He rushed inside after her. “Come on, Goldie, talk to me.”
“I have nothing to say.” She discarded her coat and went straight to the kitchen and started to cook. He had no idea what she was throwing together. They’d missed breakfast and it was moving past lunchtime. The sound of the blade hitting the cutting board echoed off the walls.
“You’re mad at me.”
She scooped up the celery she’d been slicing and threw it into a pot, then went to murdering an onion.
“I’m disappointed in you.”
He’d never seen anyone with knife skills like hers. She’d diced that onion in seconds. Next came a chicken she pulled from the refrigerator and since he hadn’t bought it, he knew she must have.
“I’m disappointed in myself. I never meant to hurt you. Never meant to lie to you. I just didn’t think it was important.”
She stabbed the knife into the cutting board. It stuck, the handle facing up. “What you thought was important was that someone who lived years ago might have murdered someone? I don’t care, but it would have been nice to know that the man I slept with was a liar. I let you into my body. Really into my body. No condom. You could have lied about everything.”
“I didn’t.”
She threw her hands into the air. “How would I know?”
She was right. One lie cast a shadow on all the truths he’d told. “You wouldn’t, but I’m asking you to trust me.”
A ring tone floated through the air. Goldie wiped her hands on a towel and reached inside her back pocket for her phone.
“Hello.”
He didn't know who she was talking to. She didn’t have regular callers. No one had bothered to phone her since she’d moved into his place. He kind of enjoyed being the only one she could count on and yet he wasn’t. If she considered him a liar, then she’d never depend on him again.
“Yes, I’ll be right in.” She ended the call and tucked her phone back into her pocket. She rushed around the kitchen tossing spices and the chicken into the pot.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“My boss. I need to go to work.” She placed the pot on top of the stove. “Put six cups of water in here and let it simmer for several hours. It’s chicken soup for your soul.” She washed her hands in the bucket of soapy water they kept in the sink before she shrugged on her jacket and left.
Tilden stood there in the middle of his cabin wondering how things had gotten so out of hand.
All it took was one kiss from a beautiful woman to upset his balance. Or maybe, the balance was always skewed but Goldie was shifting it back into place.
He did as he was told and put six cups of water into the pot and turned on the burner. While the soup cooked, he pored over the maps once more. When he couldn’t come up with anything new, he folded up his research and put it away. Some things were worth fighting for. Some were not. He’d been obsessed with clearing his family’s name, but what would it matter if he ruined his in the process?
He tucked the most recent soil samples into a box to mail. These would be the final samples he’d test. If nothing came out of it then he’d have to accept that he might never know what happened.
As the aroma of chicken soup took over, his thoughts went to Goldie and how much his life had changed since she’d been there. He often made breakfast for both of them, but she had gotten in the habit of throwing something together for lunch or dinner when they didn’t head into town to the diner.
She was quite the culinary master. Not once did she read a recipe or measure an ingredient. She did everything by taste and touch. And Goldie had quite the touch. He closed his eyes and relived the night before. All the touches and all the feels. Somehow, they’d gone subdermal and found their way to his heart.
Once the soup was finished, he let it cool and put it away for later. He didn’t like thinking about Goldie at the brewhouse without him there. There were too many single men who thought they could offer her more. But he knew what she needed. She needed to feel valued. Needed to be loved. Needed to trust the people around her to have her best interests at heart. He wasn’t sure she’d ever had that. Wasn’t it time he showed her she could let go of her past? Let go of her social media obsession and depend on him?
He looked down at his ragged jeans and plaid flannel. How long had it been since he’d dressed for a date?
“Goldie Sutherland … I'll show you I’m a smart bet.” He laughed at himself. Who talked to an empty room?
Digging deep into the back of the drawers below the bed, he found a clean pair of khakis. Hanging in the closet was his favorite Oxford shirt. It was the one he used to wear on test day. Something about it made it feel lucky. Each time he put it on, his class aced the test. Maybe its luck would work for him. Something told him that Goldie would grade everything he did from here on out.
Once dressed, he spritzed on some rarely worn cologne and swiped up the box of samples. He took the back route to the Copper Creek post office and got back to town just before dinner. Knowing the bar didn’t serve food and that Goldie hadn’t eaten before she left, he stopped at the diner to get her favorite fried chicken and mashed potato dinner.
“What are you all dolled up for?” Maisey asked.
His cheeks heated. God, it felt like he was getting ready to knock on the door of his first date. “I’m not dolled up.”
Maisey walked around him. “Collared shirt and no jeans? For you, that’s like wearing a suit and tie.”
He laughed. “She was right. No one here knows me.”
Maisey pointed to the counter. “Wait there while I give Ben your order.” She was back in a second. “You’re right. You are the mystery man in town. Tell me something no one knows about Tilden Cool.”
This would have been the perfect time to say he was a Coolidge in hiding but one problem was enough to tackle at a time and getting Goldie to trust him was his main objective.
He rubbed his jaw. “One thing you don’t know about me is I used to be a high school history teacher.”
Maisey put a cup in front of him and filled it with coffee.
