Her Cowboy Soldier. Cindi Myers

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      CHAPTER 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 СКАЧАТЬ