One Hundred Secrets

by Collins, Kelly

  “I may need to hire someone soon.” She pointed to Cannon, who was pouring a round of shots. “We can hardly keep up on Thursday nights. Forget about Friday and Saturday.”

  He looked around. “Good for business though.”

  It was almost eight o’clock, which meant the singers would lay down their mics and head home to put their kids to bed. Small towns were like that. The sidewalks rolled up after dark.

  Tilden picked up his beer and swiveled his stool to face the small stage.

  He’d been in Aspen Cove going on two years. When he arrived, the Brewhouse was the only thing that stayed open most of the week. The diner used to have winter hours on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, but now was open seven days a week. The bar was closed on Sunday. The corner store was hit and miss. The dry goods store was closed now because people were too busy to sell their crafts and homemade goodies.

  He’d gotten his favorite knit hat there. The townsfolk teased him because Mrs. Brown had made it. They said it wasn’t yarn at all but hair from her cat Tom. He didn’t care where the material came from, it was the softest hat he’d ever owned.

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Not too much.”

  He sipped his beer and swung around to face her. Behind her back, everyone called Sage the little leprechaun, but to her face, they called her ma’am because she demanded respect, plus she basically ran the clinic, and she’d suggested things like tetanus shots and rectal exams for those who irritated her. He always tried to stay on her good side.

  “Hear you got married.”

  He almost choked on his beer. “No, ma’am. I was faking it for a friend.” He had no idea why he called Goldie a friend. He didn’t know her, but he’d kissed her, and that kind of made him more than an acquaintance.

  “Did you know you’re all over the internet?”

  “I’m what?” He pulled his phone out and searched for Goldie. When her full name came up, he clicked on the first site. It was some kind of blog she ran.

  Sage’s fingers rushed over the screen of her phone and held it up to show him the one picture he’d allowed. He couldn’t see his face, but his first name was posted in all the comments. Who’s Tilden? Where’s Tilden? We need more Tilden. #Tilden.

  Sage pulled back her phone and looked at the screen. “She’s telling everyone her husband is shy and a bit reclusive but a damn sexy mountain man.”

  He laughed. “That wasn’t a lie.” He found it funny that she’d pegged him accurately in the few minutes they spoke. He was quiet and a loner. He couldn’t speak to the sexy part. He wasn’t his type.

  Sage snapped a picture of him. “You’re like a new game.” She typed something and then posted his picture. When she turned the screen around, she’d caught him mid-sip and all she wrote was, #Tilden.

  “What’s the story there?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t say. She needed a groom, and all I was willing to offer was a picture.”

  “Do you know who she is?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “She used to be a big social media influencer. If she wore it, everyone bought it. Her mom was a starlet in her day but died a few years ago.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “What about you? You got parents?”

  He rested his back against the wall. He wasn’t a chatty guy so all this kumbaya let’s get to know you was out of his comfort zone.

  “Everyone has parents. Mine are dead too.” She didn’t need to know his mother died from an aneurysm when he was fifteen, no doubt from screaming at his drunk father, who’d died from pancreatic cancer several years ago.

  “Mine too.”

  He felt bad for being short. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “What is it you do? I always thought you were a bootlegger.”

  He laughed because that seemed to be the consensus. He rarely corrected anyone because a reputation as a bootlegger made people steer clear.

  “Nope. I leave the moonshine to Zachariah. As for me … I dabble in a lot of stuff. All legal.” Did he dare tell her he had a degree in history and had once taught high school American Government classes? Was it important for her to know he’d written several books on small towns like Aspen Cove? That he edited manuscripts and researched topics for money? Probably not. “I have a love for everything books.”

  She picked up the bar towel and wiped off the condensation that dripped on the counter from his beer.

  “You know what I’ve always wanted for this town?”

  He lifted a brow. “You mean for the two plus years you’ve been here?”

  She flung out the towel like a whip and caught him up the side of his head. “Smartass.”

