Her Redeeming Love

by Ivy James

  Chapter 14

  JOE HADN’T TAKEN A DAY OFF since he’d started working on the house so after watching Ashley cart Max out to her car and strap him in, he decided to go back to the nursing home and see his dad. Twenty minutes later he let himself into his father’s room.

  “You’re back!” his dad called from the bed. “Just in time for a game of checkers. Remember when we used to play and your mother— What’s wrong?”

  He swung a straight-backed chair around and straddled it. “That girl found out, didn’t she? You tell her or did some busybody get to her first?”

  “Hal.”

  His father reached for the phone.

  “No, Pop, forget it.”

  “That man don’t have a lick of sense if he can’t see—”

  “It doesn’t matter now. What were you going to say?”

  His old man lifted his head to peer over his bifocals. “What’s that you’re holding?”

  Joe laughed warily as he stared down at the book Mrs. H. had handed him on the way in, not so sure he wanted to admit what he’d agreed to do just to change the subject. “Guess I’ve been chosen to read the next chapter of this for the ladies out in the cafeteria.” He eyed the man and woman on the cover of the book and felt his face flush. “Don’t come out there this time, all right? It was hard enough reading that mystery out loud, and it was as tame as it got.”

  “Let me see— Have I read that?”

  Joe glanced at his pop in surprise. “Huh?”

  His old man waved a hand. “You know how much your mama liked those books. Had hundreds of them. When she died and you were away the house got awfully lonely. Think that might be one of hers. I read ’em all and then donated them when I moved in.”

  Joe opened the cover and glanced inside. Sure enough his mother’s name was in the top corner. A sad smile lit his face. “I’d forgotten Ma liked these.”

  “Sure did.” His pop winked at him. “Made for some fine nights.”

  Joe groaned. “That’s way more than I wanted to know, Pop.”

  “So what happened? That girl kick you out?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to stay in the screened shed by the pond.” He held up the hand holding the book to stop his father’s protest, but frowned at himself when the gesture reminded him of Ashley. “I volunteered to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…I don’t know. I hired on for a job and I want to finish it. When it’s done, I’ll leave.”

  “You can’t stay in Wilson’s fishing shed all winter.”

  “I’m just going to get the hardest of the work done and then turn things over to her. One of your buddies here in the home—Boyle? His grandson offered me a job working construction. I’ll give him a call when I’m ready to move on.”

  His father grumbled and fidgeted beneath his sheets. “It ain’t right. Don’t she know—”

  “She’s got a baby boy, remember? And she grew up in a home for kids. She’s afraid Hal will turn her in for endangering the little boy if I’m living there.”

  “But you didn’t—”

  “I know,” he said, cutting him off before his pop could get on a roll defending him. “But that’s the way it is.”

  “Haven’t seen that look on your face in a while.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His dad pointed to the book. “Lovesick. You’re sittin’ there saying you’ll move on, but you don’t want to. You like this girl.”

  Joe tapped the book on the top of the chair as he stood. “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter since there’s no way to prove I didn’t kill Josie.”

  “People get out of prison every day. They walk among us and we don’t know it, how’re you any different?”

  Joe shook his head. He liked the fact his dad still defended him. Still believed in him. Jack hadn’t. Now Ashley.

  She’d grown up without having that kind of support. How could she trust in something she had never experienced?

  She’d said herself that Mac had been several years older than her, which left her in the children’s home struggling to survive and not believing in anything she couldn’t experience firsthand.

  So show her the difference. Show her you believe in her enough to ignore her lack of faith in you.

  “Thanks, Pop.”

  “For what?”

  Joe leaned over the bed and hugged him. “For always believing in me. Ashley never had that.”

  He’d always known his father was a smart man, but when Ted Brody grinned up at him, Joe knew he’d caught on to his line of thinking.

  “Well, now, maybe it’s time she did.”

  Joe laughed gruffly. “Maybe it is.”

