The sheriff regarded her with an unreadable expression. By most standards, he was handsome if you liked tall, dark, and dangerous-looking types. The one thing Aspen Cove had going for it was good-looking men. Even Doc Parker was handsome in his crazy professor sort of way.
“That makes more sense than Cannon being dangerous.” His nod kept time with his words.
“I came in on the tail end of a fistfight. I startled Ben, and he took a swing. It wasn’t his fault.”
Sage led him through the kitchen and pointed to the door.
“You’re not the first to be on the receiving end of Ben’s fist. You want to press charges?”
She shook her head. “No, he’s a sad old man.” She opened the door. He hadn’t moved an inch. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought him dead. “Look at him. He’s a walking corpse. He’s underfed. Dirty. His skin is sallow and saggy. Surely, you have programs in place to assist the elderly.”
The sheriff looked down at Ben, then closed the door. “I’ll take him off your porch and deliver him to his house, but you need to understand a few things about this man and this town.” He leaned against the counter and crossed one boot in front of the other. The man looked comfortable, like he’d been in this kitchen in this exact position many times before.
“All I know is what I saw. Cannon had the man pinned down to the ground. He was the aggressor.”
The sheriff crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Sometimes things aren’t always how they seem.”
“Tell me, Sheriff, how are things here in Aspen Cove?” She placed tight fists on her hips. It drove her crazy when people made excuses for others. She was raised to look at the world realistically. She didn’t wear rose-colored glasses, unless of course it concerned the people she loved, but she felt nothing for the people of this town. This was a black and white, no gray-area situation. Ben’s was a classic case of elder abuse. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. I’ve been assaulted. There’s a man who needs help on my deck, and when I called you, I was told to get the one man who poses the biggest threat.”
“Again, I think your fears are misplaced.” He nodded toward the door. “That’s your aggressor. If you saw Cannon pinning his father down, it was to protect both of them. That boy is usually on the receiving end of Ben’s knuckles, so your concern for Ben, while nice, is misdirected.”
“But he’s old and frail.”
“He’s fifty-six, and he’s frail because he drinks his calories. He’s meaner than a wet tomcat. The only reason he’s alive is Cannon.”
Sage knew what she saw, but she refused to argue with a man who could cause her more grief than good.
“Do you need anything else from me?” She had been up for less than an hour, and all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and forget the day. “Do I need to sign something?”
The sheriff pushed off the counter and walked toward the door. “Nope. I’ll take care of him. This town takes care of its own. We don’t ignore need, turn away from danger, or neglect our citizens. But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to save himself.” He opened the door and let himself out.
Sage had heard plenty of talk in the last few days about saving people. If Ben was intent on drinking himself to death, there was very little she could do. Regardless, she made a pact to help the old man with whatever she could while she was in town. Maybe he needed a hot meal or a shower or strong coffee or an ear. Those were things she could offer. As for Cannon, she’d try to keep an open mind. Maybe she had misjudged him. It was unlikely, but she had to consider the possibility.
Sage wished Bea had left her a short bio on the townspeople, but then again, what little she knew of Bea led her to believe she would want her to come to her own conclusions. In fact, she was positive Bea would be disappointed that she’d judged them at all.
In truth, she’d barely given it a day. It was hardly enough time to decide anything. Everyone has bad days. Too bad she seemed to share hers with Cannon.
Out the big window of the great room, she watched the sheriff fireman-carry Ben next door. She went back to her cold coffee and pulled another candy bar from her purse. If she was staying for a few days, she needed to get some real food.
She’d rummaged through Bea’s cabinets and found nothing more than chicken soup and crackers. If she weren’t in such a hurry, she’d sit down and have a bowl, but she had an hour to get ready and drive to the cemetery, and with the shape her face was in, it would take every one of those minutes to camouflage the bruises.
For the next half hour, she proved that her talents definitely didn’t lie in makeup or special effects. She’d removed the tape and covered what she could, but when she walked out of the house, she still looked like a prizefighter without the prize.
