One Hundred Promises

by Kelly Collins

  Lydia pulled the top off her muffin and slathered it with butter. “The first thing we’ve agreed on.” She took a bite and hummed. Bees might send her running from Aspen Cove, but Katie’s muffins made a good argument for staying.

  Doc picked up his phone and dialed a number. After a moment he said, “Abby, sorry to bother you but thought you should know your bees are safe.”

  Lydia finished her breakfast while Doc Parker explained the situation. Abby offered her place to Lydia until she could get back to town to extricate the hive, but since Abby specialized in bees and honey, her land was surrounded by hives.

  The next call was one Lydia made to her sister. Certainly a woman who ran a bed and breakfast would have a room at the inn for her sister, but as bad luck would have it, the place was booked solid until the end of summer. All she could offer was the couch. Lydia reached out to everyone she’d met on her last visit to Aspen Cove, but no one could offer her a place to stay.

  Katie was mortified to find out the apartment was full of bees, but she didn’t have a solution. She promised as soon as Abby got the bees cleared she’d have the apartment ready again. Samantha and Dalton were her last chance but their house was small with the spare room holding all of Samantha’s things until they could move them into the studio. Lydia’s bad situation turned worse with no place to go.

  Footsteps on the stairs had them both watching the door when Doc’s girlfriend Agatha walked inside his kitchen. She placed a paper bag on the table and bent over to give him a peck on the lips.

  “Everything okay?” She went about putting away the groceries she picked up at Target. If the big red bull’s-eye on the bag wasn’t her first clue, the second was the fresh-looking produce. The Corner Store had nothing fresh.

  “We’re in a pickle here,” Doc began. He described Lydia’s housing dilemma, which was a problem for Doc Parker as well because if Lydia had nowhere to live, she couldn’t stay and work in the clinic. It was hard to tell whether this new turn of events was more bad luck or a message from the universe telling her to cut and run.

  “No pickle at all. I’ll have you a room in a minute.” Agatha dug through her purse to get her phone. She squinted at the screen and pressed it several times as if pushing the call button the first time wouldn’t work.

  Lydia noticed as people aged they got impatient. Maybe they were afraid the call wouldn’t go through before they died. Pushing the button repeatedly didn’t help, but since Agatha seemed to have a solution to her homeless problem, Lydia kept her criticism to herself.

  The echo of a distant ring filled the silent kitchen until a deep voice answered, “Hello.”

  “Sweetheart, this is Aunt Agatha. Can you spare a room for Doc’s replacement? There seems to be a problem with her current lodging arrangements.” Agatha pointed to the phone and whispered, “My nephew.” There were a lot of uh-huhs and okays. “That’s great. I’ll send her right over.”

  Doc left the room while Agatha wrote an address and passed it to her. “Head on over, dear, he’s waiting for you.” She turned away and continued to talk to her nephew.

  Lydia gathered her things and called out, “See you later, Doc,” hoping he heard her.

  She rounded the back of the building with trepidation, somehow expecting a swarm of bees around her car. To her relief, there was nothing.

  She hopped inside and laid her head against the steering wheel. Grandma Dotty used to tell her that life slapped you upside the head when you weren’t getting a clue. It started as a light tap and increased until the lessons came like hammers. Lydia figured she was at the sledgehammer stage, but what was the lesson she’d missed?

  Her thoughts went back to last night at the bar and Sage’s comment about her taking responsibility for her part in the breakup with Adam. If she was honest with herself, she’d created a gaping hole in their relationship when she volunteered for every class and took the bad shifts so others wouldn’t have to. She thought she was doing the right thing, but all she had done was leave the window open for another woman to climb through.

  She banged her head against the steering wheel several times before she started the car and drove to 10 Rose Lane.

  Parked outside of a beautiful Victorian home she read the inscription above the door where gold letters etched The Guild House into the wood.

  Turns out there were several founding families in Aspen Cove. Sage once told her the Guilds arrived first followed by the Bennetts and then the Parkers. Little by little a thriving community was born because the first person gave Aspen Cove a chance.

