“She’s more like the opposite of Julia Child. Sage in the kitchen is like asking Hannibal Lector to dinner. No one would live to tell.” Cannon grabbed a bowl of mixed nuts and disappeared.
She shrugged, “It’s true. What about you, do you cook?”
Cooking was the one thing Goldie could do. She never followed a recipe but made some amazing dishes.
“I love to cook.”
Sage nodded toward Tilden, who was taking a shot but looked up as if he knew they were talking about him.
“Are you two a thing?”
Cannon flopped against the counter and asked for four lagers.
Rather than wait for Sage, Goldie pulled the mugs from the freezer and tried her hand at the taps. It was harder than it looked. It required the perfect angle to get it right, but by the second pull, she had it down.
“You’re a natural.” After that, they left her to her own devices. She moved around the bar and took orders. She had a great memory from all the lines she’d had to rehearse as a kid. Her mother had hired someone to recite her lines to her, so she retained more from listening.
She moved toward a table and found a hand wrapped around her waist. When she was pulled into someone’s lap she looked into a pair of blue eyes. “Hey, beautiful. You’re new in town.”
“I am, but I’m also working. Can I get you something?” She glanced around her. The man whose lap she sat on was at a table with two young firemen still in uniform, but they were drinking soda.
“I’d love a beer and maybe a date.”
Before she could reply, Tilden was there. “Hey, Baxter, I can see you appreciate a beautiful woman, but this one isn’t available.”
He let go of her waist like he’d been burned. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know she was taken. You know how it is, finding a single woman in Aspen Cove is like finding a unicorn.”
Tilden chuckled. “Be careful of this one. Her horn is sharp.”
Goldie jumped to her feet and turned toward Tilden. “You better move, or my horn might find its way up your ass.”
He leaned into her and whispered loud enough for only her to hear, “Who knew you were so kinky?”
She pushed against his chest. “Who knew you could be a dick?”
He leaned back. “From what I hear it’s unremarkable.”
She couldn’t help but glance down. “That’s not what I said. I said it wasn’t noteworthy to remember.”
He lifted her chin and planted a chaste kiss on her lips. “But you remember it, don’t you?”
She walked away. How could she forget it? Tilden standing in front of her naked with his length hanging heavy against his thigh was not something she’d soon forget. Too bad he was everything she didn’t like in a man. He was rough around the edges and dressed like a logger. But he was also kind and hardworking. Then there were those eyes, eyes that could see into her soul. Broad shoulders, deep voice, and his body. Oh, his body was a work of art. Add to that his not noteworthy length and girth. She shook her head. Nope, Tilden Cool was not her type. He was coal and she was an unpolished diamond.
This was the reality of her life. She pulled her phone from her pocket and took a video. “You want it to get real. This is real. This is my life. Starting today,” she said in front of the camera. “We’re getting real with Goldie.”
Chapter Twelve
Tilden sat in silence as he drove Goldie back home. Each time they hit a bump, she groaned.
“Feet hurt?” Was this the first job Goldie had that required her to stand for a shift?
“Everything hurts.” She fisted a wad of bills in her hand. It was mostly ones, but she held on to them as if each was a golden nugget. “Especially my pride.”
He wove through the back roads with only headlights and the glow of the moon to light the way. When a deer darted in front of his truck he slammed on the breaks.
“Ouch. Are you punishing me?” She rubbed her collarbone where the seat belt had dug in.
“No, I’m trying to get you home alive. A deer crossed the path.”
She perked up. “Really? Where?” She twisted in her seat to glace out the back window. “It’s gone.”
It wasn’t his business but there was a lesson to be learned here. “Glad you can see that. Sometimes it’s best to look at things in your rearview mirror.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He pulled into the front of the cabin and parked.
“It means that sometimes it’s important to realize the past is in the past and you have to move on to the future.”
She unbuckled and opened her door, then rolled out of the car as slowly as a geriatric woman.
He rushed ahead to open the door for her and headed straight for the refrigerator to pull two beers from the top shelf. “You served them all night. You might as well enjoy one. Unless beer is below you.”
She tossed the bills in her hand to the bed. They floated like falling leaves to the mattress. “Just say what you want to say. You don’t like me?”
“Woah, this isn’t a matter of like or dislike. It’s a matter of reality.” He popped the caps off the beers and handed her one. She took it and downed nearly half in her first drink.
“You want to talk about reality?” She spun around. “Look at you. You hole up in your cabin like the Unabomber, only you’re not building bombs. You’re …” She pointed at the table and the pile of notes and vials of dirt. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but from the outside looking in it’s weird.”
He walked to the corner and flopped into his favorite chair. It was old and tattered and torn but it was comfortable. He’d spent nearly every night for the last two years in that chair reading, editing, or researching.
“You want to talk about weird? How is it you can lie to people all day about who you are and take their money and not feel as if you’re stealing from them?”
Her eyes grew wide. “Stealing?” She hobbled to the couch and sank into the cushions. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”
He thunked his beer down on the table beside him and watched her for a moment. Her hair was a mess and it had never looked so damn sexy. There wasn’t much lipstick left on her lips, which made them even more appealing.
