Elaine offered him a little smile as she reached for a cloth bookmark and put it in-between the pages. Luke felt a bit disappointed that she didn’t dog-ear the page and leave a permanent imprint on his work.
“It’s not bad,” she said. “It’s not Pulitzer material either. The writing flows. The descriptions aren’t flowery, but they’re evocative.”
Luke’s chest puffed up at all the compliments. He was ready to come clean that it was his pen that had written those flowing, evocative words.
“It’s just that the relationships are unbelievable. I can’t believe that these people would get behind an untried leader so quickly and believe in her so thoroughly.”
It wasn’t quite a slap in the face. It did shake off the puffy feelings in his chest.
“That’s what happens when someone saves your life,” Paul spoke from behind Luke. “In the book, the captain saved their lives, and now she feels a sense of loyalty to them and they to her. You ever notice that?”
Paul looked pointedly at Luke. Luke glanced at Paul. Elaine glanced between the two, clearly waiting patiently for an introduction to the newcomer.
“This is my friend, Major Paul Hanson,” said Luke.
“Did you save Lieutenant Jackson’s life, Major Hanson?”
“Not me,” said Paul. “The lieutenant here is the hero. He threw his body on mine to protect me from a grenade,” said Paul.
“That happen a lot around you?” Elaine asked Luke. “What is it? Do you attract danger?”
“No, I’m a regular guy,” said Luke.
“Excuse me, Mr. Skye?”
Luke had heard many an explosion go off in his career in the military. Those four words were louder than a bomb.
“Can I get your autograph?” The woman held his two books to her ample bosom. Luke wasn’t sure where to reach. Especially when the only thing he wanted to reach out to was Elaine.
Elaine’s brow crinkled. Then realization dawned. He only saw it because he watched her so closely, but he was sure he saw her gaze shutter closed.
Chapter Twelve
It always came down to secrets.
Elaine looked from the man she thought she was getting to know and down to the cover of the book she had been getting into. She was surprised she had been enjoying the bit of pulp fiction. There were thousands of words written on the page. But Luke had forgotten to tell her the most important ones. There were only two that mattered; that he was Walker Skye.
With one final glance at her, Luke took his place at the lectern. He'd lied to her.
Well, he hadn't stood in front of her and told her a bald-faced lie. But omission was just as strong. That’s what her parents’ fights had taught her.
Elaine wasn't sure if the two of them had ever cheated on one another. She doubted it. Who else would put up with the madness they inflicted on each other. She was their daughter, and she didn't want to deal with it.
But they'd kept secrets. They'd said hurtful things. Then the next hour, the next day, the next week, they'd take it back. Only to repeat the cycle the next month.
They never tired of fussing and fighting. They could cut each other so deep, not recognizing the collateral damage it did to those around them. Because just as much as they salted the wounds, they were also the salve. It was a sickness Elaine did not want to allow into her system.
Luke looked away from her. Before he turned, Elaine saw remorse was clear on his face. He hadn't tried to make amends with her. He hadn’t tried to explain. He'd taken the buxom woman’s book and signed; Walker Skye. There was a flourish with the Y in his last name. Or his fake last name.
Or maybe that was his real name. Elaine had no clue.
He walked up to the lectern, where his books were placed on display. It was a packed house, more people than had visited the library all week. He didn’t glance at her when he spoke. His gaze remained cast down.
"I'm supposed to do a reading from my book, but I'd like to tell you a story you might not know instead.”
Luke looked up then and found her gaze across the crowded room. But Elaine couldn’t hold his gaze. How could she when she could no longer trust his words; the ones he spoke as well as what he’d written.
“I felt powerless as a child," he said. "My mother died because of me."
Gasps went around the audience. The audience was a good mix of men and women. But where the men were dressed in casual slacks and jeans, all of the women wore tight clothes and a pound of makeup.
Elaine had never seen half of them in the library. They were all here for the famous Walker Skye. The man who wrote strong female protagonists that led armies to defeat evil empires. Yet, here, her creator was peddling lies.
But wait? Hadn’t he told her this the other night?
"My father always told me that it wasn't my fault. I even have letters where my mother tells me that her death wasn't my fault. She knew the risks going into the pregnancy. But she wanted to take the chance. In her letters, she told me I was worth it."
Every person was riveted to his words. Including Elaine. Something in her told her he was telling the truth.
"Every heroine I write is my mother. The woman I met in the letters. The woman that believes that everyone deserves a chance, even if it means that she doesn't make it in the end."
Elaine’s anger was dying down. She had the urge to reach out to him. To grab his wrist and tug him out of danger. To take off her cardigan and wrap it around his shoulders.
Last night, Luke hadn't told her this part of the story. But why would he? She had disparaged his books before he could even say anything.
"I joined the military not only to do my part for this country that has provided so many opportunities. I did it because, well, I wanted to be someone's hero.”
He wasn’t looking at her, but Elaine felt his attention on her. She knew this information was more for her ears than his fans. Was this his apology?
