Chapter 47

The words were flowing. Holy hell. They were flowing.

Tabby’s fingers flew over the keyboard in the early morning, and she didn’t stop until the scene was finished.

Satisfied, she laid her laptop on the small stool she’d brought out onto the porch, and grabbed her soda from the little table on the other side of the Adirondack chair. Painted in a vibrant turquoise, she’d added a couple of long, flat cushions from the interior to the trademark Canadian chair, and now it was her favourite place to sit, and had been for the last few days, as she worked on her book, the sweet-scented forest just steps away.

Inside, the cabin was homey, but a little dark. Though she liked it at night, and had messed around with the old fireplace a bit to warm up the place when it got cool at night. She’d spent two nights up with the family at the main house, and had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Though the one night when Cole was absent, off on business--she'd noticed it. And missed him.

The next two nights she’d declined any invitations, brought her supper back, and what a supper each one had been. One night, it was delicious ribs with mashed potatoes and roasted, caramelized root vegetables. The next night it was a rich beef soup that made her want to cry, it was so delectable and hardy, along with the fresh rolls Dax had made from scratch—and worked like crazy again on her book.

She had eight chapters completed. The story was in full swing, the arcs were clarifying themselves beautifully as she wrote.

"Damn, but this book is good.” She laughed out loud. Things were falling into place, and it felt fine.

Who was she kidding. It felt amazing.

At the sound of her voice, John QT perked up. Roger, the adorable furry brown dog had stayed the night, curled on the mat by her bed, and Sheba had snored beside her, practically on her pillow.

The animals got along, after Sheba did a scary Halloween pose and spat at them a couple of days ago. This was her new home, after all. She’d quickly taken to it, though Tabby still kept a watchful eye on her when she was out on the porch with her, attaching a makeshift harness with a couple of small Christmas bells on it, so she wouldn’t take off into the forest and be lost.

But Sheba never strayed out of sight. The little kitty stayed glued to her mistress, to the woman who’d saved her, and made a point of batting away any bugs that bothered Tabby to boot.

Or maybe she was just having fun. Who knew.

But this morning, when John QT showed up, Roger had gotten up, and trotted off back through the forest to the ranch house. It was like they were taking shifts, she’d giggled.

Now John QT’s intelligent eyes were fastened on her, and damn if the way his ears were positioned, she didn't feel he was almost asking her a question.

"Yes, boy. It's going well." She reached down and scratched his ears, smiled at the almost drugged look that came over him, as it did every time she did that. “Soon I can pay your daddy for some of this amazing food, and everything else he's letting me use. And then everything will be alright with the world.”

John QT seemed to agree, but she couldn't be quite sure as his eyes rolled back in his head with her continued scratching. “Yeah, boy. We have a routine, don't we? It works for us.”

She stopped to take another long drink from her soda, glanced at her cell. Noticed she'd missed a call.

It was from Jaclyn. And the time of the missed call? 10 minutes ago.

Well, no time like the present. She quickly hit redial and was gratified when she heard Jaclyn's cheery voice. “Babe. How you doing out there in cowboy land?”

“Good, good. Land’s good, cowboys better. ”

“Awesome. It’s 5:30 in the morning and you're cracking jokes. I take it things are going well?”

They’re worried about losing the ranch. But two days ago I spent the entire night canoodling with Cole Dawson under a blanket, and last night I kissed him, when I need to keep fifty paces from him at all times or I’m gonna rip the clothes off him, just to get hot, lustful fodder for my second book. You know?

But she didn't say any of that.

“Great. And good news. I’m working on the book, Jaclyn. The plan has materialized, arcs are happening and a solid 12 K of words are written. Just wanted you to know that. So, what’s up? Why’d you call?”

A pause. “I wanted to apologize for the mess up on the tour, with the cancelled spots. That shouldn't have happened.”

“Thanks, but I know you did your best. And it’s a moot point now. It all worked out.” And how, she thought. “If there’s nothing else, I’d love to chat, but later. I’m in the cave and I've got work to do.”

“Um, about that.”

She blinked, as the odd tone in Jaclyn’s voice made her stomach pitch. Or was she just imagining it? “What?”

“Tabby, the publisher’s behind your first book. But I wanted to catch you before you started serious work on book two. Remember how you read that they were making managerial changes?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, to be blunt, they’ve been bought by an outfit in the UK, and they’ve changed directions completely. They’re compressing their erotic line. Creating more home and hearth-based imprints.” A pause. “The upshot of it is, they’re putting off your second book for a year, and they’ll review their position then. The numbers have been great, but they’re having spectacular success in the UK with the other lines. So for now…”

She felt sick. “There’s no second book.”

“Technically, that’s right. You can still write it, but you won’t have royalties from the current one again until the next quarter, and no advance, at all, for the second one. Financially, hon, there’s nothing.” She paused. “But at least you're on a working farm with tons of food, and lots to keep you occupied for now. A good place to transition, right?”

However, Jaclyn’s words weren’t even sinking in at this point, because the money she’d been counting on was suddenly gone.

What the hell was she going to do? She’d been counting on writing while she was still technically in rehab. Her strength hadn’t entirely come back yet, and she still smarted from the diagnosis. PTSD. Flashbacks. Unlikely to be reliable in a 9 - 5 job.

And the damn words had been flowing so well…

“Jaclyn, let me know the second it changes. Or if anyone else is interested in picking up the series. Or any other news. Okay?”

“Sure, babe, you got it. And Tabby? I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. You’ve only done good for me.”

Tabby signed off, but the peace of the morning was shattered, and the panic started, once again. No income. Just when she’d realized how strapped Cole’s family was, and now, she’d put faces to names. Knew, first hand, how much they needed bills to be paid.

She had to face the truth. Like it or not, she was currently a drain on them they could ill afford.