One Hundred Secrets (An Aspen Cove Romance Book 10)

by Kelly Collins

  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.

  “Are you coming to the brewhouse tonight?” She sat on the edge of the bed and put on her shoes.

  He rolled to his side and rose on an elbow. The sheet fell from his chest to wrap around his hips. The way she looked at him like he was dessert always got his body going. When he came in for the day, he found Goldie waiting in bed. Only a stupid man would turn her down.

  “I can’t tonight.” He could, but he was hell-bent on making sure when she got home tonight, she’d be able to slide into a hot bubble bath. The only thing that stood between her and bubbles was buying the bubbles.

  He hadn’t told her the work was finished. Anytime she asked, he silenced her with a kiss. Wouldn’t she be surprised when she came home to wine and candles and suds?

  “Finish up the soup if you get hungry.” She pulled her coat off the back of the chair and shrugged it on.

  “Will do.” He loved that soup. Couldn’t get enough of it and couldn’t get enough of her.

  He swung his legs over the edge and attempted to get out of bed, but she covered her eyes and yelled, “No! Don’t show me what I’m going to miss. You’ll make me want to call in sick.”

  He stood and tugged the sheet with him. With it wrapped like a toga around his body, he headed for her. “Go to work. I’ll be waiting here when you get home.”

  She looked around the single-room cabin. “Home … who would have thought? If you’d told me a month ago I’d be living in the woods with a lumberjack, I would have had you checked for sanity.”

  “History buff, part-time editor and researcher. Not a lumberjack.” He nuzzled his beard into the crook of her neck. There was one spot that made her knees weak when he kissed there. His tongue slipped out to lick the hollow, and she grabbed for the chair.

  “You are a bad man. A terrible man.”

  He swatted her bottom. “Go to work, and I’ll show you how bad I can be when you get home.”

  After a final kiss, she walked out the door.

  How was it that her absence made everything seem dull?

  The first thing he did was take a shower, in the house. It had been two years since he’d been able to turn a handle and get hot water on demand. Luckily for him, the plumbing had been run for drainage. While the shower heated, he stood over the toilet and flushed it a half dozen times. It was like magic to see the water swirl and disappear, and to watch it fill again so he could repeat the process.

  Why hadn’t he done this for himself? Priorities out of whack.

  When he stepped into the water, he leaned against the wall and let it flow over his body. The glorious feeling came only second to being with Goldie. He stayed there until the water ran lukewarm.

  After tidying up the cabin, he headed into Copper Creek.

  He wasn’t sure where he and Goldie stood. While they connected just fine in bed, they hadn’t really settled their argument. He’d had three days to think about their positions. She would never understand where he came from because she didn’t have the murderer stigma attached to her name. He would never understand her obsession with posting her silly videos.

  The other day she asked him to film her chopping wood. It was comical to watch her swing and miss, but eventually, he took the ax away from her for fear she’d chop off a limb. He wasn’t sure if it would be his or hers.

  He went from store to the store picking up all the things he thought she’d like. Flowers. Wine. Chocolate. Lavender scented bubble bath. He figured if he was already in debt for the plumbing he might as well go all in and get everything he imagined Goldie missed from her old life.

  At the checkout, he grabbed a half dozen fashion magazines. As much as Goldie tried to blend in, as much as she acclimated to his simple lifestyle, she was a product of her upbringing. She was the daughter of a movie star. A woman once used to designer labels and Michelin Star restaurants. He couldn’t get her those things, but he could get her magazines, flowers and running water.

  Once home, he got everything ready. As soon as he saw her headlights shine through the front window, he rose from his corner chair and walked to the door. A glance behind him confirmed he was ready. Flowers on the table. A box of chocolate on her pillow. A stack of magazines on the nightstand by the bed.

  He squeezed out the front door and met her halfway.

  “How was your night?”

  “Busy, but I made ninety-seven dollars in tips.” She bounced on the balls of her feet.

  He knew if she had more energy, she would have left the ground. There was nothing more humbling than homelessness and starvation. He imagined his cabin looked like a castle compared to the box she’d once considered.

  “I bet you’re exhausted.”

  She made her way onto the front porch. “What I would do for a bath.” She buried her head against his chest. “Is there any way I can persuade you to lug water into the tub for me? I’d even settle for a few inches.”

  He laughed. “Nope.” He bent over and swept her into her arms.

  A yelp left her lips. “Okay, it’s late and I’m sure you’re tired too.”

  With her in his arms, he kicked open the door and moved inside. “You get a full tub with bubbles and wine and candlelight. I may have misled you.”

  She squirmed from his arms and slid down his body to her feet. “We have water? Real running water? A toilet that flushes? We can brush our teeth in the bathroom sink?”

  “Yep. We’ve got it all.”

  “I forgive you for lying.” She slid her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. “I feel like we’ve won the Lotto.”

  “Just wait.” He shuffled to the bed and dumped her on the edge. “Get undressed. I’ll get the water ready.”