  * * *

  ASHLEY COULDN’T BELIEVE her eyes. She’d just walked into the nursing home over half an hour late for her meeting with Mrs. Hilliard only to find Joe sitting in the middle of the cafeteria reading—she pressed a hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter—a romance?

  Although low, his deep voice carried and she was able to make out his words. Oh, definitely a romance. She blinked, still unable to take in the sight of him surrounded by twenty or so women, a couple men, each and every one of them hanging on his every word.

  “I see you’ve noticed our Joe,” Mrs. Hilliard said as she walked up behind her.

  “Our…Joe?” Could Mrs. Hilliard not know?

  “Yes, he’s quite a dear. Every day he comes in to see his father, came twice today, and he never minds pitching in to help us.”

  Joe got to a scene in the book where the hero took the heroine into his arms. His face was turning redder by the second, but other than giving one of the ladies near him a sideways glance, he mumbled his way through the kiss and into the next scene.

  Ashley glanced at Mrs. Hilliard and found the other woman’s gaze on her instead of him. “He…pitches in?”

  Apparently that was the question Mrs. Hilliard waited for because the woman nodded, smiling. “He fixed Mr. Boyle’s chair, hung a picture for Marge over there and he found one of the staff moving a bed and did it for her.” Mrs. Hilliard motioned for Ashley to lean low so she could whisper in her ear. “Poor dear, the girl’s pregnant and sick as a dog, but she’s just hired on. Anyway, our Joe, he saw her running for the bathroom when she was halfway through moving the bed, so he finished the job for her.”

  “That’s…nice.” Not to mention considerate. Sweet, thoughtful.

  For a murderer.

  Stop it.

  “Yes, he even allowed Carl to give him a haircut despite the man being mostly blind.” Mrs. Hilliard laughed softly. “The poor man misses his barber-shop so badly but lost his sight because of diabetes.”

  Ashley made the appropriate noises, her attention locked solely on Joe.

  “With no sight, you can imagine how off Carl’s cut was, so after he finished with Joe I asked another patron to trim him up and fix the damage.”

  “Is that right?”

  Mrs. Hilliard nodded, sighing. “Our Sam, he wasn’t too thrilled at the prospect, but after I’d explained what happened, he helped Joe out. Quite handsome, isn’t he, dear?”

  Ashley blinked. “Huh? Oh, yes. I mean, well, sure, but—”

  Mrs. Hilliard patted her on the arm. “Come along, Ashley. Show me what you’ve brought besides young Max. Unless you’d like to stay and hear the story?”

  That appealed to her way more than it should’ve. “No, no, that’s fine.” She hefted Max higher on her side. “But…maybe you could tell me more about…”

  “Joe?”

  She smiled, probably a little too brightly. Mrs. Hilliard didn’t need to know everything. “Yeah, Joe. What else do you, uh, know about him?”

  Two hours later there was no sign of Joe when Ashley carried Max back through the nursing home. She’d spent the time sharing a picnic table in the shade with Mrs. Hilliard and two other ladies from the garden club the older woman had invited to help finalize Ashley’s landscape design.

  Ashley was nervous at the pros
pect of spending the afternoon with two strangers, but Mrs. Hilliard had filled in the gaps and kept things going. It had been a fun time once Ashley took her cues from Mrs. Hilliard and asked questions to keep the ladies talking about themselves.

  Genuine interest went a long way in breaking the ice and allowing her to relax and enjoy. They’d debated over boxwoods or holly bushes, variegated ivies versus plain and finally came up with a colorful sketch Ashley couldn’t wait to get started on.

  But once the two ladies had left early to complete some shopping, Ashley stayed because Mrs. Hilliard began to recite story after story about Joe growing up. What good grades he’d made, how he’d always helped out.

  Mrs. Hilliard’s accounting of Joe’s life was definitely interesting, especially when she got to the part about Joe dating Melissa York.

