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She put the gearshift in Reverse, but kept her foot on the brake. “Has anybody ever told you how stubborn you are?”
“Could be.”
“Hmph.”
Giving him a suspicious, sidelong look, she could swear she saw the corner of his mouth lift. Even the idea that he’d smiled made her heart feel weightless. Which was dangerous territory. Falling for an ex-con because he had gorgeous blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones and awe-inspiring muscles would be incredibly stupid. Always law-abiding, she’d been the quintessential good girl and was now an educated woman, a college professor.
Had been a college professor. Every time she thought about returning to the classroom, she hit a concrete wall. Couldn’t see through it or around it. She’d had no success imagining what she might do instead, either. To keep her heart from racing and panic from prickling her skin, she reminded herself that there was no hurry. She wasn’t spending any more money working on the house than she would have paying her former mortgage. She could afford a year off before she had to worry about the future and still have investments, thanks to the inheritance from her parents and Nanna’s savings, too. By then... But she hit the same blank wall when she tried to see any future.
“Where to?” she asked abruptly, refusing to turn her head to meet his scrutiny.
“County park on the river.” Erin nodded, remembering summer picnics there. Grandpa had taken her fishing, too, an enthusiasm she never came to share. Were his fishing pole, waders and tackle box still in the garage? She hadn’t paid attention to anything that wasn’t immediately useful.
The drive passed in silence, as so much of her time with Cole did. It was restful, except...she increasingly found herself wondering about him. What had this quiet, hardworking, patient man done that had earned him ten years in prison? Her mind balked when she tried to picture him committing any of the obvious crimes.
He had her pull into the day-use area at the park, and he disappeared into the mist clinging to the old-growth trees preserved by the county. He returned with a canvas duffel bag, which he deposited behind the seat. Erin opened her mouth but managed to close it before she said something stupid like, That’s all?
He hadn’t even had a sleeping bag. Horrified, she pictured him lying on the ground. At most he had a blanket of some kind in that bag—but if he did, it meant he didn’t own much of anything else.
And wouldn’t take anything more from her. She’d have to keep biting her tongue. She’d lose him if she tried to make him an object of charity.
And no, she wouldn’t let herself examine what she meant by “lose him.”
“Okay if we stop at the grocery store?” she asked when they were close to town.
She felt his swift glance. “Sure.”
He followed her inside and picked up a basket, separating from her right away. Erin tried not to mind as she filled a cart with perishables. When she carried her bags out, he was already waiting with two grocery bags of his own. They stowed them together in the back of the Jeep. During the short drive, she struggled for a conversational opener and came up short. The first words she spoke were when she pulled into the driveway.
“It would be nice to park in the garage someday.”
“You might want an automatic opener before you try that.”
“No kidding. I’d never realized how heavy a garage door could be.”
“The rails might be rusted,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll take a look.”
“You’re a handy guy, aren’t you?”
He grunted and got out. The only other words he had for her were “Good night.”
* * *
HE COULDN’T BELIEVE everything she’d done in the apartment. Cole was uneasily aware of how personal it felt, knowing she’d been thinking of him when she cleaned, hung a pair of thick towels in the bathroom and made the bed. Every so often his nose picked up some unidentifiable perfume in the air that had to be hers.
Earlier, he’d hauled the old TV down to the garbage can. She’d said, “I’ll replace it,” in a tone that told him not to argue. Being able to choose what to watch would be a novelty. Maybe he could pick up a DVD player at a thrift store. Tomorrow night, he might walk to the library. If he couldn’t get a card yet, libraries usually had donated books for sale. He’d start checking out garage sales, too. Erin got the local weekly and the Seattle Times, both of which she recycled. She wouldn’t mind if he took them from the recycling bin. Lying on the lumpy sofa, stockinged feet propped on one of its arms, his head on the other, he thought about going downstairs right now and digging out a few papers, but couldn’t work up enough interest to make the effort. After a meal and a hot shower, he felt too good. Too relaxed. Too safe.
This is temporary. He shouldn’t have needed the reminder. He’d become accustomed to living one day at a time, not letting himself think even a week ahead. If a man couldn’t live without hope, he didn’t survive a long prison term in his right mind.
Not that Cole was certain he had.
Happy just to be clean and comfortable, he dozed for half an hour, rousing to decide he might as well go to bed. He’d been looking forward to that ever since he saw it made up with baby-soft flannel sheets, a wool blanket and a beautiful old quilt. More luxury.