  She flopped back and spread her arms over the quilt like she was making snow angels. “How did I get so lucky?”

  He laughed. “There wasn’t anyone else in the diner when you were looking for a groom.”

  She rose on her elbows. “Not true. There was Doc Parker.”

  “I think Agatha would have fought you for him.”

  “She’s a force to be reckoned with. I think she could take me.”

  She giggled and it was fabulous. The sound of her voice did something to him. It made his heart squeeze. Not painfully, but in a way that showed he still had one. It hadn’t shriveled up and died from lack of use.

  “I’ll be right back.” He checked his pocket for the lighter and headed for the bathroom. Along with candles and lavender bath foam, he’d bought new towels. They were soft and fluffy and pink. He didn't know what her favorite color was but took a guess given most of her clothes were some shade of the color.

  All night long he questioned his desire to please her and all he could come up with was that he liked her, and Goldie added something to his life. Often it was frustration, but at least she kept him on his toes.

  The candles were lit, and the tub was filled with hot water and scented bubbles. A glass of white wine sat on the ledge. All that was missing was her.

  When he walked into the main living area, she was curled on her side with her knees pulled up to her chest. Tears were running down her cheeks.

  He rushed to her. “You okay?”

  She palmed the evidence of her crying away. “Yes, I’m more than okay.”

  He offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Tell me what made you cry.” He led her into the bathroom.

  She let out a suppressed wail when she walked inside. “You got new towels?”

  “You’re crying because I got new towels?” He pulled her shirt over her head and sat her on the edge of the tub to pull off her shoes.

  “They’re pink.” She started on her jeans as he fini
shed removing her boots.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Pink towels make you cry?”

  She was laughing and crying at the same time as she climbed into the water. “Oh my God, this is heaven.” She sunk low into the water. The suds touched her chin. “Be careful, Mr. Cool. I’m getting the impression you might like me.”

  He sat on the edge of the tub and handed her the glass of wine he’d poured. “I do like you. Especially when I don’t want to strangle you.”

  She gasped. “Tell me a time when you wanted to squeeze the life out of me.”

  He rose and walked to the door. “We don’t have enough time.” Before he closed it, he leaned back in. “I’ll meet you in bed.”

  He was naked and waiting when she emerged from the bath wrapped in plush terry cloth. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the water.

  “That was amazing. Can I live here forever?”

  He looked around the cabin. “Why would you want to?”

  “Because this is where you are.”

  She dropped the towel and walked toward him. He had to admit that he liked the weight she’d put on. She complained about her clothes getting tight. Had to lie on the bed to button her jeans, but he loved the way the extra weight felt in his hands.

  “But it’s not where you should be.” He knew she deserved more. Sadly, this was all he had to offer.

  “You know where I should be? Under your body. Stop talking and get moving.”

  He tugged her into bed and ravished her body for the next hour.

  They lay sated beside each other. Both had a glass of wine and he reached for the magazines.

  When he handed them to her, he noticed the way her smile faltered before she pulled it back into place.

  “Thank you so much.”

  “I bought what I thought you’d like.” He hated that his voice sounded defeated.

  “They’re great.” She opened the first magazine and thumbed through several pages.

  “Good. I figured if you won’t read books, maybe magazines will be your thing. At least it will get you off that damn phone of yours.”

  She chewed her bottom lip and rose to sit beside him. She opened her mouth and closed it several times. It reminded him of a fish out of water.

  “You can tell me anything.”

  Her expression grew serious. “I don’t read because … it takes me a lifetime to get through a page. I can’t even imagine what it would take to get through an entire book.”

  He hadn’t considered the reason she was averse to reading. He scooted back and leaned against the headboard and tapped the space beside him. “Talk to me.”

  “When I was a kid, my mother thought I was dim. She hired tutors for me. I never got good grades. Lord help me when she got the Growing Up with Goldie gig. I couldn’t learn my lines to save her or my life. I had an assistant and it was her job to feed me my lines. Back then they didn’t know much about dyslexia.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Is that why you use text to speech?” It all made sense now.

  “That’s been my savior for years.”

  “I had students with dyslexia. It isn’t a reflection of your intellect.”

  “Tell that to my mom.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Look at what you’ve done. You’re amazing.”

  “I did the only thing I knew how to do. I pandered to the public.”

  “You gave people what they wanted and expected. Was there something else you wanted to do?”

  She leaned her head against his chest. “Tons of things. I always wanted to be a princess.” She giggled. “One time I thought I’d be a chef.”

  “You are a chef. You could do that. There’s a culinary school in town.”

  She curled into his body. “Lots of reading.”

  “I can help you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Because I’m kind of fond of you.”

  She lifted and smiled. “Just admit it. You like me. Like really like me.”

  He tossed the magazines he’d bought to the floor. “I might like you a little.” He shut off the light. The truth was he liked her a lot. If he were being honest, his like had crossed into something deeper. He wasn’t ready to call it love, but when he thought of her his heart beat faster and harder. In his experience, like only involved his manhood. Love involved his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Whoever said the truth shall set you free wasn’t lying. Goldie hadn’t felt this free in ages, if ever. She was authentically herself. There was no faking or pretense. She didn’t have to wear the latest fashion or eat at the trendiest restaurants to matter.

