The Hero's Redemption

by Janice Kay Johnson

  They briefly discussed details. Cole agreed to measure and make up a materials list this afternoon, and Erin offered to pick up what was needed from the lumberyard rather than have them deliver. Then Cole walked the man to his front door, greeted Mrs. Zatloka and returned to hop into the passenger seat.

  He expected her to gloat because he’d been hired to work for someone else, but instead, even as Erin turned to look over her shoulder as she backed out of the driveway, she said, “I’ve never asked if they have kids. I feel so guilty. I wish I’d visited Nanna more often, seen how much she needed. I just never thought.”

  “Did she care whether the front porch got replaced or not?”

  “She sure would have if she’d fallen through a rotten board and broken her leg.”

  Cole shook his head. “But she didn’t.”

  “Well, no, but...” Erin had the grace to laugh. “I have a guilt complex, okay?”

  Laughter was an improvement over her usual despair. He’d take it.

  Not until they’d reached the house did he say, “You have a computer?”

  “Sure, a laptop. Why? Do you need to use it?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” He couldn’t help sounding stiff. “I’m hoping I can find some instructions for the ramp. I’m not sure about the slope.”

  “If it’s too steep, a wheelchair or walker might get out of control.”

  “Right.” He cringed at the idea of Mrs. Zatloka’s walker running away from her.

  “Come on in,” she suggested. “I’ll get it for you.”

  She made coffee, too, as he sat at the kitchen table with the skinny little laptop that wasn’t even plugged in. She must have wireless. Electronics intimidated him more than anything else in this changed world.

  He now knew how to get online and type in a search query, although his fingers felt too big for the keyboard. A ton of answers popped up immediately. He’d barely started reading when Erin set a notebook and pen within reach.

  One foot for each inch of rise. Huh. Fortunately, the Zatlokas’ concrete stoop wasn’t more than twenty-four to thirty inches high. Handrails—yeah, they’d need those. He found suggestions about the ideal width for the ramp, which was good because Mrs. Zatloka didn’t yet own a wheelchair. He’d seen some pretty fancy ones a lot wider than the basic edition available as a loaner at the hospital. The ramp should be built to accommodate a wheelchair of that size.

  He could build it using poured concrete, and studied those directions, but he decided to go with wood so it could be torn out more easily. A young family probably wouldn’t want one. Mom and Dad wouldn’t love catching a kid using the ramp as a skateboard park.

  He looked up to realize he was alone. Taking advantage of Erin’s absence, he typed in a query about extralong passenger vans, and was dismayed by what he read. There were plenty of warnings about the relative instability and difficult handling of twelve-person and larger vans. Had Erin ever checked into it?

  Finally, he closed the internet.

  He found her outside, watering her new plants. Somehow, she’d managed to soak one leg of her jeans. She was cleaner than she’d been yesterday, digging in the dirt, but wisps of pale hair had escaped her braid and curled around her face, and in the sunlight her freckles were a lot more apparent than they were indoors. Cole wished he didn’t have these moments when he was especially struck by how beautiful she was, and how that long, leggy body turned him on.

  “Ah, you want me to shut down the computer?”

  She looked up. “No, it’ll go into sleep mode. I’ll probably go online later. Did you find what you need?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” The job was going to be more complicated and take longer than he’d envisioned, but he felt kind of buzzed. It was lucky he’d always been good at math. The stuff about the van—he could talk to her about it when the timing seemed right. “I’m going over there now. I can’t do any calculations until I have measurements.”

  He managed to subdue his physical reaction to Erin before he crossed the street. Wouldn’t want to shock the old guy.

  Speaking of Mr. Zatloka, he came out to watch and hold the other end of the tape measure. Cole suggested building the ramp from the back stoop rather than the front, and Mr. Zatloka agreed. He didn’t look dismayed when Cole told him the job would probably take several weeks, explaining about the gradient and the landing he planned to put halfway. He thought by tomorrow he might be ready to order what he needed.