He turned off lights as he went, brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the mirror. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize the face looking back at him. He still saw a death’s head instead of the face he’d once known, but...less so. Despite the rain, he’d acquired the beginnings of a tan since he got on that bus out of Walla Walla. His hair hadn’t grown very much—he ran a hand over the stubble—but maybe a little.
It was the eyes, he thought, leaning closer to look. They weren’t empty anymore. Someone was at home in there. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but he felt again, and not only rage and despair. He’d have to watch that, not let his emotions get out of hand.
Finally, he turned out that light, too, and walked across the dark bedroom to the window that looked toward the house. He could tell from the shiny reflection that Erin had washed the inside glass, and the curtains smelled fresh. With one pulled aside, he found that he could indeed see the golden square of an upstairs window that had to be Erin’s bedroom.
Cole stood there longer than he should have, both grateful and disappointed not to see even a shadow of movement or the silhouette of the slim, womanly body.
* * *
THEY WORKED IN harmony the next morning, Cole appearing relaxed. He didn’t go so far as to waste a smile, but once, when she was returning for another load of debris to toss in the Dumpster, he raised his chin up, to guide her gaze to the roof of the house. Bright eyes in a furry face looked back at her. A squirrel. The tail gave an agitated jerk, and the squirrel vanished.
Erin chuckled. “I hope his food stash didn’t get thrown out with the porch.”
“I’d have seen that.” Cole placed another nail and swung the hammer.
Smiling, she went back to her job. With his strength, he would have finished it a lot faster, but she couldn’t have done a single, useful part of what he was doing. Transferring the pile of splintered, rotting boards to the Dumpster was at her skill level.
At lunchtime, he refused her offer of a bowl of chili and went up to the apartment. Probably to have something like a bologna sandwich, but she understood his need to be self-sufficient.
It didn’t seem worth heating anything just for herself. With little appetite despite her labors, Erin cut a few squares of cheese and ate them with crackers, calling it good. When he came out, she was already at work.
His stony face sent a chill through her.
“I need to buy a phone,” he said, “but I’m wondering if I can use yours to make one call.”
“Of course you can.”
Still with that utter lack of expression, he looked at her. “He’ll want to talk to you. I’m...due to check in with my parole officer.”
“Oh. I see.” Did he expect trouble?
“Do you mind if I give him this address?” he asked stiffly.
“It is your address as long as you live in the apartment.” She pulled her phone from the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt. “Here.”
He took the phone but didn’t move, only stared at it. Erin had started to turn away to give him privacy, then stopped. How long had iPhones been around? Would he ever have used a smartphone of any kind? If not... God, it probably looked like a slab of polished stone to him.
She turned again, careful not to meet his eyes. “Push this button to wake it up.”
Without a word, he continued to follow her instructions, his jaw clenched so tight muscles quivered. He took a business card from his pocket and tapped out the numbers, then said a gruff, “Thanks.”
Guessing how hard it had been to say that much, Erin nodded. She went to get one of the yard waste bins, rolling it up the driveway to the first heap of cuttings. Cole had walked a few feet away and stood with his back to her, talking.
She succeeded so well in ignoring him, she gasped and jumped six inches when he touched her shoulder.
“Mr. Ramirez.”
Taking the phone, she willed her heartbeat to slow down. She aimed for a brisk tone. “Mr. Ramirez? This is Erin Parrish.”
“Ms. Parrish. I’m Mr. Meacham’s parole officer. He tells me you’ve rented him an apartment.”
“That’s right. He’s also working for me.”
“So he says.”
“He’s currently rebuilding the front porch on an old house I inherited. Unfortunately, my grandmother didn’t maintain the house or yard very well, so they both need a lot of work that’s beyond my skill level. Cole’s doing a great job.” Wow, listen to her. Bouncy, upbeat. Would she be more believable if she scaled it back? Still, she had to finish. “We came to an agreement that he’ll stay in the apartment above the garage in return for working on that, too, once he has the time and I buy the materials.”
“So you’re satisfied with his work?”
Hadn’t she said so? But skepticism was probably part of his job description. “Yes.”
“Were you acquainted with Mr. Meacham before his prison term?”
“No, I overheard him applying for a job in town, and thought he might be willing to take on short-term work for me.”
He had more questions. How long did she expect to employ Cole? She guessed at least a month. Yes, he was welcome to stay in the apartment after that, provided he did the work on it. She verified the address. West Fork was not in Whatcom County, where Mr. Meacham was supposed to go. Did she know why that hadn’t worked out? No, she had no idea.
Yes, this was her phone. She didn’t mind if Ramirez called from time to time. She walked into the garage and scribbled his phone number on a sheet of notepaper, below the list Cole had come up with for her next lumberyard run.
