Читать книгу Her Cowboy Soldier - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
“WHAT DID YOU do to that reporter after the game?” Zach sauntered into Josh’s classroom Tuesday afternoon and tossed a copy of the Hartland Herald on his desk. “Sounds like she’s really got it in for you.”
“Amy Marshall?” While she’d been a little confrontational at first, Josh had thought he and Amy had parted friends. Luck Leads Wildcats To Another Victory proclaimed the headline on the front page. He picked up the paper and scanned the story, anger rising. “‘Coach Scofield noted that this game was meaningless, since the team has already been eliminated from the play-offs,’” he read. “That’s not what I said.”
“Did you get to the part where she points out that you’ve never coached before and much of your initial success has been due to luck?” Zach asked.
“How does she get away with saying something like that?”
“Is she an old girlfriend you dumped or something?” Zach asked.
“No. She just moved to town. Her grandmother is Bobbie Anderson. She has the orchard next to my folks’ place.”
“You obviously didn’t make a very good impression on her. Or maybe she doesn’t like baseball.”
Though Amy had struck Josh as a little reserved, he hadn’t sensed any outright hostility against him. Their conversation in the parking lot after the game had been friendly enough. He’d always thought of himself as a good judge of people, but clearly he’d been all wrong about Amy. “We’ll see about that,” he said.
“What are you going to do?” Zach asked.
“I’m going to talk to her. She owes me an apology.” He tapped the paper. “And a retraction.”
“Careful there,” Josh said. “Make a woman like that mad and no telling what she’ll find to print about you.”
He didn’t care what Amy Marshall had to say about him, as long as it was the truth, not half lies designed to stir up controversy. It was bad enough that Rick Southerland pointed out his shortcomings whenever possible. Knowing someone else—a reporter—agreed with critics like Rick stung. “I can’t let her get away with saying things like that about me,” he said. “I’m the new guy in this job. I constantly have to prove myself.”
“If you say so. But you might be better off just letting this die down on its own.”
Josh wished he could believe the idea that he’d gotten where he was through luck and favoritism would die down, but people like Rick would see that it didn’t. And there was always the chance that more people would join him in siding against Josh in every argument,
As soon as the last bell rang for the day, he drove to the produce stand. If Amy wasn’t there, Bobbie could tell him where to find her. But as he pulled his truck into a space near the front of the stand, he spotted Amy bent over a display of tomatoes. Her long brown hair fell across one cheek and she tucked it behind one ear with slender fingers, revealing a shy smile. The unexpected beauty and innocence of the moment made Josh’s heart thud hard. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself against the rush of emotion. Amy wasn’t his friend. She’d stabbed him in the back and all but ridiculed him in public. He couldn’t let his guard down around her.
She straightened as he approached and regarded him coolly, the smile vanished. “Hello, Josh.”
“We need to talk,” he said.
“I’m busy right now.” She picked up a tomato and weighed it in her hand, her slender fingers curled around the plump red fruit. Was she debating throwing it at him?
He suppressed a smile at the thought and called to Bobbie, who sat at the cash register across the stand. “You can spare Amy for a few minutes, can’t you, Bobbie?”
“Of course. Amy, you can give Josh a few minutes.” She looked over the top of her glasses like a stern schoolmarm.
Amy gave a little shake of her head, but walked out from underneath the canopy that covered the produce stall, to the shade of a gnarled elm. He followed her. Even at this distance the air was redolent with the smell of ripe tomatoes, peppers and onions, the fruits of the Anderson Orchards greenhouses. Josh had worked in similar greenhouses in college, a lifetime ago.
Amy stood with her back to him, arms folded across her chest. He’d come here all fired up to argue with her about the hatchet job she’d done on him in her article, but now she looked, not defenseless exactly, but vulnerable. “I read the article in the paper,” he said. “The one you wrote about the game.”
“Oh.” Her gaze met his, calm and steady. Unreadable.
“Why did you twist my words around?” he asked. “You left out everything I said about the kids and focused on everything negative.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “The story was not negative. I focused on what I saw as the real news angle—how an inexperienced coach managed to turn a losing team around.”