  Walking back across the street, Cole felt exhilarated. This was a real job and—aside from her original hint—Erin hadn’t gotten it for him.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Erin and Cole picked up the first load of lumber for the ramp project, and she bought paint for another couple of rooms in her house, as well as more stripper so she could start on the molding downstairs.

  When Cole saw that in her hand, he said, “You know, you’ll want to have the floors refinished.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “They’ll look worse once I’ve redone everything else, won’t they?”

  “Yep.” He seemed cheerful today, a mood she hadn’t associated with him before.

  “I’ll have to move all the furniture out.” The idea was enough to make her feel overwhelmed.

  “You’ll need to move out, too,” he said. “The stuff they use stinks, and the fumes probably aren’t good for you.”

  “Ugh.” She slid her credit card through the reader. “I’ll do a Scarlett O’Hara on this one.”

  He looked inquiring as the clerk laughed.

  “‘After all, tomorrow is another day.’ Quote from Gone with the Wind.”

  Cole didn’t say anything, only picked up the paint cans. As they crossed the parking lot, she glanced at him.

  His throat worked. “I spent years knowing nothing would be any different tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his arm. If he noticed, he didn’t react.

  They drove into the loading zone then, and he got out to help while she stayed put. The lumber and concrete blocks they were picking up today would form the underpinnings. They’d have to come back when he needed material for the ramp itself and the railings.

  When he got in behind the wheel again, she said, “You need to drive on the highway and the freeway. Once you’ve done that, there’s no reason you can’t get your license.”

  Lines deepened on his face, but after a moment he nodded. “You’re right. I think I’m okay to do that now.”

  He was okay to do a lot now, she thought. So, all right, she could feel him slipping away. It was her problem that she desperately wished she didn’t have to lose him. In retrospect, she could see that she should’ve kept him at a distance. As it was, he’d become her best and only friend. No, it was more than that; she wanted him, too, in a way she didn’t think she’d ever wanted a man. Maybe it was just his dangerous vibe. A typical, stupid, female response to a man any woman should steer clear of.

  The trouble was, he wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Withdrawn, yes, but he was also patient, kind, smart and proud.

  She suspected that pride was what had kept him going all these years; it would also keep him from laying a hand on her or asking for anything but the most minor favors.

  Well, she was bound to see less of him now that he was working across the street. She could wean herself away from her dependence on a man who was probably eager to stand on his own feet, needing no help from her.

  At this low point in her reflections, he stopped to back into the Zatlokas’ driveway, then turned off the engine and raised the hatch door.

  He didn’t argue when she got out to help him unload, which was a blessing since Mr. Zatloka popped out and insisted on doing the same. Seeing him trying to lift a concrete block was enough to make Erin lunge forward. Fortunately, Cole took the bloc
k from his hands and said, “You mind looking behind the front seat? I think that’s where I stuck the bags with screws and other hardware.”

  Damn it, there he went, being both tactful and kind again. Because he respected another man’s pride. She couldn’t imagine him ever putting someone else down to make himself feel better.

  Her heart sped up as she acknowledged what she already knew.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ERIN HAD JUST pried open a can of paint the next morning when she heard a car in the driveway. Who on earth could it be? Somebody using her driveway to turn around? Certainly, nobody had dropped in for a visit since she’d moved to West Fork. She’d hoped that by judiciously responding to friends’ and her aunt’s emails, she’d head them off from tracking her down. Outside, she heard a car door slam. She straightened and went toward the front of the house.

  A dark-haired man in a rumpled suit had climbed out of the blue sedan and was looking at the house. With a sinking feeling, Erin suspected she knew who he was.

  She opened the front door and went out on the porch. “Can I help you?”

  “Would you be Ms. Parrish?”

  “I am.”

  He mounted the steps. “I’m Enrique Ramirez, Cole Meacham’s parole officer. I should have visited before now, but I’ve been swamped.”