Chapter Twelve
Parked behind a dozen trucks, Sage climbed out of her SUV and took a lint roller to her black pants. Yellow dogs and black clothes were never a good mix. She would have been wise to invest in 3M stock, with all the sticky tape she used.
“Wait up,” a soft voice called from behind.
When she turned, she found Katie running to catch her. She was dressed more like a model than an impoverished bakery owner.
“Hey, you made it.” Sage had all but forgotten her injury, but the look of horror on the woman’s face put it front and center.
“What the heck happened to you?” Katie lifted her hand to touch Sage’s nose.
“Don’t touch,” she said with a sharp voice that had Katie shrinking back. “I’m sorry. It’s so sore.”
“It looks awful.” Her big blue eyes opened wide with shock.
“Thanks for that.” Sage pulled the flat of her hand to hover over her injury. She had hoped to blend in, but now she knew better.
“Not to offend, but how does the other guy look?”
She thought about Ben. “Nearly dead.”
Katie raised her hand in a high-five. “That’s my girl.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of oversize sunglasses. The kind movie stars wore when they didn’t want to be recognized, which was stupid, because sunglasses that size shouted “look at me.” “Put these on. They’ll hide your black eyes.”
Sage put them on and gingerly let them rest on the bridge of her nose. “I wonder what Bea would say now if she saw me.”
Katie shrugged. “I can’t help you there.” She took another long look before they started up the dirt road again. “So what really happened?”
She wasn’t sure she should tell Katie the truth. It was obvious the woman was going to make a go of things in Aspen Cove, and it wouldn’t do any good to tarnish her opinion. Katie had enough challenges in front of her without worrying about some old man who may or may not be aggressive.
“It was a silly accident. I ran into something.”
“I’d say.”
The two women walked up to the graveside service but stood back. So many people were there to pay their respects to Bea, they could hardly see the casket.
Sage did a quick count of bodies and lost track after the first hundred. She’d been wrong about the population of Aspen Cove. It was possible that she’d been wrong about other things, including Cannon. She scanned the crowd and found him near the front, where family would stand. He had a matching set of bruised eyes. Most likely a gift from Ben.
She analyzed the positions of the townsfolk and wondered if there was a hierarchy. Was Cannon close to Bea? Next to him stood Doc Parker. She knew he had a soft spot for the kind woman. On his right was the sheriff.
The pregnant lady she’d seen across the street with her brood of children stood a few rows in front of Sage, but she didn’t have her kids in tow. Sage wondered if she was a fan of 3M products as well. Maybe she had used Velcro or duct tape to babysit while she attended the service.
Katie leaned in and said, “Look at all these people. Where did they come from?”
While Sage had been thinking about tape, another twenty pe
ople arrived.
A man stood on a wooden crate so he could be seen above the crowd. Considering he wore a clergy shirt, she assumed he was there to officiate. He started with a prayer, but that was where anything resembling religion stopped.
“Bea Bennett was a stubborn old goat,” he said. “She was also a loving neighbor, a good woman, and an amazing friend.” He pulled a pink sheet of paper out of his bible and opened it. “These were Bea’s final wishes.” With a shake of his hand, he opened the tri-folded page. “Not normally short on words, Bea was pretty direct about her last requests.” He pulled a pair of glasses from the front pocket of his crisp black shirt. “I don’t want you at my grave. Get to Bishop’s Brewhouse. Raise a mug in my honor. Don’t shed a tear. Celebrate my life. Don’t mourn my death. Share a memory. Bring food. Get going.”
Everyone appeared to be waiting for more. He left the group with a final thought. “Every person here is a recipient of Bea’s generosity. Even though this isn’t part of Bea’s funeral plans, I’ll leave you with this from 1 Timothy 6:18: ‘Tell them to use their money to do good. They should be rich in good works and should give generously to those in need, always being ready to share with others whatever God has given them.’”