“You misquoted me.”
She unfolded her arms and drew herself up as tall as possible. “I did not.”
“All right, but you left out part of my words. That changed the meaning of what I said.”
“Nothing I wrote in that article is untrue.”
“It’s not exactly true, either.”
She relaxed her shoulders and lowered her voice, visibly pulling herself together. “I have a job to do and I’m trying to do it. That job isn’t to make you look good.”
“I don’t care if you make me look good, but if you’re going to tell a story, tell the whole story, not just the part you think makes good copy.”
She looked as if she really wished she had that tomato back. No projectiles handy, she settled for glaring at him; the fire in her eyes might have moved him if he hadn’t been the one she was searing with the heat. “Look, there’s nothing personal here,” she said. “I’m just trying to do my job.”
“And I’m trying to do mine, without people like you questioning my abilities.”
“The way you’re questioning my abilities?”
Ouch! Okay, so maybe he had that coming. “I already told you I thought you were a good writer. But maybe you should leave the sports stories to the regular sports reporter.”
“Oh, this is so typical!” Her pretense of calm vanished. Face flushed, she clenched her fists at her side. “You think the world revolves around you and what you want.”
“In this case, this is about me. My name is the one you’re smearing in the dirt with your article.” His voice rose, and he struggled to rein in his anger. He didn’t think of himself as an overly emotional guy, but Amy summoned a host of strong feelings, not all of them good, by any means.
“This isn’t about you,” she insisted. “This is about me. I’m the new reporter here in town and I have to prove myself.”
How many times had he said the same thing—that he had to prove that he was capable of teaching and coaching? He wasn’t just the wounded veteran who’d won the job out of pity; he was capable and talented and the best man for the job. Did Amy really think people were judging her the way they judged him?
“You don’t have to prove yourself,” he said. “People already accept you. You’re Bobbie’s granddaughter.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter to an editor in Denver.”
“Why do you care what an editor in Denver thinks?”
“Denver or Dallas, or any city where I try to get a job once I leave here. I need solid clips that show I can write more than fluff about the local 4-H and tedious reports about city council meetings. I need to show I can uncover the real meat of a story.”
“So you decided to go after me to showcase your skills?”
“I didn’t go after you. I went after the story.”
“I don’t get it,” he said. “It’s a baseball game. Why try to stir up controversy?”
“I’m a journalist. I’m trained to look for the story behind the story.”
“This is the Hartland Herald, not the National Enquirer. There is no story behind the story.”
“I don’t agree with you. I think your story is much more interesting than a baseball game.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You came home from the war and slipped right into a good job and a good life, no problems at all. Do you know how lucky that is? How unusual, even?”
“How do you know I don’t have problems? You don’t even know me.”
“I know the school board went out of its way to make a place for you, and chose you over other candidates who may have been more qualified.”
“So you don’t think I deserve my job?” Saying the words hurt. He hated that she saw him as a charity case.
“Not if every veteran doesn’t get those breaks.”
Every veteran—or the one who could never enjoy the “breaks” he had, because he’d never made it home from the war? Until that moment, he’d forgotten Amy was a war widow. “I’m sorry about your husband,” he said. “But that’s not my fault.”
“This has nothing to do with Brent.”
“Doesn’t it?”
She looked away, but not before he recognized the hurt in her eyes. He felt like a heel for reminding her of that pain. So what if he’d lost a hand? Her husband—and by extension, she and her daughter—had made the ultimate sacrifice. He really was lucky by comparison.
“Never mind,” he said, and turned away.
“Never mind what?”
“Write whatever you want about me. It’s up to me to prove myself despite the naysayers.”
He turned and strode back to his truck, aware of her gaze boring into him. He’d been struggling to prove himself to someone most of his life—his coaches, his father, his superior officers. But most of all, he constantly battled to live up to his own high expectations. One woman’s story in the local paper wasn’t going to change that.
* * *
AMY DIDN’T KNOW who she was more furious with—Josh for questioning the truthfulness of her article, or herself for letting him get to her. So what if she had presented the facts in a particular way to shape her story? That was part of her job, wasn’t it? And maybe the real reason he was upset was because she’d hit too close to the truth. She shouldn’t feel guilty about that, should she?