  Lydia finger-combed her hair and pinched her cheeks pink. No sense in scaring off whoever lived here. She needed a place to live otherwise she’d be sleeping on her sister’s couch or sharing a floor cushion in the corner with her three-legged dog Otis.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she walked to the front door and raised her hand to knock when it flew open and none other than Wes Covington stood in the entry.

  “You’re the nephew?”

  “Great nephew.” He stood aside for her to enter. “I hear you need a room.”

  Lydia wanted to turn and run. Of course it would be Wes because karma was a spiteful bitch. With no other options, she stepped into the entry where the small space seemed to wrap around her like a comforting hug.

  Someone with a keen eye had chosen a soft gray-blue that happily took a back seat to an ornately carved staircase. The beauty was in the details. While the staircase was nice, and the wall color the perfect choice, it was the simplicity of the hand-scraped wood floor that gave the space its warmth. The soft undulating texture promised to lead her to something more if she dared to walk down it.

  “This is yours?”

  He led her down the hallway to a beautiful but messy kitchen. Once again, thoughtful design balanced hard surfaces with soft colors.

  “Yes, hard to believe right? I mean for a man with such a limited vocabulary and all.” His mouth twitched at one end into a wry grin.

  Her cheeks grew hot. She wanted to reach out and pinch him—hard—but that wouldn’t help her secure a place to stay, so she smiled and reached inside herself for the apology he deserved and no doubt expected.

  “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant. Few people use the word ambidextrous. Usually they’ll say something like ‘I have to learn to use my other hand’ or something like that. It wasn’t a personal affront despite how it sounded.”

  “Apology accepted.” Wes smiled and her knees turned to Jell-O with the way they wobbled. He was not her type, but something about him attracted her. She didn’t know if it was the raw male energy that seemed to vibrate off him, or maybe it was that damn crooked smile. She had a thing for smiley faces after all. “What’s the problem at the apartment over the bakery?”

  She shuddered at the memory. “It has bees.”

  Chapter Six

  Wes’s smile grew wider until it turned into a full-fledged laugh. “You bust my balls for not liking needles and you’re afraid of a bee?”

  Her cheeks turned from pink to crimson as her temper flared. He was taught to never poke a bear but teasing Lydia was fun. He liked the way she responded with bold authenticity.

  “Yes, I’m deathly afraid of bees with an emphasis on deathly. While a shot to numb your pain or to prevent you from getting lockjaw won’t kill you, a bee sting will put me six feet under if not treated immediately.” She pulled the EpiPen from her purse and removed the protective cap to show him. As if training someone, she went through the motions of stabbing herself in leg without actually doing it.

  Wes’s pulse raced as the fear gripped him. Colors danced in front of his eyes. He blinked several times before they disappeared. There was no way he was going to the ground stone cold in front of Lydia again. A man could only take so many hits to his ego before considering himself damaged beyond repair. He white-knuckled the granite counter, not caring about the pain in his palm. “Got it. Now put that away.”

  To his relief, she capped it and
tossed it back into her bag. As soon as it was gone, his breath resumed.

  “What made you fear needles?”

  He pushed off the counter and stood in front of her. Taller than her, he was positive if he leaned forward, he could rest his chin on her head. “No idea. We traveled a lot, and it started after I got a bunch of shots to go to Africa. I know it’s an unreasonable fear, but I can’t control it.” In her eyes he saw understanding. “I’m sorry I judged you about the bees. That was insensitive.”

  She stared at him for a moment as if weighing his words on a truth scale. When she gave him a smile, he knew the scale had tipped in his favor. “Apology accepted.”

  “I think we got off to the wrong start.” Wes held out his uninjured hand. “I’m Wes Covington.”

  “Nice to meet you, Wes. I’m Lydia Nichols.”

  “Let’s get you a place to bunk, shall we?” He breezed past her. The smell of her fruity scent stopped him dead in his tracks. “Peach?”

  She collided into his back and hugged him for balance.

  “Excuse me?” Her hands lingered for a second, then dropped. “Sorry.”

