Page 14 of Making a Mountain Man

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Anger flared in my chest. “That’s what you’re sorry about? Not about using me, but about not telling me after?”

She flinched. “It wasn’t like that. It isn’t like that.”

I took a deep breath, not wanting to yell or hurt her even when she had cut me so deep. “What is it like then?”

She gestured to the Adirondack chairs we’d sat in getting to know each other again just a week ago. She sank into a chair and I did the same. I wanted her to tell me a story that made this all better. I just wasn’t sure she could. “My editor assigned me a story about you. I didn’t realize it was you, though. The articles all had your mom’s last name.”

“Yeah, I changed it to avoid this exact situation.”

“The file my editor had on you had your dad’s last name. That’s when I realized thesuck my cockguy might be you. I asked around town, I wanted to know if it was you before I talked to you, but Agnes got between me and everyone before I could get to the bottom of it.”

I smiled a little. “Agnes is loyal but terrifying.”

She snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, when I came here that day and confirmed it was you, I knew I couldn’t write it. I knew I couldn’t be the reason your life got uprooted again. Especially after you kissed me. As soon as I left here that day, I told my editor that there was no story and that I would write something else.”

The pressure on my chest eased a little that I hadn’t been used. Unfortunately, the end result would be the same. A story would come out and I’d be back in the spotlight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut then turned to face me. A breeze cut through the summer heat making her hair dance around her jaw line. “I should have. I would have eventually. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“So why is Agnes on the warpath about an article coming out if you squashed it?”

“One of my coworkers picked up the story. I had no idea until I went into the office today.” She licked her lips. “I have an idea–”

Her sentence was cut off by the approach of a loud engine. It sounded like a big rumbling truck. When it came into view I saw Henry’s old boat of a car, which I suspected had a hole in the muffler.

The passenger side door opened and Agnes was out and coming up the driveway before the engine had even cut off. “Well, well, well. Here for another interview?”

All four seniors moved up my driveway and took up a post in front of my porch. Their loyalty was second to none.

Watching the blood drain from Jill’s face when Agnes confronted her should have been vindicating.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

Probably because I actually believed Jill when she said she wasn’t just using me for a story. Probably also because, whether I believe her or not, it wasn’t in her power to prevent anything from ever being written about me.

I pulled myself out of my own head and turned my attention to what Jill was saying. “Agnes, I swear I didn’t know the story was still going to be written. I think I have a solution. I just need to talk to Wesley.”

“Well, we think you’ve done enough,” Agnes said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Franny and Henry, with Bill bringing up the rear.

Watching the four best friends I had in the world attempt to come to my rescue caused my heart to do a little flip. Of everything in Springwood, I would miss them the most. “I want to hear her out,” I said, causing all four to turn their eyes to me.

“You sure about that?” Bill asked. He was a sensitive guy and the perfect person to talk to if your mental health was teetering. He also respected my ability to make my own choices, something Agnes and Henry were not as great at. I gave a nod and turned to face Jill. The view of my oldest friend looking frazzled and guilty just adding to the misery of the situation.

Jill repeated the story she’d told me. I felt like a fool for believing her but I did. Trust was hard to come by, but I had it in her. Too bad I wouldn’t be here long enough to use it.

The Fab Four seemed less interested in what Jill knew andmore concerned about how to stop the next journalist from blowing up my life.

At least they were thinking logically.

“We’re going to need details on this coworker of yours, then I can work my magic like I did on you.” Agnes, crossed her arms over her chest, oversized brown purse hanging off of one elbow.

Jill shook her head. “No, I already talked to my editor about it. She is letting me be the one to write the story.”

A sharp pain twisted in my chest again. My trust in Jill had pingponged between full to non-existent over the course of this conversation and it was wringing me dry. “Well, that makes sense. If anyone is going to get the career boost out of me being a dumbass it might as well be you.”

“I don’t think that is what she’s saying, son,” Bill said in his usual calm voice. He made eye contact with Jill for confirmation and she nodded.

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