Bea was lowered into the ground, and handfuls of dirt were lovingly sprinkled on top of her casket. The minister stepped down, and the sheriff stepped up. “Cannon is opening the bar early for Bea. Come over, share a drink, a dish, and a story.”
Sage and Katie stayed behind and let the crowd move past them. Once it thinned, they started down the dirt road toward their cars.
A hand settled on Sage’s shoulders. She turned to find Doc Parker. He looked past Sage to Katie. “You must be Katie. How are you feeling?”
It struck Sage as odd that Doc would ask a stranger how she was feeling, but then again they were standing in a cemetery. He was a doctor, so it was probably part of his normal vernacular.
“Good, thank you.”
Doc introduced himself, and Katie gave him a warm smile.
“You girls are coming, right?”
Both Sage and Katie shook their heads.
Sage answered. “It’s not really my place. I imagine it’s a gathering more suited for people who knew Bea well.” Sage looked toward Katie, who was agreeing with a nod. “Besides, I have nothing to share.”
Doc’s eyes narrowed to black beads. “She thought enough of you to leave you everything. I imagine you can spare a few minutes for her.” He hurried ahead. Over his shoulder he said, “As far as food, the people of Aspen Cove will bring enough food to feed an army. You have no excuse."
Cannon pulled several pitchers of beer. Dalton and some of the younger men in town pushed tables against the wall for the food he knew would show up, because nothing said “goodbye” like a tuna casserole.
He watched the people funnel into the bar until it was standing room only.
“Your dad hit you again?” Bobby Williams asked.
“Yep. Enough about me. Don’t you have cars to fix or babies to make?” It seemed to Cannon that the man in front of him was working on a sports team. Poor Louise hadn’t seen her toes in close to eight years.
“Making babies is more fun than watching reruns.”
“You haven’t had cable in ten years.” Cannon passed a pitcher and a mug toward his friend.
A sly smile spread across Bobby’s face. “You should find a woman and make babies.”
“Pass. Women are trouble and babies are expensive. I’ve got my hands full as it is.” Cannon pulled a roll of quarters from the register and asked Bobby to put them on top of the jukebox.
With his eyes focused on the entrance to the bar, he tried to tell himself he was simply looking to see who came to honor Bea, but that was a lie. His eyes were trained on the door, looking for one little redheaded woman.
Someone put a quarter in the jukebox and chose D-34, “The Dance,” by Garth Brooks. Cannon went to the back room to grab a couple of boxes of Kleenex, because if that song inspired anything, it was tears.
Sheriff Cooper walked in and headed straight for the bar. Cannon poured him a cup of coffee. Although the man could slam back a few beers, he never drank in excess, and he never drank on duty. In fact, he had never seen Coop drunk.
Mark Bancroft, his deputy, trailed in behind him. He was young, about twenty-four or so, and wet behind the ears, but Coop offered him a part-time position when Mark came back to Aspen Cove after a four-year stint in the army. Aspen Cove folk took care of their own.
He turned his back to the crowd and gave his undivided attention to Mike, a one-eyed alley cat that made his home in the corner of the bar. He found the poor thing in a dumpster in Copper Creek outside the discount liquor store where he bought supplies.
Mike wasn’t injured; he was born without an eye, but for a one-eyed cat, he was sure an excellent mouser.
“Hey there, bud. You eat today?” He pulled a box of Mike’s favorite treats from the cabinet and placed a few in front of him. The cat looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Mike liked it when his treats were hidden around the bar area. It was a kind of game with them. Mike liked to work for his food. “Sorry, but there are too many people here today.” Cannon scratched the top of Mike’s head and turned around to see the girl everyone called Sage standing at the end of the bar. Her eyes were covered in ridiculously large glasses, which meant his father had left his mark.
Even though he’d snapped at her yesterday, he felt bad today because, in hindsight, she was simply trying to help his dad. It was a thankless job, and he’d been saddled with it for years.
