She gripped the handle but didn’t open the door. “Yes?”
“You should stick around for a while. You can’t judge a town or its people by your first day.”
She lowered her head in shame. That wasn’t who she was or who she wanted to be. “I’ll try.”
Doc lifted his chin to the right, to where none other than Cannon exited his truck. “Cannon is a good man. Give him a chance to prove it.”
Doc disappeared into the pharmacy, while Sage climbed into her SUV. She watched as Cannon pulled a few boxes from the bed of his black pickup truck and walked into the bar.
Like father, like son? was her first thought, but she tried to erase it. Doc Parker was right. She didn’t know Cannon. She didn’t know his father. She knew no one from this town but Bea, and Bea was gone. The problem was that Sage wasn’t sure if she wanted to put forth the effort, and that was out of character. Bea wasn’t wrong about her. Sage Nichols was no quitter.
She chastised herself all the way up Main Street until she’d reached 1 Lake Circle again. She looked around for Ben. She didn’t need another altercation. When it was obvious the coast was clear, she said to Otis, “Are you ready, boy?”
He tilted his head and rose excitedly in his seat.
“Let’s see if we can make it past the front door this time.”
Chapter Ten
The redwood porch creaked under Sage’s feet as she approached the front door of the bed and breakfast for the second time in what had already been a very long day. She looked down at Otis and smiled at the dog who was happy to be anywhere she was.
“No matter what happens around us, we’re ignoring it and plowing straight forward.” Otis sat and waited. “Drumroll, please.” She rapped on the door with both hands before she gripped the handle.
Would it be like removing a Band-Aid? Pull it off slowly, and it caused more pain? Strip it free in one swift motion, and it only stung for a second?
She’d had enough pain today to last a lifetime, so she twisted the handle and threw open the door. She shielded her face with her hand in case it swung back to hit her. It didn’t.
Otis led the way, and Sage followed him into the great room, where years of traffic scarred the hardwood. The room appeared to be carved from the center of a tree—a huge tree with tongue-in-groove paneling and an exposed-beam ceiling.
Light from the wall of windows showed particles of dust hanging in the air. The room smelled like lemon oil and damp wood. Its scent heavy and musty.
Otis traversed the open space and stopped at every piece of furniture to sniff and investigate. He passed the worn leather sofa, then stuck his head into the fireplace and looked around. He came back to the first plaid upholstered chair, climbed up and curled his body into a ball. Within seconds, he was asleep.
Sage was on her own for the rest of the tour. At first glance, it was a charming house. The oversize sofa faced a wall of windows that looked out at Cove Lake. Two plaid chairs sat side by side, facing the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Everything was old but sturdy. Well worn. Well loved. In need of a good cleaning.
She traced her fingers across the thick, dusty beam that jutted from the fireplace to create the mantel. It held no pictures, only a collection of treasures Bea had kept.
There was a family of pine cones, with two much larger than the third that sat in the middle. Sage wondered if they were simply pine cones or symbolic of the family who had lived here. Next was a collection of whittled wood animals. Sitting in the center of the mantel was a rack of antlers.
She looked back at a sleeping Otis and laughed. If he had any idea those were up here, the dog would never have taken a nap. Oh, the money she’d spent buying him antlers to gnaw on.
Sage’s stomach growled, and she reached into her purse to grab a candy bar. It was the closest she’d come to a meal today.
She walked back to the front door and closed it, blocking out the beam of light that blended into the picture window on the other side of the room. On the floor tucked behind the front door was an overflowing basket that caught the mail shoved through the wall slot next to the door. Sage would have to wade through that later.
Past the entry was a table where a guest log sat open and waiting for its next signature. She devoured her less-than-healthy meal while she scrolled through the pages. It appeared the bed and breakfast stayed relatively busy during the spring and summer months. The rest of the year was quiet, with a sprinkling of visitors here and there.
