He shook his head. “You know the ending, so what is there to spoil?”
She picked up the damp towel he’d set on the kitchen counter and chucked it at him. The toss was so on point, it covered his head.
“When you watch a romance, you know the hero and heroine will get together, that’s the promise of a romance, but it’s all the stuff that happens in the middle that makes it interesting.”
“Romance isn’t interesting.”
She pulled a canister labeled flour down from the shelf. “Says the man who bought me bubble bath and flowers.”
He leaned back in his chair. The front legs came off the floor as he shifted back.
“Maybe you smelled bad and the gift was really for me.”
“Or … maybe you like me more than you’re willing to admit.” She measured out the amounts written in the diary. “Funny how you bullied me into being honest about my life. Pot. Kettle. Black.”
She added the rest of the ingredients and began mixing the sticky dough together. She turned on the oven and dropped spoonfuls of the gooey stuff on a baking sheet while it preheated.
Tilden pushed the papers he was looking at aside. “Dammit.”
“Nothing new?” She knew he’d been testing soil samples looking for a smoking gun.
“Same stuff. Trace minerals but nothing more. It’s starting to look like Isaiah might have killed Walt Carver. If I can’t prove he didn’t, what’s the point?”
She slid the tray into the oven and came to sit across from him. “What was the point initially? What drove you here?”
He picked up his coffee. “I wanted to find out the truth about myself.”
She reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “You are your own truth. You are not your ancestors just as I’m not my mother.”
“It’s not the same.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not, but isn’t it funny what people fight over? Let’s promise to never fight.”
He put his coffee mug down. “That’s not reasonable. We're going to fight.”
She let go of his hand and slid it back to her side of the table. “Yes, we will, but let’s always make up.”
He smiled at her. “Making up with you is half the fun. You want to get in a fight now so we can make up later?” He glanced over his shoulder at their bed.
“Okay, let’s fight.” She knew what she would say wouldn’t make him happy, but it had to be said again. “Why don’t you ask the people of Aspen Cove what they know? Some of the people who live here have a long history. Surely they could solve the mystery for you.”
The timer went off and she pulled the biscuits from the oven. They looked like tiny blocks of cement. She wouldn’t call Treasure a master baker, but she imagined things were different years ago. Rather than make them suffer by eating the hockey pucks, she tossed them into the trash bin.
He pushed from the table. “I’ve told you already, no one knows anything. I’ve talked to people. They don’t know what happened.”
“You’ve talked to them like a man interested in history. It’s different when you’re looking to vindicate your family. Their memories might get better.”
“Nope. What they don’t know can’t hurt me.”
Sometimes, he could be so frustrating. She didn't understand why Tilden wouldn't ask, then again, she got it because one wrong move could change everyone's perception of a person. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, but maybe she could help.
“But the lies we tell ourselves can hurt us too.”
“I’m not lying to anyone. I’m just not releasing the information I have.”
“Oh, is this where you tell me there’s a difference? A secret cannot be a lie simply because it’s kept?” They’d both been lying to themselves and to each other, but at least she’d attempted to change.
“It will get worse before it gets better,” Tilden said. “I’ll get more firewood.”
She wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but in her experience sometimes worse was for the better. If she hadn’t hit rock bottom she wouldn’t be here now, and something told her here was where she was supposed to be.
As soon as Tilden pulled on his boots and coat and left, she turned the camera to herself.
She'd been sneaking in live broadcasts when she could, showing her audience what life in the wild had been like, and her numbers were growing again. Just this morning a sponsor contacted her about using their outdoor products, but she was resistant to march down that path again, and she’d turned them down. There were other ways to earn a living. She didn’t have to sell her soul for ramen anymore.
While she wouldn’t vlog for money, she liked the freedom to say what she wanted and ask for what she wanted. Something had changed over the last week. People were coming to her site asking her opinion about life matters, not lipstick, and it felt good to have something beneficial to share. Her numbers were climbing, which meant people were tuning into Getting Real with Goldie. Thinking about exposure, she did another impromptu post.
“I’m living in a town that had a historic feud over water rights. Tilden has been poring over the history for weeks.” She beamed a bright smile. “Yes, that’s right, my man is a history buff.” She patted herself on the back. “I scored a good one, but I have a riddle for you to solve. I’ve got a bunch of cattle, a diverted creek, a man obsessed with mining his flat land for gold and two families tired of it all. The cattle are dead and so is the man. What killed them?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
He zipped through the country road that led to his cabin. Outside of wildlife, there was never anyone driving it. He didn’t even get mail delivery. Once a week he headed into Copper Creek to pick up whatever mail had come in.
He was excited to get back to Goldie. He’d bought her a gift sure to keep on giving for years to come. She’d finished the diary and he’d seen her pull Pride and Prejudice from the shelf several times. She’d sit and stare at the pages for an eternity before she closed it up and put it away. It broke his heart that she’d miss out on the classics, not to mention all the wonderful books that had come out within the last decade.
