“What was your plan? You stroll in here and hope to find me?”
She cocked her head to the side. The blonde strands fell over her shoulder. “Yes, I hoped I’d find you.”
“What would you have done if I wasn’t here?”
“Asked around.”
“Then what?”
She slapped her hands on the table. “Look, I didn’t have a plan beyond finding you and asking you, but I do now.”
“Oh please, tell me what it is. I can’t wait to hear.”
She huffed. “I thought you were a nice guy, but maybe you’re not as nice as I assumed, and since I can’t stay with you”—she looked over her shoulder and out the window—“I'll march over to the sheriff’s station and ask what I have to do to get locked up for the night because I’m not sleeping in my car. It’s already down to thirty-five degrees outside.”
Riley dropped off the cherry pie and two forks.
He remembered a short time ago he was thinking how much better the world would be if everyone helped each other out.
Goldie’s stomach rumbled and she gripped it tightly.
“You hungry?” His voice was soft.
“No.”
He slid his chicken plate into the center of the table. “I’m happy to share.”
She eyed the thigh or maybe it was the breast. He didn’t care. She could have it all if she wanted.
“Goldie, against my better judgment, I'll say yes to your request because kindness is a thing in Aspen Cove.”
She flew out of her chair and landed in his lap, hugging him and thanking him. “I take it back. You are a nice man.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He pointed at the plate closer to her. “Eat up, my place is rustic and brutal.”
She took her seat and picked up the thigh. “You want to talk about brutal? Try fighting the crowds when Macy’s has a shoe sale.” She bit into the chicken.
Poor Goldie had no idea what was waiting in the woods.
Chapter Nine
He said to follow him but how long was he going to drive and to where? Goldie had been in the SUV for over twenty minutes heading into the woods. She’d lost her radio connectivity ten minutes ago, which let her gain some clarity.
She didn’t know Tilden Cool. He could be a crazy mountain man. What if he was a serial killer or a closet Hannibal Lector? She was certain she wouldn’t taste good charbroiled and served with a glass of Chianti.
More than once she’d considered turning around, but the road was too narrow, and the only way was forward. The tires of her SUV spun in the icy sections, causing her heart to rattle in her chest.
“Maybe a jail cell was the better choice.”
As the road wound around, she pictured Tilden’s house in the mountains. Would it be an A-frame on a vista? A quaint log cabin tucked into the trees where he sat in front of his fireplace with his yellow Lab at his feet? Would it have a cute clawfoot tub in the corner of the bathroom where she could sink into hot bubbles to unknot the stress of the last few weeks?
As they pulled into a driveway, her heart rose in her throat to choke any response out of her. There was no A-frame. No cute bear carved from a log at his front door. It was a square box erected from crisscrossed logs with mud shoved into the seams. The only thing that gave it any shape or character was the stone chimney that rose from the rooftop.
When he’d said his place was rustic and brutal, she didn’t picture this. It was Unabomber creepy.
She put the car in park and laid her head on the steering wheel. “Oh lord. Help me,” she muttered. The cardboard box was looking much more appealing at this moment.
Tilden tapped on the glass and startled her. He tugged on the door, but it was locked. She debated putting her car in reverse but then she’d be back in the same boat. Reminding herself she was the one that tracked him down and not the other way around made her feel slightly safer. If anything, she was the creepy one.
With a flip of a switch, she unlocked the door and Tilden opened it to let her out.
“Welcome to my home.” He looked over his shoulder at the dark box tucked into the trees. “It’s not much, but it’s probably better than the cement bench you would have slept on if Aiden arrested you for something stupid.”
“Cement? I thought they had cots and blankets.” She exited the SUV and closed the door. Anything she needed she could get later.
“Jail isn’t the Ritz. I’m sure you’d get a blanket, but the accommodations are built-in.”
“Then I’m glad I decided on the Cool Hotel and its five-star amenities.”
“Hold your assessment until you’ve seen the digs.”
He led her to the front door, which had no lock. He turned the knob and pushed it open. The hinges squeaked.
“You could oil that.”
He chuckled. “It’s my alarm.” He flicked on a switch and the light flickered to life. “The back door is worse. I’ll hear you coming and going.”
Her eyes adjusted to the lighting. She had no words to describe what she saw before her. It was her living hell on earth. There was a window on three walls. The same mud shoved into the cracks on the inside as the outside. She walked up and touched it. The texture was rough but solid like cement.
“Mud?”
He shrugged. “I think so, but it could be shit for all I know. It’s the same color.”
She snapped her hand back and rubbed it on her jeans. Turning in a slow circle, she took in the place. Two walls were covered with bookshelves and books. The only break was the window. One wall had a stove, sink, and cabinets. They were open with stacks of mismatched dishes heaped on top of each other.
Canning jars lined one shelf, while old iron pots and pans filled another. In the corner was a refrigerator that was twice as old as her if the avocado color was any indicator.
Across from her was a door. Since it sat opposite the front door, Goldie assumed it was the back door. To her left was another door she pointed at.