“What was all that about?” Bobbie didn’t even feign disinterest when Amy returned to the produce stall.
“He was upset about the story I wrote for the paper.” She began picking through a bin of tomatoes, setting aside those with soft spots.
“That story didn’t exactly paint him in the most flattering light.”
“It’s not my job to make him look good.” Amy tossed the tomatoes into a barrel where they saved spoiling vegetables and fruit for a local farmer who fed the produce to his pigs.
“Hartland isn’t Denver,” Bobbie said. “News doesn’t have to be bad to be news.”
“Why are you taking his side?” She tried and failed to hide her hurt.
“I’m not trying to take sides, but if I did, I’d be on your side. If you want to fit in here, you shouldn’t go alienating people right off the bat.”
“Who said I want to fit in?” At Bobbie’s hurt look, Amy wished she could take the words back. “I’m sorry, Grandma. Of course I want to fit in while I’m here.”
Bobbie turned to wait on a young woman who was buying tomatoes, onions and green beans. When they were alone again, she addressed Amy. “I was hoping you’d come to see this place as your home, someplace you’d want to settle down and raise Chloe.”
“I’m not sure I’m the settling down type.” Did she even know what a real home felt like? “But don’t worry. I’ll stay here as long as you need me. When do you see the doctor again?”
Bobbie shifted on her stool, the lines around her face deeper. Was her hip bothering her? Amy knew if she asked, her grandmother would tell her not to fuss. Bobbie hated to be fussed over. “Neal’s taking me tomorrow for a progress report.”
“That’s good.” Not for the first time, Amy wondered what the real relationship was between Bobbie and her neighbor Neal Kuchek. Boyfriend didn’t seem an appropriate term for a man who was in his seventies, but he and Grandma were certainly close. Nice to think that romance could be a part of life even at their age.
“I’ve been thinking,” Bobbie said. “You need to do something besides work here and at the paper. You need to get involved in the town.”
“Involved?”
“A community like this runs on volunteers. You can’t get a feel for what living here is really like unless you throw your lot in with the rest of us and get your hands dirty.”
Amy didn’t want to get her hands dirty. What was the point, since she didn’t intend to stay in town any longer than necessary? “Grandma, I—”
“Humor an old woman. Or think of it as something else you can write about. I want you to find one volunteer project you can get involved in. It’ll be a good way for you to get to know people, to know more what life is like here. Maybe then you’ll understand that giving Josh that coaching job wasn’t an act of charity, but the right way to look after one of our own.”
So that’s what this was all about—another way to defend Josh. “I don’t have anything against Josh,” she protested.
“That’s good to know.” Bobbie’s smile had more steel that sweetness behind it. “Then you won’t mind looking for something good to write about him. As a favor to me.”
“Grandma, I can’t write a story for the paper just to be nice. It has to be news.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” she said. “You’re a very resourceful young woman.”
Right. Resourceful. She’d been resourceful writing the story about Josh in the first place. She’d been proud of that story—she still was. And she resented that everyone—well, at least Josh and her grandmother—was trying to make her feel guilty about it. One more reason she wasn’t cut out for small-town living. People in a city would surely have more respect for journalism, and less of a personal stake in every story.
* * *
JOSH WAS ON the agenda to speak to the school board the following Thursday, not a job he relished, especially in the wake of the unwelcome publicity from Amy’s newspaper article. So far the reaction he’d heard from the article had been divided—Josh’s friends thought he hadn’t gotten a fair shake, while others applauded Amy for shedding light on a clear case of favoritism. Josh preferred to lie low and wait for the whole thing to blow over. Unfortunately, having to appear before the school board made that impossible.
Groaning inwardly, he settled into a chair near the back of the room and steeled himself for a boring wait. Only then did he spot Amy in the second row, rich brown hair falling around her shoulders as she leaned forward to scribble something in the reporter’s notebook in her lap. Was she waiting to twist his words tonight into something even more damning?