  Tilden had taught her a lesson. He’d taught her to value herself. She thought back to the day she’d followed him to the cabin. Her instincts were to turn around and leave, but she didn’t have any place to go so she was forced by circumstances to acclimate to a simpler way of life.

  For the first time in her life, she realized how easy life could be. It had always been a struggle because she’d been programmed to thrive on what other people thought of her. It was a way of life. Now she had time to reflect on who she’d been and who she was.

  As she thumbed through Treasure’s diary, she had a profound respect for the woman who’d traveled by wagon train from the East Coast to Colorado.

  Tilden had teased her for days. She hadn’t even wanted to look at a book, weeks ago, and now couldn’t put this one down. The first time she opened the tattered leather cover she heard her mother’s voice tell her she shouldn’t bother. It was funny how the messages she was fed as a child still resonated with her as an adult. She believed her mother. “You can’t read,” she’d told her. “Why torture yourself? Just use your assets. Beauty and a body never let me down.” Goldie had memorized several hundred sight words that got her through everyday life. She didn’t investigate dyslexia, had no idea there were fonts that were easier to read. She’d taken her mother’s word for everything.

  Even Treasure’s handwriting didn’t pose as much of a problem because she wrote in a way that left the first letter of each word larger than the rest. It helped her understand where one word ended and the next began. That was her problem. Everything ran together in a long string of letters. Sometimes they even jumped around the page. Her reading life was like a perpetual word search. Usually, after a page or two, her eyes crossed and her head hurt, but not so with Treasure’s story.

  On some level, she was a modern-day Treasure. As she read of the family’s journey west, Goldie felt a kinship to the woman who’d battled questionable living conditions, wild animals and people who judged her.

  She curled into Tilden’s chair in the corner and moved through the diary page by page. It was slow going, but she enjoyed every word.

  Tilden was outside dismantling the outhouse. While dealing with refuse was never in her life’s plan, she offered to help him, but he told her to stay put.

  She looked up when the back door to the cabin opened. Flakes of snow stuck to Tilden’s dark hair. His cheeks were apple red from the cold.

  She rose from his chair and grabbed a towel from the bedroom to dry him off. “You look frozen.”

  “It’s getting colder, and the snow is coming down harder.” He took the towel from her hands and dried himself.

  “Do you want coffee?” She’d finally figured out the pot. Her first attempt at making him a cup produced something that resembled tea, the second looked like mud. Another three entered her life. Probably why the saying was, “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” Or maybe it’s why everyone said third times was a charm.

  “I’d love a coffee.”

  She got the grounds ready and giggled with glee when she turned the faucet handle and water came out. It never got old to turn on the water or flush the toilet. The simple things became the big things when life was put into perspective. All week long she’d been vlogging about her thoughts on life and how she’d had it all wrong before.<
br />
  “Your great-great-grandmother was quite the gossip.”

  He stripped out of his wet clothes, which halted her progress on the coffee making. Anytime Tilden was naked she was enraptured. The man had a body honed from stone. Once he was clothed again, she sighed and went back to making the perfect cup.

  “Where are you at in her diary?”

  “The part where that woman who traveled with them to Colorado had a baby that looked exactly like Major Phelps, the wagon master. Treasure said she tried to pass the child off as her late husband’s, who’d been eaten by a bear, but the little boy was a redhead with blue eyes. Both of his supposed parents were dark haired and dark eyed.”

  “Sad that they ran her out of town too.” He pulled the chair to the table out and sat down to look over the new sample reports that came back in the mail.

  “Shh, don’t tell me the ending.”

  “Says the girl who only likes to see the movie.”

  “There is no movie. At least not yet, but it would make a good one. There’s mystery, intrigue, infidelity, love, loss, and murder in this book. It’s a Hollywood blockbuster.”

  She put a cup of freshly brewed coffee in front of him. “You play with your dirt, and I'll read the next chapter.” She called them chapters, but they were periodic entries. Treasure only wrote when something was noteworthy.

  He chuckled and tore open the envelope.

  She curled back into his chair and opened the diary to the next page. This one wasn’t as exciting. Just a chapter about how Ina Carver, Walt’s wife, brought over hand-churned butter and honey from a hive they’d knocked from a tree.

  If Abby only knew that honey ran deep in her veins. Tilden had shared that the Carvers were cattle ranchers, and he thought honey bees had been brought in by Abby, but it must have gone back further than her.

  “They were friendly at first.”

  Tilden lifted his head. “Who?”

  “Treasure and Ina were friendly. They shared recipes and resources.” On the next page was a handwritten recipe for biscuits that Goldie was excited to try.

  “That didn’t last long.”

  She got up from the chair and marched into the kitchen, but not without cuffing him upside the head. “You’re a breathing spoiler alert.”