  He nodded. “You got the smart part right.”

  “Seriously, wouldn’t it be great if the old Dry Goods Store was turned into a bookstore that sold real coffee? Not pod brewed but espressos and lattes?”

  There was some merit to that. If they had a bookstore in town, he’d save on gas going to Copper Creek.

  “A bookstore sounds nice.”

  Her green eyes lit up. “There could be a kid’s section with story hour. At night, what about an adult hour where scary or sexy books were read? How does a book club sound?”

  “What’s got you all worked up, baby?” Cannon wrapped his arms around Sage’s waist and kissed her cheek.

  “Your wife wants you to buy the vacant store and open her a book shop.”

  She grabbed his half-empty beer and topped it off. He never had to pay for more than one, and it never seemed to empty.

  “No. I want Tilden to buy the shop and open a book store. He says he loves books.”

  Cannon lifted both brows carving a wrinkle in his forehead. “Books you say?” He shrugged. “Learn something new every day. So, are you going to do it?”

  “Do what?” came a familiar voice from his right.

  “Tilden here is going to open a book store.” Cannon placed a napkin and pen in front of Doc, who took the now empty stool next to Tilden.

  This was their thing. Each night, Doc came for a beer and a game of Tic Tac Toe. He only had to pay for his beer if he lost. Doc rarely lost. Or maybe Cannon always let him win.

  Doc lifted the mug to his lips and took a long draw. The suds stuck to his mustache until his tongue darted out to swipe the foam away.

  “Is that so?” He picked up the pen and drew a nine-box grid before marking the center with an X.

  “No, it’s not so. I need plumbing that comes all the way to my house before I can buy a book store.”

  Doc rubbed his beard while Cannon filled in the upper right with an O. They went back and forth until the game was over, and Doc was drinking free.

  “It’s not a terrible idea.” Doc drew squiggles in the frost of his mug.

  Tilden shook his head. “While I have a passion for books, I hate showering outside in the winter.”

  Sage gasped. “You shower outside? What do you do? Rub an ice cube over your body?”

  She was close to being right.

  “No, I have an old still I put on stilts. I light it up about an hour before I want to shower. If it’s bitter cold outside I need two hours to heat it. Gravity pulls the water down the hose.”

  She turned to Cannon. “Next time I complain about anything, remind me that Tilden showers outside.”

  “You all heard it.” Cannon moved to the register to cash out the last of the wannabe singers.

  “Time to stock.” Sage disappeared into the back room.

  “You and I have had little time to get to know one another,” Doc said. “Tell me about yourself.”

  He wanted to groan, but that would have been disrespectful. “I’m a history buff. I’ve heard you come from a family that built Aspen Cove.” He hoped that Doc was like most people. Once they got to talking about themselves, they forgot they’d asked any questions.

  “Yes, I am. I hear you’re living in Ray Bradley’s old place.”

  “Yep, he left it to me in his will.”


  “You kin?”

  Tilden shook his head. “Nope, just helped him out at the end and he was kind to me.”

  “Ray’s family is an interesting story if you like gossip.” He lifted his bushy brows as if it was a question.

  “Really? What makes his story worthy?” Ray seemed like simple folk. He didn’t ask for much. He didn’t get much. He once told Tilden that he could have everything he wanted if he wanted nothing. What was the fun in that?

  “Tell me.”

  “Can’t confirm it, but rumor had it the Bradleys came about when Walt Carver had an affair with Virginia Coolidge. She was married to Eton Bradley at the time.” Doc looked at Tilden. “I always thought you were related to Ben.”

  “No, sir.” That was an instinctual answer, but he probably was related. He’d never heard of Virginia Coolidge, but then again, maybe she was the Ginny who Trudy mentioned in her diary. He stored that information away for future reference.

  “My family wagon-trained it over from the east. They hired a Major Phelps to guide them to the Rockies. Truth was they were headed for California and the gold they’d been hearing about, but they got here and stayed.”

