Janice Johnson - The Hero's Redemption

She knew he was walking toward her only because she looked over her shoulder. She never heard him coming. Somehow, even wearing boots, he avoided crunching on gravel or broken branches the way she did. His walk, controlled, confident and very male, was part of what made him so physically compelling.

“I won’t tear out the back steps until I’ve replaced this,” Cole said.

She found herself smiling. “Climbing in and out of the house on a ladder would be fun.”

Was that a flicker of humor in his eyes? No, surely not.

She dug his pay out of her pocket and handed it over. Feeling the first drizzle, she said, “Would you like a lift tonight?”

“I’ll be fine.” He inclined his head and then walked away, turning right at the foot of the drive.

Going where?

* * *

COLE HAD DECIDED to take a chance tonight and wrap himself in his blanket beneath a picnic table in the county park. It was on the river about a mile out of town. He’d be less conspicuous hidden in the shadow under the table than he would lying between tables on the concrete pad.

Previous nights, he’d stayed in the woods, out of sight of any patrolling officer. A couple of times, he’d seen headlights swing slowly through the small park during the night. Cops wouldn’t want homeless squatters using the facilities here, limited though they were. There was a restroom, unlocked during the day, but locked by the time Cole got here after work. Wouldn’t have done him much good, anyway, since it lacked showers. He could clean up a little with river water come morning. Thanks to the pay in his pocket, he’d stopped at a mom-and-pop grocery store this evening and bought a bar of soap and deodorant, as well as food. If he stayed here long, he might think about picking up some charcoal and using the grill in the pavilion. And if he had transportation at some point, there was a state park a few miles upriver, where he could get an actual campsite and have the right to use restrooms that did have hot showers. But until he could afford a motorcycle, or at least a bike, that was out.

Cole pillowed his head on the duffel bag holding his only change of clothes. To combat the claustrophobia he’d felt the minute he squirmed beneath the picnic table, he thought about the day’s work and what he hoped to accomplish tomorrow. His effort at distraction didn’t entirely work. Built out of really solid, pressure-treated wood, the table was bolted to the concrete. The only way out was to roll under one of the benches. What might have felt cozy to him when he was a kid now felt like a trap. The patter of rain on the pavilion roof persuaded him to stay put, though. Not that he wouldn’t be soaked by the time he walked to Erin’s in the morning. He debated whether he should wear his other shirt and pair of jeans. Damned if he wanted her feeling sorry for him.

He grunted. Who was he kidding? Why else had she hired him? And, by God, he should be grateful that she had let pity overcome her common sense. If she kept him on even a couple of weeks... For about the hundredth time, he calculated how much money he’d make. Eight hundred dollars sounded like a lot right now, but if he couldn’t find another job immediately, it wouldn’t last long, especially if he added rent to his expenses. He’d looked at the local weekly paper, but the classified section listed only two apartment rentals, both way more than he could afford, even with a full-time job paying minimum wage. Especially if first and last months’ rent was required up front. There ought to be rooms available, but if so they were listed somewhere else. He’d have to hunt for bulletin boards that might have ads for rentals. And from what he’d heard, there might be online listings. He mulled over the idea of going to the library tomorrow night, but imagined how people would look at him, wet and dirty. Learning how to navigate the internet would take time and energy. It could wait.

Tonight, though...tonight his stomach was full, and he wasn’t being rained on. He could have used another blanket, but the concrete wasn’t much harder than his bunk in the pen had been, and he felt safer here in the dark by himself than he had during his ten years in Walla Walla.

And tomorrow, he had a purpose. He liked building. He particularly liked building for her, an uncomfortable realization. Even so, he let himself fantasize a little. Thinking about a woman’s softness and sweet smell didn’t hurt anything, did it?

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU’RE SOAKED,” ERIN said behind him.

In the middle of nailing together some of the lumber he’d salvaged to form crude sawhorses, Cole straightened and slowly turned to face her. The rain was little more than a drizzle now, but droplets shimmered in her hair like scattered pearls. Damp, it looked darker, more red than blond.

“I’ll dry,” he said with a shrug. Yeah, it had been coming down harder when he started his walk. He hoped the contents of his duffel remained mostly dry where he’d stashed it beneath the undergrowth at the base of a big cedar.

She crossed her arms and scowled. “Where are you staying?”

“What difference does it make?”

“You have to be miserable!”

“Getting wet is nothing.”

She huffed and he half expected to see steam coming out of her ears. “It’s not nothing! What if you get sick?”

“I won’t—”

“Why don’t you want me to know where you’re staying? Do you think I’ll come knocking on your door or something?”

He wished. “No.” A brief hesitation later, he surrendered. “I’m camping out. It’s spring, not that cold. It’ll do until I can afford a place.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have a tent? A sleeping bag? A camp stove?”

In another few days, he might be able to outfit himself.

“I guess the answer is no,” she said.

Yes, it was.

They stared at each other, Cole making sure no emotion broke cover.

She turned her back on him, appearing to study the tools hanging on the wall. “There’s an apartment upstairs.”

“I can’t—”

“It’s crappy,” she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “But it’s dry, and there’s electricity, and I think the plumbing works.”

“I can’t accept—” The words died on his tongue when she swung around to glare at him.

“Do you know how much I hated seeing you walk away in the rain?”

Something did crack then, not in the shell he’d perfected but deep inside him. It was a strange, wrenching experience.

Why would she care?

“Here’s the deal. Once I finished with the house, I intended to get the apartment remodeled. If you’ll eventually do the work, I’ll take that in lieu of rent. We both benefit.”

He couldn’t look away from her. The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks were pronounced with her color high. He wanted to touch them. He wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have.

Would it be painful to look out the window at night and see a light in her bedroom window, her shadow moving behind the curtains? Maybe. But if he had a place here in town, he could walk to the library, or any other place open evenings. Perhaps make some friends.

“I’ll take a look,” he said abruptly.

“I’ll get my keys.”

He finished constructing the sawhorses while she was gone, only able to accomplish it because nailing a few two-by-fours together didn’t demand much concentration. When Erin returned, he followed her to the outside staircase and up to a small landing, where she fumbled getting a key in the lock and opening the door. Had she noticed this staircase needed replacing, too?

He stepped inside and studied the space. It was furnished, although thrift stores would probably say no, thanks to the sofa with sagging cushions and a television that might qualify as an antique. The kitchen at one end was small but complete, including a table with two chairs. She stayed by the door when he stuck his head in the bedroom—double bed, closet, dresser. He went into the tiny bathroom. Water ran when he turned the faucet handles. Ditto in the shower, although the spray was more of a dribble. Would there be any hot water? He could live without, but—Damned if it wasn’t warming up.