Chapter Eight

Too angry to face more, Sage took Otis on a drive up and down the streets of Aspen Cove. There were about a hundred houses lining streets with names like Hyacinth and Rose and Iris. Aspen Cove was laid out like an old-fashioned key. The town itself started on the straight edge with a few cuts here and there where side streets intersected with Main Street.

A charming mix of homes in styles ranging from Victorian to rustic homestead cabins dotted the landscape. She made her way back to the town center and then headed toward the bed and breakfast. She followed the road until she came to the rounded end of the key that circled around the lake.

Off to the left was 1 Lake Circle, the property Bea had left her. It was so much more than she expected, but then again, she had no idea what awaited.

Her tires crunched on the pine needle–covered driveway. As soon as she came to a stop in front of the lodgelike cabin, Sage hopped out and rounded the SUV to free her dog. He lumbered out of the front seat and found a tree to the side of the house, where he marked his territory. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she told him. “This is temporary.” She planned to stay a day or two since she’d opened her big mouth and volunteered to clean.

At the top of the steps, next to the front door, stood a stump of wood carved into a bear that held a welcome sign. A wooden placard with “B’s Bed and Breakfast” painted in white swung from a rusted chain in the light breeze. She halfway expected Bea to open the door and welcome her inside.

Next door, tires kicked up dust and gravel. Like Bea’s, the house was wooden and well cared for, maybe even loved.

Raised male voices carried on the breeze. Bits and pieces of an argument floated on the wind. She refused to be an audience to a private battle, so she turned toward the door Bea said would be unlocked.

An unlocked door was unheard of in the city. That was as good as asking someone to come in and rob or rape or murder you. Then again, this was Aspen Cove, with a population bordering on extinction.

Sage sucked in a big breath and gripped the door handle. Just before she turned the knob, she heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh. She swung toward the fight taking place on the cold, pine-needled ground next door.

The man from downtown straddled an older man who struggled, wiggled, and bucked, but the younger man pinned him to the unrelenting ground.

Sage marched over to where the two men fought for dominance.

“You’re an asshole, Cannon!” The old man screamed. A spray of spittle rushed from his mouth with each word.

Sage had to agree, the man he called Cannon was an asshole. He’d barely met her and snapped judgment. Now he was beating on a frail old man.

“Get off him.” Hands on her hips, she stomped to the edge of the porch of the cabin next door.

“You’re a waste of space, Dad.” Cannon pushed off the ground and swiped at the blood running from his nose. “I don’t know why I still care.”

The old man rolled onto his stomach and struggled to get to his feet.

Sage rushed to his aid.

“Don’t touch him,” Cannon yelled. “Leave him alone.”

“I will not. He needs help.” She laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder to help him up. He spun around and punched her in the nose.

Pain splintered through her skull and branched out like an explosion inside her head. She fell to the ground. “Holy hell.” She covered her nose, but the blood poured through her fingers and dribbled onto her T-shirt.

Cannon rushed from his truck and waved a white towel in front of her like a flag of surrender. “Let me help you.” He knelt in front of her and pressed the cloth toward her nose. “Give the bridge a good pinch. The bleeding will slow down soon.”

Sitting on the cold ground didn’t make Sage feel cooperative. She snapped the towel from his hand. “I know how to stop a bloody nose, you oaf.” She pressed it to her injury. “Just leave me alone. I don’t want your help.”

Cannon backed away. “Fine.” He looked to his father, who was on his feet, stumbling toward the house. “Your best bet is to stay away from him. He’s bad news.”

“And you’re not?” Sage tried to stand but fell back to the ground. She pulled the cloth back to her nose to stanch the ongoing flow of blood.

Cannon dabbed a towel at his bloody nose before hopping inside his truck and driving away.

The old man stopped at the front door of his cabin and ran a hand through his silver hair, leaving tufts of it pointing skyward. “You got in the way.” He disappeared inside, leaving Sage sitting alone on the cold, hard ground.

Otis lumbered over, laid down next to Sage, and put his head in her lap. “Where were you when I needed a wingman?”

Between the cabins, the view of a calm lake gave the impression that Aspen Cove was a quiet, pleasant community, but Sage knew better. By tomorrow, she’d have a black eye or two to confirm its unpleasantness.

Aspen Cove wasn’t Mayberry R.F.D. In fact, she’d liken the town to a nightmare where at any minute a killer would rush out of Cove Lake and chase her out of town.

She rose to her feet and walked Otis back to the car. The bed and breakfast would wait for its introduction, but her nose couldn’t. She looked into the rearview mirror and gasped. It had already swelled, and a shadow of purple bloomed below her eyes. Perfect. Just perfect.

Sage put her car into reverse and headed back to town, in hopes the flashing red sign that read “The Doctor Is In” wasn’t a lie.

Cannon drove to the Aspen Cove cemetery that sat on a quiet plateau overlooking the town. It was the one place he could go to be alone with his thoughts. At least no one there had advice or an opinion to give. And if the residents did talk to him, it was through fond memories he kept tucked deep inside.

He walked past the graves of people he never met until he reached his mother’s tombstone. It read “Carly Bishop, Loving Wife and Mother.”

He could almost hear her tell him she missed him. “I miss you, too, Mom.”

He plucked at the weeds that sprouted around her plot. Spring was here, and with it came the only kind of change he liked. Soon, Mom’s favorite flowers—tulips he’d planted years ago—would break through the ground and bring new life to the barren landscape. The yellow flowers were there to remind him she had lived.

Cannon sat at the silent grave and told his mother about his father. Ben Bishop hadn’t been a drunk or an asshole when she was alive. He’d been wonderful.

Cannon knew his mother would be disappointed if she could see her husband now. Even if he had been a drunk back then, she wouldn’t have given up on him. She would have done what was right. That was why Cannon stayed in Aspen Cove. Not because it was what he wanted, but because it was the right thing to do. He didn’t do it for Ben. He didn’t do it for his brother Bowie, who had left to join the army. He did it because his mother would have wanted someone to care for his father. He did it because there was no one but him to step up to take responsibility. Cannon’s shoulders sagged under the weight of that burden.

About a hundred yards to his right, a backhoe dug into the thawing ground. Tomorrow, he’d stand there and say goodbye to Bea.

In the whisper on the breeze, he could hear her voice telling him life was a give-and-take. That a heart once emptied could be filled. That a life hollowed out by despair could be renewed, given a thread of hope.

Years ago, when he arrived back in Aspen Cove after the two deaths that had rocked this community, she comforted his loss of his mother, despite her own grief over the horrible loss of her daughter. She told him there were a hundred reasons he belonged here, but today it was hard to come up with a single one.

He thought about Sage and why she was at Bea’s. Was she a recipient of Bea’s love, or an opportunist? The woman was probably still sitting in his front yard, bleeding. Guilt ate at him for leaving her alone and not fighting harder to help her. He should have offered her more than a towel.