Chapter Eleven

Sage woke up to a paw in the face. On any other day it was a fine way to greet the morning, but not today.

“Oh holy hell, Otis.” Her hand cradled her nose. Afraid that it would bleed again, she rolled out of bed and into her slippers to make a mad dash to the bathroom. Certain she’d be greeted by blood, she pulled her hand away slowly. Nothing. Both of her eyes were black and blue, the bridge of her nose was the color of her favorite cabernet, but there was no blood.

Otis sat at her feet, looking repentant, or maybe just hungry. “It’s okay, boy, I’ll live to see another day. You want to go outside?”

Outside got her a response on par with treat. The dog danced and pranced until she opened the door and led him into the great room.

Beyond the windows, the lake reflected a cloudless sky. Only the ripple of feeding fish broke the glasslike surface. Sage poured a cup of day-old coffee and put it into the microwave before she swung the back door open. Otis leapt forward took off like a greyhound after a rabbit. Sage took one step and tripped over a prone body.

She stumbled forward and caught herself on the wooden banister that ran the length of the deck. She looked back at the old man lying like a rug outside. He grunted and rolled back toward the door. It was her neighbor, Ben Bishop.

There was no way she’d touch him unless it was with a stick—a long stick. His punch to her nose was too fresh to forget, and Sage wasn’t a glutton for punishment.

Once Otis had done his business and chased a bird along the lake’s edge, they both hopped over Ben and back into the safety of the kitchen.

She was torn over what to do about her unexpected guest. Did she make him breakfast? Pretend like he wasn’t there and hope he woke up and moved on? Bring him a pillow and blanket and let him sleep it off?

After a few seconds of debating, she realized that a passed out drunk wasn’t her problem. In Denver, it was a police issue. She gave the old drunk a last look, picked up the phone, and called the law.

“Sheriff Cooper, is this an emergency?”

She stopped for a second to process his greeting. The sheriff answered his own calls.

“Hello?” The deep voice vibrated through the line.

“Umm, yes. This is Sage Nichols, at 1 Lake Circle. Ben Bishop is passed out on my porch.”

“And?” His voice held no concern.

She realized no lives were at risk, except maybe Ben’s if he woke up aggressive. “I need you to come and get him off my porch.”

“Ms. Nichols. If you know it’s Ben Bishop, then you also know he lives next door. Go get Cannon. He’ll come over and get his dad.”

“No, I’m not about to get him. He’s dangerous.”

Sheriff Cooper laughed. “You’re accusing Cannon Bishop of being dangerous?”

She looked at the man lying on her deck. “Is that such a crazy notion?”

“Yes. Do you know Cannon?”

Grabbing her coffee out of the microwave, she made her way to the great room and settled herself on the sofa. “Not personally, but I’ve seen him in action, and I have reason to believe he’s violent.”

“You think Cannon is violent?” A louder laugh filled her ears.

“Yes, I was witness to him abusing his father yesterday. I will not call him.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t staying in town. What good was a sheriff if he ignored valid complaints? It may have been a ghost town, but it was a lawless one.

The sheriff let out an exhale that vibrated from the back of his throat into a growl. “I’ll be over soon. Just leave him alone. Do yourself a favor, and don’t touch him.”

No worries there.

Thirty minutes later, Sage opened the door to find a clean-cut man dressed in brown from head to toe. On his chest was a gold star.

After he pulled his eyes from her injuries, he reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Sheriff Aiden Cooper. Welcome to Aspen Cove.”

She eyed him with suspicion. Could she trust someone who basically told her to do his job? He looked straight out of central casting for Bonanza or any other cowboy movie made in the last century, except that Sheriff Cooper bathed and pressed his uniform.

“You got quite a shiner there. How’d you come across that?”

Sage moved to the side to let the man enter. Otis sniffed at his pants and then retreated to what he’d already claimed as his chair.

“I got this from Ben.” Sage shut the door behind the tall man. “A welcome gift to a new neighbor.” She tried to discipline her voice, but it was all snark and sass.

