Page 33 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man
"She's claiming conflict of interest. Reassigning the evaluation to Jenkins." I swallow hard. "He arrives tomorrow."
"Jenkins." The single word carries recognition and resignation. "So that's it then. Game over."
"I'm so sorry, Jax." My voice breaks. "This is all my fault."
"Did you make the call?" His question catches me off guard.
"What? No, of course not."
"Then it's not your fault." He coils the rope with aggressive movements. "Small towns have eyes everywhere. It was naive to think we could keep this private."
His calm acceptance is somehow worse than anger. "I'll fight this," I promise. "I'll submit my original report anyway. Explain the situation to my director."
"It won't matter." He secures the coiled rope with a practiced knot. "Once the department decides to shut something down, they find a way."
"So you're just giving up?" Frustration bubbles up through my guilt. "After everything you've built here?"
"I'm being realistic." He finally meets my eyes. "The program was always operating on borrowed time. Judge Martinez can only shield us so much."
"What about the kids? What happens to them?"
Pain flashes across his features. "They go back into the system. Where people like your department decide their futures with checklists and protocols instead of seeing them as individuals."
The accusation stings because it carries truth. "That's not fair. I tried to save your program."
"Did you?" He steps closer, intensity radiating from him. "Or did you hedge your bets? Write a report that satisfied your conscience while leaving room for your superiors to interpret it however they wanted?"
"I documented the truth." I stand my ground despite the tears threatening to fall. "Every violation and every success."
"And when Margaret pushed back this morning, you hesitated." He shakes his head. "You couldn't choose between your career and what you knew was right."
"That's not what happened." But even as I say it, I question myself. Did I equivocate when I should have stood firm?
"It doesn't matter now." He turns away, staring out at the valley. "You should pack your things. Head back to Sacramento."
"I'm not leaving like this." I reach for his arm. "Not with everything unresolved between us."
He doesn't pull away from my touch, but he doesn't respond to it either. "What exactly is there to resolve, Riley? You have your career. I had my program. We had a few good nights. End of story."
The dismissal of what we shared cuts deeper than anything else. "It was more than that. You know it was."
"Was it?" He finally turns to face me. "Or was I just a walk on the wild side for you? The rough mountain man who could show the city girl a good time?"
"That's not fair." Anger pushes through my hurt. "You know how I feel about you."
"Actually, I don't." His voice softens, revealing pain beneath the stoicism. "Because when it mattered, when you had to choose, you couldn't put words to those feelings. Couldn't make them real enough to fight for."
"I'm still fighting." I step closer, desperate to make him understand. "I'll go to the director. Appeal Margaret's decision."
"Don't." The single word stops me cold. "Your career matters to you. I respect that. Don't throw it away on a lost cause."
"You're not a lost cause." My voice breaks. "The program isn't either."
"Go home, Riley." He gently disengages from my touch. "Write Margaret’s report. Get your promotion. Live the life you've worked for."
"Without you in it?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
Something flickers in his eyes, gone before I can identify it. "We both know a Sacramento social worker and a mountain man in Nevada was never going to work long-term."
