The Hero's Redemption

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.