Linda Turner - A Younger Man

“You’re talking about sex,” his father said flatly.

Max didn’t deny it. “You’re damn straight. And what’s wrong with that?”

“Because there’s more to life than sex,” the older man said indignantly.

Max winced. “There you go again—talking about love. It doesn’t exist, Dad. Haven’t you figured that out? That’s why marriage doesn’t work. You let your raging hormones convince you you’ve found your soul mate, and while you’re under the influence, you make everything nice and legal. Then the magic wears off and you lose half of everything to a woman you no longer ‘love.’ You’ve got to stop this.”

He was truly worried about his father, but he might as well have saved his breath. John Sullivan had always been an eternal optimist, and if eight failed marriages couldn’t change that, than nothing else could. “You’re the one who needs to stop the way you’re living, son. What are you now…twenty-six?”

“Twenty-eight,” he said dryly.

“Almost thirty,” his father said. “And you’ve never had a serious relationship, never fallen in love. And that worries me. If you keep this up, you’re going to miss out on what life is all about. And I don’t want to hear that malarkey about love being nothing more than raging hormones. If you’d ever been in love, you would know that it’s a hell of a lot more than that. It’s finding someone you can share not just your bed with but your life. Aren’t you lonely?”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Max said quickly. “You’re not going to turn this around and make it all about me. I’m perfectly happy with my life, thank you very much. Let’s stick to the subject—you.”

Far from offended, John Sullivan only laughed. “A bit touchy, are we? What’s the matter? Did I hit a nerve?”

“Dad, I’m warning you!”

“Just think over what I said,” he said, sobering. “Okay?”

“If you’ll do the same,” Max replied. “I mean it. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine,” his father assured him gruffly. “I just need some time.”

“Let’s have dinner next week,” he suggested, frowning. “We’ll go to Pete’s and have some ribs. I’ll take you for your birthday.”

“Hey, that sounds good. I can’t remember the last time I went to Pete’s.”

Not surprised that he’d jumped at the offer—his father had been going to Pete’s for ribs since before he was born—Max grinned. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then. Are you still at the apartment?”

Just that easily the conversation returned to the divorce. John Sullivan’s sigh carried easily across the phone line. “Yeah, but it just doesn’t seem the same without Joanna. She’s moved in with her daughter.”

“It’ll take time, Dad,” Max said quietly. “Try not to let it get you down.”

As he hung up, however, Max knew his father was hurting. He was a sensitive man who didn’t handle rejection—or divorce—well. He always moped around, stuck close to the house and generally felt sorry for himself for at least a month. Then—just when it seemed like he would never smile again—he would meet someone and the roller-coaster ride would start all over again.

If it would just end there, Max thought as he returned his attention to his writing, there would be nothing to worry about. But it was only a matter of time before his father planned his next proposal—he couldn’t seem to help himself.

Just thinking about it made Max groan. Returning his attention to his writing, he tried to dismiss his father’s troubles from his mind but without much success. When the phone rang again twenty minutes later, he hadn’t written a single word.

Irritated with himself, he reached for the phone. “Yes?”

“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of that. I take it you’re still having problems.”

At the sound of his editor’s voice, a reluctant grin curled the corners of Max’s mouth. “How’d you guess?”

“You sound just a little bit testy,” Katherine Stevens replied. “Have you pulled all your hair out yet?”

“Not yet,” he said, “but I’m considering it. How’d you know I needed to talk to you?”

“I’m psychic when it comes to my authors. What chapter are you on?”

He hesitated, but she would have to know sooner or later. “Two.”

Even though she didn’t say a word, he could almost hear her wince. Finally, quietly, she said, “You know you’re trying too hard, don’t you? You don’t need to put all this pressure on yourself. If you’d just let me reset the pub date, everything would be fine.”

“I can do this.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she agreed, “but the point is you don’t need to. Ed understands that our authors don’t live in a vacuum. Life happens. We have to be adjustable.”

Ed Quinn was the sole owner and publisher of St. John’s Press. Max had met him after his first book made the Times list, and he had to admit that Ed went out of his way to work with his authors. Max just hated to ask for extra time for writer’s block, of all things. He’d never had this kind of problem before, and he didn’t like it, dammit!

“Don’t make any changes in the pub date just yet,” he said gruffly. “I may still be able to make it.”

“You just need to lighten up,” she assured him.

“How? I’ve tried everything short of standing on my head.”

“Let’s go to dinner tomorrow night and talk about it.”

“Tomorrow? Are you in town?”

“I will be tomorrow,” she said with a chuckle. “Right now I’m in Denver for a conference. I thought I’d rent a car and drive up to see you tomorrow afternoon. If you’re free, of course.”

“Of course I’m free. Why don’t you meet me here at my office? When you come into town, turn right on University Avenue and it’ll take you straight to Old Main. There’s visitor parking out front. I’m in 204.”

“I should be there by five,” she replied. “Send out the cavalry if I’m not. My sense of direction stinks.”

“Don’t worry.” He laughed. “It’s almost impossible to get lost between here and Denver. There’s only one road and it goes straight to Eagle Creek.”

“Trust me—you haven’t seen me with a map.”

Laughing, she hung up, and for a moment Max found himself grinning at his computer screen. Katherine was a saint—and a hell of a good editor. If anyone could walk him through writer’s block—and he still wasn’t convinced that was possible—it was Katherine Stevens. Lighten up, she’d said. It sounded easy, but as he studied the single line he’d written in Chapter Two, his stomach knotted with tension. So much for lightening up, he thought grimly.

When Natalie’s alarm went off the next morning, she blindly slapped at the snooze button and found it without lifting her head from the pillow. It couldn’t be six-thirty already, she thought groggily. She’d just gone to bed at…what? Three?

She groaned at the thought. No wonder she was exhausted! She’d been working on her homework for all her classes, trying to get ahead of the game before she found herself behind. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she’d never dreamed it would take so long just to read three different homework assignments and go over her class notes. And that was after only the first day of classes! How was she going to keep up the pace all semester when she had projects to do, papers to write, the boys to take care of, and she worked four days a week? She could forget snoozing five extra minutes in the morning, that was for sure. She didn’t have time!

Jumping out of bed, she hurriedly dressed, then woke the boys. Then the fun began.

“I don’t want to wear that. It itches!”

“That’s my shirt! Mom! Tommy has my shirt!”