“The reality of war is a harsh one. Both at home and on the war front. It's not always clean boots and pristine outfits. There's sweat. There's dirt. There's blood. Writing these stories was how I escaped, but it's also how I planned to make the world better. The military is how societies protect themselves. Science is how we try to understand the world. Fiction is how we dream the world could be.”
He did look at her then. This time, Elaine met Luke’s gaze. Everyone else in the room disappeared. Gone was the salt she’d felt at his betrayal. His words were more than an apology. They were a salve.
“I put all those together in my books to bring forth a vision of how the world could be a better place. I've seen destruction and death. Military science fiction is more than politics in space. It’s also literature that investigates our morality. It forces us to soul search in unfamiliar territory. And hopefully, come out the other end a better species."
There was loud booming applause. Elaine took a moment of refuge in the crowd’s boisterous praise. She took a deep breath. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath as Luke spoke. She'd hung on his every word. Much like she'd hung on every word of his book, so far.
True, Elaine didn't suspend her disbelief at the character of the captain and her plight. But Elaine had wanted to believe in her.
"Samuel Langhorne Clemens."
Elaine turned back to Major Hanson. "I beg your pardon?
"Mark Twain's pen name,” he clarified. “Mary Ann Evans was better known as George Eliot. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson is known to most as Lewis Carroll. And we can't forget Eric Arthur Blair, better known as George Orwell. They all had pen names for various reasons. Luke started writing while we were still in the service. Some plots hit close to the battlefield, and he would've gotten in serious trouble if our superiors knew what he was doing. He's retired now and coming out of the pen box for the first time."
Elaine plopped down in the chair behind the circulation desk. Her legs felt worn out like she’d ran a marathon. Her arms felt sore like she’d been on both sides of the rope in a tug of w
ar.
"He likes you," said Major Hanson. "More than friends. I know because the pen keeps slipping from his hands up there. His palms sweat when he likes a woman."
Elaine looked up as Luke was listening to someone ask a question. Sure enough, the pen he held slipped from his fingers. His palms had been sweaty the other night when they’d said their goodbyes. So had hers.
Instead of admitting that, or addressing any of the facts Major Hanson stated, Elaine said, “That's a long line of women there.”
"They're here for Walker Skye. You came for Luke Jackson."
"We're just friends,” Elaine insisted.
“I don’t think so.”
Major Hanson’s shoulders were back, his chest out, and his chin high. His confidence irked Elaine.
"Walker?" called a woman from the audience. Her lipstick was so red, Elaine wondered if she wasn't bleeding. "Your heroine is such a strong character. Will she never find love?"
The pen slipped through Luke's fingers again. He left it on the lectern this time. "My parents had the greatest love story I know. So, I've only seen a man loving a ghost."
"I have a follow-up," said the blood-lipped woman. "What do you look for in a woman?"
Luke swallowed before he answered. He reached for the pen, then must’ve thought better of it because he put his hand behind his back. "Well-read. Open-minded. Believes in love."
Two out of three. Or maybe one out of three. Well, that wasn't Elaine. Which proved he wasn't truly interested in her. Not that it mattered. They were just friends.
Luke stepped down from the lectern and was immediately mobbed by the women. But he moved for the younger people with books to sign.
"He is even yummier in person," said Mary. "I thought he would be the broody type. Collecting numbers and waxing poetic about his time in the service to get the women to swoon over him.“
"He's not like that at all," said Elaine.
"How would you know?" said Mary.
"They went on a date last night," said Major Hanson.
"It was not a date," said Elaine.
"Him?" said Mary. “That was your soldier?"
"He's not my soldier," said Elaine.
"Elaine, why didn't you call dibs?” Mary threw up her hands. “I wore my best bra for him today. This thing pinches … "
"He's fair game,” Elaine insisted. “You know I don't date."
"Right," said Mary, glancing between Elaine and Luke. "You're clearly not interested in him. And he's clearly not interested in you."
Luke glanced up at her every other book he signed. As she moved through the library, she felt his gaze on her. She watched as every single woman came up to him. It was clear they were flirting. But, time after time, he shook his head or turned down a card or written note. And then his gaze would find her again.
Elaine felt the butterflies in her stomach. She could hear her pulse thumping. Despite many deep breaths, she couldn’t help her heart racing and her mind wondering.
Everyone in the room knew his stories. But Luke had given her the truth of himself, of his private pain.
“I’m no Angel,” Luke said ninety minutes later after the crowd dispersed, and the doors to the library were closed.
The reference to Tess was so unexpected that Elaine laughed. Look at her. Laughing at a tragedy.
“Let me explain?” he said.
“You don’t have to,” said Elaine. “Paul explained. You were protecting yourself. I get it.”
Did she? Something like this would’ve sent her parents into a tizzy. Surprise was evident on Luke’s face. The sparkles danced in his brown eyes.
“So, we can still be friends?” he asked.
Friends. That word felt like a lie
“Yeah.” She offered her hand. “Friends.”