  “Oh, dear, listen to me. I’ve gone on and on. Poor Max is tired and so am I, dear. Perhaps you can come visit me again soon. Maybe you’ll run into Joe yourself.” Her gaze turned speculative. “Unless you’d like me to introduce you now?”

  Ashley managed a smile at the woman’s match-making, aghast she’d suggest such a thing when she had to know of Joe’s prison term given everything else she knew about him. And torn because Mrs. Hilliard had suggested it as though she recognized Joe as a nice guy and not the hardened, dangerous man the chief had made him out to be. Which was true?

  She wanted to press for more answers, more insight, but couldn’t, not without giving herself away. So instead she’d arranged to come back to visit the next week and said her goodbyes. Now she drove up behind the house and saw Joe leave the back porch and walk toward the shed. He had to have heard her car coming up the drive, seen her lights, but he didn’t look back.

  Guilt nagged and she shook it off. No, she had to stand firm. The chief had come right out and said he’d do whatever was necessary to keep Max safe from Joe if she wouldn’t. No way would she test Hal York to see if he’d follow through with his threat.

  A part of her said it was none of his business, but the other part of her knew of too many children who wouldn’t have survived their home life if not for the involvement of law enforcement and case workers.

  Joe sleeping in the shed was the best compromise she could offer, and she hoped the police would accept that as her doing her part as Max’s parent, since Joe had no contact with Max and no reason now that they weren’t…whatever.

  Rubbing her temples, she got out of the car and carried a sleeping Max into the house, painfully aware of the emptiness within the walls. Joe wasn’t there raiding the fridge alongside Wilson, wasn’t sitting on the couch watching her while she played with Max. Wasn’t there ready to discuss her dreams and goals, acting as though they were important to him as well.

  Ashley sighed, then twisted the latch on the door, locking Joe out of her house.

  If only she could’ve locked him out of her heart so easily.

  * * *

  FOUR DAYS LATER Ashley was ready to pull her hair out.

  The morning after kicking Joe out of her house and into the shed, he’d shown up for breakfast looking as tired as she felt. She’d tossed and turned all night, her thoughts consumed by all Mrs. Hilliard had said. Now days had passed and she still wasn’t any closer to a solution.

  She wet her dry lips and murmured a good morning, but other than returning the greeting and shaking off the rain that had started coming down outside, Joe said nothing else.

  Wilson gave her a baleful glare at the obvious tension between them, but she ignored the old man and the three of them sat around the table in uncomfortable silence like they’d done the past few mornings. Only the scrape of forks and the crunch of bacon could be heard in between Max’s jabbers and squeals.

  Joe practically inhaled his breakfast and stood. “I’ll go sand the ceiling upstairs, then move the furniture out of the foyer. I thought you might want to get started on that while I paint the ceiling.”

  Which would keep them on separate floors of the house and Joe far away from Max.

  You told him to stay away, remember?

  Yes, but now she felt guilty. Torn because Joe had tried talking to her several times over the last couple of days and she’d simply cut him off, unwilling to listen to a word he said in defense.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fools.”

  Joe ignored Wilson and walked out of the room, but she couldn’t let his comment pass. “Don’t,” she said immediately. “Things are bad enough without you calling us names.”

  Wilson grumbled to himself but Ashley didn’t care. She stood and gathered up her plate, ready to get to work and concentrate on something else.

  Concentrate? Yeah, right.

  “I’m going out today. Don’t make lunch for me.”

  Ashley turned to Wilson. “I—I was kind of hoping you’d give me a hand with Max since you’ve been gone and in your room so much.”

  “Nope.”

  “Wilson, if this is about Joe—”

  “’Course it’s about Joe. You’re on your own, missy. ’Til you realize Joe wouldn’t harm a hair on that boy’s head, I ain’t babysittin’ so you can forget it.”

  So much for gratitude.

  “And if the chief calls children’s services?”

  “If he this, if he that. Who cares?”

  “I do!”

  “Hal wouldn’t take a baby away from his mama unless he’s bein’ neglected or abused.”

  “I’m not willing to chance you’re wrong. He obviously hates Joe.”

