One Hundred Ways: An Aspen Cove Romance

by Collins, Kelly

  He finished the report and put it in the ever-increasing file dedicated to Mrs. Brown. The smell of something savory wafted through the air. He lifted his nose to inhale. Chili, if he was correct. No doubt Thomas was making his special chili with cheese omelet. Luke’s stomach growled in protest for skipping his morning visit to Maisey’s Diner.

  Luke hadn’t seen Riley for two days. He stayed out of the diner, hoping to avoid Meg, but avoiding Meg meant he had to avoid Riley. Something about her pulled at him. He wanted to dislike her, but he couldn’t. He had a level of respect for someone who left everything they knew to move to another state to start fresh.

  Was she running from something or running to something?

  He thought about Dalton’s comment that she was like everyone else, simply trying to find a place to belong. That was precisely what drove him to move to Aspen Cove.

  He’d grown up in a small-town environment, working on a ranch, then moved to the city to pursue a career in firefighting. The problem was while he loved his job in Denver, he never got the sense of community he did by living in a small town. When the posting went up for the fire chief job, he’d jumped on it despite his fellow team members telling him it was a suicide mission. He’d heard it all, from how private funding would run out to how hick towns had nothing to offer. Those scare tactics were unproven and untrue. In truth, he made a higher salary here than he did in the station in Denver. Aspen Cove was free of the office politics that came naturally with anything run by the city. Here, everyone had a job to do, and they did it well and were compensated fairly—more than fairly. As for small town offerings? Thoughts of Riley made him smile. Things were looking up.

  He walked into the kitchen from his office to find Thomas flipping a giant omelet in a pan.

  “That’s big enough to feed the crew.” Luke leaned in and looked at the cheese oozing from the sides of the omelet.

  “No, it’s big enough to feed me.” Thomas touched his T-shirt-covered stomach.

  They worked out together, and while Luke was in good shape, he’d have to become a gym rat to get the kind of muscle definition Thomas got by simply breathing. The man consumed a six-egg omelet each morning. The rest of his meals consisted mostly of chicken, broccoli and brown rice. Throw in a beer or two, and he was happy.

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  Thomas slid his meal onto a plate and walked over to the table.

  Luke grabbed a muffin from the daily box and took a seat across from his friend.

  “I don’t eat muffins, and I barely visit the diner, which happens to be your second home.”

  “Not true. I hang out at Bishop’s Brewhouse, too.”

  Thomas forked a bite and pulled it to his mouth, a thread of cheese stretching all the way from the plate to his lips.

  “Why are you avoiding Maisey’s? Is it because of the newbie?”

  Luke frowned. “No.” He took a bite of his carrot cake muffin. Mondays were his favorite muffin, followed by Friday, which was always raspberry. He had to get there early on Fridays, because those were Sheriff Cooper’s favorite, too. “I’m trying to get healthier.”

  Thomas eyed the muffin and shook his head. “Eating a muffin?”

  Luke pulled the paper cup down and plucked a raisin from the side. “What? It’s got carrots. I’m certain there’s some kind of grain in here. Butter is dairy. The nuts have to provide something good, too.”

  “Keep lying to yourself about the health of muffins and the reason you’re avoiding the diner.” He rose, got a plate from the cabinet, a fork from the drawer and came back to the table. He sectioned half of the omelet and lifted it to the other plate, sliding it to Luke. “Eat this. At least it’s full of protein.”

  “That almost sounds like you care.”

  He shook his head. “As the next in charge, I only care as far as the paperwork I’d have to fill out if you died. How would I explain a death by muffin?”

  They both shared a chuckle.

  “Speaking of paperwork, I finished mine for the call to Mrs. Brown’s house.”

  “How did you explain the cat in the clown costume?”

  The bite Luke took burned his tongue, so he opened his mouth and breathed around the food until he could safely chew and swallow without blistering his tongue.

  “I put it down as attempted suicide.”

  Thomas choked on his food. “You didn’t.”

  Luke nodded. “Would there be another reason to hang yourself from a dormer nail? I’d have noosed myself up long ago if I had to live with Mrs. Brown.”

  “Speaking of women, have you kissed and made up with Dalton’s cousin?”

  “No, why would I? I may have chosen my words poorly, but I still stand behind my reasoning for using them. Only an id…” He took a deep breath. “A person who lacked common sense would travel with full tanks.”

  “She said they were purged.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and Mrs. Brown says Tom loves his costumes.” He scraped the last of the melted cheese from the plate and ate it. “I’ll apologize when I see the tags.”

  Thomas’s eyes grew wide. His shoulders shook as a small chuckle turned into a full body, bend over, grab your stomach kind of laugh.

  “What the hell’s your problem?”

  His friend shook his head. “You better start formulating your apology.”

  Thomas stood, tossed his plate into the sink, and made a quick escape toward the doorway. “Yell if you need me. Think before you speak.”

  The smell of citrus filled the air. Right then, the hairs stood up on the back of Luke’s neck. He knew if he turned, he’d be facing Miss Blue Eyes.

  “Excuse me?”

  Luke slid from his chair and turned at the pace of a snail to face her.

