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The Bishop brothers were why he was here. They provided a place for him to land and transition into civilian life. Bowie ran the family’s tackle shop, while his brother, Cannon, managed the local bar. The two businesses were situated side by side, becoming a popular gathering spot for the townspeople.
Jackson’s work at Bishop’s Brewhouse was fulfilling in its way, but he couldn’t shake the sense that there was something more he needed. He missed the camaraderie and sense of purpose he’d had in the Army, the shared goals that bound them all together. It was a feeling he hadn’t quite been able to replicate in his current life.
Jackson wondered what the future held for him. He knew he was lucky to have found a place like Aspen Cove where he could begin to heal and find his footing once more.
The townsfolk had a way of providing what people needed before they knew they needed it, and he had faith that, in time, he, too, would discover his forever here.
The town slowly stirred as they continued—the signs of life emerging with lighted storefronts. He could smell the first batch of muffins baking at B’s Bakery, mingling with the scent of woodsmoke from the chimneys of nearby homes.
Jackson walked past the bait and tackle store and spotted Bowie standing in front, unloading a heavy wooden box from his truck. He stopped and waved. “Hey, man,” he called, approaching his friend. “Need some help with that?”
Bowie looked at the crate and then back at Jackson, his grin widening. “I’d appreciate it.”
The two carried it into the shop and set it down by the counter. “What’s in there, anyway?” Jackson asked,
Bowie chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Just some supplies for the upcoming ice fishing season. It’ll be here before we know it. We have to get a hard freeze before they can ice fish, but I want to be ready.”
Jackson nodded, understanding the importance of preparing for the seasonal changes in Aspen Cove. “Yeah, I can imagine it gets pretty lively here when that time rolls around.”
“You bet.” Bowie clapped Jackson on the back. “But it’s also a great time for the town to unite. Winter is best enjoyed with cups of hot cocoa and long talks by the fire. It’s also when Maisey makes biscuits and gravy and her famous pumpkin pies.”
Jackson smiled, appreciating how the small town came together during the various seasons. It was a far cry from barracks life. “Well, if you need help getting ready, let me know. I’m always here to lend a hand.”
Bowie’s eyes crinkled as his lips lifted into a smile. “Thanks, Jackson. I appreciate that. But for now, enjoy your day. I’ve got this covered.”
With a nod, Jackson left the tackle shop and walked across the street into Maisey’s Diner, the bell above the door announcing his arrival with a cheerful jingle. He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of home-cooked goodness.
“Mornin’, Jackson.” Maisey’s face was creased with a lifetime of laughter lines, her weathered hands pouring him a cup of steaming coffee and setting it in front of his normal seat.
“The usual?” she asked.
“You know me too well,” he replied with a grin, sitting at the counter.
While waiting for his breakfast, Jackson overheard the chatter of the locals around him. The conversation turned to the storm and the upcoming Thanksgiving Day feast the town had planned at the Guild Creative Center.
When Maisey brought his eggs, pancakes, and bacon, she sat beside him. “What’s shakin’?” she asked.
“Same stuff, different day.” Maisey always gave him an extra slice of bacon that he slipped to Gunner, who lay by his feet anticipating his treat. “Just working at the bar and hanging with Gunner.” He chowed down on his meal, still not accustomed to having all the time in the world to eat.
“All work and no play makes Jackson a dull boy.”
“There’s something to be said for a low-key life.” He’d had enough adrenaline rushes for a lifetime. Nothing got the blood pumping like an exploding IED or an air raid siren.
“That there is,” Maisey agreed, patting his hand fondly before collecting his empty plate and heading back into the kitchen.
Jackson finished his coffee and thanked Maisey then placed money on the counter and took Gunner out for their usual morning walk. Everywhere they went, people waved in greeting, acquaintances quickly becoming friends as time passed in Aspen Cove.
He talked with Katie, who was setting up her holiday decorations. Gunner sniffed around happily, then looked at Katie with his give-me-a-treat look.
“You already had bacon, buddy. You don’t get something at every stop.”
Katie laughed. “Oh yes, he does. Do you think my pup Bishop comes for a visit and doesn’t get a goody?”
Bishop was her and Bowie’s chocolate lab and one of Gunner’s fur friends. Katie rushed into the bakery and returned with a bone-shaped treat.
“I tried a new recipe. This is peanut butter, and Bishop goes gaga for them.” She held out her hand in the command Gunner knew as sit, and the dog planted his back end on the cold sidewalk, patiently waiting for Katie to offer the goods. When she did, he took it from her hand and scarfed it up in seconds flat. He, too, was a product of army life and uncertain futures.
Jackson looked at the greenery Katie was hanging. “Is Christmas a big deal here?”
