortable on a fallen log. "Look at me.
Stuck out here in the woods in the middle of the night, freezing my
ass off in a wedding dress while she tries to figure out how to
have Randy find me and save me from that creep."

"Hey, who are you calling
a creep?" Chris popped out from behind a nearby tree and sat on the
ground next to Sarah. "It's not like any of this was
my
idea. And all that
perverted sex stuff. What baloney. Hey, I like women. Women like
me. I had no problems with women until she decided she needed a
nastier villain."

"Oh, be quiet you two." Maggie appeared in
the clearing, bundled in a heavy parka. "I've got some hot tea in
this thermos and cookies in my backpack. And a blanket for you,
Sarah, since she's managed to have you lose yours. Maybe she won't
notice."

"Thanks, Maggie," Sarah said. She pulled the
blanket around her shoulders, wrapped her hands around the cup of
tea Maggie had poured for her and tried to keep her teeth from
chattering so she could take a sip. "Mmm. What kind of tea is
this?"

"How the hell should I know? I just bought
some cheap tea bags and added boiling water. All those fancy teas
Terry keeps writing for me—what a crock. I would have brought some
booze but I was afraid you-know-who," she glanced skyward, "might
notice if you got drunk."

"Shhh!" Chris said. "I think I hear the
keyboard clattering again. God knows what she'll have us do
next."

"I'm out of here then," Maggie said. "I'm
not in this scene and I don't want to be, thank you very much.
Finish that tea, Sarah, and hide the thermos. If she finds it,
you're in big trouble." As quickly as she had arrived, Maggie
scurried away.

Sarah gulped the rest of the tea and tossed
the cup behind a tree trunk. "Get out of here too, Chris. You're
not supposed to find me yet, although I must say, I wish you would.
I saw her looking up hypothermia on the Internet and I'm afraid I'm
going to be in bad shape."

"Sorry about that. But at least you're the
heroine. She can't really harm you. I hope she doesn't have a
shootout planned for me. I don't think she has a clue that I'm a
crack shot and she'll have my brains blown out instead."

Sarah jerked upright. "What's that? Did you
hear something? An animal? You don't think there are bears out
here, do you?"

"Bears?" He shook his head. "No. Maybe an
owl. She's not going to put anything out here that will hurt you.
Hang in there—I'm sure she'll bring me back before that beanpole
cop finds you. She's got him stuck in Pine Hills all exhausted and
frustrated."

Sarah wrapped herself in the blanket and
watched Chris disappear into the darkness. This character business
wasn't all it was cracked up to be. When she'd answered the ad, she
thought it would be fun—be the heroine of a romance novel. Ha!
Aside from one really great night with Randy, it had been one
disaster after another. Now here she was, stuck in the woods,
waiting around to see what her writer could possibly come up with
next.

At least it ought to start happening soon.
Chris had been right—the keyboard was clattering at a rapid
pace.

Without warning, a calico kitten appeared
from underneath a nearby log and climbed into Sarah's lap.

"What the—?"

A voice from above echoed through the trees.
"Hey, I can't help it. This week's writing class assignment is a
killer. I have to use specific phrases in a story, and they're all
unrelated. They gave us six to choose from. I have to use three of
them."

"Let me guess," Sarah said. "One choice was
'calico kitten', right?"

"Right. Now I need two
more. Hmm.
Untied sneakers
won't work—Chris already took yours away. Same
goes for
wool socks
.
Mouthwash
? No, that won't fit. I don't suppose you'd be willing to
dream about herb-roasted potatoes or feta cheese before you pass
out from the cold, would you?"

Sarah sighed. "I'm at your mercy, Terry."
She closed her eyes and conjured up a vision of a five-course
dinner including the requisite foodstuffs. "But how hard would it
have been to use the wool socks instead of the damn cat?"

Ah, but where's the challenge in that!

*****

A year later…

Although I'd written other books, there was
something special about Randy and Sarah. Many times I found myself
wondering how they were doing. Were they still in Pine Hills,
Oregon? Was Randy still a cop? Had Sarah's shop, That Special
Something, survived, or had she been forced to sell? Had Randy and
Sarah remained friends after I typed The End?

Ridiculous. Nobody writes romance sequels
with the same hero and heroine. They've already met, had the
relationship. The Happily Ever After, or at least the promise of
one. Of course, spin-offs are common enough, but there aren't many
writers who can keep the tension of a relationship going for more
than one book.

Still, the idea wouldn't leave me alone.
Dozens of "what ifs" played through my head until there was no
ignoring them. Besides, I never was very good at following the
rules of the romance sub-genres. If a mystery series can feature
the same protagonist, why not a romance?

I picked up the phone.

Four

"Jess," I said to my
assistant. "Can you set up an appointment with Sarah Tucker and
Randy
Detweiler?"

"Together?" she asks.

"Please. At their earliest convenience."

"What should I tell them?"

"It's a business proposition. I think
they'll be interested."

Fifteen minutes later, she buzzes me.
"Wednesday at two. They'll be here."

*****

"Come in, Sarah," I say, covering the
mouthpiece of the phone with my hand. I motion her to the chairs
opposite my desk. "I'll be with you in a jiffy."

She smiles and I detect a hint of
nervousness. She takes a seat in the chair closer to the wall,
adjusts the collar of her pale blue blouse, then twists the strap
of her shoulder bag.

I cut my call short, hang up and stack the
array of papers on my desk into a semblance of order, finding a
fresh notepad and pen. "Sorry about that. Can I get you something
while we wait for Randy? Coffee? Chamomile tea?"

