While You Were Writing: Watkin's Pond, Book 2 Read Free

manners or the idea of going home with a stranger. “I thought you said there were only two conditions.”
    For the first time in a very long time, Radcliffe allowed himself the liberty of a full smile, baring his teeth at her. “I said two conditions, dear girl. I didn’t mention how many rules, not once. Do try to keep up.”

Chapter Two
    The single steamer trunk could be called her prized possession. It also weighed a ton. Two feet tall and four feet across, Lance hauled the thing out of his trunk while she slung her backpack on her back. Radcliffe McQueen neither offered to help nor waited, instead sitting in the front seat of his rusty antique truck tapping the steering wheel as if he might drive away from her at any given moment.
    An artist by trade, Sheri had started what she considered her side venture years before. Like a calling, helping people gave meaning to her life and inspired her artwork.
    She named what she did “personality renovation”. Some people could look at an old battered house and see the potential, the hidden beauty. She found broken people, found their hidden potential, and helped them find peace and happiness. She couldn’t resist her fascination with the hermit author living in the same small town as her older brother, so she’d mixed business and pleasure and hopped a plane to visit Lance and check the author out in person.
    Radcliffe McQueen might be the most challenging case she ever assigned herself. Most of the people she met and “renovated” wanted to change, wanted to find happiness.
    The snarly old man didn’t look like he wanted anything from anyone. Then again, she’d barely scratched the surface with him. Her brother hefted the trunk into the back of the truck and she pulled him into a bear hug. “Thanks, Lance.”
    He returned the embrace, using the closeness to whisper in her ear. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? What if he tries something?”
    Pulling away, she shook her head. “I’ll be fine. He is not giving off that vibe at all. If anything, I think if I touched him, he’d be the one freaking out rather than vice versa. It’s fine. Besides, I have a cell phone. You’re not far. I’ll call you if he does even one strange thing.”
    “Today, artist. I’ve things to do besides wait on you.” McQueen called the words from his barely cracked window before rolling it back up with a protesting squeak.
    “Okay, I lied,” she modified. “I’ll call you if he does one strange thing that scares me.”
    Lance snorted and glared at the front of the truck. He looked like a little boy, worried the playground bully might bother his sister, so she punched his shoulder to relieve his concern. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.” Turning from him, she jogged around the truck and got in.
    McQueen didn’t look at her. Putting the truck in gear, he headed out of the parking lot.
    At a snail’s pace.
    She could almost feel herself aging in the time it took for McQueen to chug his slow and lumbering truck to his home on the outskirts of the small town. Another decade passed while he avoided potholes and meandered up his driveway. The entire drive, he neither spoke nor looked in her direction, keeping both hands firmly on the wheel at exactly ten and two. She cleared her throat. “So, you’re a very safe driver.” Complimenting those who needed renovating often built up long disregarded confidence, helping them to rejoin society as a functioning person.
    Radcliffe neither answered nor seemed impressed with her ability to find a silver lining. Actually, he could have gone deaf for all the response he gave her.
    Finally, after what seemed an endless amount of time in his passenger seat, he parked and shut off the truck. Getting out, he plodded in his hunched way to the house, not once glancing back.
    He neither opened the door for her nor offered to help with the steamer trunk. Sighing, she unbuckled her seatbelt and tossed her satchel on her back. It took her nearly a half hour