  He nodded his head. “Riley.” The omelet he’d devoured threatened to rise to his throat. He swallowed again, forcing it back down. Why this woman unsettled him so made no sense.

  She stood in the doorway with one hand filled with purge tags and the other holding a muffin.

  “Mr. Mosier.” She took a bold step. The action spoke of confidence, but her face held a look of uncertainty. “Being new in town, it’s important to me to make sure you don’t have the wrong impression of me.” She looked down at the tags in her hand. “I can assure you I always put safety first.” She pushed the hand holding the tags toward him.

  He took two steps until he stood directly in front of her. The tags tickled the edge of his fingers until he took them and looked at them. They were indeed, recent purge tags from oxygen and acetylene tanks.

  She offered him the muffin. “I brought this for you, too. The tags are to prove I’m not an idiot. The muffin is a gift. Eat it, and maybe you’ll be sweeter.”

  She pivoted around and left.

  Luke stood there with his mouth hinged open.

  “That one is a firecracker,” Thomas said. He’d obviously been listening to the whole conversation. Could he call it a conversation? He’d said one word to her. He’d called her name before he became mute.

  Luke leaned forward to make sure she was out of earshot.

  “That one is trouble.” He tossed the tags into the trash and took a bite of his muffin. Something about it coming from Riley made it taste sweeter. It wasn’t meant as a gift at all, but a lesson. She could have stayed away and avoided him, but she didn’t, and that meant something.

  He wasn’t sure what that something was, but he was game to find out.

  “Are you going to go after her and give her back what she dished out?”

  “If I chased her to give her a piece of my mind, I’d never be able to match wits with you.”

  Luke wanted to go after her for sure, but he wasn’t sure if it was to give her a piece of his mind or pull her to him and kiss the vinegar out of her.

  “You lost the wits battle long ago, my friend.” He plucked the muffin from Luke’s hand and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “That shit is killing your brain cells.”
/>
  Thomas moved into the garage and pulled some equipment off the truck. It was time to take inventory.

  While they counted hoses and axes and various other equipment, Luke thought about taking inventory of his life, too. Now that he knew Riley wasn’t a temporary resident, he pondered the possibility they could become friends, possibly more.

  He let out a chuckle.

  “What are you laughing at?” Thomas tossed him a box of gloves. “These need to be matched and mated.”

  Luke laughed harder. “Maybe I’m like these gloves.”

  Thomas stopped and stared at the box sitting at Luke’s feet. “Maybe you are. Somehow, they find themselves lost and alone, but they’d be better in pairs.”

  Luke stared out the open garage door down the street toward the diner. “Funny how we can sabotage our lives with simple words.” He nodded toward the street. “I called her an idiot, and she showed up and proved the idiot was me.”

  He dropped to his knees and began to match the misfits. Maybe that’s what he loved so much about this town. It was a bunch of misfits that came together and seemed to fit well.

  He liked Riley Black. When he looked at her, he saw a woman like Tom the cat. She could wear a fake smile or try on a cloak of courage, but those were simply clown costumes. At the end of the day, Riley Black was a woman on the edge of discovering who she was, and Tom was still a cat.

  Chapter Nine

  Riley’s car choked out a few gasps after she killed the engine. She started to think of her Jeep as a living entity—an old lady who would say she had a sore throat and cough for effect. It was a silly thought, but one that made her smile.

  She palmed the dashboard lovingly. “Thank you for always getting me where I need to go. I swear as soon as I can, I’ll get you a check-up.”

  She saw movement to her right and stepped out of her SUV to meet Dalton halfway.

  “You found the place.” He walked in front of her, leading her to a door at the rear of the building.

  She had to jog to keep up with his long strides. “In a hurry?” She was winded by the time she caught up with him.

  “Sorry, it’s a habit. Sam is always telling me to slow down. Sometimes I throw her over my shoulder so she can keep up.” He unlocked the large metal door and walked inside. The air smelled like creativity. As she breathed in, she caught hints of paint and linseed oil. There was a distinctive scent of chemicals and freshly cut wood.

  They wormed their way through an industrial looking hallway, only to come out in the gallery that currently had pictures hanging everywhere.

  “This is Poppy Dawson’s work.” He shook his head. “I mean Poppy Bancroft. You haven’t met them because they're newlyweds, but he’s the deputy sheriff and she’s a local photographer who also works at the sheriff’s office. Her father owns the Big D Ranch.”

  Riley’s head snapped back in surprise. “Really? They call it the Big D?”

  “Yep, and he takes a lot of shit for it. However, I think he likes it. Certainly better than the Little D.”

  Riley laughed. “They say size doesn’t matter.”

  Dalton walked farther into the gallery. “Whoever they are, they lie.”

  Riley walked between the photos and recognized many of the people as residents of Aspen Cove. “She’s good.”

  “You’ll like her. She’s good people. She’ll be photographing the fireman calendar this year.”

  Riley laughed. “There’s a fireman calendar?”