She shakes her head and does some more strap
twisting. "I'm fine. I hope this won't take too long, though.
Jennifer has to leave the shop by four today." She checks her
watch.

"Randy should be here soon. He's on duty
today, right? I understand it can be hard for him to get away
sometimes."

Sarah lowers her gaze. "Yes." Her voice is
barely a whisper but I hear a touch of resentment. Maybe more than
a touch. I jot "Conflict" on my notepad, and underneath I write,
"Job issues."

Moments later, Sarah checks her watch again.
She frowns. Before the silence becomes uncomfortable there's a
knock on the door, which opens immediately. Randy Detweiler ambles
in, all six-feet-six of him. Unlike Sarah, there's nothing hesitant
about the way he extends his hand to me, then nods to Sarah. He
lowers himself into the empty chair. I take him in, once again glad
I didn't go with the stereotype drop-dead-gorgeous hero. Tall,
lanky, with his hawk-beak nose and the scar through his eyebrow,
he's comfortable with himself as a man, not as a sex object. All
cop, all business.

Sarah's nervousness hasn't abated. She's on
the pale side, her freckles standing out across her nose and
cheeks. I wonder if it's too soon after the ordeal I put her
through to hit her with my new proposal. Too late for that. And she
did agree to the meeting, so there's still hope. However, she's
leaning back in her chair, away from both me and Randy. This might
be a harder sell than I'd thought.

The initial pleasantries
dispensed with, I bend forward, resting my hands on my desk. "No
point in beating around the bush," I say. "How do you two feel
about a sequel to
Finding
Sarah
?"

"Sounds good to me," Randy says. He glances
in Sarah's direction. She avoids his eyes. He shoves a lock of hair
away from his face. "She won't be kidnapped in this book, will she?
I can understand her reluctance to participate if she's going to
have to go through so much trauma again."

It's a book. Only trouble
is interesting.
I don't voice my thoughts,
however. "Of course not. Besides, readers wouldn't tolerate using
the same device in two books."

"It's not that." Sarah twists her purse
strap some more. I wonder if I noticed the habit in her earlier
interviews or if it's something she's picked up from me. "I mean,
the first book was a romance, so we've already covered the basics.
First meet, first kiss, the sex…that awful black moment and we get
together at the end. I thought romance sequels were more like
spin-offs, with secondary characters taking center stage. Wouldn't
another book featuring me and Randy break the rules?"

I try not to grimace.
"First of all, they're not
rules
. Think of them as
reader expectations
. And
I've figured a way around it. That's what I wanted to talk to you
about."

"You're not going to give me amnesia or
anything, are you?" Sarah asks. "Too cliché, I think."

I chuckle. "No, nothing like that. But what
do you think about a little separation?"

"How long?" Randy says immediately. His
brown eyes, with those enticing hazel flecks, narrow.

"Not long. Six weeks." I fix my gaze on
Randy. "I thought you might like some Violent Crimes Task Force
training. But it means you'll have to go to San Francisco."

Sarah chews her lip and twirls a strand of
her hair. She's let it grow out some. It seems brighter, more
chestnut. Business must be picking up for her boutique. After a
moment, she says, "That's a distinct possibility."

Randy doesn't look as positive. "Six weeks?
All in San Francisco?"

"Afraid so," I say. "But think of the
reunion scene. Could be intense. I thought we'd open the book with
it."

He nods, obviously suppressing a smile. "I
could deal with that." His cell rings and he gives me an apologetic
glance before he checks the display. "Sorry, I'll have to take this
call. It's my chief."

"Not a problem," I say. "I think we've
covered the important points. I'll be in touch when it's time for
our next interview."

"It's a plan." He lifts the phone to his
ear. "Detweiler." He exits, still talking on the phone, every inch
the cop.

Sarah's lips compress to a thin line.

This could be perfect.

Sarah doesn't get up. "This might be a bad
idea," she says. "Did you see what just happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's in the middle of a meeting. He gets a
call and disappears. It's like I'm not even in the room. Not like
we might have dinner plans. Not like I'm taking off from my job
too. And I can guarantee that when we see each other again, he
won't mention the call. If I ask, he'll say it was nothing."

"Maybe I can fix that," I say.

Her eyes light up, glistening with their
stone-blue color, the color that Randy had found so compelling when
he met her. "You can?" She sits up straighter, her hands free of
the purse strap at last. "But nothing obvious, right? He'll know if
he's being manipulated."

"Don't worry about a thing. Of course,
because your relationship was established in the previous book,
there will be more emphasis on the mystery this time."

"That would be great. I've
always thought that I could be helpful, if only Randy would see me
as a partner. Not a cop but an equal. He still has that
white-knight thing you gave him in
Finding
Sarah
."

I jot more notes. "Point taken. But you have
to agree that your character has to develop slowly. It's commercial
fiction. I'm going to have to throw stuff at the two of you."
Little does she know what.

"Can I take care of myself? Not get stuck
somewhere waiting for Randy to come to the rescue?"

"No trouble at all, but I can't make you a
kick-ass heroine right off the bat. Readers won't buy it."

"I have no desire to be kick-ass. I'm no
wimp, but I'm happy being Sarah, boutique owner."

"You proved that before. You know my style.
Things start out with seemingly routine problems, but the trouble
keeps escalating. And since it's categorized as a romance, you know
you'll both be alive and together at the end." I wink. "But I have
a few surprises for Randy."

We exchange conspiratorial smiles. Sarah
rises. "Thanks, Terry. I'll look forward to the first draft."