The Hero's Redemption. Janice Kay Johnson

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      “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.

      “Not now. There’s no urgency. Just something to get to later.”

      He studied her, nodded and, after a decent interval, reached for a nail.

      Wham. Wham.

      She’d been forgotten.

      Except Erin knew that wasn’t true. She suspected Cole was hyperaware, not only of where she was and what she was doing, but also his surroundings in general. She’d seen his head turn before she heard the sound of an approaching car. An elderly neighbor walked her slow-moving pug several times a day. Cole always turned to look. She wondered if his caution would slowly abate, or whether in ten years it had become part of his makeup. Cops were probably the same—although Cole might not like the comparison.

      They didn’t exchange another word until their lunch break. After yesterday, she didn’t offer him anything, just went inside, aware that he was heading toward the garage. But as she peeled a carrot, she saw him coming down the stairs from the apartment with a can of pop and what looked like a sandwich. So she carried her plate outside, too.

      Most of the porch boards were laid. Cole sat at the top of what would be the steps, his lower legs dangling. His sweat-dampened T-shirt clung to a broad back and shoulders. A screwdriver poked out of a pocket of his jeans, drawing her gaze to his muscular butt. Feeling a little shy, she joined him, seeing him glance at her lunch.

      “You don’t eat much,” he said after a minute.

      A carrot and a serving of cottage cheese were more than she’d had for a midday meal a month ago. Taking a page from his book, she merely shrugged.

      After finishing the cottage cheese, she said, “This porch is going up fast.”

      “Long way to go.” The supports were in place, but he hadn’t started on the roof.

      It occurred to her that getting heavy sheets of plywood up there wouldn’t be easy. Could they do it, just the two of them?

      Cole seemed to be assessing the work still to be done when he said, “Heard you leave last night.”

      She’d hoped to be quiet enough that he’d sleep through her departure, but wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t. She chose not to answer.

      Now he looked directly at her. “Thought someone might be stealing your car.”

      Of course, that was exactly what would leap to mind, given his background. Had he stolen СКАЧАТЬ