That seemed to mollify Finn. “Did you know,” Cole said, “the woman who wrote Mary Poppins was born in Australia?”
Jane appeared unimpressed with Cole’s literary knowledge, but Finn’s interest was obviously piqued. “Where kangaroos and koalas and kidnas live?”
“Yep.”
“And steroids?”
“Alrighty then.” Jane jabbed a quick glare in Cole’s direction as she lifted Finn down from the bench. “Let’s not keep Mr. Hauser any longer.”
Cole disliked being called Mr. Hauser. It reminded him of his father, and his old man didn’t deserve that much thought. Everyone from coaches to teammates to friends and the media just called him House, a nickname he’d been given in his rookie year by a sports journalist who’d described him as being built like a brick shithouse. Now, of course, with the cane mimicking a famous TV doctor of the same name, life was bizarrely imitating art. Even if the infuriating object wasn’t going to be a permanent fixture.
But Jane did not look in the mood to be contradicted right now. “Yes, okay. Well…I guess I’ll be leaving.”
She nodded stiffly. A beat or two passed where nobody moved, but it was clear Jane was waiting for him to go. Cole’s stomach growled as he inclined his head, then turned away, heading for the door.
“See ya, Mr. Hauser.”
Cole faltered at the chirpy little goodbye, then smiled. “Hoo-roo, Finn,” he said as he limped out of the room.
Chapter Two
Cole was surprised at how many people were at The Lumberjack when he entered. It might have been a Friday night, but the streets had been like a ghost town as he’d tapped along the sidewalk.
He’d expected to be the only customer, but obviously this was where the town was hanging out. There were several full booths, people sitting at the bar, and others milling around the jukebox, which was crooning out something country soft and low.
The entire establishment didn’t exactly stop like an old Wild West movie as Cole made his way to the bar with his stick, but he was aware of eyes on him as he sat his arse on a stool.
A big guy with a friendly smile and open face approached. “Hey. What can I get you?”
“A beer, please. Whatever’s local.”
The bartender clocked his accent immediately, and Cole’s neck prickled as more eyes swung in his direction. “Coming right up.”
“Thanks.” Cole was practically salivating in anticipation of something cold and amber.
“You don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”
Cole turned his head to the left as the guy beside him spoke. He was a tall guy with a dark buzz cut. “No.” Cole gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m a long way from home.”
“New Zealand?”
“Australia.”
The guy nodded as he held out his hand. “I’m Arlo Pike, chief of police.”
Ah. Well that explained it. They shook hands. “Cole Hauser.”
The guy sitting on the other side of the cop eyed Cole up and down before also offering his hand. “Drew Carmichael. You in town for…business, or are you lost? Did your car break down?”
Cole laughed. “No to all of them. I’m here for—” He didn’t really know what to tell them. It’d been a whim. A place to feel sorry for himself while some irons in the fire played out. A place far away from Australia and its media.
“I’m on holiday.”
Arlo’s eyebrows raised almost clean off his face. “Holiday?”
Drew gave a half laugh. “I think you need a new travel agent.”
“Okay you two, enough already. We don’t want to frighten our only tourist away.” The guy behind the bar set Cole’s beer in front of him, then stuck out his hand. “Tucker Daniels. I own Jack’s.”
Cole shook his hand, then took a deep, grateful drag of his beer. So. Good. Placing his drink down, he said, “I take it you don’t get many tourists out this way?”
“We’re more a just-passing-through or live-here-til-you-die kinda town,” Drew confirmed. “And the Rockies are four hours in the other direction.”
“You staying out at the Motel 6?” Arlo asked.
Cole got the impression the chief of police liked to know who and where everyone was in his town. “No. I’m staying at Wade Carter’s house.” He figured, given the size of Credence and Wade’s name emblazoned on the welcome sign at the town limits, everyone probably knew where their hometown hero lived.
“Oh, hey, man. We’re neighbors.” Tucker smiled. “Della and I live at number nineteen. Let us know if the dog barks too much. She can be