Page 12 of Making a Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #16)

Wesley

F ixing 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.”

“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 the suck my cock guy 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 and more 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.

I was lost. “What does it matter who writes it? The end result is the same.”

“Avoiding this article is like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. You know what I mean? The ship is going down one way or another,” Henry said.

I glanced towards Bill, Franny and Agnes who were all nodding in agreement. “Henry, I have no idea what that means.”

He moved up the steps and put a hand on my shoulder, a gesture I would have killed for my own father to do. “Having someone you care about write the article might be the lifeboat you need. The ship sinks but you survive the sinking. See?”

”I just want a chance,” Jill said. “Let me come up with a way to tell your story that doesn’t turn you into public enemy number one. A way that lets you stay here and hopefully a way that lets you forgive me for the shit storm I’ve stirred up.”

How could she possibly write the story in a way where I don’t come off as a sexist piece of shit? No media outlet had done it so far, although I doubted they had actually tried. I had nothing to lose. I wasn’t sure I had anything to gain at this point either. “Okay, do what you can.”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Agnes said, putting a hand on Jill’s arm. “ We will do what we can. You’re not in this alone, Wesley. We can all put our heads together and come up with a way to keep you here where you belong.”