  “How do you do?” she said politely, accepting his handshake. Cole would hate having the man show up here. Had he known parole officers did this? Seeing no option, she invited him in and offered him coffee, which he accepted with apparent pleasure. Just sugar, he said.

  “Is Mr. Meacham here?” he asked.

  Pouring from the carafe, she said, “He’s at a neighbors’. I still have some small jobs for him to do, but he’s currently building a wheelchair ramp for the elderly people across the street.”

  “A wheelchair ramp?” He looked startled. “Has he ever done anything like that before?”

  “I don’t think so, but he studied plans online and says he’s good at math.” She grimaced as she put a mug on the table in front of him, sitting down with her own. “Which I’m not, so I didn’t totally understand his calculations. The ramp can’t be too steep, for obvious reasons. His father is a contractor. Cole worked for him at one time and had some construction jobs later, too.” He’d barely mentioned those, but she had the impression he’d been trying to get out from under his father’s thumb.

  “I see.” After dumping a couple of teaspoons of sugar in his coffee and stirring, he studied her from tired brown eyes. Gray threaded the dark hair, and the beginnings of seams in his face put him in his forties or early fifties. “Is he still living here?”

  “Yes, as I told you, in the apartment over the garage.”

  “You’ve had no problems with him?”

  “None at all,” she said firmly. “He’s done wonders with this house. The front and back porches were rotting, and so was some of the siding. The staircase up to the apartment was rotting, too. My grandmother had really let things go. Cole’s done all the work on the exterior, including the paint job on both the house and the garage. His latest job was whacking the weeds and blackberries down.”

  “And personally?”

  Offended on Cole’s behalf by all these questions, Erin did understand that the man had to do his job. Would he leave without seeing Cole? She wished.

  “He’s polite, a hard worker, patient and kind. I wouldn’t have offered him a place to stay if he hadn’t been. He started mowing the neighbors’ lawn across the street without asking for pay. Mr. Zatloka looks about ninety, and was still trying to do it himself. In fact, Cole was willing to build the ramp for nothing if the Zatlokas would cover the materials, but they insisted on paying him.”

  A shrewdness and skepticism in his eyes made her uneasy. Did he suspect she was falling for Cole, and therefore didn’t believe what she was saying? Her annoyance was tinged with embarrassment, because, of course, Mr. Ramirez was right. She was falling—had fallen—for Cole, although she didn’t think she’d have been willing to lie for him. No, if she’d had to lie, he wouldn’t be the man she thought he was.

  So she stubbornly kept her mouth shut instead of continuing to babble.

  “Has he made friends? Found a girlfriend?” His pause had the same delicate quality as his earlier question. “Or is he sticking close by?”

  “You’ll have to ask him about friends and women. I don’t know. I don’t keep track of him. I’ve seen him head out in the evening sometimes. Mostly to the library, I think. I often see him coming or going with an armful of books.”

  “Are you aware he has no driver’s license?”

  “Yes. He has a permit now and is about to take the test to get a license. He’s a good driver.”

  He kept asking questions, trying, she thought, to trip her up, but since she was answering honestly, there wasn’t a thing he could do. The temptation to ask him what Cole had done to end up with such a long prison term was huge, but she wouldn’t let herself. Either Cole would tell her, or he wouldn’t.

  At last the parole officer finished his coffee, thanked her for her time and asked where he could find “Mr. Meacham.” Walking him to the door, she said, “The neighbors don’t know he’s an ex-con, Mr. Ramirez. I hope you can avoid telling them.”

  This glance was sharp. “You don’t think they should have known before they employed him?”