  “That man’s blind and so are you. You’ve let other people dictate and rule your life, tell you how to feel about yourself. It’s about time you stood up for what you want.” Wilson turned on his slippered heel and hurried from the room as fast as the walker could take him.

  Ashley looked down at Max and found his big eyes staring at her in question. “Don’t you look at me that way, too. I’m doing this for you.”

  Was she? Or was she doing what Wilson said and protecting herself from Joe? Things had moved fast, they’d nearly made love. Was she using Joe’s past as a barrier?

  It is a barrier.

  So go talk to him. Find out what happened. Hear him out and then decide now that you’ve calmed down.

  Her head pounded out a protest even as her feet propelled her forward.

  * * *

  JOE STARED AT THE BACK of Ashley’s head. “What?”

  “Tell me about your daughter,” she repeated softly, her back to him while she spread moss-green paint on the opposite wall to where he was finishing up the second coat of paint on the ceiling.

  Max was positioned in the doorway of the room, technically in the hall out of the way of the fumes. He pounded away with a rattle, his concentration intense.

  Ashley had put the boy in a stationary car, so he was able to turn and play with toys lining the attached shelf, but unable to get out or into mischief.

  “Well? You’ve tried to talk to me a couple of times and I wouldn’t listen, but now…I’m ready.”

  “What changed?”

  “Are you going to tell me about her or not?”

  Joe rewet his roller and went back to work. Silence stretched between them. Finally he decided to take the tentative peace offering. At least she’d hear his side this way.

  “Her name was Josie,” he murmured. “Anna Josephine, but we called her Josie.”

  “Pretty name.”

  He didn’t comment. “She was tiny, a preemie. Melissa had just lost her mom and was having a hard time dealing with it so her blood pressure was all over the place. She went into premature labor.

  “Even though she was a preemie, Josie looked like an angel. She wasn’t red or cone-headed or anything. She was small, barely three pounds.” He grinned. “Fifteen inches long.” Joe paused, his thoughts in the past, so proud when Mel had placed Josie in his arms. “I could hold her in my hand with her head on my fingers and her feet only came my wrist.”

  “B
ut she was okay?”

  Ashley’s voice prodded him on. Looking down at the paint-spattered plastic, he nodded. “Yeah, everybody was afraid her lungs weren’t developed enough, but the doc said they were fine.”

  “Dr. Booker?”

  He shook his head. “No, he’s new. This was one of the old docs, Peters. Don’t know where he’s at now. He was the old Doc Booker’s competition.”

  “Did you like being a dad?”

  Joe glanced at Ashley, expecting to find some sort of criticism in her expression, but instead he found curiosity, concern. “I loved it.” He went back to work because it was easier to talk about Josie when he didn’t just stand there and think.

  “Mel and I, with everything going on with her mom’s passing, she decided to break up with me. I’d asked her to marry me when we found out about the pregnancy, but she refused.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  Joe nodded. “It was, but now I see her side of things. She was overwhelmed, confused. We’d dated for a while, necked, but never gone all the way until her mom was on the brink. She passed away and now I see that’s why Mel slept with me. The fact she got pregnant only made things worse for her.”

  He tossed the roller into the pan and stalked over to the open window. Rain continued to pour outside and the walls were closing in on him.

  “A day hasn’t passed that I haven’t asked myself what went wrong.” He shrugged. “But once the docs said it was shaken baby syndrome, and almost always the father, that was it. The thing is, other than the brain damage the autopsy showed, Josie had no bruises, no marks at all. Nothing to judge the size of a person’s fingers. Everything was perfect and matched the exam she’d had at the doctor’s office a few days earlier. Josie was completely healthy until—” He broke off, cursed softly then regretted the word. He glanced at Max before turning back to the window and scrubbing a hand over his face to wipe away the tears burning his lids.

  Ashley touched his arm and turned him to face her. Shaking, she raised a hand to his cheek. “Oh, Joe.”