“Is that the bathroom?” She stared down at her hands. She’d either touched mud or poop. Both were gross and she needed to scrub herself clean.
“Yes but …”
She rushed to open the door. Inside was a bathtub without a spigot, a hole in the floor where a toilet would sit, and a sink that thankfully had everything intact. She rushed over and spun the knobs, but nothing came out.
“You didn’t let me finish.” Tilden leaned against the doorjamb. “No running water in the place.”
Her lower jaw dropped open. “What? You weren’t joking?” Her eyes went from the sink to the tub to the hole in the floor. “How do you …” She lifted her hands into the air. “How do you bathe, brush your teeth, or … potty?”
“Potty?” He pushed off the frame and walked back into the main room. “Follow me. I’ll show you the facilities.”
He opened the back door and a breeze whipped around her ankles. She snugged her jacket closed and followed him outside.
“This is the shower.” He pointed to a box screened off on three sides. A rudimentary showerhead hung from a pipe tied to a metal post. Above, sitting on stilts sat a metal tank. “You need to fill it up with water from the pump.” He pointed to an old-fashioned hand pump that sat about ten feet behind the house. “Throw a few logs beneath the still and light it up. Takes about an hour to heat.”
“That’s a still, as in moonshine?”
“Yep. Before I got here, Ray gave himself a whore’s bath. Bowl of cold water and a sponge. I rigged this puppy up about a year ago.” He walked to the right where the last of the sun’s rays were sitting. Only a hint of daylight played through the swaying pine needles. “This is the potty.”
Goldie stared at the outhouse. It was straight out of a movie with a moon and star cut in the door.
“You should jiggle the handle a few times before you enter so the rodents and snakes move over for you.”
Again, her jaw dropped open as if the hinge that held it closed had given way.
He
walked over and thumbed the bottom of her chin up to close it. “Just kidding. So far nothing but a bat has been found in there.”
“I have to go to the bathroom outside? What am I, a poodle?”
“You could hold it and drive into town to the diner each time, but that seems counterproductive.”
She inched toward the outhouse like it was alive. She’d never gone in an outhouse before. Never gone in a Porta-potty, for that matter. When she opened the door and peeked inside, she found a string hung from the ceiling and yanked on it. The space lit up with the bare bulb that swayed above her head.
To her surprise, it was far more pleasant than she’d imagined. Her mind conjured a wooden bench with a hole in it. Spider webs all over the place. A rodent or two cowering in the corner. Instead, it was clean with a toilet seat on a wooden box, a toilet paper holder, a shelf with hand sanitizer and wipes, and a magazine rack that had the latest issues of some outdoorsy looking stuff.
“Where does it all go?”
“It’s a self-composting system.”
She didn’t know or care what that meant. She was still coming to terms with having to walk outside to relieve herself.
When they were back inside, he handed her a bottle of hand sanitizer. “Just in case the walls are poop.” He shook the teapot on the stove and turned the burner on below it. “Tea?”
“Where does the water come from?”
He pointed toward the back door. “That pump is connected to a well. No worries, it’s safe. I have it checked each year.”
Tilden was tall and big. He reached past the canned goods and pulled out two boxes of tea. “I’ve got mint madness and chamomile.”
She moved to the table that sat in the center of the kitchen area and plopped into the nearest chair. The jars of dirt and rocks lined up rattled on the surface. “I’ve got enough madness in my life. I’ll take the chamomile, please.”
While he prepped two cups, she took a deeper look at her surroundings. It was an odd mix. A large oversized black leather sectional sat dead center in the room facing the fireplace. It was modern and new. On the back door wall, below rows of books, was a full-sized bed covered in a patchwork quilt that was old but oddly charming.
Tilden brought her a cup of tea and took his to the corner of the living room area, where an old tattered chair sat. He turned on a nearby lamp and kicked up his feet on the ottoman.
Goldie sat there like she was on the outside looking in. This was how he lived. In a one-room shack with an outdoor shower and an outhouse.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Surely someone else could help her out. Someone who had modern amenities like running water and central heating. She tapped on Sebastian’s number, but nothing happened. One glance at her phone told her why. No bars. If she couldn’t text an S.O.S. to her friends, then maybe she could chill in front of the TV. She needed some mindless entertainment. Something to distract her from the realities of her life.
“Umm, where’s the television?”
Tilden had leaned back as if he were taking a nap. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “No television.” He pointed to the bookshelves. “Grab a book.”
The tightening of her chest was always the first sign of an impending panic attack. The second was the dizziness, which swept quickly past her. She took several deep breaths to ward off what could be a doozy of a breakdown if she didn’t get it under control.
“I don’t read books.” She sipped her tea, hoping the soothing benefits of chamomile would kick in.
“You’re missing out.” He rolled from his chair and walked in front of the shelves that would make most home libraries envious. He pulled a book from the stacks and handed it to her. The title stared back at her like it was a foreign language. The letters danced across the hard surface. When one word made itself clear, she said, “I’ve seen the movie.”
“Which version?” He picked up a book for himself and went back to his chair. “I prefer the Colin Firth iteration.”