The sheriff regarded her with an unreadable expression. By most standards, he was handsome if you liked tall, dark, and dangerous-looking types. The one thing Aspen Cove had going for it was good-looking men. Even Doc Parker was handsome in his crazy professor sort of way.

“That makes more sense than Cannon being dangerous.” His nod kept time with his words.

“I came in on the tail end of a fistfight. I startled Ben, and he took a swing. It wasn’t his fault.”

Sage led him through the kitchen and pointed to the door.

“You’re not the first to be on the receiving end of Ben’s fist. You want to press charges?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s a sad old man.” She opened the door. He hadn’t moved an inch. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought him dead. “Look at him. He’s a walking corpse. He’s underfed. Dirty. His skin is sallow and saggy. Surely, you have programs in place to assist the elderly.”

The sheriff looked down at Ben, then closed the door. “I’ll take him off your porch and deliver him to his house, but you need to understand a few things about this man and this town.” He leaned against the counter and crossed one boot in front of the other. The man looked comfortable, like he’d been in this kitchen in this exact position many times before.

“All I know is what I saw. Cannon had the man pinned down to the ground. He was the aggressor.”

The sheriff crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Sometimes things aren’t always how they seem.”

“Tell me, Sheriff, how are things here in Aspen Cove?” She placed tight fists on her hips. It drove her crazy when people made excuses for others. She was raised to look at the world realistically. She didn’t wear rose-colored glasses, unless of course it concerned the people she loved, but she felt nothing for the people of this town. This was a black and white, no gray-area situation. Ben’s was a classic case of elder abuse. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. I’ve been assaulted. There’s a man who needs help on my deck, and when I called you, I was told to get the one man who poses the biggest threat.”

“Again, I think your fears are misplaced.” He nodded toward the door. “That’s your aggressor. If you saw Cannon pinning his father down, it was to protect both of them. That boy is usually on the receiving end of Ben’s knuckles, so your concern for Ben, while nice, is misdirected.”

“But he’s old and frail.”

“He’s fifty-six, and he’s frail because he drinks his calories. He’s meaner than a wet tomcat. The only reason he’s alive is Cannon.”

Sage knew what she saw, but she refused to argue with a man who could cause her more grief than good.

“Do you need anything else from me?” She had been up for less than an hour, and all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and forget the day. “Do I need to sign something?”

The sheriff pushed off the counter and walked toward the door. “Nope. I’ll take care of him. This town takes care of its own. We don’t ignore need, turn away from danger, or neglect our citizens. But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to save himself.” He opened the door and let himself out.

Sage had heard plenty of talk in the last few days about saving people. If Ben was intent on drinking himself to death, there was very little she could do. Regardless, she made a pact to help the old man with whatever she could while she was in town. Maybe he needed a hot meal or a shower or strong coffee or an ear. Those were things she could offer. As for Cannon, she’d try to keep an open mind. Maybe she had misjudged him. It was unlikely, but she had to consider the possibility.

Sage wished Bea had left her a short bio on the townspeople, but then again, what little she knew of Bea led her to believe she would want her to come to her own conclusions. In fact, she was positive Bea would be disappointed that she’d judged them at all.

In truth, she’d barely given it a day. It was hardly enough time to decide anything. Everyone has bad days. Too bad she seemed to share hers with Cannon.

Out the big window of the great room, she watched the sheriff fireman-carry Ben next door. She went back to her cold coffee and pulled another candy bar from her purse. If she was staying for a few days, she needed to get some real food.

She’d rummaged through Bea’s cabinets and found nothing more than chicken soup and crackers. If she weren’t in such a hurry, she’d sit down and have a bowl, but she had an hour to get ready and drive to the cemetery, and with the shape her face was in, it would take every one of those minutes to camouflage the bruises.

For the next half hour, she proved that her talents definitely didn’t lie in makeup or special effects. She’d removed the tape and covered what she could, but when she walked out of the house, she still looked like a prizefighter without the prize.