  He spun around to face her. “Sorry that you ran into me or sorry that you felt me up and didn’t press a dollar into my pants?”

  “You stopped short. I had no warning.”

  Teasing her got a rise out of both. Only his happened in his pants while hers most likely had to do with her blood pressure.

  “I smelled peaches.” The smell brought him back to his youth. Long before his father’s expectations crushed his dreams.

  “Good nose. It’s my shampoo.”

  “Not really a good nose, just a good memory. I have two sisters and they went through a phase where everything they bought was fruit flavored or fruit scented down to the scratch-and-sniff stickers covering their bedroom walls. It was like living in a bowl of fruit cocktail. Peach was my favorite.”

  Lydia’s laughter filled the air. The sound was sweeter than her peach shampoo.

  “It’s my favorite too.” She gave the entry another look as if searching for something. “Do you live here by yourself?”

  He shook his head. “No, Sarge lives here too. In fact, he’s sleeping in your bed. He likes to sleep there during the day because your room gets the morning sun. We can just kick him out.”

  She followed him up the stairs. “I’m not kicking your roommate out.”

  Wes laughed. “He won’t mind. He’ll find himself another place in the house that suits him.”

  At the top of the stairs he turned down the hallway that led to six bedrooms. Only two had beds. He hadn’t fully furnished the place since he bought it last year.

  They’d made it halfway down the hall when a ball of fur shot in their direction like lead from a cannon. Sarge bypassed Wes and plowed straight into Lydia. She fell to her ass while the dog greeted her with sloppy wet kisses.

  “Sarge! Nein! Sitz!” The dog gave Wes a mutinous look. Odd for Sarge since he’d lived a regimented life until his retirement two years ago, but he backed down and sat next to Lydia. When Wes offered his good hand to help her up, a low growl vibrated deep in Sarge’s throat. “Nein!” Wes warned.

  “Was he growling at me or you?” Lydia wiped the dog drool from her cheek.

  Sarge sat at attention, his body placed between Wes and her. “I’d like to say he was growling at you, but I’ve seen that look on him and it would appear you’ve made a friend.”

  “What will he think of me when I steal his bed?” She fluffed the dog’s furry head as they started down the hallway. “I suppose I could share with him. It’s not like men are standing in line waiting to get into my bed.”

  That comment stunned him. He turned to face her. “I find that hard to believe. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  “Flattery. Your sisters taught you well.”

  “My sisters taught me nothing. I speak the truth. You’re an attractive woman. Even my dog likes you better than me.”

  The musical sound of her laugher floated down the narrow hallway. “He wants to sleep in my bed.”

  Sarge isn’t the only one. That thought came from nowhere. Sure, Lydia was pretty, but she wasn’t his type. She already had a foot out of the town he would always call home. That was a deal breaker. Nothing deep and lasting could come from a woman who dreamed a different dream. Been there, done that, and he didn’t want a repeat.

  He stepped into the second bedroom from the end. “Here’s your bed. It’s not much, but the last time I checked we were bee free.” He pointed to a connecting door. “We have to share a bathroom. I haven’t updated the one across the hallway yet and the one downstairs only has a working sink.” He stepped to the door. “Do you need help with bags?”

  “Valet service?” She walked around the room, which had a queen bed, a dresser, and nothing else. “How much is rent?”

  Wes leaned on the doorjamb and crossed one booted foot over the other. “Let’s call it payment for services rendered.”

  “I’d really like to pay.”

  He raised his bandaged hand in the air. “You already did, but if you want to help with some projects until this heals, I can find something to keep you busy.” Despite his best efforts to keep it clean, the once white gauze looked like it had been dragged through the mud.

  “What the hell, Wes.” She walked over and took his hand in hers. “Kitchen, now, and bring the bag of supplies Sage gave you.” She breezed past him into the hallway.

  He was still leaning on the doorframe when the sound of her shoes tapping down the wooden staircase filled the silence. He knew when she hit the bottom because he hadn’t had time to fix the creak. Lydia had been in his house for ten minutes and she’d already taken over.