“Can I get a beer?” Her voice was small and uncertain. “Any kind will do.”
Cannon pulled a frosted mug from the under the counter freezer. “Do you prefer light or dark?”
She stared at him for a minute. Her eyes focused on his nose and the purple shadow sitting below his eyes.
“I prefer dark.” She slid into the empty bar stool and pulled off her glasses.
He winced at her injury. “I’m so sorry you got hit yesterday.”
She ran her fingertips under her eyes. “Oh, it’s okay. It hurts worse than it looks.” She gave him a half smile.
“It looks pretty awful.”
“I tried to cover it up, but my makeup skills only go so far.” She leaned forward to get a better look at his injury. “We could be twins.”
Cannon poured a pint of Amber Bock and set it in front of her. “If that’s true, I’m the ugly twin.” He smiled, hoping it conveyed something nice and friendly.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She wiped her hand on her pants and offered it to him. “I’m Sage Nichols, and for now, I’m your new neighbor.”
Cannon wiped his hand on a bar towel and took her tiny one in his. If he closed his palm, hers would have disappeared. “I’m Cannon Bishop. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her eyes went to Mike, who was sprawled out next to the cash register. His orange tail swished lazily back and forth.
“Your cat has one eye.”
He brought his finger to his lips. “Shh, he doesn’t realize he’s different.”
When she smiled, his icy heart thawed a bit.
Chapter Thirteen
She wanted so much to dislike Cannon Bishop. It was easier to think of him as an awful person than as the kind of man who cared for a one-eyed tabby cat. “What’s his name?” She sipped her beer and let the cool tickle of carbonation ease down her throat.
“Mike, after the character in Monsters, Inc. The cat reminded me of the one-eyed character. Silly, I know, but ‘Mike’ was a better name than ‘Cyclops.’”
“I totally agree about the name. Besides, I love that movie, even though I’m more fond of Boo than any of the monsters.” Once again, nothing about Cannon made sense to her. He came across as gruff and unfriendly, but that didn’t mesh with the guy loving a special-needs cat. She hated that she liked him. “You don’t seem like a cartoon kind of guy.”
; “You’ve got me all figured out from our limited exposure to one another?” A lift of his brows opened his eyes.
She noticed they were a blend of colors that started as green at the pupil and faded to a slate blue at the edge. “I’m not trying to judge you, Cannon. I can only work from my experience. How’s your dad?”
“Same as every day. He’s either drunk or gone.” He wiped at the already clean counter.
“Can I help in some way?”
She watched the wall go up between them at the mention of his father.
“Just because you moved into a saint’s house, doesn’t mean you get to wear her wings.” He walked to the other end of the bar and dove into conversation with the sheriff. They looked at her a few times, and she was convinced she was the subject of their discussion.
“Oh my God, have you tasted this?” Katie pulled up a stool next to Sage. “I just love a good casserole.”
Sage looked down at the plate piled high with pasta, green bean bake, and a selection of desserts to feed a village. “Sweet tooth?”
“It’s important to know the competition.” She picked up a cookie and took a bite. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “So good. You should get some food.”
Sage knew she was right. All she’d eaten in the last day was candy. She slipped from the stool and walked to the tables that held at least two dozen casseroles and half a dozen pies; not the store-bought kind, but the kind that used fresh fruit and hand-rolled dough.
In that moment, Sage missed her grandmother all the more. They had lived in the city because Dotty Nichols wanted her granddaughters to have options, but it was a place like Aspen Cove where her grandmother truly belonged. In her heart, Sage knew that had Dotty met Bea, they would have been friends.
Not ready to offend another person in Aspen Cove, Sage placed a spoonful of all offerings onto her plate. On her way back to Katie, she met a few locals—women who were warm and welcoming to a stranger.
A beekeeper named Abby guided her around the room to introduce her to others, and by the time she made it back to Katie, she was overwhelmed with their kindness.
One Hundred Reasons Page 7