He looked at the Kindle box on the seat beside him and smiled. She would love it.
When he pulled up to the house, he saw her in the front yard getting ready to swing the ax. Her lips were moving as if she were talking to someone. On a stump in front of her was her phone.
She was paying more attention to it than to what she was doing. Her stance was all wrong. One swing and the forward motion would take her into a tumble. If she wasn’t careful, she’d hurt herself. He threw the truck in park and jumped out.
“Dammit Goldie, you’re going to kill yourself.” He ran to her and pulled the ax from her grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m showing my fans how to chop wood.” She pointed to the phone propped up on the log.
“Why?”
She turned to face him with her fists on her hips.
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you end this nonsense?”
“It’s who I am. Asking me to give up social media is like asking you to give up reading.”
“Why keep pandering to people who don’t matter? Do you think they’d care if you cut off your hand?” He shook his head. “They don’t give a shit about you. All they care about is watching you make a spectacle of yourself.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve found my purpose, and you helped me get here. I’m being honest about things like how hard it is to cut wood to how dry my damn skin gets when the air turns frigid.” She turned and smiled for the camera. “Believe it or not, Crisco is a miracle worker on dry skin.”
“If you think this is your purpose in life, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”
He saw the hurt in her eyes, but he also saw the anger.
“Why are you being so mean? More bad news? Nothing in the next batch of tests?”
“Lay off, Goldie. This isn’t about me. It’s
about you.”
She’d hit a sore spot. He wasn’t used to failing at things. His life hadn’t been easy growing up, especially after his mother died. When his father started drinking it only got worse. They survived because Tilden had succeeded. He’d found a job mowing lawns when he wasn’t old enough to work. Got a job bagging groceries when he turned sixteen. He stuck his head inside books, so he graduated at the top of his class and got a scholarship. When his dad died, he took his savings to bury him and buy his parents a headstone. Nothing had been easy, but he’d done it. His family had been worth the hardship.
“Why isn’t it about you? Why do I have to be honest with myself and everyone watching but you get to hide behind your secrets?”
“I’m telling you to stop now.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not going to stop until you come clean.” She shifted so she faced the camera. “This is Tilden Cool. He’s a teacher turned mountain man. He moved here to Aspen Cove to find out the truth.” She laughed. “The truth about a family feud that changed the trajectory of his life. Only when it happened, he wasn’t alive. He wouldn’t come to be for over a hundred years later.”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you always looking for approval from people who don’t matter?”
She stood tall and stomped her foot. “Everyone matters, Tilden. Everyone. You. Me.” She pointed to her phone. “Them. We all matter. And I’m trying to live my life with purpose and meaning—to be authentic. To show people that they can change. Lord knows I have.”
His lips twisted. There was so much he wanted to say. “Have you? All I see is a woman still looking for acceptance from an audience not worthy of her.”
“You know what I see? I see a man who’s afraid of losing everything he doesn’t have. You’re a loner without friends trying to hold on to the lie that you have them. You keep the truth of your identity secret because you’re ashamed to know that maybe you have a murderer in your family. Let me tell you something. It. Doesn’t. Matter. You are not him.” She pressed a finger into his chest. “Everyone, meet Tilden Cool, who hails from the family Coolidge. They were like one half of the Hatfields and McCoys. Only it was the Coolidges and the Carvers. They fought over water rights and someone ended up dead. A lot of cattle perished, and a family was run out of town. His family.”
Tilden clenched his fists and backed away. He would never hurt a woman, but in that moment, he wanted to strangle her, or at least put her over his knee and teach her a lesson.
“That was not your story to tell.” He took another step backward. “How dare you air my dirty laundry to the public? You just used me for profit. All you care about is money, recognition, and fame.”
“Not true. I’m not making a dime. Why I cared about you is dumbfounding because you treat me like I’m stupid. Like what I do is worthless.” She swiped at the tear running down her cheek. “I thought you were different, but you’re just like my mother, who thought as long as I had her agenda as my priority, I was okay.” She pointed to the phone. “And you’re worse than they could be. At least they’re honest. They don’t pull punches with their words. It’s brutal and painful to hear the truth about yourself, but sometimes it’s necessary.”
She marched over to the stump and picked up her phone and looked at it. “Don’t forget, the truth will often set you free, but that’s after it breaks your heart.” She ended the live feed.
She stomped into the house with him on her heels.
He leaned against the door jamb and watched her toss her bag on the bed. He wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the situation was. She was living in a one-room cabin and the woman had a Louis Vuitton bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Not sure but it’s not your problem.” He stepped away from the door, but she held up her hand. “Don’t. You don’t get to ask questions.”
“Bullshit. You became my problem the minute you offered me money to be your husband.”