  Sarge bounced on his feet, moving back and forth looking uncertain of where his loyalties should lie. Stay with Wes or go to her? “I’m the one that feeds you, buddy.” The dog gave him one last look and raced after Lydia. “Traitor,” he called after the dog.

  After a quick stop in his room to get a flannel shirt, Wes went to the kitchen. If she were as observant as he thought, she’d have found the supplies on the little café table in the corner.

  He rounded the corner to see Lydia at the sink scrubbing her hands the same way he did when they were covered in paint. Sarge lay at her feet.

  “How is it you have any skin left?”

  She soaped and washed several more times before she turned off the water and dried her hands with paper towels. “You get used to it. I’d hate for someone to get a staph infection because I failed to thoroughly wash my hands. I control what I can and hope for the best with the rest. Now take a seat.”

  “You’re a pushy little thing.”

  A shrug lifted her shoulders. “Only with stubborn children and obstinate men. I haven’t decided which category you fit in yet.”

  Wes mimicked a dagger to his heart. “I’m wounded.”

  “You’re in luck. I’m a doctor.” She lifted a perfectly shaped brow. “Scissors?”

  He nodded to the drawers behind her. “Top drawer on the left.”

  She rummaged inside. “Nope.”

  “Try the right.”

  A moment later. “Nope. Let’s add disorganized to the mix. Hold on.” She ran down the hallway and out the front door with Sarge trailing her. She returned a moment later with a duffel bag and her computer.

  When she opened the bag, Wes realized it was a first-aid kit. The biggest he’d ever seen. Lydia had enough supplies for a small disaster. “You’re like a Boy Scout.”

  “Yep, except I don’t have a penis.” Back at the sink she washed her hands again, then put on a pair of gloves.

  “Still afraid you’ll catch something?” He put his hand on the table palm side up. She took her scissors and cut the soiled bandage away.

  “I’m not the one with an open wound.” She’d turned his small table into a clinic and cleaned his injury. “You need to keep this clean. I’d hate to have to give you a shot because it got infe
cted.” Compassion peeked out between the cracks of her stern disposition.

  Wes ignored her comment about the shot and looked at the finely stitched cut. “How many stitches did I get?” Her touch was soft and light. Was the tough act a shell she wore for a purpose?

  “It was a significant wound.” Her fingers brushed the crosshatched thread. “Twelve.”

  “I was a suture virgin before you came along,” he teased.

  “And I popped your cherry.” She ran a layer of salve over the stitches and reapplied the bandage. “Stay out of the mud.”

  “Will do.” The soft white gauze glowed against his tanned, work-roughened hands. “What, no Life Saver?” That was the best part about seeing Doc Parker. Wes was of the mind that if he had to suffer through treatment, he was entitled to a reward.

  “You too?” She picked up a pen and drew a smiley face on his hand. “This will have to do for now.”

  “I feel cheated.”

  “Life Savers go to paying patients.”

  While she gathered her supplies, he searched for the scissors, which he found in the silverware drawer. “Here they are.” He held them up.

  “Day late and a dollar short,” she replied.

  “It’s always the dollars with you.” In his experience, women came from one of three camps. There were those who loved money, those who loved fame, and those who loved themselves. Lydia at this point belonged to camp one.

  “Speaking of dollars, I need to get back to the job hunt. Do you have internet?”

  Yep, group number one. “Password is myperfectworld. All lower case with no spaces.” He opened the top drawer on the left and tossed the scissors where they belonged.

  She glanced around the kitchen. “Take this house and put it in Cherry Creek or Colorado Springs and I’d agree that it’s a perfect world, but Aspen Cove? Not setting your sights high, are you?”

  That statement confirmed why he could have nothing more than friendship with Lydia. Her priorities were skewed.

  He leaned against the sink and stared at her. She was beautiful, but when she smiled, there was no sparkle in her eyes. Wes recognized that look. It was the look of discontentment. He’d seen it in the mirror every morning when he put on his coat and tie and went to the office. He didn’t miss that life.