“No kidding.” She raised a brow. “What happened?”
“Nothing really.” He wanted to blurt out the truth, but it would take him hours to explain so he left it at that.
“Glad nothing brought you to Aspen Cove.”
“Nothing might have brought me here, but your cooking kept me here.”
She shook her head. “Can’t boil water on my own. The cooking is all Dalton and Ben.”
“Not true. Who cooked when Ben wasn’t yours and when Dalton was away?” After living in a small town, he’d heard all the stories. Maisey’s son Dalton had been in prison for killing a man. A man that most likely deserved to die. He stepped in to help a woman and the punch he threw to defend her killed her abuser. That was it for Dalton. Six years in a cell for being an upstanding citizen. Ben, on the other hand, had been the town drunk and the love of a good woman set him straight.
She popped him on the head with her order pad. “Shh, I’ve stayed out of the kitchen for almost two years now. Don’t go spoiling it for me.”
He buttoned his lip. “Your secret is safe.”
She leaned against the counter. “And yours is safe with me.”
He laughed. “Oh, it’s no secret. I just didn’t think it was important information to share.”
“Tell that to Louise, whose oldest is struggling with his history lessons. Says the past is already done so it doesn’t matter.” She turned around and picked up the Styrofoam container that popped up inside the window.
“There might be some wisdom to his thinking. Although when we study the past, we often can forge a better future.”
“Had she known you could help you would have been eating for free in exchange for tutoring.”
He tucked a few napkins in his pocket and pulled out enough money to pay for the meal and the coffee.
“Tell her I’d be happy to help.”
Maisey pushed his mo
ney back at him. “I’ll tell her I paid for the first session.”
He stood and leaned forward to give her a kiss on the cheek.
Ben glanced out the kitchen window. “Don’t be poaching on my land, young man. That woman is taken.”
He knew by Ben’s smile he was teasing.
“No worries there, I’ve got my own woman. Or I hope I can make her mine. If your fried chicken doesn’t do it then nothing will.”
Ben laughed and slapped the counter. “Throw in some kisses too. Those always seem to work.”
Tilden took his order and walked outside. The snow had stopped but his breath puffed out in clouds of white.
He stood outside of the brewhouse, readying himself to do something he’d never done—beg. He was intent on getting Goldie back in his life. What would it take to earn her trust?
Chapter Nineteen
Goldie was pulling pitchers of beer when Cannon moved behind her to close a few checks on the register. Mike, his one-eyed cat, lay on the top as if he were watching over everything.
“Thanks for coming in, Goldie.” The ka-ching of the drawer opening and closing only added to the din of drinkers who were catching every bit of football they could get in before the Super Bowl. “Sage isn’t feeling well.”
She set another full pitcher on the counter and started on the next. Cannon had asked for three.
“I hope she doesn’t have the flu or anything.”
He smiled when he turned around. “Oh, I think she’s got something, but it isn’t the flu.”
Goldie almost dropped the pitcher. “You think she’s pregnant?” That word gave her a chill. Not everyone was cut out to be a mom. She knew she wasn’t. She had no maternal instincts and her internal clock had never started ticking. Not that she disliked kids; she’d never been around any. Even when she was one, her life was filled with adults.
He puffed his chest out. “I hope so. We’ve been practicing a lot.” He picked up a pitcher and slid his fingers through several frosted mugs. “Don’t tell anyone. She’d kill me.”
She set the next pitcher down. “Won’t tell a soul. I’m good at secrets.” What that meant was she was good at lies. How funny that perspective changed everything. Was something you kept to yourself really a lie?
When she finished at the taps, she topped off the bowls of snack mix. The whole situation with Tilden had been pinging inside her head since she’d left him. She was angry, but it wasn’t about him not telling her he was a teacher, or divulging secrets about his family. What she was angry about was he’d chastised her for not being authentic when he was guilty of the same thing.
As if her thoughts summoned him, he walked inside the bar carrying a Styrofoam container. Even from where she stood, she could smell fried chicken.
The end chair always seemed to be waiting for him. No one liked to sit there because it was so far removed from everyone else. It reminded her of the time-out chair in her mom’s makeup trailer. It was where she’d sat when she got in trouble. Seemed fitting that he sit there now.
“Evening, Goldie.” His deep voice rumbled through her insides, making them twist and turn, but it wasn’t pain she was feeling. It was longing.
“Beer?”
He nodded. “Dark.”
“Your mood or the beer?” She looked at the box he’d set on the bar.
“The beer.” He slid the container toward her. “You didn’t have time to eat. I thought I’d bring your favorite.”
It was so hard to be mad at him when he was offering fried chicken and mashed potatoes. “I picked up a muffin at the bakery before I came in.”
His big hand reached out and pulled the container back to him. He opened it and picked up a leg.
She could hear the crunch of the coating. When the juice ran down his face, she wanted to lean over and lap it up, but she was far too stubborn to give in so easily.
“If you change your mind, there’s plenty. Remember the first time we shared this meal?”
How could she forget? Had it only been a few weeks ago?
“You asked for a place to stay.” He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. “For a few days.”
