Lucinda was surprised that Harris didn't try to contact her after her secretive departure. She'd expected him to call and scold her, but now, three weeks later, more than surprised, she was hurt. Obviously, he'd been playing her for a fool. She'd just been another conquest to add to his groupies. However, in her heart, she knew that wasn't true. Harris didn't do the "groupie" thing. He was a man of character and honesty—qualities she was lacking.
Flipping through the Sunday newspaper while waiting for her morning coffee to brew, she came to the section that would carry her piece on Harris the next Sunday. She shivered with dread. She was about to do something that would catapult her career, but leave Harris and his family vulnerable. She hadn't slept well in weeks, worrying about the outcome.
She heard the coffeepot sputter as the last of the water filled the carafe and went to pour a cup of the extra strong brew. Taking her cup to the deck off the bedroom in her third floor apartment, she sank into a plastic chair overlooking a block of apartments. Her ideal location would have been any place with a view of Puget Sound, but those residences were way over her budget. She barely made ends meet now, which was another reason she needed the article on Harris and his family to be published. Her raise was contingent on the article.
Opening the book she'd grabbed from her bedside table on the way outside, she flipped to the back and scanned some original quotes from a diary that had been reproduced by the author, Harris' mother. The book was The Gift, written under Tooty's pen name of Anna Belle.
Monday, March 27, 1865
Each day has been a battle to keep the soldier alive. Sometimes, I can't seem to feel his heartbeat and I fear he has gone to heaven, for surely heaven will be his home after suffering so much in this life. We've had to pour liquor on his wounds several times because of the infection. Although he tries not to yell, the pain is too much and he does. Tears fall from his eyes and he brushes them quickly away. Afterward, I run outside and cry until my eyes hurt, then I return to sit beside him and stroke his face and hair with a cool cloth. Sometimes he opens his eyes and I'm blessed to see their blueness.
She closed the book and tears gathered. Harris, like his ancestors, was honorable and principled, and he truly cared about others. She couldn't betray him or his family. Not even for her career. Not even for money. First thing in the morning, she would beg her editor to scrub the piece as it was written and tell him to forget the raise. She would rewrite the article today and give him the new version tomorrow.
Harris pulled on his Levis. His forearm was still in a cast, but it no longer hurt so he could use it for most tasks. As for his ribs, they still hurt if he turned a certain way, but his lung had healed and he felt great. He hummed as he dressed because he was about to catch a flight to Seattle to confront Lucinda. He was going to reprimand her and then kiss her senseless.
There was a knock on his door and Eli entered without waiting for a reply. Harris was about to pull on his T-shirt when he saw Eli's ashen face. Concerned, he said, "You okay, bro? You look like hell."
His brother handed him a newspaper. "Before you leave for Seattle you better read this." He laid the paper on Harris' bed and left the room without explanation. Harris glanced at the paper as foreboding skated up his spine. Under the section LIFE AND STYLE from the Seattle Daily was written, The Secret Life of Rodeo Star Harris Brightman. Harris searched for the byline, already knowing what he'd find: Lucinda Bergamot. He sat on his bed to read.
Halfway through the article he wanted to puke. Lucinda had exposed everything about his mother's illegitimate pregnancy at sixteen, his birthfather, his famous adopted father, and even the unexpected meeting between his mother and birthfather.
He read the entire article and then dropped the paper to the floor. His family's "dirty laundry," so to speak, had been aired before the world. His throat closed up and tears pricked his eyes. Lucinda had betrayed him, and in the process, he'd betrayed his family.
Eli stepped back into the doorway and Harris lifted teary eyes to his brother's concerned expression. "She betrayed us," he said flatly. Then his emotions took over and he slammed the fist of his casted arm into the headboard. The pain made him gasp, but he didn't care. He started to do it again, but Eli rushed forward to grab his arm. "No!" he shouted. "That won't help anything." He sat beside Harris.
Harris hung his head in misery. After a minute he reached for his cell phone and speed dialed his father. Miles answered on the first ring. "If you're calling about the article, I've already read it. I got a call from my agent and he sent me a link to the story online."
Harris could barely speak, but he managed to choke out, "I'm so sorry, Dad. I had no idea she was such a snake. I don't know how she discovered all this, but I should never have let a reporter travel with us. My ego is to blame." Then he released a sob.
"Harris…Harris…Harris!"
Catching his breath, Harris said, "I'll make her pay for this, I'll ruin her career–"
Miles interrupted, "You'll do no such thing, son. Your mother and I always knew that someone might dig this up, so we're not devastated. In fact, for many years we got used to being tabloid fodder, so this is just a little bump in the road. We'll weather it just fine. And you shouldn't feel guilty because…just a minute." He paused. "Your mother is about to grab the phone from me if I don't hand it over." Harris heard his father say, "Okay, Tooty, here, talk to our son." A moment later his mother said, "Harris, the last thing we want is for you to blame yourself. You're a good man and, frankly, it's almost a relief not to wonder if someone's going to discover our past and print it. In fact, Lucinda did a rather nice job in her piece."
Harris couldn't believe his mother's words and gaped at Eli.
"What?" Eli asked.
He just shook his head. His tears had dried and he reiterated to his mother how sorry he was, but she'd have none of it. Before returning the phone back to his father she said, "Son, we've gone through a lot in our lives and this is just a minor hitch. Eventually, it will pass like everything else."
Harris spoke to his father a minute longer before hanging up. After relaying the gist of the call to Eli, he promised, "I'll never forgive Lucinda."
There was a knock on his open door and he glanced up to see Larry smiling at him. "Hey, how're you feelin'?" Larry's smile disappeared when he saw the brothers' expressions. He frowned when he saw the newspaper on the floor. "What's happened?"
Harris patted the bed beside him. "Have a seat, Larry. You're not going to believe this." Larry tentatively sat and Harris reached for the paper, handing it to him. Throughout the reading Larry often spewed cuss words, and when he finished, he let loose with a string of creative profanities. Finally, he said to Harris and Eli, "What do we do now?"
Harris replied, "We weather the storm."
Lucinda stared at Sunday's LIFE AND TIMES spread across her kitchen table. All her cajoling and begging had been for naught. The original article had been printed anyway. She picked up her cell phone several times to call Harris and apologize, but couldn't bring herself to do so. She was a coward—a lowlife coward—and now Harris and his family were suffering. She hated herself and she hated the newspaper she worked for. She was going to quit even though she had little savings and would probably end up living out of her car. She stared at the picture of Harris smiling so charmingly at the end of a bronc ride and whispered, "I'm so sorry."