  “Fascinating. Were there other families with them?” He knew there were but found it better to not lead people. The information was pure when it wasn’t pulled from someone.

  “Sure. The Carvers were always in that group headed for California and the Coolidges, and the Bennetts. I’m sure you’ve heard of Bea. She’s like the Mother Teresa of Aspen Cove.”

  He nodded. “I hear she was a mighty fine woman.”

  Doc sipped his beer. His bright eyes seemed to dim. “We lost a good one.”

  “If they were determined on getting rich mining for gold, what did they do here to make a living?”

  “Cattle. My ancestors were ranchers as were the Carvers and the Bennetts. Although Walt Carver did his best to find gold on his land.”

  That spiked Tilden’s curiosity. “He mined for gold?”

  “That’s what I heard. Dug a tunnel halfway across his land. Damn fool thought he’d strike it rich. Instead, he ended up dead.”

  Tilden’s heart beat so hard he could barely breathe. “Any idea how he died?”

  “He spent most of his days in those tunnels. Gasses build up. Poor oxygen quality. They didn’t have forensics back then, so we’ll never know.”

  “You’re a fountain of knowledge.”

  “I hear you got married. Where’s the bride?”

  Tilden let out a sigh. “She already left me. Found out I lived in the woods and raced to the limousine before we could sign the papers.”

  Doc looked at him sternly. “Are you yanking my chain, son?”

  Tilden nodded. “Yes, sir, I am. I didn’t get married. Merely got paid to pose for a picture.”

  Doc emptied his beer. “She was quite a looker. Pretty thing in that cloud of white.”

  Tilden remembered Doc being in the corner hiding behind his paper. “So you saw her. She may be pretty, but a woman like Goldie Sutherland is nothing but trouble.”

  Doc patted Tilden’s back. “Son, all women are trouble.” He slid off his stool. “Speaking of trouble, I need to get back to my Agatha.”

  Doc laid a five on the bar and left.

  Tilden flagged Cannon over to pay for his beer. When his tab was clear, he walked outside with less money in his pocket but a whole lot more information moving through his brain.

  Chapter Seven

  Goldie pocketed the hundred-dollar bill and smiled at the new owner of her favorite Chanel bag.

  “I can’t believe I got this for a hundred bucks.” The twenty-something with perky boobs and an early addiction to fillers bounced on her heels and nothing moved but the flounce of her Dior dress.

  “It’s a great deal.” Given the purse was well over a thousand dollars new and had been used only a handful of times, it was downright robbery.

  “Did you say you were moving?”

  Goldie looked around her empty apartment. Moving was the best story she could come up with.

  “Yes.” She licked her pomegranate lips. “You may have seen it on my blog … I got married.”

  The girl moved to the window. The penthouse sat at the top floor of the Miner’s Exchange building and overlooked the city of Denver.

  “Great view. Have they rented the place yet?”

  “What’s your name?” Goldie would have guessed Solange or Monique or something like that.

  “Courtney.”

  Wouldn’t have picked that one for the bottle blonde with a thousand lowlights. “I believe they already rented it out.” She didn’t want Courtney putting out feelers. Any interested party with a pulse and a paycheck would have her landlord’s ear.

  Her lower lip stuck out. “Tell me about Tilden.”

  Goldie wanted to fist pump the air. If she knew his name, then she’d been paying attention. “Oh, he’s…” She took in an exaggerated breath that lifted her chest before she exhaled into a sigh. “He’s amazing.”

  Courtney reached for her left hand and stared at the empty ring finger. It was an oversight for sure. The entire wedding outfit had had to be returned, including the jewelry she’d borrowed from Carbon.

  “No ring? Don’t tell me your mountain man is a cheapskate.”

  “No.” She giggled to hide her lie. “It’s being resized.”

  Courtney walked away from the window toward the door with her new bag tucked under her arm. “You are fluffier than I expected.” She looked Goldie up and down. “And a lot older.”