  He nodded. “Fundraiser for the fire station.” He weaved through the displays to the other side of the gallery. “Beyond this door is Sam’s recording studio.” He pointed down a corridor that ended in darkness. “My culinary school in on the other side.” He spun around and walked back through the gallery to the wide hallway that opened up into smaller rooms. They peeked into open doors for Riley to see what the creators of Aspen Cove were up to.

  "This space belongs to a woman who comes up on the weekends. She lives in Denver. I think her name is Sosie, but I’m not sure.”

  “Who is in charge of renting the studios?”

  “That would be Deanna, Samantha’s assistant.”

  “Does she live here?”

  “Not yet, but she will. Right now, there aren’t enough livable homes. Wes is flipping them as fast as he and the Lockhart brothers can, but with the growth we’ve got, it’s not fast enough.”

  They walked to the next studio, and Riley peeked inside to see the floors littered with wood shavings. On a shelf were tiny whittled ornaments. Against the wall were large, ornately carved panels that resembled headboards, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “This is Cannon’s space. He loves to work with wood.” They stepped out and went to the last room on the left. The one that would share a wall with Cannon. “This is your space.”

  Riley stepped into the room that had beautifully stained cement floors and walls more suited for art than the tools she’d hang from them.

  “This is too nice for what I do.” She spun around the large open space. “Isn’t there a corner of a garage or a warehouse I can use?”

  Dalton went to the windows and yanked open the blinds. In the distance, she could see the top of Long’s Peak. The forest wound its way down for miles and came to a stop behind the gallery.

  “This is your space. Don’t you like it?”

  She took in the beauty of everything from the overhead lighting to the taupe colored walls.

  “I love it. I’m not used to working in such a nice place. I’m not sure it has the exhaust system and fire protective features I’ll need.”

  “You planning on burning the place down?”

  “Lord, no. God, that would be awful. I’m asking because I work with fire and high heat.”

  He pointed to the sprinklers in the ceiling. "This has state-of-the-art safety features. Each space has its own system; that way, if something happens in one studio that requires the sprinkler system to engage, it doesn’t ruin everyone else’s work.”

  That was genius. “That’s amazing.”

  “It is, but we’d rather it not get used.”

  “I’m the safest tenant you’ll ever have.” She walked around the room, mentally placing her equipment. “Do you remember the story of me burning my dad’s workshop down?”

  Dalton leaned against the wall. “I don’t think I got the full version. Tell me.”

  She leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the slick concrete. Dalton followed her to the floor.

  She pulled the hem of her T-shirt forward and picked at the frayed edge.

  “Dad was working on some kind of rack. It was a metal grid that had about twenty crosshatched sections of metal.” She shook her head. “Something for Kathy to hang her pots and pans on.” She pulled a thread that unraveled inches of hem. “Anyway, I’d come up behind him because Kathy said it was time to eat. I startled him, and he dropped the torch. It landed on a tarp that caught fire. We both raced toward the flames to stomp them out, but Dad pushed me aside. I tumbled back into the grid.”

  “Oh shit, was it still hot?” Dalton leaned forward as if she was telling him about a movie.

  Talking about it made her scars ache. “Hot enough to burn through my clothes.” She tried to make light of it. “If you’ve got a pen, we can play tick-tack-toe. There’s a perfect grid of nine on my back.”

  “Oh God, Riley. That’s awful. I bet Uncle Mike felt terrible.”

  She nodded. “Blamed himself until the day he died. Turns out he was drinking that day and he’d kicked over a bottle of alcohol. That’s why the tarp went up in flames.”

  “It was his fault.”

  She stretched out her legs and leaned back on her hands. “Not really, it was a comedy of errors. Kathy wanted him in. I startled him. He was drunk. The torch slipped. The whole place went up in flames. After, I learned all about welding safety.”

  “I’m surprised you’d want to go anywhere near a welder.”

  “I question that mysel
f, but it’s kind of like that saying about falling off a horse and getting back on to ride again. Besides, it was the only place I could spend time with my dad.”

  “I bet Kathy felt terrible.”

  Riley nearly choked. “Are we talking about the same Kathy?” Her throat constricted, and a growl escaped. “The only time that woman would feel anything for me is if I were dead, then she’d rejoice. She hated me from the beginning because my dad loved me.”

  “Yeah, she wasn’t all that nice. What was it about our parents that had them choosing awful spouses?”

  “Even awful is kind. Your dad was an asshole, my birth mother spent less than a month with her twins before she ghosted. I found out about five years ago she died in a car accident. Couldn’t even bring myself to feel anything because I didn’t know her. Dad cried when I told him, though.”

  “Your dad had heart. No backbone, but he had heart.” Dalton shook his head. “Did you heal?”

  She thought about that for a minute. “No.” She pushed to her feet and walked to the window. “The burns took months to heal, but those aren’t the scars I carry. It’s Kathy’s words that echo in my head. ‘You’re not pretty enough, talented enough, enough of anything. Now you’re damaged. What man wants to look at that for the rest of his life?’”

  Dalton stood and came over to give Riley a hug. “Looks like my father wasn’t the biggest asshole in the family. How about we get you moved in?”

  Riley nodded. A trip down Memory Lane was the last place she wanted to travel.