A big red star jumped off the calendar next to the log. “Mr. and Mrs. Morello” was written in Bea’s precise handwriting and it seems they are due to arrive Friday. Surely, there wouldn’t be guests arriving so soon. Sage knew nothing about running an inn. She ate Pop-Tarts for breakfast. Homemade meant it was heated in the microwave. How was she supposed to provide a meal for Bea’s guests when she didn’t cook?
She mentally corrected herself. They were once Bea’s guests, but now they were hers. What the hell am I going to do? No. Guests would never do.
Under their names was a phone number. She lifted the old rotary handset and listened for a dial tone that was miraculously still present. She dialed the number. On the third ring, a woman answered with a sweet-sounding hello.
“Hi, this is Sage Nichols, from B’s Bed and Breakfast.”
The woman didn’t give her another second. “Oh, please don’t tell me something is wrong with our reservation.” A voice reminiscent of Katie’s before her breakdown ramped up in volume.
“Umm,” Sage started.
“No, no, no, no,” the woman cried. “You can’t cancel the reservation. Everything has gone wrong. The minister got the chicken pox. The restaurant where we were holding our reception burned down. I’ve eaten my weight in Little Debbie snacks, and my dress doesn’t fit.”
Sage considered the woman’s luck. It was like Katie’s—if not for bad, she’d have none at all. She didn’t want to be another black moment for the woman when she could turn her luck around with a simple answer.
“No, your reservation is fine. Just calling to confirm your arrival.” Sage lifted her head from the calendar on the desk to her reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall above the table. Her eyes were a nice shade of purple. Maybe the couple would arrive, take one look at her and run in the opposite direction.
Arriving guests meant they’d need a room, so she continued her tour of the property. Her path offered two options: the hallway to the left, and the one to the right. She chose right, because something had to go right today, even if it was only a direction. She poked her head into each room as she made her way to the end. All the rooms had en suite bathrooms. The décor was mountain lodge, with big lodge four-poster beds covered with handmade quilts. Crocheted throws hung over the chairs in the corners of each room. Cozy. Warm. Inviting.
All the closets were empty, which meant these had to be the guest rooms. Each opened to a deck that overlooked Cove Lake. As the sun set, lights flickered to life around the glasslike surface. Smoke plumes rose from distant chimneys.
It was barely spring, which meant thawing ice and crocuses bursting through the ground, but the chill in the air screamed winter.
Back in the great room, she took in the fireplace, where logs and tinder were piled neatly inside a crate. Out the window to her left, patches of ice floated like bergs across the calm surface of the water.
She headed left down a hallway that appeared to have been Bea’s private quarters. There was something about walking into her rooms that felt like trespassing. She had to remind herself that this was what Bea wanted.
The first door opened into a bedroom, where a monstrous bed made of tree limbs was the centerpiece. It was a true work of art. Embedded into the wood were treasures like shells and fossils and shiny stones. Like the other rooms, a handmade quilt was folded neatly on the end of the bed. Although Sage knew little about quilts, she appreciated the work that went into them.
Behind the next door, an overstuffed chair sat tuc
ked into the corner. Bookshelves full of cozy mysteries lined the walls. On a table in the opposite corner as the chair sat a small television. It was obvious Bea loved books more than blockbusters.
An end table next to the chair held a collection of photos—five in all. An eight by ten of Bea and her husband on their wedding day. Her blonde hair spilled onto her shoulders to rest against the lace of her sweetheart neckline. Her husband looked debonair dressed in a tuxedo with his hair slicked to the side. He gazed at Bea like a man in love. Sage supposed that look was expected on a wedding day.
Would a man ever look at her that way?
Surrounding the larger picture were four smaller photos. The first was a toddler with pink, pudgy cheeks, brown hair, and brown eyes. The second was a little girl sitting in front of a birthday cake with six lit candles. Bea and her husband stood behind the little one with puckered lips to help her blow them out. Sage looked at the child and her parents, realizing that Bea was an older mother—maybe in her forties when she gave birth.