After the usual business of roll call and approval of minutes, school board president Al Hirschmer scanned the agenda, then addressed the crowd. “I see the first item of business is a proposal by someone called Love Soldier? Is that a typo? Is Love Soldier here?”
Amid some laughter a tall woman, her black hair in pigtails, stood and made her way to the microphone at the front of the room. “Erica Bridegate, why didn’t you just say it was you?” one of the board members, Ashley Frawley, said.
Erica’s cheeks reddened, but she held her head high. “I prefer Love Soldier.” She adjusted the microphone, the two dozen bracelets on her arm sounding like a whole drawerful of dropped silverware. “I’m here to ask the board to support my proposal to turn the vacant lot next to the elementary school into a garden. The students can help grow vegetables and learn about agriculture and healthy food, and the school cafeteria can save money on fresh vegetables.”
“What is that lot used for now?” Roger Perkins asked.
“The maintenance staff parks the plow truck there when it’s not in use,” Al said. “And I believe there are a couple of Dumpsters there.”
“The school should be able to find somewhere else for those things,” Erica/Love said. “I propose to build raised beds there and help the children grow tomatoes, beans, lettuce and other vegetables they can eat. Or they could sell the excess to finance other school projects.”
“That sounds good,” Roger said. “But you can’t just dig up a vacant lot and have a garden. What are you going to build these raised beds out of?”
“Tony Gillespie has a big pile of bricks from the old stables he tore down that he said he’d donate if the school board will give him a letter so he can take the value of the bricks off his taxes,” she said. “And Nancy Metheny said she’d get her brother to till up the dirt if I thought this would get her son, Nicky, to eat vegetables.”
“So all you need from us is permission?” Ashley asked.
“Permission and an agreement to pay the water bill. And maybe build a fence to keep out wandering dogs and things.”
“I knew there was a catch,” Ashley said to no one in particular.
“The school doesn’t have money for a fence or a bigger water bill,” the third board member, Stephanie Olefski, said. “And I seriously doubt kids can eat enough vegetables to make up the difference.”
This launched a lengthy debate about the merits of fresh vegetables, the aesthetic value of fences and what kind of watering system a garden might need. Josh passed the time studying the way Amy’s hair reflected the light, and the curve of her cheek—the only part of her face he could really see from this angle.
As if feeling his gaze on her, she turned, and when their eyes met, he read a challenge there—as if she expected him to confront her once more and she was prepared for the verbal battle. But he had no intention of arguing with Amy—certainly not in public. Zach had been right—if she considered him her enemy, she was more likely to continue to go after him in the paper. Better to pretend he had no beef with her and hope she’d soon turn her attention to a more exciting story.
“If I find someone to donate the fencing, and volunteers to erect it, can the school pay for the water?” Erica was saying now.
“Do we have any idea how much the water will cost?” Ashley asked. “We can’t commit to an unknown cost. Are we talking one hundred dollars or one thousand dollars?”
“I suppose that depends on how much it rains,” Roger said.
Josh raised his hand. Al regarded him with something like relief in his expression. “Mr. Scofield, do you have something to add?”
Feeling a little self-conscious under the scrutiny of every eye in the room, Josh stood. “The elementary school has a metal roof. Perhaps we could install a cistern and some kind of collection system and use the rain we collect to water the garden.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” Eyes shining, Erica looked at him as if he’d just offered her a diamond ring. “And so green. It will teach the children about recycling.”
“Don’t you have to have a permit from the state to do something like that?” Stephanie asked.
“I could look into that,” Josh said.
“Then I propose we table a decision until we have a report on the feasibility of a water collection system and the costs involved.” Al banged down his gavel. “All in favor?”
The vote was unanimous in favor of the motion. Erica mimed that she would talk to Josh more later, and he sat down again. But he was scarcely settled in his chair when Al called his name. “Mr. Scofield, I believe you’re next on the agenda.”
“Don’t tell me you’re looking for money, too,” Ashley quipped.
“Actually, I am.” Josh cleared his throat and tried to focus his thoughts. “I’d like for my students to attend a science bee in Durango next month. We’d need a bus and driver to take us there and back for the day, plus the participation fee of ten dollars per student.”
“And how many students are we talking about?” Al asked.