  “No, I don’t. They’re quite elderly, and probably easily frightened. If I thought he was a danger to them in any way, I wouldn’t have recommended him—or at least would’ve made sure they knew. As it is, he’s something of a hero to them. Mr. Zatloka collapsed in his yard a few days ago. Cole is the one who noticed him. He ran over to see if he could provide first aid. Once the ambulance arrived, we both accompanied Mrs. Zatloka to the hospital. Her difficulty in getting around was why the idea of a ramp came up.”

  “I see.” That seemed to be his go-to, noncommittal remark. “Again, thank you. I may stop by from time to time.”

  “You’re welcome to leave the car here while you talk to him, if you’d like.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Erin stayed on the porch longer than she should have, watching him go down her driveway and cross the street. A knot had formed in her stomach. A mere call from Mr. Ramirez had been enough to cause Cole to retreat for days. What effect would an in-person appearance have?

  She hoped the parole officer understood how destructive it would be if Cole lost a job that had him so engaged.

  * * *

  KNEELING ON THE lawn behind the house, Cole set aside the drill and reached for the screw and his screwdriver. At this stage, he was being extracareful, measuring and then measuring again before cutting or putting anything in place.

  Hearing someone behind him, he turned his head, expecting Mr. Zatloka. When he saw Ramirez, he stiffened. Son of a bitch. What if he’d already introduced himself to Mr. Zatloka? Or intended to?

  “Ramirez,” he said flatly.

  “Cole.” He nodded. “Ms. Parrish told me about your project. I was curious to see it.”

  The back door opened, and Cole gripped the handle of the screwdriver so hard his knuckles ached. He had trouble loosening his jaw enough to speak. “Mr. Zatloka.”

  “Oh, I thought it might be Erin here.” The old man peered at Cole’s parole officer.

  Ramirez stepped forward and offered his hand. “Enrique Ramirez. I was just talking to, er, Erin, and she mentioned what Cole was up to over here. I hope you don’t mind. I’m being nosy.”

  Zatloka beamed. “We’ve been admiring Cole’s work on Erin’s house and are real happy he could take on this job, too.” Clutching the iron railing beside the concrete stoop, he said, “My wife uses a walker now, and that with difficulty. We have to plan for the future.”

  “Erin’s house looks real
ly good,” Ramirez agreed, a hint of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t see the ‘before,’ but I gather it wasn’t in great shape.”

  “No, her grandmother and my Laureen were friends. Once she was widowed, I’d have liked to help more, but I’m getting to an age when keeping up one house and yard is about all I can handle.”

  Getting to an age? Under other circumstances, Cole might have been amused.

  “Perfectly understandable,” Ramirez said. “Well, I just stopped by to say hello.” He smiled at Cole. “Any chance you’d take a minute and walk me back to my car?”

  “Sure.” Like he had a choice, he thought bleakly. Had Erin known what she was doing, sending the guy over here? He stood, realized he still gripped the screwdriver like a weapon and hastily bent over to set it beside the drill. Then he nodded at Mr. Zatloka. “Be right back.”

  The two men walked around the house, down the driveway and across the street. Only then did Ramirez say, “Ms. Parrish gave a good report on you.”

  A report. The knowledge that she could screw him over royally with a bad report ate at his stomach like acid. She was his employer and his landlady, damn it. Apparently, he needed the reminder.

  He had to say something. “I was lucky when she hired me.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did that happen?”

  Cole did mind him asking, but Ramirez could grind him under his heel if he felt so inclined. He hadn’t been this aware of how little power he held since he’d walked out of prison.

  “I was applying for a job at the hardware store in town. The minute the manager saw I’d been convicted of a crime, he tossed my application. She heard what was said and followed me outside. I guess she hadn’t seen any notices for handymen, and preferred that route to hiring a contractor.”

  “Pretty gutsy of her.” Ramirez sounded thoughtful.

  Not able to argue, Cole gritted his teeth again.

  “She’s been giving you a chance to drive, too, she says.”

  “She has. I need a little practice on the freeway, but then I’m ready to take the test.” He hesitated. “I hope having a license will help with job applications.”