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He nodded.
“Thank you. Do you need help?”
“Not now.”
So she retreated to the house for a second cup of coffee that she needed, and brooded about the fact that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She recognized the tear on the right knee of his jeans, and a stain on the tail of the chambray shirt. No reason that should worry her; given how dirty the job was, putting on clean clothes every morning didn’t make sense. She had on yesterday’s ragged jeans herself. Chances were good he’d only have a few changes of clothing. Even if he had plenty of money, running out and buying a new wardrobe probably wasn’t a priority.
Besides, she’d embarrass him if she said anything.
Since he obviously didn’t need assistance, she went back to scraping. Sore muscles screamed; if they didn’t loosen up, she’d have to find something else to do.
She stuck to it for about an hour before whimpering and letting her arm fall to her side. Coaching volleyball and softball, she’d stayed in condition. The weight she’d lost since the crash, plus six months of idleness, were apparently exacting a cost.
From where she was working, she hadn’t been able to see Cole, but the screech of nails and the ripping sound of boards being torn up hadn’t stopped. Walking around the house, she stopped at the sight of a bigger-than-expected pile of splintered lumber.
He’d finished with the porch floorboards and now had one knee on a step as he pried up a board on the step above. It didn’t come up cleanly. With a sodden sound, one end separated.
Erin winced. She’d been careful to stay close to the edge and cling to the rail as she went up and down the steps, but still...
His head turned and he fastened those icy eyes on her.
She approached. “You’ve made good progress.”
“This part doesn’t take long.” He kept watching her. “The supports are rotting, too. I’m going to have to rebuild from the ground up.”
“I guess that’s not a surprise. I think the porch is original to the house.”
“The steps aren’t as old as the rest of the porch.”
“My grandfather kept things up until his health declined. Even then, he made sure the work got done.”
“When did he die?”
A little startled that he’d actually asked, she said, “Fifteen years ago? No, more than that. Seventeen or eighteen.”
He nodded, then changed the subject. “Did you order a Dumpster?”
“Yes. They’ll deliver it either today or tomorrow. I also asked for two yard waste bins.”
He had that brief dip of his head down pat. Saved a lot of words.
She gazed upward. “I’ll have to buy shingles.” She assumed he would rebuild the porch roof.
“And some plywood. Different kind of nails, too.”
He agreed he’d make her a new list or accompany her to the lumberyard, although an even blanker than usual face suggested he’d rather not go on an outing. With her? Or at all?
At his request, she ended up pulling nails out of a pile of boards he’d set aside because he thought they were reusable. At lunchtime, Erin shared the remainder of yesterday’s pizza with him, although Cole didn’t look thrilled about that.
Erin kept trying to think of some way to ask about his accommodations, but failed. He wouldn’t welcome nosiness.
“It almost looks like rain,” she finally ventured. “Scattered showers” was what her phone had told her.
He squinted up at the gray sky. “Probably not until evening.”
“If it’s raining tomorrow, I can put you to work inside.”
He barely glanced at her. “I’ll set up the saw in the garage, cut the lumber for the porch to size. Might even slap some primer on and let it dry.”
He had to be staying somewhere. He must have at least a few possessions. Or would he? She couldn’t believe the correctional institute released inmates who’d completed their sentences or were on parole with nothing but the clothes on their backs and maybe what they’d had in their pockets when they were arrested. Or did they?
By five o’clock, the front porch was gone. The house seemed oddly naked without it, Erin thought, surveying the result of his work. Behind her, the garage door descended with a groan and bump. She’d noticed before that Cole wiped each tool with a rag and returned it to its place when he was done with it.
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 (#uaa00236a-a88b-5af9-b38a-fba08e8bbed3)
“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.
Cole went out to find her opening and closing the kitchen cupboards.
“I’ll grab some cleaning supplies.”
“I’ll clean,” he insisted.
“No. I can’t do your work so it’s only fair. In fact, there isn’t much I can do while it’s raining. Paint inside, maybe, but I’m still deciding on colors.” When he didn’t argue, she said quietly, “Let me do this.”
Kindness from strangers was easier to accept than from a woman he was getting to know. Even so, after a moment, he nodded and said hoarsely, “Thank you.”
She couldn’t have any idea that this shabby apartment looked like paradise to him. A space he’d have to himself. Being able to shower without listening to every word spoken around him. Staying constantly aware of who was nearby, maintaining a state of readiness. He could keep a light on all night if he wanted. He wouldn’t have to hear snores and grumbles and occasional shouts, remain aware that guards were checking in on him.
If she intended to rent out the apartment in the future, it would need work. The impulse might have been charitable, but he wouldn’t have to feel indebted to her. She’d been careful that way, he thought, treating him like a man who deserved his dignity.
She gave him the key, which he tucked carefully in his pocket. How long since he’d had a key that opened any door?
“Will you let me drive you to pick up your stuff tonight?”
Cole’s instinct was to refuse help he didn’t absolutely need, but she knew his real circumstances now. “I don’t have much.”
“Why should you have to walk?” she asked simply.
He dipped his head, choking a little on another “Thank you.” As he returned to work, Cole realized that this gave him an address that would satisfy his parole officer. If the job was going to last even a few weeks, it would be enough, at least for now. Except that meant the parole officer would be calling Erin, which Cole hated.
Live with it, he told himself, locking down the angry sense of outrage and humiliation he’d felt from the minute the jury foreman had said, “Guilty as charged.”
* * *
THE DRIZZLE NEVER did let up. Working in the apartment, Erin heard the on-and-off buzz of the circular saw in the garage below. She started with the kitchen, scrubbing the sink, the stove and the inside of the refrigerator, which—to her astonishment—hummed when she plugged it in. She cleaned the countertops, the interior of the cheap cabinets, the floor. She vacuumed the sofa and wiped cobwebs from corners with a broom. The television didn’t come on. She’d have to see that cable service was hooked up for the apartment, anyway. Cole wouldn’t be happy to have her buying a new TV, but if she offered a furnished apartment down the line, she’d have to include one, so why not now?
The bedroom didn’t take long, except for mopping the vinyl floor. She bundled up the rag rug, curtains and mattress pad and started a load in her washing machine at the house. Exploring Nanna’s linen closet, she found a set of worn but soft flannel sheets in the right size. She’d have to buy a bath mat to replace the one she’d thrown away, but had plenty of towels to supply the apartment.
She persuaded a reluctant Cole to accept a sandwich, pop and potato chips for lunch. When she suggested he come inside to eat, he said, “I’m wet and dirty.” Carrying their meal, she trailed him to the garage, where she hopped up on the workbench and he sat on a pile of lumber. Instead of pushing him to talk, she reminisced about her grandparents and long-ago visits. He didn’t seem to mind.
By the time he was ready to call it a day, he’d built the framework of her new porch with pressure-treated beams and four-by-fours resting on the original concrete blocks. He agreed she should make another trip to the lumberyard in the morning.
“This costing more than you expected?” he asked, not quite casually. He pulled the seat belt around himself.
Erin started the engine, eager for the heater to kick in. “No, if I’d had to hire a contractor, I’m betting the job would’ve cost a whole lot more,” she said frankly. “In fact, I’m bumping up your pay.”
He shook his head. “Not when you’re letting me stay here, too.”
“That’s a separate deal—”
“No.” Completely inflexible.