And there it was again; the tingle.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke's fingers flew across the keyboard. His heroine had just finished a moving speech. It was right before a pivotal battle scene. His heroine excelled at these because they were her creator's favorite thing to write.
Luke loved movies where the coach rallied the team before the homecoming game. He loved the war movie where the commander gave a moving speech before the big battle.
That swell of emotions. That charge to advance forward and conquer. Luke couldn’t get enough of it.
He wasn't at the end of the book. Not yet. In this part of the plot, the Captain and her ragtag team were going to make a small advance on the enemy. Her troops were rallied and ready. She'd thought of every eventuality, and Luke had put each event down on the page as an inner monologue.
All except one. The one eventuality that he'd laid as a trap to trip her up right before the climax of the book. He knew his readers would be flying over the pages at this part of the story. Their anxiety high and their anticipation at an edge.
He'd finished the captain’s moving speech. It was one of his best so far. He knew it would move readers. But now, he was stuck.
Luke knew he couldn't have the troops rush directly into battle immediately after the speech. The readers needed a breather scene, a bit of space to digest what was just said, to build the anticipation of what was to come. But what plot device could he use to fill the next few pages before the deciding battle?
Even as he asked himself the question, his fingers began typing. Her second in command, who was a hero in his own right, came into her makeshift office. The man she'd trusted most, the man who knew her best, had a bone to pick with her about her speech.
On one page, they were arguing about the battle plan. On the next page, he had pulled her into his arms and was professing his long-held feelings for her.
Luke's hands froze over the keyboard. His fingers curled away from the keys. The captain remained trapped at the cursor in her best friend's arms. Both his heroine and her author were stunned at this new revelation.
Luke had never intended to go in this direction. He wasn't a romance author. Love stories were not his forte as an author. Or even as a man. He never thought he’d live up to his parents’ epic love story. So, he never attempted to write one for himself. Yet, here, love was showing up on the page.
He fought a war with his fingers as they flexed and relaxed. His index fingers twitched to get back to the keys. But his thumbs rested on the space bar. In the end, Luke left the tug of war at a stalemate and backed away from the computer.
He needed some space to work out this particular plot point. Did he want to go down this road with these two? He wasn't sure? He wasn't sure about anything. He needed to take a walk to clear his head.
The good thing about staying on a ranch was there was plenty of space for him to clear his head. And he didn't have to do it on his own two feet.
Luke made it to the stables when the sun was the highest in the sky. He mounted a horse and took off. Horseback riding was like flying. But in this case, he felt both the wind and the power of the ground at the same time.
His head felt clear when he came back to the stables. But he still didn't have an answer to his plot problems.
"Writer's block?"
He turned to find Dr. Patel.
"No,” Luke confessed, “the opposite. The book wants to go in a new direction."
"And you don't want it to go that way?"
The man’s voice and smile reminded Luke of his own father. So, he couldn’t help spilling his guts about his literary problems.
"I'm not sure what I want. My heroine is fearless in battle because she's used to fighting for others. But she's never fought for herself. I don't know how to make her see that she's worthy of love. That having love in her life might add to her life. That it might strengthen her to stand beside someone instead of in front of them. That love isn't a weakness."
Luke looked into the doctor’s bright gaze. Patel’s gaze was so clear that Luke felt he was looking into a mirror at his own reflection. But all the psychologist did was nod.
"Why does your heroine believe that love
is a weakness?"
Good question. “I’ve kept her backstory vague.” Luke paused. His mind turned back to the other night for an answer. “But, what if she came from divorce, her parents’ divorced, I mean?”
Patel looked at him as though he knew where this new story was coming from.
"Parents teach kids how to love. Children of divorce have seen both sides of love and know that love can hurt and make people vulnerable. They have seen that love is a risk."
"I'd never hurt her," said Luke. He cleared his throat and began again. “My character, I mean. How do I get her to see that? In dialogue, of course. What could the love interest say to her?"
Dr. Patel nodded. “He—your hero—would have to know that communication is key. He should strive to be honest and open with her. Those two things are paramount."
Well, there went strikes one and two. Luke hadn't given Elaine the whole truth when they'd met. But she'd said it was fine back in the library.
“For dialogue, if your heroine gives short answers like I'm fine, you will know she isn’t telling the truth. That is not good communication.”
"She said that." Luke sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead.
"Your character?"
Luke bit his lip. He didn’t feel the need to answer. He knew his motives were transparent. But Patel kept up the farce, likely for Luke to save face.
"She's not fine,” said Patel. “But, you can use that as subtext in your book."
"What can he—the male love interest—do to win her trust?”
"He can show her support. She'll likely have high expectations due to her need for stability and routine. She'll have a fear of abandonment and will need constant reassurances. For her, love is associated with pain. It'll take time for her to believe it otherwise. How long is this book?"
"I'm willing to make it as long as it needs to be for her to believe it.”
Patel patted Luke on his shoulder as they walked away from the stables. “I have a feeling it's going to be a bestseller."
Chapter Fourteen
Light Up His Life Page 6