When she pocketed the phone again, she went out to find Cole swinging the hammer with short, violent motions. Wham. Wham.
“I’ll come up with a rental agreement,” she said to his back. He quit hammering but didn’t turn. “That way, you can show it anywhere you need to.”
He nodded. Wham. Wham.
O-kay.
An hour later, he barely glanced at her when she told him she was heading out. When she returned, she showed him the two different kinds of roofing nails she’d bought because she hadn’t been sure which was the right one.
“These,” he said, taking the bag.
That was the extent of their conversation for the rest of the afternoon.
Erin knew she shouldn’t feel hurt. She understood why he detested needing help and how he must’ve struggled with himself to accept her offer of the apartment and then have to ask her to vouch for him. Friendship wasn’t part of their deal. He hadn’t really even been rude, just withdrawn.
But it was as if she’d become invisible. She had felt more alive since she brought Cole home with her, more purposeful, less isolated. Now she had to retreat. She excused herself early and went inside, taking a hot shower that didn’t warm her at all, not where it counted.
Rationally, she knew she had friends, if she didn’t shut them out. Aunt Susan left an occasional phone message and emailed daily, her worry obvious. Erin’s mother had died of breast cancer, her father in an accident, both way too young. Maybe they could have anchored her to the present, if they were still alive. As it was, the people who had died felt more real to her than the ones still living. Especially the girls. It was as if nothing but a semitransparent veil separated them from her. In this mood, she imagined they were waiting for her to step through the veil to their side. They couldn’t go on without her.
Erin lay on her bed, curled on her side, gazing at the square of bright light that was her window. She stopped hearing the hammering or the occasional scrape of a handsaw. Napping now would be a mistake; she’d never get to sleep tonight. But that was okay. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d gone for a drive.
Tonight, she thought, and closed her eyes.
* * *
COLE HAD TAUGHT himself to sleep lightly, to awaken at the slightest sound that was out of the ordinary.
He snapped to awareness when he heard a car door close with deliberate softness. Lying rigid, he listened. The digital clock Erin had put at the bedside said 2:33. Anyone coming or going in the middle of the night wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors. Especially if that person was stealing a vehicle.
When the engine started, he knew it was Erin’s Jeep. Shit. He jumped out of bed, reaching the front window just before the dome light went off. In that fraction of an instant, he saw her. While he watched, she reversed, then drove down the driveway. Brake lights flickered before she turned onto the street.
He didn’t welcome the uneasiness he felt as he stared out at the dark yard and dimly lit street. The closest lamp was half a block away. Where was she was going? Wouldn’t she have awakened him if she had some kind of emergency?
His mouth tightened. Why would she? What was he but her charity project, after all?
She might have been restless. Or she’d started her period and gone out for supplies. Or a friend had called and needed her. There were plenty of logical explanations. He was projecting if he thought that whatever ghost haunted her and shadowed her eyes had sent her into the night.
And, damn it, Cole didn’t want to feel any responsibility for another human being. Any real connection. Even so, he knew with icy certainty that he wouldn’t sleep again until she came home.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uaa00236a-a88b-5af9-b38a-fba08e8bbed3)
“YARD WASTE BINS are full.” Stopping at the foot of what would be the porch steps, Erin peeled off her gloves. “The rest will have to wait until Thursday.” Astonished at how much progress Cole had made, she asked, “Did you do this kind of work in prison?”
Kneeling on the porch proper, he’d paused at the sight of her and straightened. For the past hour, the rhythmic sound of his hammer striking nails had begun to remind her of a heart beating.
“No.” He watched her warily.
She knew he didn’t like her asking questions, but this seemed innocuous enough. “Then...how do you know what to do?”
“My father’s a contractor. I worked for him some.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
He didn’t say a word. An eyebrow might have twitched at what was, admittedly, an inane comment.
“Um, did you have jobs while you were serving time?”
He lowered his head.
She waited.
He rolled his shoulders. “Different ones.” Pause. “Machine shop.”
“You mean, you can fix mechanical things, too?”
“Probably.”
“Have you ever done wiring or plumbing?”
“I could do simple jobs. Replace an electrical outlet or a light fixture. Same for plumbing. If you need the house completely rewired or the plumbing replaced, you’d be better off hiring an expert.”
“I don’t think I do.” She hoped. “But my shower drips and plugs are too loose in some of the outlets. Plus, the light in the pantry doesn’t work. I tried different new bulbs.”
“I can take a look.” He moved as if preparing to stand up.
