Page 46 of Finding Home

Julie wrapped her hands around her mug. “I was hoping you’d say that. We’re having a meeting next week to get things started. I’m sure there’ll be things you can help with.” She took a deep breath. “Griffin Rowe called me today. He’s the editor at the Flathead Beacon newspaper.”

Cole set down his coffee cup.

Julie grinned. “He offered me the position. I’m now the Beacon’s senior investigative reporter.” She studied Cole’s face. “I’ll have editorial input and I can work from Sapphire Bay for a couple of days a week. It’s everything I wanted.”

Cole leaned back in his chair. The smile on his face was the real kind—the one that reached his eyes and stayed there. “Senior investigative reporter.” He shook his head slowly. “That’s exactly what you should be doing.”

“I know.” Julie laughed a little, surprised by how much it meant to hear him say it out loud. “I nearly drove into a ditch when I saw his number on my phone.”

Cole’s eyes widened. “I hope you didn’t.”

Julie shook her head. “I pulled over before I did any damage.” She turned her mug in her hands. “Griffin wants me to start straightaway. He also asked me to write a series of investigative articles about what’s been happening at Finley Point.”

Cole’s expression changed from warm and uncomplicated, to worried.

“Griffin has a contact in the planning office,” Julie continued. “He’s been tracking it for weeks. The Finley Point story is the reason he wanted someone with my background.”

The warmth in Cole’s face didn’t disappear. It pulled back, quietly, the way light shifts when a cloud moves across it.

“He gave me two weeks to write the first article.” Julie watched Cole work through what she’d said. He wasn’t reacting, just turning it over carefully. She’d seen him do the same thing when Noah had given him the first engineering report after the fire. Only that time the news hadn’t been good.

“The resort’s main investor is arriving from Denver next week,” Cole said at last.

Julie looked at him. She didn’t know why that made a difference. “I don’t need to interview him for the story.”

Cole ran his hand around the back of his neck. “He’s already nervous about funding the resort. He only agreed to be part of the project because of the community’s support and because I have a track record of getting developments built. If the paper prints your stories, it could scare him off and put the future of the resort at risk.”

Julie hadn’t thought about the investors. She’d been so deep inside the story that she’d been thinking about it the way she always thought about a story. As something that needed to come out. She hadn’t considered what impact it could have on the project.

“What if you called the investors and told them everything?” Julie asked. “Surely they’d understand.”

“It isn’t only Jensen or the other investors,” Cole continued. “The local contractors and the community groups who came out for us when the project was at its lowest point, all trust me. If the story breaks without context, without anyone explaining that the people behind the sabotage failed and the resort is still worth building—” He stopped. “It could do real damage. To the project and to everything I’ve told people this place could be.”

The disappointment settled somewhere behind Julie’s ribs. She’d told Cole the best news she’d had in a long time. And now she was trying to understand how her job could cost him everything he couldn’t afford to lose.

“Griffin didn’t only hire me for this story,” she said carefully. “But it’s a big part of it.” She looked at Cole steadily. “If I call him tomorrow and ask him to hold everything while you get your investors sorted, he’s going to wonder whether he should have given me a job. I’ve been out of work for months. I don’t have the kind of standing yet where I can ask an editor to wait on a story he’s already been sitting on for six weeks.”

Cole looked at the table. He didn’t say anything.

“I wouldn’t write it the way you’re imagining,” she said. “I want you to know that.”

Cole looked up.

Julie saw the disappointment in his eyes. “I know the difference between a story that exposes wrongdoing and one that just causes damage.” She kept her voice even, but firm. “The series I’d write would be about the Sargeson Group and what Marcus Harmon did. It would be about a competitor who tried to destroy something legitimate because he wanted the land and the market for himself. That’s the story. It isn’t about a resort that’s in trouble, or an investor who didn’t know what was happening. It’s the opposite. It’s about a project that survived because the people behind it were doing things right.”

Cole sat back in his chair. He seemed a little less worried.

“Your investors would read about a developer whose project was targeted because it had genuine community support and was being run with integrity. That’s not a story that undermines your investors’ confidence. It’s the story that explains why someone felt threatened enough to try to stop you.”

Cole ran his hand around the back of his neck. “Just give me four days,” he said. “I’m happy for you to write the story, but I need the investors to hear the full story from me first. Then I have a chance to frame it properly. If they read it after you publish the story, I’m starting from behind.”

Julie bit her bottom lip. While Cole was talking to the investors, she could be writing the articles. What he was asking wasn’t unreasonable, and Griffin had given her two weeks to write the story. But it still didn’t sit comfortably on her shoulders.

“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll start writing the story, while you talk to your investors. But how are you going to speak to them? You’re not supposed to be working.”

“I’ll be okay. Noah can arrange a meeting in Jansen’s hometown. If we fly there, I should be fine.” Cole reached across the table and rested his hand on Julie’s. “I know how much this means to you. I’m not asking lightly.”

“I know you’re not.”