“Each time you post a video about a product you’re pimping, you’re stealing their trust.”
Her lips stretched into a thin line. “How can you say that? I’m merely telling them about a product that they should try. Whether or not they like it is up to them. Whether or not they purchase it isn’t my problem.”
He kicked out his feet and rested them on the ottoman. “There’s where you’re wrong. It’s all about them purchasing the product because if they don’t, you end up in a cabin in the woods living with me.”
Part of him loved to spin her up. Over the last week, he’d done it a lot. Her mother might have been a decent actress, but Goldie was a canvas of emotions, and every one of them showed on her face.
“While you’re rubbing it in, why don’t you work on my aching feet?”
He knew she wasn’t asking him to rub her feet, but with the way she had hobbled to the sofa, a good foot rub wouldn’t be unwelcomed.
He rose from his chair and sat at the other end of the couch. He tucked his beer between the cushions and reached for her feet.
“What are you doing?” She tugged her booted feet back.
“While I rub it in, you may as well get some benefit.” One more tug and he had her turned around with her feet in his lap. It didn’t take long for him to pull off her boots and socks. He wasn’t a foot kind of guy. Loved to see a nice pair of legs and never minded a pair of heels wrapped around his waist, but feet weren’t his thing. Goldie’s were a different matter. They were perfect down to her soft pink polish.
He started with his thumbs at the arch and worked his way to her toes, all while she hummed and moaned. His sixteen-year-old self would have had a hard-on with all the erotic sounds coming from her mouth. His thirty-six-year-old self was fin
ding it hard to keep it soft.
“Back to your business.”
A loud sigh whooshed from her lungs. “I have no business.”
“Exactly, because you’ve lost people’s trust by lying to them.”
She pulled her leg back, but he didn’t let her get far. After a few seconds, she relented. The feel of his touch must have been worth the pinch of his words.
“I don’t lie.”
He shook his head and grabbed his beer for a drink before he continued. “Tell me about one product you advertise that you buy and love.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lip twitched to the side. “There are plenty.” She pinched her lower lips between her fingers and twisted and pulled. When it popped free it was pink and puffy and begging to be kissed. He had no idea why he was always thinking about her lips and kissing them.
“I liked the gum I pimped once. It didn’t help with weight loss, but the minty taste was good.”
“I bet you told everyone it was a fabulous product.” His hand moved up and squeezed her leg. “You’re naturally slim so I bet the post included a picture of you in skinny jeans.”
“How did you know?”
“Because I’m an investigator at heart. I have an inquiring mind, and I wanted to know who Goldie Sutherland was.”
“You stalked me.” She leaned over and grabbed her beer from the table.
“I prefer to call it research.” He sat with her feet on his lap as if they did this every night. “Who was this woman who asked me to marry her? Why did her kiss taste so good?”
She smiled. “It was the weight loss gum.”
“Right.” She was a mess but a sassy mess that somehow made his drab life more colorful. “Still a lie.”
“I didn’t lie. I merely stretched the truth.”
“Which is a lie. Tell me, who is Goldie Sutherland, really?”
She gnawed on her lower lip for a minute. “She’s a nobody. The daughter of a dead movie star. The washed-up who’s who of product pimping.”
He wrapped his arms around her knees and tugged her closer. Her feet were no longer in his lap, but she sat within inches of him. So close he could feel the heat come off her body.
“When I look at you, I see a woman struggling with her identity.”
She adjusted herself so her head leaned on his shoulder.
“You want to know who I am? First, you need to know who I was. I was Liza Sutherland’s golden child. Was I golden? No way. Huge mistake. Let me tell you, if abortions were legal back then, I’d never be here. But Mom took the pregnancy and turned it to her advantage. In many ways, I’m a lot like my mom. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and all. I used you in the same way. Hashtag who’s Tilden was more popular than hashtag Goldie. Hell, I think someone made you a social media profile. While your follower numbers are skyrocketing mine are plummeting.”
“I’ve got a social media profile?”
She shrugged. “Yes, and if you want honesty, I created it because there was no way a husband of mine wouldn’t have one.”
He laughed. “Damn. You’ll stop at nothing.”
She gripped his arm in a two-handed hug. “I like to eat.”
He liked to see her eat. She’d put on a few pounds since she arrived. The extra weight filled in the ghostly hollows below her eyes and sat like a squeezable handful on her bottom.
“Tell me about your dad.” His hand wrapped around her shoulder to keep her close.
“I have no idea who he is.”
“None?”
She let out a sardonic laugh. “Took it to the grave. I imagine he was some hot soundman on the lot, but I’ve been told everything from Brad Pitt—who would have been about two at the time—to Clark Gable, who was probably already dead.” She sniffled. “Mom milked the mystery for years. She even got a show out of it called “Growing Up Goldie,” which was supposed to be a look into my life and my mom as the perfect mother. Don’t get me wrong, she was a good mother but like me, she was always trying to make ends meet. Trying to stay at the top of the food chain. She chased youth the way a dog chases its tail.” She wiped at her eyes. “You can give me shit for being fake, but it’s all I know. I grew up in Hollywood. It’s the place where you can be in China and turn the corner on the lot and be in St. Louis in the year nineteen fifty-five. I don’t know how to do anything else.” Her shoulders shook as silent tears fell.