“I have twenty who’d be eligible to attend, but I think about twelve would actually go, plus adult sponsors.”
“So, $120, plus salary for a driver for the day, plus the gas for the bus...” Stephanie looked thoughtful.
“I don’t think the school board should spend money on extracurricular activities that benefit only a handful of students in these dire economic times.”
Josh didn’t have to turn around to know who spoke.
“Mr. Southerland, you need to request to be recognized by the board before you speak,” Al said.
“I apologize.” Rick rose and stood, gripping the back of the chair in front of him. “May I speak?”
“The chair recognizes Rick Southerland,” Al said.
“I think it sets a bad precedent for the board to fund trips like this science bee at a time when you’ve been forced to lay off personnel,” Rick said. “Today it’s a science bee. Tomorrow it’s a spelling bee or a debate tournament or a trip to a museum.”
“Those are all educational enrichment activities,” Stephanie said.
“Yes, but they’re also expensive,” Rick said. “And we can’t afford expensive.” He glanced at Josh. “People come here from the city with big ideas about what our kids need, but what they really need is the good education we can give them right here.”
Josh wondered if Rick was planning a run for school board next election; he sounded just like a politician delivering a campaign speech.
“I’m not from the city,” Josh pointed out. “I grew up here in Hartland.”
“And do you think that entitles you to some special favoritism?” Rick sneered. “Or don’t we all already know the answer to that question?”
Josh groaned. “I don’t think—”
“He makes a good point.” Roger sat back in his chair. “Not the local thing—I don’t care about that. But I don’t think this is a good use of our funds. If the kids want to go to the science bee, their parents can pay the ten dollars and they can carpool there.”
Murmurs of agreement circulated around the table and a few seconds later Josh sat down, his request for funds denied and the meeting adjourned.
Had Rick come here tonight specifically to shoot down Josh’s proposal? Josh hadn’t seen his fellow teacher walk into the room, but maybe he’d been too focused on Amy to notice anything else. And speaking of Amy, what would she make of all this? Would she say he’d played up his status as a local to ask for special favors from the board? That was ridiculous, but no more ridiculous than her assertion that the baseball team’s winning record was all due to luck, or that he’d gotten his job solely because he was a veteran.
He needed to talk to Amy and set the record straight before another wild story made it into the paper. But before Josh could reach Amy, Erica waylaid him. “That was a wonderful idea you had about the water collection and all,” she said. “I’m really looking forward to working with you on this project. I was thinking maybe we could apply for some grants and—”
“Uh-huh.” Josh watched as Amy walked out the door. “Maybe we could talk later,” he said to Erica. “I have something I need to do right now.”
He stepped into the hallway and looked around. Amy moved away from the two women she’d been talking with and came toward him. “What is your reaction to the school board’s denying your request for the money to attend the science bee?” she asked.
She was in full reporter mode, mini recorder in hand. “Hello, Amy,” he said. “How are you this evening?”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “I’m fine, Josh. In a little hurry to make the paper’s deadline. Are you upset the school board denied your request for funds?”
He chose his words carefully, all the while watching her, trying to gauge her reaction. “The school board has to weigh many requests for funds,” he said. “They have a tough job and a duty to be fiscally responsible. I’m still hoping the students can attend the science bee. I’ll be asking their parents to help make that happen, and I welcome any other volunteers from the community who’d like to help.”
“Very nicely done.” She switched off the recorder and stuck it in her purse. “Any idea why Rick Southerland spoke out so vehemently against the proposal?”
“I assume he objects to the school board spending any extra money.”
“He hasn’t attended any of the meetings I’ve covered. And something about his manner...I think this was more personal.”
He was tempted to tell her the whole story, but reminded himself that his words might end up on the front page of next week’s edition of the Hartland Herald. “Must be your imagination. Rick and I work together, but I really don’t know him well.”
“And now you’ve volunteered to help Love Soldier with her gardening project. That’s very civic-minded of you.”
Did he imagine the teasing note in her voice? “Her idea is a good one. I hated to see it shot down before we at least tried to find a solution. I worked on a couple of rainwater collection projects in college.”