The third looked like a high school prom photo with the same girl, only older, leaning against her date. He was a tall, young man who looked at the girl like she was the last person on earth. The last picture had the same girl, now a young woman. She sat with a quilt on her lap. On closer inspection, Bea’s daughter wasn’t enjoying the warmth of the quilt but sewing it. It was the one that lay at the bottom of Bea’s bed. Obviously, a gift of love.
Her heart ached knowing this was Bea’s daughter. The pain she must have endured to survive the loss. The ache Sage felt over the people she lost never left her.
This was Bea’s private space, her sanctuary, and it felt like it wasn’t her place to intrude. She backed out of the room and closed the door to return to Otis. A doorway near the wall of windows led her to the country kitchen. On the counter sat an old-fashioned percolator like her grandmother used. She rustled through the cabinets to find coffee. No Starbucks for Bea. It was Folgers all the way. She started the pot to brew and went outside to grab some of her things from the car. She wasn’t staying, she reminded herself. She’d be here long enough to help Katie get the bakery in shape and get the newlyweds through their romantic weekend. After that, she was gone.
Her biggest decision tonight would be where to sleep. She chose the first room down the guest corridor for its easy access. Why cart her stuff any farther when she’d be packing up and leaving within the week?
She brought in the essentials, including Otis’s food.
Back in the kitchen, she poured a bowl of kibble for Otis and a cup of stale Folgers coffee for herself.
She gathered the mail by the door and curled up on the couch to sort through Bea’s correspondence. She tossed the junk mail to the table and put the mail that needed closer inspection back into the basket. The last piece of mail in her hand was a postcard addressed to the current resident. It was an ad from a real estate developer interested in the property. Seeing this as a sign, Sage pulled out her phone and left a message. She gave her name and address and asked the agent to swing by and take a look.
Her next call was to Lydia.
She answered on the first ring. “I was getting ready to send out a search team. You said you’d call when you got there.”
How did Sage tell her sister her day hadn’t gone quite as planned? She approached it like she did a patient file. There would be no embellishments. Only facts.
“I arrived in a ghost town. Made a friend. Made an enemy. Got punched in the face. Saw the town doctor. Called my first paying customer to confirm her stay. Made shit coffee. Inspected the house, and now I’m talking to you.”
“That sounds great,” she said, as if Sage hadn’t told her she’d been accosted. “What’s the doctor like?”
“Oh, you mean the one that set my broken nose?” Sage kicked her feet up and rested them on the table made from the trunk of a tree. “He’s old, but capable. He runs a clinic in the back of a drug store, which actually has a good selection of over-the-counter medicine and an excellent assortment of candy. He even sells the new Butterfinger peanut butter cups and Sour Patch Kids.”
“It sounds like heaven.”
“Oh. My. God. Are you listening? I’m in hell. You thought it was a fiery pit in the center of the earth, but it’s not. It’s a tiny town in the mountains of Colorado.”
“No giving up yet. I’ve called Matthew McConaughey’s agent and told him I have a room for rent.”
“This is no joke, Lydia. I’m coming home.”
“Not tonight, you’re not. I’ve already texted Adam and told him I’d be waiting in bed naked.”
“Is he on his way home?”
“Nope, he’s covering a shift.” Resignation and irritation spiced her voice. “We’ll pass each other in the hallway tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Lydia’s voice sank low. “Call me soon, sis. I’m glad it’s working out.” She hung up without giving Sage a chance to reply.
Sage wasn’t sure if she should reach through her phone to shake her sister or hug her. She knew Lydia was only trying to bolster her courage to give Aspen Cove an honest try, but what was the point in wasting time? There was nothing here for her. No chance at a new beginning. No Starbucks. No chance at love.
Sage longed to be in love, but maybe love wasn’t as good as she thought it should be. Her sister was in love and more lonely than she was. She found her handsome fur baby in the kitchen, finishing his meal. She tapped her leg, and he followed her to their room.
Chapter Eleven
Sage woke up to a paw in the face. On any other day it was a fine way to greet the morning, but not today.