“You said no. Problem solved.”
“No, you’re wrong. You begged me to let you stay here and I did. Still my problem.”
She moved around the room like a ricocheting bullet. She didn’t bother to fold her things. Instead, she shoved shirt after shirt into every nook and cranny of the bag. She marched into the bathroom to get her toothbrush. When she came out, she had the lavender bath foam in her hand. She slammed it on the table. “Use this to wash away the smell of the next girl who becomes your problem.”
“That’s not fair. I was joking.”
She looked around the cabin. “It wasn’t funny.” She hefted her bag over her shoulder. “I guess this is goodbye.”
He could see the tears collect in the corners of her eyes. “Don’t leave, Goldie.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “I have to. I can’t live with someone who doesn’t see me for who I am.”
She walked out the door and he leaned against the porch post and watched her drive away.
“I’m the only one who has seen you,” he said before he walked back inside and closed the door.
It had been three days since she’d left him. Three days of sleeping alone. No laughter. No warmth. No awful coffee.
He’d brought in the Kindle and stared at it for the last three days. He debated sending it back, but he couldn’t take what he intended away from her. She loved to read. Her damn mother had made her believe she couldn’t when all it would have taken was patience and time.
He set the ereader up to use the open dyslexic font and loaded all the classics for her.
News traveled fast in a small town. The last time he was in the bakery, Katie made it a point to tell him Goldie was staying at B’s Bed and Breakfast.
He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but he was relieved to find out she wasn’t living with Baxter. Just thinking about how the man had looked at his woman made him break out into a sweat.
What was more surprising was that she’d stayed in town.
He picked up the Kindle and jumped in his truck. He figured he’d grab a bite to eat at the diner and leave the ereader with someone so they could give it to her.
When he walked inside it was busy and his normal table was occupied. He looked around and found Doc sitting in the corner. The old man waved him over.
He wasn’t sure if he was ready for whatever Doc had in mind. Wasn’t sure if he knew the truth about his identity. Few people paid attention to Goldie’s posts, but he knew Sage did and since Sage worked for Doc Parker, the rumors about him had spread.
“Have a seat, son,” Doc said as he approached the table.
“Don’t want to interrupt.” He looked at the folded newspaper.
“What’s in there isn’t half as interesting as what’s in front of me. You hungry?”
Tilden nodded.
Maisey came by to pour them coffee and walked away with his usual order of cakes and sausage.
“You want to start, or you want me to start?” Doc folded his napkin in half. “Better yet, let’s play a game.”
Tilden knew that Doc would win but he wouldn’t take the fun from the old man.
They went back and forth on the Tic Tac Toe game until Tilden lost, as he knew he would.
“You won.” Tilden lined up his knife, fork, and spoon. “You always win.”
“Do I?”
He gave Doc a look that said, Don’t play dumb with me.
“The way I see it is it’s not about the outcome of the game. It’s about two people moving around each other. Life is a game, son, and you need to know how to play nice with others.”
“I get that.”
He thought about his fight with Goldie. He was still coming from the place that she had no business telling his story, but she was right about a lot of things. He had marginalized what she found passion in. Her life had always been lived under the scrutiny of the public eye. When he told her to be honest with herself, he didn’t realize he’d been telling her to lie to herself. By taking away the one thing she’d always done, he was stripp
ing her of an important part of who she was. She was Goldie Sutherland, daughter of Liza and vlogger extraordinaire.
He’d tuned into her vlog since she’d left and found she hadn’t posted, but there were at least a thousand posts about their fight. People came at them from both sides. She was right. She made a difference in people’s lives if only because she was willing to show her true self. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Another one of her threes, she’d say. He missed her silly take on the world. How she got giddy each time she turned on the taps. How she’d commandeered his chair to read the diary.
“Now listen here, son. I understand you’ve been looking for some information.”
Maisey dropped off their breakfast and dashed away.
“You already told me what you knew.”
Doc chuckled. When he laughed everything seemed to shake, including the table.
“Did I? You weren’t asking the right questions. What do you really want to know?”
“I want to know if my great-great-grandfather killed Walt Carver.”
“Now see … I don’t know that answer, but I can tell you what I think happened.”
“You told me already. You thought he poisoned himself being underground all those hours.”
“What have you been searching for?”
“Proof.”
“Have you found it yet?”
He cut into his pancakes and shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve taken sample after sample and spent thousands of dollars testing them. I’ve got nothing.”
Doc swallowed his bite and reached over to tap Tilden on the head with his fork. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“Are you going to keep playing games with me, Doc, or are you going to tell me what you think I ought to know?”
The old man sipped his coffee. “I much prefer the game. It teaches you a lesson. Ask the right people the right questions and you might find your answer. Then again, the answer might be gone forever. Does it really matter who killed Walt?”
One Hundred Secrets (An Aspen Cove Romance Book 10) Page 16