The Single Dad's Redemption

by Roxanne Rustand

  The job before that was “rodeo cowboy” and before that he’d been the hardworking son of a Texas rancher. Fixing fences, training horses and raising cattle were hardly good work experiences for the kind of employee she needed.

  But the part he’d expected—listing past convictions—wasn’t on the form. Maybe times had changed and those details couldn’t be asked.

  Yet he couldn’t lie and he wouldn’t hide the truth. He fixed his weary gaze on the glittering baubles hanging over the front counter. “As much as I could use the money, I’m really not your guy.”

  She tipped her head and smiled at him. “The cash register is super easy, I promise.”

  He sighed heavily. “Your application form doesn’t ask about legal history.”

  She blinked, clearly not expecting a comment like that, and drew back. “And?”

  “It should.” He fished in his back pocket for his billfold and withdrew a folded photocopy of a newspaper article, smoothed it out on the counter and then handed it to her. “Read this.”

  Her mouth dropped open at the headline. She darted a quick look at him then read the brief article he already knew by heart, word for word.

  Texan Connor Rafferty, sentenced to life without parole for the murder of Sheriff Carl Dornan, has served five years in the Eagle Creek State Prison. Recent DNA evidence has exonerated Rafferty of all charges and he has been released. No one else has been charged, but state investigators say the case is ongoing...

  “Five years,” she breathed, giving him a searching look. “Five years of your life gone and they were wrong?”

  He’d expected doubt, suspicion, even instant fear of a man she might still believe to be a cop killer despite laboratory evidence to the contrary. He’d expected her to order him out of her store. He hadn’t expected to see the sympathy in her eyes.

  He hitched a shoulder. “That’s about it. But right now I’m just thankful to be free.”

  “I can’t imagine what it was like for you.” She shook her head slowly. “And for your poor family.”

  “Nothing good.” He tucked the article back into his wallet. “I don’t think you want a guy fresh out of prison at your cash register.”

  Her brows drew together as she searched his face. “But you weren’t guilty, right?”

  “No. But I spent five years behind bars and I’ll be marked by that injustice forever.”

  “Maybe you should give people a chance to prove you wrong.”

  “Is it worth the risk? If word about my past spreads, people might be afraid to come into your store.”

  “You aren’t exactly unique. Marvella Peters is a beautician in town, and one of her nephews in Chicago was released from prison for burglary two years ago. The same situation—based on DNA.” She thought for a moment. “And I saw a television show about this sort of thing, too. At least you aren’t the poor man who put in thirty years before proven innocent.”

  He’d spent his years in prison knowing he’d never be freed, given the enormity of the charges against him and a federal sentence without chance of parole. A bleak, suffocating sense of hopelessness had weighed on his chest every minute of every day.

  God had forgotten him well before his incarceration and he’d given up on prayer long before that. But now he felt a tentative flare of hope and silent words began to form into a rusty, awkward plea. Was it really possible to start over? To be given a chance?

  Please, God. Let it be true. But even as he breathed that prayer, he knew it wasn’t possible.

  His own father had never cared enough to forgive him and offer him another chance, so why would the Almighty?

  “I’m really sorry, and I hope you won’t be offended, but—” Keeley bit her lower lip. “I—I do need to check out your story. Can I photocopy that article?”

  “Of course.”

  It would be an easy way out for her, once she thought this through a little longer. A delay, followed by a tactful withdrawal of her job offer.

  He didn’t expect anything more.

  Chapter Three

  The next day Keeley stopped at the sheriff’s office during her lunch break feeling decidedly upbeat. Finally. An employee—and one she felt good about hiring. Was God finally answering her prayers and maybe using her to give this man a new start?

  It didn’t take long to receive a second opinion on Connor Rafferty.

  “How much worse could this guy be?” Deputy Todd Hansmann shoved the job application back across his desk and threw up his hands in disgust. “An ex-con? Are you crazy?”

  Keeley rolled her eyes. His irritable tone confirmed that she’d been right to firmly decline Todd’s occasional offers for dinner or a movie when she’d first moved back to Aspen Creek.

  Now he was engaged to a take-charge redhead named Nina, who didn’t take sass from anyone and who managed the one grocery store in town. They seemed like a perfect match.

  “No, I’m not crazy.” She stabbed her forefinger at the photocopied newspaper clipping. “If I was, I would’ve hired him without checking out his story. But I’ve read about counterfeiters making currency with a computer, so I wanted to make sure this newspaper article wasn’t faked. Can you verify this for me?”

  He snorted. “Lorraine is running a background check right now. But since he spent five years in the slammer, there must have been some mighty compelling evidence to lock him up in the first place. If he got released on some technicality—”

  “DNA is not a technicality. It’s proof. Right?”

  “But he got arrested, Keel. The cops must have had good reason to be suspicious. If he was just some innocent, random guy, why did they ever consider him? Maybe he has a long history of being a troublemaker.”

  “Exonerated, it says,” Keeley repeated, her light mood dissipating.