“Not true.” He shifted so he could see her face. “You cocktail waitressed today.” He glanced over at the bed and saw it littered with bills. “You made at least forty dollars honestly.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “And my entire body aches, and there’s no tub to soak in. Look how far I’ve fallen. Two weeks ago, I was living in a penthouse and now …”
“You’re living in my house. You have a job that will give you some money to make better choices. Put away the phone and relax into life for a while. I’m not kicking you out. You’ve got some time to figure it out. Your life will be different. Happiness is not found at the end of a camera lens or on a website. I saw you posting again tonight. What was that about?”
She rubbed her face, leaving streaks of black smudging the rings of her eyes. “It was my inner child fighting back.” Another tear ran down her cheek. “Someone said they didn’t care about me and if I wanted an audience, I had to get real, so I posted my new reality.”
“We all have to face reality at one time or another.”
“Tell me, Mr. Wizard, what is it you do that’s so honorable?” She pointed behind her to the table. “If I had to guess I’d say you were a spy.”
“Calling me a spy is like calling you a movie star. You may perform for the camera, but it’s your camera.”
“Rubbing it in more?”
“Not at all. I’m making a point.”
“Which is?”
“That when you look at me, you see a spy, when in reality, I’m a writer and a historian.”
“You’re an author?”
He laughed. “I’m no Hemingway, but I have a few books published that help pay the bills.” He didn’t elaborate because his money didn’t come from the sale of his self-published books. He made his money from researching everything from women’s clothes in the seventeen-hundreds to ballistics.
“What’s that project? Is it a job?” She rose from the sofa and walked to the table. Her hand scrolled across the top of the map. “It’s local.”
He followed her, leaning over her shoulder and breathing her in. “Yes, there was a dispute between two families in the eighteen-hundreds in these parts.”
“Anyone you know? Was it important?”
He shook his head. He didn’t know them. “Not really, but because it’s local, I’m intrigued. There was a water dispute and a death. Seems mysterious to me, but I keep finding myself at a dead end.”
“What were their names?”
He debated on what to tell her, but in all honesty, all she had to do was look at the assessor’s maps to see who the land once belonged to.
“Carver and Coolidge.” He took his chin off her shoulder.
Goldie, being herself, pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the table.
She faced him and smiled. “There. It’s on your page. One thing I know about people is they’re happy to show off. Someone will have some information.”
“Goldie … no. I’m not interested in being a celebrity.”
She cupped his cheek. “No chance of that. You need to sell your soul for that kind of exposure. Do you have one, Tilden? You haven’t been the nicest man lately, so I’m not sure.”
“People still think I’m your husband?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t set them straight.”
“Lying to people isn’t the answer.”
“Haven’t you ever fibbed?”
He swallowed the boulder-sized lump in his throat. He was the pot calling the kettle black. What would she do if she knew he was a bigger liar than her?
“We’re not talking abo
ut me. We’re talking about you.”
“Why is that? Why don’t we ever talk about you?”
He knew one way to shut her up and that was to keep her mouth busy. Without another thought, he leaned in and kissed her. This time it wasn’t a kiss for show. It was a kiss for purpose. The longer her lips were busy, the less her mouth could open with questions.
His lips lingered for long minutes. Somehow, they’d shuffled from the table to the bed, collapsing on top of the quilt.
He knew he should pull away and tell her to go to sleep, but he’d be damned if he could stop kissing her. She tasted like mint. Probably that damn diet gum she claimed to love. Her body curled into his like it was made to fit all his nooks and crannies. The devil on his shoulder begged for him to push it further. The angel in his heart pulled away.
“It’s late, Goldie. Time for bed.” He rolled to his feet, taking with him a few of the ones she’d earned. He walked to the kitchen and pulled a canning jar from the shelf. “This should hold your cash.”
She rolled to her back. Cheeks flushed and breath labored. “Thanks, Dad.”
He licked the taste of the kiss from his lips. “That’s just wrong.”
She giggled. “That kiss was everything right.”
Chapter Thirteen
It had been a week since the kiss. Each morning she got up, Tilden was already showered and gone. He usually left a note saying he’d be out delivering firewood, or he was in Copper Creek doing research.
She spent her days alone. Even when she lived in the city, she at least was surrounded by people. Out here there was no one when Tilden abandoned her. At least she had a few night shifts at the bar.
How sad was it that the highlight of her day was when a squirrel sat on the windowsill and stayed? How many days had the bushy-tailed creature had to listen to her cry about her life?
Today would be different. She prepped the still and started the water to heat for her shower. It was already lukewarm so wouldn’t take long to get to a toasty temperature.
A dusting of snow had covered the ground, making a hot shower even more appealing. She knew Tilden had heated water for her before he left. He’d been doing that since she’d arrived. The man was a conundrum. He invited her to stay. Kissed her like he liked it, and then ignored her as if she didn’t exist.
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