“Any idea why she changed her name to Love Soldier?”
“You’d have to ask her, but Erica has always been a little alternative.”
“Then you know her?”
“We were in school together. Besides, stay in Hartland long enough and you get to know everyone.”
“My grandmother keeps assuming I already know everyone the way she does. She was convinced you and I had met before, but I had to remind her I was only here for a few weeks in the summer.”
“I don’t think we’d met before.” He liked to think he would have remembered if they’d known each other before, but who could say what kind of an impression she’d have made on him when she was a girl? He’d spent more time focused on baseball and horses than chasing after girls.
“I’ll help you with the science bee, if you like,” she said.
He didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Do you really want to spend the day with a bunch of high school kids?”
She shrugged. “I think it would make an interesting story for the paper.”
“Is that the real reason, or are you just looking for an excuse to follow me around and report on other signs of inexperience or special treatment?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll report on what I see, the same as I’d do with anyone.”
“As long as you don’t single me out for any special attention. I wouldn’t want that, no matter what some people think.”
A blush of color suffused her cheeks again—from anger, or some other emotion? “No special attention,” she said. “Not from me.”
She started to turn away, but he touched her shoulder. “I don’t want us to be enemies,” he said.
“You’re not my enemy. I told you before—I’m just doing my job.”
Right. And someone had to matter to you in some way in order for them to be your enemy. Amy obviously felt nothing for him except that resentment she apparently felt for any veteran who had what her late husband did not—namely, a life. He couldn’t change those feelings with an apology or a smile. “The science bee is next month. I’ll let you know.”
“Fine.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “See you around.”
“Yeah. See you around.”
Josh watched her retreat—that’s what it felt like to him, anyway. She didn’t run out of the building, but he sensed she wanted to. What was she running from? Was his presence really so offensive to her?
He’d been crazy to agree to let her come along on the science bee trip. The day would be awkward and tense and he’d probably come off looking bad in the article she wrote.
“Where is she off to in such a hurry?” Erica joined him. “I wanted to talk to her about the school garden.”
“She said she had a deadline for the paper.”
“Oh. Well, maybe I’ll call her tomorrow.”
He started to tell Erica to avoid talking about his involvement in the project when she talked to Amy. No sense stirring up animosity. But explaining his reasoning to “Love Soldier” would be too awkward. “I guess you want to talk about the irrigation system,” he said. “We could discuss it over coffee.”
“Thanks. We should do that, but not tonight. My boyfriend is waiting up, and I really want to get home and tell him all about what happened tonight.”
“What’s his name?”
“George Ramirez. You don’t know him. He’s from Berkley.”
“And his name’s George?” Not Rainbow or Peace Brother or something equally as colorful as Love Soldier?
She grinned. “He’s not into the name thing like I am. Though I’m beginning to think Love Soldier might be a little too far-out for Hartland.”
“Erica is a nice name.”
She wrinkled her nose. “But it doesn’t really say anything, you know?”
Josh thought he understood. He was proud of the name he’d been born with, but he sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t be easier if he’d come to town as a stranger, without his family name and history to brand him as a local. Would people like Rick and Amy hassle him less if he was an outsider?
“Anyway, thanks for backing me up tonight,” Erica continued. “We’ll talk soon, I promise.”
She left in a flurry of gauze skirts and flying pigtails. Home to share her news with the man she loved. A tightness in his chest pinched at him. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he was jealous of Erica and George—and Rick and his wife and all those people who had other people to go home to.
How much worse was it, though, for Amy? She had known that kind of love, that connection with another person, and war had taken that away. Josh might have lost a hand in Iraq, but she had lost so much more. He could replace his hand with a hook or a prosthesis, but would another man for Amy be like his hand—a dim imitation of what she really wanted?
Maybe that was at the heart of all his mixed feelings for Amy. As much as her treatment of him in the paper angered him, he sympathized with her plight. The war hurt men and women like her who had waited at home every bit as much as it injured and killed their loved ones who fought. He was one more reminder of that hurt. Just as well she wasn’t planning to stay in Hartland long. Her leaving town would be the best thing for both of them.
