Page 13 of Making a Mountain Man

She crossed her arms over her chest as if this little change of plans didn’t have the potential to fuck up my love life. “Jill, what is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed and gestured to the chair across from her desk which I dropped into. “I’m your boss but I’m also your friend. Why are you so invested in this particular story and whether it gets written or not? You know this is not how journalism works.”

I did know. Especially for a newspaper. We needed to get stories out quickly, one publication a week. Not to mention that a lot of what we wrote about was time sensitive. Agonizing over and rehashing a story idea for this long wasn’t even close to the norm. I needed Heather on my side and I saw no way to get there except to tell the truth. “I started researching Wesley’s story. In the last year he has relocated, changed his last name, and now lives up on Strawberry Hill hiding from the world. It didn’t seem fair to throw his life into turmoil again.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and studied me. “So he means something to you, is that it?”

“I slept with him.” The words flew out of my mouth and I sank further into my chair, as she blinked at me.

“Wait, you slept with Anthony or thesuck my cock guy.”

“Thesuck my cock guy, Wesley. I realized I knew him from when we were kids. We grew up together. I…we…there might be something there. Something real.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “So did you kill the story because there isn’t one or because you don’t want to drag your boyfriend’s name through the mud?”

“There’s nothing new to tell besides a man hiding from the world because he was made an example of. The punishment didn’t fit the alleged crime at the time and sure as hell doesn’t make sense to put him through it a second time.”

“So, what’s the truth about why you wanted to kill the story then?”

“I don’t know. Some weird, misplaced protective instinct, I guess.”

She smirked. “How’d that work out?”

I shot her a look.

“What do you want me to do here, Jill? Tell a journalist not to write a story because another journalist has a crush? This story will hit the news again at some point. You’re fighting an uphill battle.”

She was right and I knew that. Still, I had to do something. “Let me write it then. I can write it some way that won’t blow his life up.”

She rolled her lips under. “I need something to print, Jill. I can’t put out a blank newspaper because stories keep getting shuffled.”

My heart was starting to race. I understood where she was coming from but I couldn’t take no for an answer. Not on this. Not with him. “I’ll get you enough puff pieces to fill a hundred newspapers if you just assign this one to me and call Anthony off.”

Her eyes softened and I knew I had won before she gave the nod.

Note: Fix this clusterfuck.

Chapter 12

Wesley

Fixing the leaky sink at the seniors center was as simple as a new gasket. I did the familiar task on autopilot then snuck out the side door to avoid talking to Agnes and the rest of the Fab Four. After a year in Springwood, my past had caught up with me. That was a hard enough pill to swallow without considering Jill’s part in it. To what extent our interactions were real and what was fake, I had no idea. What I did know was that she was tasked with writing a story about me and she didn’t tell me. She knew my whole sordid past and didn’t mention that either.

All traces of the optimism I had felt just this morning evaporated as I pulled into my driveway. My eyes caught on the new stairs, the roof repairs and the Adirondack chairs on the front porch. I had spent hours on this place, clearing brush, pressure washing the outside, upgrading electrical and plumbing where it was needed. It was slowly becoming mine,and now I’d probably have to leave it.

It was bad enough when my face had become recognizable in a big city. In a small place like Springwood? Everyone would know who I was, or think they did, anyway. I wouldn’t be Wesley - plumber, handyman and friend to senior citizens. I’d be the misogynist. The bad guy. The face of every toxic man a woman had ever met.

The sound of an engine cut through my pity party before I’d even gotten my key in my front door. Without turning around, I knew who it was and I hated that my heart gave a little skip.

Jill.

She thought I mattered enough to come to my cabin and talk to me. The question was, was it for a story or did she actually care that she had sold me out?

“Wesley,” I heard her feet pound against my driveway as she scrambled after me.

I steeled myself before turning to face her. “I hear I’m going to be famous. Again.”

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