  “That aside, prison changes a man, Keel. And not for the better. I still think—” At the buzz of the intercom on his desk, Todd pushed his chair back. “Just hold on a minute.”

  Five minutes later he was back with several pages of printouts in hand, his mouth twisted into an unpleasant grimace. “Lorraine finished the background check. Apparently his story is true.”

  “So someone in law enforcement was careless and he paid for their mistakes?”

  “There were DNA errors, apparently. His legal record has been wiped clean. Uh... Lorraine even found some articles about the case and his release through the National Registry of Exonerations.”

  A feeling of jubilation bubbled up in Keeley’s chest. “I told you!”

  “You still shouldn’t take any chances.”

  “Really, Todd.”

  “Think about the kind of prisoners he’s been associating with...and about that last new employee of yours. Mandy. Candy—whatever her name was.”

  “Mindy. I hardly think this guy would abscond with froufrou from the store.”

  Todd’s eyes narrowed on her. “No, but he might run off with the cash register. Does your brother know about this? Your sister?”

  They’d all gone to elementary through high school together here in town, so he knew her siblings well enough to track them down and give each a call.

  Brad, a doctor in Cleveland, and Liza, a tax attorney in St. Paul, would have plenty to say if they learned of Keeley’s plans, and knowing Todd, they would probably be finding out all too soon.

  She tried to hold back her rising irritation. “Why would this matter to them? They aren’t partners in my store, Todd. I don’t answer to anyone but myself.”

  “Still—”

  “I appreciate your concern, but this is my decision.” She reached across the counter and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks for the background check.”

  He glowered at her. “So you’re going to hire a felon.”

  She bit back a sharp re
tort and summoned a more reasonable tone. “Is he still a felon if proved innocent via irrefutable proof?”

  She’d come here to make sure Connor’s story was true. That accomplished, it was time to leave before she said something she would regret. “I was really happy to hear about your engagement, by the way. Say hi to Nina for me, okay?”

  Todd waved away the pleasantries and made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “Did you know that they’ve never found another suspect for that murder? None? I hope that makes you think twice.”

  * * *

  Keeley left the sheriff’s office fuming at Todd’s unwavering opinion about her lack of common sense.

  But with the help of a hot dog plus a large Heath Bar Blizzard for lunch at the Dairy Queen, followed by a fast-paced, twenty-minute walk, she’d calmed down enough to realize that she at least owed it to herself to check out Connor’s story a little further.

  Maybe she was a tad impetuous at times—not that she’d admit it to Todd or her father—and she often led with her heart instead of her head when it came to assessing people and their intentions. But was that so wrong?

  Maybe at times, as evidenced by the last three clerks she’d hired. And if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that she could understand Todd’s concern.

  She’d been stunned when Connor walked into her shop moments after she’d recklessly promised God—in prayer, which surely must be binding—that she’d trust Him and would offer a job to the next person who walked into her store.

  But she’d expected a nicely dressed middle-aged woman to come in the door—her usual sort of clientele—not a tall, lean cowboy whose handsome, chiseled face belonged on a hero in a Western movie. And she hadn’t exactly expected he’d be fresh out of prison, either—no matter what the circumstances of his incarceration. Had Connor been completely honest with her?

  She’d felt a shiver of instant attraction when he’d come into her store, and when he’d briefly held her in his arms while helping her down from the roof, her pulse had kicked into overdrive and her stomach had fluttered. She’d felt the warmth of an embarrassing blush rise to her face.

  But whatever her foolish reaction might have been to this stranger, she would be stupid not to check out his story even further. His thick black hair, silvery blue eyes and strong jaw might be compelling, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy.

  Keeley got back in her car and drove slowly past Red’s Mechanic Shop & Wrecker Service. The three garage doors were all open, revealing a trio of SUVs in the service bays.

  Her heart dropped. Just as she’d feared, there wasn’t a pickup in sight. Had Connor lied about the reason he was in town?

  Maybe he’d just been casing her store...

  At that thought, she had to laugh.

  With her current financial state, there would be little cash to steal, and what interest could he possibly have in costume jewelry, local artists and pretty little antiques?

  She turned around, pulled into the parking area and went looking for Red. He was sitting with his feet propped up at his desk in the cramped office, his thick fingers stained black with grease and motor oil, eating a sandwich.

  He waved her toward a chair filled with a haphazard stack of invoices. “So how’s that New Yorker running, missy?”

  At thirty-one, she was still “missy” to the man who had been fixing her dad’s cars for forty years. She smiled. “Like a clock. You do great work.”

  “It ought to last another hundred thousand, but I’m not so sure about your dad, though.”

  “That he’ll last that long?”

  “That he oughta drive that long. I hear he had a little trouble yesterday afternoon.”

  She fidgeted with her keys. “Oh?”

  “Millie Ferguson was closing up her shop and saw him make some pretty strange moves on Main.”

  Keeley groaned. Knitting Pretty was across the street from her own shop and just a couple of doors down. Its bay windows offered Millie a stellar view of everything happening on Main. She never missed a thing, and she never hesitated to share it.