  She opened the door and hoped the woman left quickly because if she didn’t, she was likely to get beaten with the bag she’d purchased.

  “Thanks for coming by. I’ve got to go.” She tapped the cell phone she had in her hand. “Lunch with Tilden.”

  “Oh, where are you meeting? I’d love to see him.”

  Goldie started to close the door and just before the lock clicked, she said, “In bed. He has a serious appetite. No time for visitors.”

  The last she heard from Courtney was, “Oh my.”

  Back in her room, she rummaged through what was left. She’d sold most of her bags, a few pairs of her shoes and several couture dresses. Clothes were hard because most of the items with value were custom designed for her body. In her heyday, she’d been likened to Marilyn Monroe with a 36-24-36 figure. The reality was more like 36-28-40 these days.

  She thought about Courtney’s comment about her weight and age. Obviously, she couldn’t get away with telling people she was twenty-six. There wasn’t enough Botox to freeze her laugh lines.

  Emptying her pockets, she counted out the bills. Why she’d moved into a place with rent that breezed past three thousand a month was beyond her. No doubt it was because back then, everyone was watching. Everyone was buying.

  People thought she made a fortune and she did, but it cost a fortune to keep up the lifestyle they tuned in to see. A vicious damn circle of earn and spend.

  Eighteen hundred dollars sat in a pile at the end of her bed and she was still thousands short.

  She flopped onto the comforter and looked at her phone. She’d been watching the numbers daily. Her affiliate accounts were trickling in with income, but it was barely enough to buy new underwear. It wouldn’t pay her rent. The largest earnings came from the lipstick which in her opinion looked like blood from a day-old crime scene.

  A ping sounded, which meant her blog had an active visitor. When she clicked on the comments, she wanted to scream. Little Courtney had been busy. Goldie read every painful word in slow motion.

  Goldie isn’t so golden anymore. Social icon is old and fluffy, and all washed up. #whereisTilden

  “It’s who’s Tilden, you twit.” She buried her head in her pillow and screamed. She lay there for an hour lamenting about her life and the turn it had taken.

  Her publicist’s ringtone pulled her from the abyss. Nancy always had good news and if she didn’t, she always had a plan.


  “Nancy, I’m so glad to hear from you. What have you got for me?”

  “Hey, Goldie. You got a minute?”

  She rose from the mattress and walked through the hall to the kitchen. Even her bare feet echoed through the space.

  “Sure. Please tell me you’ve got good news for me. Things have been slow here lately.”

  The silence that met her was sharp and cold, like a steel blade to her gut.

  “This isn’t that kind of call. Your kind of career is like produce at the grocery store. It’s great while it sits on the shelf and looks pretty, but even an apple has an expiration date.”

  “You’re comparing me to an apple?”

  “Oh, Goldie. I’d say you were a peach, but they spoil faster. Your time in the spotlight is up.”

  The lump in her throat burned like a ball of fire. “Are you quitting me?”

  “I don’t like to say the word quit, but I can’t promote something no one wants.”

  She fell against the cabinet and slid to the floor. Without Nancy, she had less than the nothing she had now because without her publicist there were no deals to be brokered. No Fendi. No Marc Jacobs. No Chanel. No Lancer. No Maybelline. Nothing.

  There weren’t any words left to be said. Nancy had said them all: no one wanted her. “Okay, Nancy. Thanks for everything.”

  This was it. She’d give her landlord what she could gather and hope he’d let her stay until she found a better situation. She thought about the friends she could call for help. There was no one, because in her business friends and enemies were only separated by a deal or a paycheck. It was a dog eat dog world, and she’d just been devoured.

  She found the strength to rise and made her way to her bedroom, where she scooped the money off the bed. In the morning, she’d head to the bank and get a cashier’s check for Mr. Page. Surely, he’d be sympathetic to her plight.

  * * *

  Goldie woke and then showered. She pulled herself together even though she was falling apart. In her head, her mother’s three rules played repeatedly.