She laughed. Never in her life would she have guessed she’d be sitting in a cabin talking literature and movies.
“I like the zombie one.”
“Pure shit.” He let out a whoosh of air. “That’s the problem. Movies turn great masterpieces into two hours of crap.”
“Self-composting crap?”
He shook his head. He pulled a laptop from the side of his chair and opened it. “I’ve got some research to do. Make yourself at home.” He lowered his head to his lit-up screen.
“Wait, how do you have internet and I have no connection on my phone?”
“Different cell tower. Turn it off and then back on or log into my Wi-Fi. It’s Tilden with Tilden as the password.”
“Very original.”
He glanced at her. “I like to keep things simple.”
After another look around, she said, “Obviously.”
Several minutes later, she had a working phone. For the next two hours she sent out an emergency broadcast, but she might as well have been stranded on a desert island. None of her “friends” were in a position to help.
She waited as long as she could to venture out to the outhouse. It was coming up at nine o’clock and she couldn’t take another minute of her bladder screaming.
She stood at the door for several minutes with her hand on the handle. Peeing in the outhouse seemed far better than peeing her pants, so she shored up her reserve and opened the door.
“Watch out for bears.”
“Haha.” She marched outside. The last thing she heard was him say was, “I’m serious. It’s been a mild winter, and many haven’t gone into hibernation.” By the time his words sunk in, she was already halfway there. She bolted the remaining distance and slammed the door behind her. There was a latch on the outhouse door but not a lock on the house. How had her life become so topsy turvy?
Chapter Ten
Tilden knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. Ray had done it to him when he first arrived in the woods. The only difference was Ray could make the growl of a bear sound authentic while he could not.
Instead, he snuck around to the back of the outhouse and dragged a branch across the wall. He let out a few heavy breaths and howled at the moon.
“Oh. Hell. No,” Goldie said. “I’m not surviving my childhood to be eaten by a bear.”
With his hand over his mouth trying to suppress his laughter, he leaned against a nearby tree and waited for her to bolt from the door.
He counted down from three but only got to two when she shot from the outhouse at a full run to the cabin.
He burst into laughter. “You were safer in the outhouse.”
She’d raced past him and stopped dead to swing around. “That was you? Who does that?” She marched over to him with clenched fists. “Why would you do that to me?”
“Lesson one in living in the wilderness. Don’t run into the jaws of your predator.”
She eyed him as if she was determining whether that was him or the wild animal he pretended to be.
“You’re lucky I was already finished, or I might have pissed myself.”
He kicked off the tree and walked toward her. “I think you’re mistaken. You’re lucky you didn’t wet yourself. It takes at least an hour for the shower to heat.” He strode past her to open the door.
“That wasn’t nice.” She walked inside and collapsed on the sofa.
“No, but it was funny.” He poured more hot water into her cup and took a seat in the chair he’d been sitting in before. He didn’t pick up a book. Instead, he looked at her. What was she doing in the woods with him?
“You didn’t even sound like a bear.”
He chuckled. “Good thing, since I was a wolf.”
Her eyes grew large. “I have to worry about bears and wolves?”
He stood and perused the bookshelf beside him. When he found the book about Rocky Mountain wildlife, he handed it to her. “This should get you up to speed on the dangers outside.�
�
She stared at it like he’d handed her a turd. “Just tell me what else I’m in for.”
He watched her lower lip roll out. He was one step away from seeing if the last kiss was as good as he thought, or if it was because he’d been lonely. She was a distraction he didn’t need but he had to admit she was entertaining.
“Sorry, but I don’t think there’s a movie out, so you’ll have to read the book.”
She curled into the corner like somehow burrowing in would protect her from the evils of the world.
“I thought you’d be nicer.” The cover fell open and she stared at the pages with pictures.
“I let you stay here. I’d say that’s nice. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s warm and dry. Seems to me if you knew anyone nicer, you’d be on their couch instead of mine.” He sank back into the old chair and picked up his book. Although he glanced at the pages, he didn’t get much read as his attention constantly diverted to her. Each page she turned, her eyes grew wider and wider.
“Snakes and cougars and bears and wolves? I'll get eaten alive?” She stood up and shrugged on her coat. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I saw a refrigerator box outside my old place. I figure if I hurry, I can drag it near a dumpster and call it home until I reinvent myself or find a job.”
He set his book down and walked to the door, leaning on it and blocking her exit. “I’m sorry I teased you. Sorrier that I scared you.”
He didn’t touch her, although he wanted to. Something told him it had been a long time since Goldie had been hugged.
“Stay the night, and we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“You don’t even have a place for me to sleep.”
He smiled. “I have a bed. You can sleep in it.”
She looked between him and the bed. “I let you kiss me and that might have given you the wrong impression.”
“You didn’t let me kiss you. I kissed you and you kissed me back. The impression I got was you wanted the picture to look real. That was all I was after.” He pointed to the mattress. “You sleep on the bed and I’ll take the couch.”
One Hundred Secrets Page 7