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Franny glowers. “They did scoop me on the vandalism at Founder’s Park.”
Holmes replies, “Thought that was teenagers carving their initials in the wooden benches; how is that news?”
“Everything is news when we’re a daily paper desperate for copy,” Franny mumbles.
I’ve had enough of the back and forth. Forgetting my announcement, I open my laptop on the conference table and type “the drop” into the search bar. I have to scroll through a few pages and add more specific terms, but finally, I find it.
The main story on the home page is about someone’s horse calling 9-1-1 after kicking its rider in the chest.
I scroll down a bit, and there is a photo of Nate and me kissing at Bean There. You can only see the back of my head, but it’s obvious that’s what is happening. Under the photo is the caption, “Local resort heir who dated his stepmom sets sights on young reporter.”
I read on and barely notice Jessica sitting down beside me. “You probably don’t want to keep reading,” she calmly advises.
“Like hell I don’t!” I snap.
Reading on, the story claims that five years ago, Nate Jones dated then ghosted the local baker, Mariam Webb, who turned out to be engaged to his dad, the well-respected owner of Jesse J Resort and Ranch. There was a big shouting match about it, according to some employees at the resort who overheard the entire thing.
There’s a quote: “The Dropspoke to one anonymous source who witnessed the tawdry love triangle. ‘My memory isn’t perfect; it was a long time ago,’ says a resort employee hired during the younger Jones’ playboy heyday. ‘But what I saw was pretty messed up. The guy started his business with stolen machinery, from what I understand. So, I wouldn’t trust him to date my daughter, no.’”
Love triangle? That cannot be true.
My heart is already lodged in my throat as I read this. When my eyes land on my name, my head explodes. “Twenty-one-year-old Meredith Poole, the newest reporter at the flailingDarling Creek Daily News, has apparently taken a shine to Jones and has been seen in the barista’s shop every morning for the past six months, despite having been in a committed relationship for the majority of that time.”
My laptop snaps shut. “Breathe, honey.The Dropis nothing but gossip and bullshit. Don’t worry about it.”
I look at Jessica and nod slowly, though my heart is breaking. I moved to Montana to escape the gossip of my hometown, and now this.
“Why would someone talk about me like that?”
Jessica only grimaces. “I don’t know. We don’t know who is writing this crap. If you want the real story, talk to Nate.”
Oh, I intend to.
I hadn’t noticed Donna scooting up next to me on the other side. “Sweetie,” Donna says. “You look white as a sheet again. Are you going to throw up? That’s it; I’m taking you to the doctor.”
Donna’s arm grasps my shoulders as if that 60-something small-framed woman could force me out of a chair. “Let’s go.”
Stress, hormones, and now panic have taken over, and I blurt, “I’m not sick! I’m pregnant!”
The room goes quiet. Everyone stares at me. Jessica squeezes my hand, and Donna has that look she gets whenever she senses someone is about to quit on her.
“So,” Donna says, blowing out a breath. “Guess it’s not a stomach bug.”
ChapterThirteen
Nate
Meredith picks at her meal and frowns.
Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones. They wreak havoc with smell and taste, from what I’ve heard.
“Do you want to order something else? Do you want to go to the Corner Cafe instead for an ice cream sundae?” I ask.
She looks up from her plate, her eyes searching and her lips twisted as if trying to decide how to broach a subject.
“Is something wrong?” I press.
“You tell me,” she finally says.