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “At the coffee shop this morning. Good thing no one else was on the street.”

  “Did...she say anything else?”

  He chuckled. “Only that she saw a handsome cowboy talking to you yesterday. And she said she’s gonna keep a sharp eye out for your dad’s car and stay out of his way.”

  If Dad’s little accident was already fodder for the coffee-shop crowd, then the whole town knew. “I just hope no one razzes him about it.”

  “I imagine they will. No doubt about it.” He took another bite and continued talking around the mouthful. “So what can I do for you?”

  Well, this was awkward. “I, um... Nothing, really. I heard you towed in a pickup yesterday.”

  He lowered the sandwich and winked. “The cowboy. Is he a close friend of yours, by any chance?”

  She could see the Aspen Creek gossip mill churning if she didn’t make things perfectly clear. “Actually, he might work at my store for a couple weeks while he’s waiting for his truck. But I was just driving by and didn’t see it on any of your lifts.”

  “It’s parked out back.”

  Relief washed through her. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll get to it as soon as I can. But maybe you’ll want him to stick around longer.” Red grinned and reached over to give her a pat on the shoulder with a beefy paw. “I’ve never been one to stand in the way of true love, you know.”

  She cringed at the way he warbled out the last words.

  Red had always liked to tease her whenever she’d stopped here with Dad as a little girl. Now she wished she hadn’t come by to snoop. “Nothing of the kind,” she said firmly. “He’s just a potential employee.”

  Red gave her a knowing look as he took another bite of his sandwich. “Whatever you say, darlin’. Whatever you say.”

  That meant the diner crowd would likely be hearing another chapter of her life the next time Red stopped in for his favorite rhubarb pie.

  She was just climbing into her Honda SUV when Red came to the open door of his shop. “Your cowboy stopped by just an hour ago and fetched the rest of his camping gear from the back of his truck. If you need to find him, check out the Aspen Creek Campgrounds. But keep an eye on the weather, honey. Looks like more storms are rolling in.”

  “Thanks, Red.” Turning for Dad’s two-story brick house on Cedar, she flipped on the radio and mulled her options as she drove through town. Okay, Lord. Unless You give me a big sign, I’m going to give that cowboy another chance to say yes.

  As she pulled to a stop in front of her father’s house, her heart fell. “Dad? What on earth...?”

  She shouldered on her Marmot rain jacket and hurried up the cement walk leading to his front porch, where Paul North sat on the porch swing in a wet short-sleeved shirt, huddled into himself and obviously chilled to the bone. “You’ll catch pneumonia out here. Why aren’t you inside?”

  He shot an irritable glance at her. “Bart.”

  “The dog?” She glanced around the empty front yard. “Where is he?”

  He hiked a thumb toward the house. “He must’ve jumped against the door and shut it while I was getting my mail.”

  Right. She shut her eyes briefly at the thought of her elderly father walking the two blocks to the post office then losing his keys. “You went in the rain? Without a jacket?”

  “It wasn’t raining when I left,” he snapped.

  “This is important, Dad. What if I hadn’t stopped by? What if it was colder outside? You could end up in the hospital.” She fingered through her keys and unlocked the heavy oak front door. “Do you remember where we put your extra keys after the last time you got locked out?”

  “Of course I
do. They’re gone.”

  She went to the farthest brick pillar supporting the porch roof, felt for the single loose brick, retrieved the slim metal box behind it and held it up for him to see. “Right in here, Dad.”

  He gave her hand a blank look then shrugged. “Then you didn’t put them back right the last time. Too far back.”

  Stifling an exasperated sigh, she held the door open for him and ushered him inside. He’d locked himself out before—without the unlikely help of his crotchety, lazy old dog—hence the keys hidden at both the front and back doors. He was just seventy-three, but now the trick was for him to remember where they were.

  One more sign that his independence was fading and her responsibility for him had to increase—despite his stubborn refusal. “You need one of those medical alert necklaces, Dad. Push a button and help is on the way.”

  He visibly shuddered. “Over my dead, cold body.”

  “Or if you’d just put your cell phone in your pocket every morning and keep it there, you could call for help if you locked yourself out or fell—”

  “I’m not an invalid,” he growled as he shuffled across the kitchen to the central hallway and the staircase leading to the second-floor bedrooms. “I’m going up to take a hot shower.”

  Frustration welled up in her chest as she watched him disappear down the hall. She stopped by as often as she could and never knew what she might find. “I’ll be back in an hour and make some supper, okay?” she called out to him.

  “Suit yourself.” A few minutes later she heard the distant slam of his bedroom door.

  Even on his best days he could be short-tempered—especially if anything occurred to highlight his lapses in memory or judgment. She understood that he feared the eventual loss of his independence, she really did.

  But still.

  Was it too much to expect a bit of kindness from him when she tried to help? He often seemed to think she was an enemy now. She sighed heavily as she looked heavenward and prayed for patience.