never meant to hurt you or your friend, Jake. You have to believe me.”
He met her steady gaze with a questioning one of his own. “That might get you off the hook, but will it make me feel any better about having trusted you with information shared in confidence? Information I knew only because someone trusted me?”
“You didn’t tell me it was confidential.”
His throat tightened. Did she have no idea how he’d felt about her back then? How close he’d come to asking her to become a permanent part of his life? “I shouldn’t have had to tell you. That’s the thing.”
She still didn’t get it.
“I was supposed to be a mind reader?”
“I shouldn’t have had to preface my every word to my girlfriend with ‘not for publication, please.’”
Her eyes widened slightly. “I’m...sorry you feel that way, Jake. I don’t know what else to say.”
Head bowed as if in defeat, she turned away.
“Macy—”
She didn’t look at him.
He kept his voice low, beseeching. “My point is—”
“I think you’ve made your point, Jake.” She raised her head and started toward the church. Then, her back still to him, she abruptly stopped. “Thanks for introducing me to Taco and Beamer.”
Shaking back her hair, she briskly rounded the corner of the building.
He could easily have caught up with her before she reached the door, but he didn’t follow. For someone who was degreed in dispute resolution, he sure was making a muddle of it with Macy. What he’d intended as a few words to smooth things over ended up in another quarrel that didn’t resolve anything.
Maybe he needed to face it. The problems between them would never be resolved. Not as long as he was who he was and she was who she was.
* * *
His girlfriend? Is that how Jake had thought of her back then?
Macy stared out the window of the Canyon Springs Historical Museum late Monday afternoon, lost in thought.
Jake had never introduced her as his girlfriend. Never told her he loved her. Never talked about their future except maybe in the vaguest of ways—just enough to feed her dream that she’d found Mr. Right. She’d known she was young, six or seven years his junior and still a student while he’d been out in the real world practicing law for several years. She’d been painfully aware that he might not consider her a permanent fixture in his life. Yet she’d talked herself into being content with the unspoken promises made in the way he’d kissed her....
Macy stepped away from the window, shoving the still-vivid memories of his gentle touch to the far corners of her mind. Things seemed promising at first. But as winter departed and graduation loomed on the horizon, he’d offered no words of hope.
That’s when she’d faced reality. Sure, she could at any time have said “put up or shut up.” She could have told him to either admit he had feelings for her or keep his kisses to himself. But she hadn’t. What woman wanted to whine and bully a man into making her his wife? Although it might have made an amusing story to tell the grandkids.
But had his failure to make a commitment played a part in her decision to run with a news story inspired by his foot-dragging friend? Had Jake’s ambiguous behavior provoked her into calling her mother, who had contacts on the company’s board and who could stir up an internal investigation?
Of course not. She’d been over this a million times. A story was a story and she’d objectively determined this was one that needed to be told. That was all there was to it. Right?
“If you don’t mind, Macy—” Sandi Bradshaw Harding, president of the historical society and one of the three local brides who’d taken marital vows last December, reentered the room. Dark blue eyes apologetic, she tucked a strand of blond, blunt-cut hair behind her ear. “I need to pick up my daughter from her gymnastics lesson. You can continue sorting the photos if you’d like. I shouldn’t be gone long.”
Sandi checked something off in a red spiral notebook that seemed to keep her—and everyone around her—organized. A high school English teacher, she’d met with Macy after class dismissed for the day to give her the grand tour of the museum. This time of year it was only open on Saturdays or for prearranged visits by school groups and other visitors. But the summer season would start soon, so there was much to be done to get things in order.
For the past hour, Macy had assisted in sorting old photos while Sandi filled her in on her courtship and history of the museum.
When Sandi departed, Macy took the opportunity to further inspect her surroundings, pausing at the photos of Sandi’s first husband, Corporal Keith Anderson Bradshaw, who’d died in active duty in the Middle East. Then she moved back to the main room to study the plethora of Canyon Springs mementos from the past, many of them lining the museum’s walls. Old photos. Advertisements from the earliest of the town’s businesses. Framed maps and newspaper clippings.
Cell phone in hand, she speed-dialed her part-time assistant in St. Louis.
“Ava, I’m so happy you’re back from vacation. I have a project for you.” She continued to stroll along the perimeters of the room as she pictured her widowed friend. A sharp dresser with an even sharper mind, the African-American woman and Macy were neighbors in a high-rise complex. It had been a moment of mutual good fortune when they’d taken the same elevator up to the twelfth floor three years ago. They’d immediately become fast friends, and Macy had depended on her ever since to do the necessary research to add historical flavor to the blog.
“I was hoping to hear from you.” Ava’s soft voice held the barest of St. Louis accents. “Things are slow around here.”
Macy doubted that. Ava Darrington probably hadn’t had a slow moment since she’d made her debut into the world seven decades ago. Then, following her husband’s death, the petite retired college history professor became addicted to genealogy to fill in empty hours and stayed more than busy tracking connections for friends and family.
“Then I’m in luck. I need background on historically prominent townspeople. You know, fun facts.”
“You’d mentioned you were heading to a mountain town in Arizona this month.”
“Right. I’m working part-time at the Canyon Springs historical museum, so I’m gathering a few names that look promising for further research.”
“Let’s hear ’em, sweetie.”
Macy leaned closer to a grainy photo of a rather tough-looking couple standing by a log cabin, which boasted a hand-written sign proclaiming it as a dry goods store. She read the fine print aloud. “‘Orian Bigelow and his wife, Harva.’” She spelled the names. “The photo’s caption says circa 1928 and that they were proprietors of the first store and place of lodging in what later became Canyon Springs. Their story might make interesting reading if you can find any details.”
“1928,” Ava mused aloud. “So they got their start right before the Great Depression. I’ll check it out.”
