The Hero's Redemption. Janice Kay Johnson

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      Naturally, she’d argued. “It’s not. Anyway, it’ll be perfect.” She thought. Since she’d never owned a house, only a condo, she’d never had one painted, either. But he was currently spray-painting the clapboards a warm, midbrown, and she could already see that the trim colors worked.

      He’d finished building the front porch and the smaller back stoop. Yes, getting those heavy pieces of plywood high enough off the ground had been a job and a half. She didn’t tell him how much her arms, neck and back had ached the next day. They should’ve found someone with more muscle to help him, but Erin didn’t know anyone in town except for elderly neighbors, and Cole didn’t know anybody but her.

      Well, they’d managed, and she loved her new front porch. She’d resolved to buy a couple of Adirondack chairs and a porch swing, too. Cole was confident the beam would support one.

      At the sound of a soft footstep behind her, Erin realized she hadn’t heard the sprayer for several minutes. She finished the swipe of the brush she’d begun, then set it on the paint can and turned to look down from the ladder.

      Open amusement and even a glint of white teeth as Cole grinned made her heart seize up. In the ten days he’d worked for her, she had yet to see more than a faint twitch at the corners of his very sexy mouth.

      His grin faded at whatever he saw on her face.

      No, no.

      “What’s so funny?” she asked, pretending deep suspicion.

      Another curve of his mouth betrayed him. “You look like you have chicken pox.”

      “I can hardly wait to see myself in the mirror.”

      He laughed, a low, rusty sound that seemed to startle him as much as it did her.

      To keep him from retreating, she said hastily, “You’ve sprayed yourself, too, you know. Except around your eyes. You have the raccoon thing going.”

      He shrugged. “It’s latex paint. It ought to wash off.”

      “But not from our clothes.” Dismayed, she said, “I should’ve bought you coveralls.” He couldn’t possibly have had more than one change in that duffel bag.

      Seeming unconcerned, Cole glanced down at himself. “I’ll keep these for messy jobs. The jeans have about had it, anyway, and T-shirts are easy to replace. I picked up some more clothes the other day.”

      She nodded. “What do you think? Is this color not perfect?”

      “I don’t know. I would have liked a nice cream...” He smiled again at her expression. “Yeah, it looks better than I thought it would. Kind of different, in a gingerbread-house way.”

      She sniffed. “And I’m the wicked witch.”

      “Well, you said it, not me.”

      Erin grabbed her paintbrush and brandished it. “I’ll polka-dot you.”

      Another rusty chuckle, and he backed away.

      “I put a roast in the Crock-Pot.” Now or never. “Will you have dinner with me?” He’d taken care of his own meals since those first few days.

      He went still, in that way he could, his blue eyes unreadable. The moment stretched. Erin suddenly realized that the brush was dripping down her front and she hastily moved it over the can.

      Pride had her shrugging and turning back to the window. “Or not.”

      “No.” Cole cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, that’d be great. I’m...not much of a cook.”

      Having seen the frozen meals he bought each time they’d gone to the grocery store together, she wasn’t surprised.

      Without looking at him, she said, “Give me half an hour or so after we knock off for the day. I want to shower and put some biscuits in the oven.”

      “Thanks.” He sounded hoarse.

      Erin didn’t look back, even though she knew he was walking away. Usually, she couldn’t resist any chance to watch him when he wouldn’t notice. He was just so damn beautiful, whether in motion or at rest.

      By the time she tapped the lid back on the can a couple of hours later, she expected to be exhausted. To her astonishment, there was still some spring to her step. Maybe she was regaining her strength.

      She’d brought some plastic bags out to the garage, and now used one of them to wrap the brush. This seemed to work, saving her from having to clean it every evening. She’d seen Cole using the hose to do something to the spraying assembly, which they’d rented. She’d learned some creative new profanities from him every time the nozzle plugged up. Thank goodness he growled them almost under his breath, or he might have shocked a few neighbors.

      Erin could tell that a young family lived three doors down, judging by the small bike with pink streamers on the handles and the big plastic tricycle often left lying on the lawn. Kids seemed to live in the house on the corner, too. Presumably, there were other neighbors younger than eighty, but she hadn’t seen them. She’d bet the folks within a four-block radius could fill a good-sized retirement home, if they were all willing to give up mowing their lawns and walking arthritic pets. Nanna had been happy here partly because she had lifelong friends. Even the neighbors she disliked were part of the landscape of her life. She could tell stories about every one of them. Erin knew all the older folks, but hadn’t yet tried to make herself part of the neighborhood.

      Yesterday afternoon, she’d heard a mower fire up and looked over to see Mr. Zatloka across the street wrap his knobby hands around the handle of his mower and totter forward. She’d heard him mow before but hadn’t seen him. Would he let her do it for him? She knew the answer. A young lady—no, that would offend his masculine pride.

      Even as she was hesitating about trying, anyway, Cole trotted across the street, spoke briefly to Mr. Zatloka and took over. In twenty minutes, he mowed the Zatlokas’ entire lawn. He dumped the clippings in Erin’s yard waste bin—she’d seen Mr. Zatloka put theirs in the garbage can—and wheeled the mower into the garage. He and the elderly man laughed about something, and then Cole returned to work on her house.

      His kindness was the reason she’d decided to ask him to dinner again. Maybe she was being foolish, but she wanted to know him better. Be friends. Not anything more.

      One dangerous habit was enough.

      * * *

      ERIN HAD LONG since disappeared into the house by the time Cole showered, changed clothes and made his way from the apartment to her front door.

      They’d worked longer than they should have. He’d suddenly become aware that the quality of the light had changed and he was having trouble seeing. Now, full night had descended.

      Seeing the porch light left on for him stirred uncomfortable feelings. He should’ve politely thanked her and headed out for fast food and a visit to the library.

      Erin had hired him for a dirty job, but it seemed she wanted something else. Cole didn’t get it, didn’t trust the lures she kept throwing out.

      Did she just want СКАЧАТЬ