“Oh holy hell, Otis.” Her hand cradled her nose. Afraid that it would bleed again, she rolled out of bed and into her slippers to make a mad dash to the bathroom. Certain she’d be greeted by blood, she pulled her hand away slowly. Nothing. Both of her eyes were black and blue, the bridge of her nose was the color of her favorite cabernet, but there was no blood.
Otis sat at her feet, looking repentant, or maybe just hungry. “It’s okay, boy, I’ll live to see another day. You want to go outside?”
Outside got her a response on par with treat. The dog danced and pranced until she opened the door and led him into the great room.
Beyond the windows, the lake reflected a cloudless sky. Only the ripple of feeding fish broke the glasslike surface. Sage poured a cup of day-old coffee and put it into the microwave before she swung the back door open. Otis leapt forward took off like a greyhound after a rabbit. Sage took one step and tripped over a prone body.
She stumbled forward and caught herself on the wooden banister that ran the length of the deck. She looked back at the old man lying like a rug outside. He grunted and rolled back toward the door. It was her neighbor, Ben Bishop.
There was no way she’d touch him unless it was with a stick—a long stick. His punch to her nose was too fresh to forget, and Sage wasn’t a glutton for punishment.
Once Otis had done his business and chased a bird along the lake’s edge, they both hopped over Ben and back into the safety of the kitchen.
She was torn over what to do about her unexpected guest. Did she make him breakfast? Pretend like he wasn’t there and hope he woke up and moved on? Bring him a pillow and blanket and let him sleep it off?
After a few seconds of debating, she realized that a passed out drunk wasn’t her problem. In Denver, it was a police issue. She gave the old drunk a last look, picked up the phone, and called the law.
“Sheriff Cooper, is this an emergency?”
She stopped for a second to process his greeting. The sheriff answered his own calls.
“Hello?” The deep voice vibrated through the line.
“Umm, yes. This is Sage Nichols, at 1 Lake Circle. Ben Bishop is passed out on my porch.”
“And?” His voice held no concern.
She realized no lives were at risk, except maybe Ben’s if he woke up aggressive. “I need you to c
ome and get him off my porch.”
“Ms. Nichols. If you know it’s Ben Bishop, then you also know he lives next door. Go get Cannon. He’ll come over and get his dad.”
“No, I’m not about to get him. He’s dangerous.”
Sheriff Cooper laughed. “You’re accusing Cannon Bishop of being dangerous?”
She looked at the man lying on her deck. “Is that such a crazy notion?”
“Yes. Do you know Cannon?”
Grabbing her coffee out of the microwave, she made her way to the great room and settled herself on the sofa. “Not personally, but I’ve seen him in action, and I have reason to believe he’s violent.”
“You think Cannon is violent?” A louder laugh filled her ears.
“Yes, I was witness to him abusing his father yesterday. I will not call him.”
It was a good thing she wasn’t staying in town. What good was a sheriff if he ignored valid complaints? It may have been a ghost town, but it was a lawless one.
The sheriff let out an exhale that vibrated from the back of his throat into a growl. “I’ll be over soon. Just leave him alone. Do yourself a favor, and don’t touch him.”
No worries there.
Thirty minutes later, Sage opened the door to find a clean-cut man dressed in brown from head to toe. On his chest was a gold star.
After he pulled his eyes from her injuries, he reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Sheriff Aiden Cooper. Welcome to Aspen Cove.”
She eyed him with suspicion. Could she trust someone who basically told her to do his job? He looked straight out of central casting for Bonanza or any other cowboy movie made in the last century, except that Sheriff Cooper bathed and pressed his uniform.
“You got quite a shiner there. How’d you come across that?”
Sage moved to the side to let the man enter. Otis sniffed at his pants and then retreated to what he’d already claimed as his chair.
“I got this from Ben.” Sage shut the door behind the tall man. “A welcome gift to a new neighbor.” She tried to discipline her voice, but it was all snark and sass.
One Hundred Reasons Page 6