“I know, I took advantage of you.”
He shrugged. “It hasn’t been a hardship. I’ve enjoyed your company.”
A man sitting across the room raised his empty mug. She rushed around the bar to get it. “One more?”
“Another round for me and my brothers.” He motioned for the three other men sitting at the table to drink up. “I’m Noah, the ugly one there is Ethan and the other two are the twins, Quinn and Bayden.”
“Nice to meet you.” She stared at the two he called the twins. “Wouldn’t have pegged you two as brothers, much less twins.”
“Two eggs, two sperm, one mother,” Quinn said.
She pointed to herself. “One egg, one mother, not sure about the sperm. I like to pretend I was delivered by the stork or maybe created by a magic spell.”
“Believe anything you want,” Ethan said, “but never let anyone tell you you’re not beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Tilden, whose eyes tracked her like lasers. She could feel the heat of his stare at her back. “Lager all around?”
The men nodded and went back to their conversation about building. There seemed to be a lot of construction crews in town.
Sage had told her that the town had almost been a ghost town several years ago. Hard to believe now. The only thing that hinted at a downslope in the economy was the vacant dry good store.
She gathered their mugs and got their refills.
“Have a piece of chicken, Goldie. You know you want one.” He held up the thigh. It was her favorite piece and he knew it.
“You are so mean. Such a tease.”
Cannon walked over and leaned against the counter. “Go take a break and eat your chicken. It will get busier before it slows down.”
“I don’t want it. I’m not hungry.” Her traitorous stomach growled, giving her away.
Cannon looked at them. “What's going on between the two of you?”
She smiled. “Foreplay.” She plucked the thigh from Tilden’s fingers and rushed toward the back door that led to the alleyway.
Before she made it outside, she heard Cannon tell Tilden that he was in big trouble.
Leaning against the wall, she devoured the thigh in a few bites.
The night was clear and crisp. A million stars were coming to life above her. To pass the time, she pulled out her phone to check her messages. She’d given up checking them daily because people were mean. A daily dose of what they were handing out could make a girl want to jump from the highest bridge. She figured she’d save up all the vitriol for single large doses.
Only this time, they weren’t mean. The last time she’d posted was the day she broke down. Under that post, there were thank you messages for getting real. Messages of encouragement. There was one that said she’d make great bear food, but other than that, it was mostly positive. People weren’t tired of her, but tired of her approach. They weren’t interested in the sponsorships and products, only the truth. Funny how her life had been surrounded with a scream for the truth.
“You want more truth?” She held the camera out as if to take a selfie. “I’m not the same girl you used to see. The false lashes are gone, and the dark roots are growing in.” She pointed to her hair. “It's been weeks since I had a manicure.” She scanned the building around her. “I have a real job. My life isn’t pretty, but it's real and my life.”
She caught movement off to her right.
Tilden was walking her way.
“Smile for the camera, Tilden.” In an uncharacteristic move, he flipped her off. She’d never seen him do anything like that and it made her laugh.
His pace quickened until he was standing in front of the camera. “You want to kiss up to an audience who doesn't appreciate you or kiss a man who does?”
She turned the camera back to herse
lf. “Gotta go. I’ve got a better offer.”
As soon as her phone was turned off, he pressed her to the brick wall and covered her mouth with his. They didn’t come up for air for minutes.
When Tilden pulled away, he wiped the moisture from her lips with his thumb. “I think your break is up.”
She inhaled a much needed breath. How could the man suck the very air from her lungs and along with it the agitation and anger and hurt she’d felt earlier?
“Are you coming back inside?”
He took her hand and pressed it against his arousal. “When things settle down I will.”
She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed him again. “Hurry.”
He shook his head. “Honey, last night should have taught you something. Hurry is not in my vocabulary.”
Her cheeks burned when she came back inside the bar. No doubt they would be some shade of red. She only hoped the patrons thought it was the change in temperature from outside to inside that caused it.
“You know what breaks like that cause?” Cannon wiped down the counter and looked around the bar.
“Stroke?”
“No, babies.”
She laughed. “You and I both know what causes babies, and it isn’t a stolen kiss in an alleyway.”
He lifted his brows. “No? Well dammit, no wonder I can’t knock my wife up. We’ve been doing it all wrong.”
“But you just said that—”
He lowered his head. “She called and said it was a false alarm.”
“I’m sorry.”
A smile spread across his face. “While I’d love to be a father, I don’t mind practicing more.” Tilden walked toward them. “Looks like you guys are enjoying the practice as well.”
She swiped the bar towel from his hands. “Oh, we’re just beginners.”
“Got to start somewhere.”
She thought about her mother’s theories on three. They had the beginning, was this the middle? Where would it lead? To a life of happiness or the end?
Chapter Twenty
Tilden wondered how it had gotten to Friday already. Maybe it was the long nights of making up with Goldie or the days of helping Wes’s men get the water hooked up to the house. With the frozen ground, it was an arduous task, but after tonight, there would no longer be trips to the outhouse and he’d be able to dismantle the outside shower.
One Hundred Secrets Page 14
