If he let himself fall all the way for her, he’d be the one who ended up feeling worthless—and, if he was going to make it, he couldn’t afford anything that brought him down.
He got up to take a leak, considered reading or even turning on the TV, but decided to have another try at knocking himself out. Tomorrow would suck if he didn’t get five or six hours of shut-eye.
Back in bed, he disciplined his thoughts. He’d have to find out if Zatloka wanted him to paint the railing. Might tie it into the house better. He needed some groceries. He could borrow the car, or ask Erin if she wanted to go, too. Seeing Dani in a few days—
A scream from the house sent his heartbeat into overdrive. He shot to a sitting position just as he heard a second scream. God, what if somebody had broken into the house?
Cole bolted out of bed, taking only enough time to pull on the pants he’d left hanging over a chair. Thank God Erin had given him keys a couple of weeks ago, so he could replace electrical outlets whether she was around or not. Listening, hearing nothing, he located his key chain, tore down the steps and ran, barefoot, up the driveway.
* * *
ERIN HUDDLED IN a ball, shaking. The nightmare had been the worst ever. She knew that much, even if fragments were all that lingered. Even those were already blurring with what she’d really seen that day.
And then she heard her front door open and slam shut, and someone thundering up the stairs. She felt a split second of panic before Cole shouted, “Erin?”
“I’m here,” she tried to say, but when she rolled over, she could see him crossing the room. “What—”
“Can I turn the lamp on?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
Erin closed her eyes against the sudden light, but afterimages flared behind her eyelids.
The mattress compressed as he sank down on the edge of the bed. The next thing she felt was his warm hand cupping her cheek. “You’re crying.” He sounded shocked.
“Crying?” What was he talking about? She didn’t cry in her sleep. Yet, when she lifted her own hand to her face, she found her cheek wet. “I am,” she whispered.
He made a gruff sound. “You scared the shit out of me. You sounded like someone was attacking you.”
Through blurry eyes, she saw him bending over her, his face creased with worry. He stroked her cheek, then rose to his feet.
“I’ll get something for you to mop up with.”
Why was she crying tonight, when she hadn’t cried before, after her nightmares? Shocked, she knew tears still fell.
Cole came back with a wad of toilet paper. With him sitting on the edge of the bed again, watching, she dried her cheeks and blew her nose.
“I can’t believe I woke you up,” she mumbled.
“I hadn’t fallen asleep yet.”
“Oh.” She blinked until the numbers on her bedside clock came into focus—2:17.
He took the wet tissue from her hands and stood, going briefly into the bathroom. “You want to tell me about it?” he asked as he walked back toward the bed.
That was the moment she realized he was shirtless. That his chest and shoulders were as spectacular as she’d imagined. His khakis hung low on his hips, letting her see the line of brown hair that disappeared beneath the waistband. He was barefoot, too, which she found as disconcerting as seeing him without a shirt.
“Your tattoo.” A clawed hand of some kind reached over his shoulder. “Can I see it?”
Between one step and the next, he went still. After a hesitation, he turned so she could see his back.
Unsurprisingly, it was a dragon climbing his back, hooking a front paw over his shoulder. The flame shooting from its mouth crept up his neck.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Whoever did it is an artist.” The dragon was sinuous, seeming to move whenever Cole shrugged.
“Guy in prison. It...seemed like the thing to do.” He turned so that she could see only the claws and flame again.
She wanted to ask if it was associated with a gang, but kept her mouth shut. “I thought prison tattoos tended to be crude.”
He shook his head. “Depends on the tattooist. What most guys want is symbolic. Teardrops.” He touched beneath one eye. “Barbed wire, gang or biker identification. A shackle with a broken chain.” He looked down at her. “Will you be able to get back to sleep?”
“Sure.”
She must have said it too hastily, because he sat on the edge of the bed again, his frown apparent. “You’re a lousy liar, you know.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he said. “Tell me about your nightmare.”
He’d go if she said it wasn’t any of his business, but he’d come racing to the rescue after hearing what must have been a bloodcurdling scream. Or...
“I had my window open.”
“What?” He looked in that direction, nodded. “Mine was open, too.”
So maybe her scream hadn’t been any louder than usual. Still, he sat there waiting.
Drawing her knees tighter to her chest, she said, “It was mostly the same thing. Except worse. In the real world, I...regained consciousness before the bodies were removed. I saw some of them.” A shudder rattled her. Even her teeth chattered.
Cole swore and, to her shock, pulled back the covers, swung his legs up onto the bed and laid down on his side, facing her. As stiff as her body was, he drew her down onto her side, pillowing her head on his taut bicep. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Self-consciousness, not to mention awareness of him, scattered her thoughts. Even as she longed to put her hand on his chest, feel his heartbeat, she reminded herself why he was here. Not because he wanted to make love with her. He’d made that clear.
The nightmare.
And...it might be easier to talk if he couldn’t see her face. She knew exactly why she needed to hide.
“Tonight—” Erin swallowed “—their eyes were open. They were staring at me.”
“God.” His arms tightened around her. “Was there more?”
“I’m not sure,” she said uncertainly. “There was something else, but I can’t remember.” Rising goose bumps told her she didn’t want to remember.
“Tell me they didn’t talk.”
Another, more intense shudder gripped her.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” One of his hands moved up and down her back, over her thin T-shirt. “Have you tried sleeping pills?”
“At first.” She was talking to his throat. “They made the nightmares more vivid.”
Cole swore. “Are you having them every night?”
She shook her head.
“You never said when it happened.”
“October.”
“Seven months, then. You know the nightmares will get farther and farther apart.”
“So everyone says.”
He kept quiet after that, just held her. Usually by now she’d be out of bed, probably dressed, and downstairs making coffee. All that adrenaline made lounging in bed after a nightmare a physical impossibility. But...in the shelter of his arms, her tension gradually eased. Her fists unclenched. She pulled away enough to straighten her legs, so her knees were no longer poking him in the belly.
The really hard belly, rippling with muscles.
This shiver had nothing to do with the nightmare, but Cole tightened his arms in a way meant to comfort.
And it did. Despite her physical reaction to him, despite the shadow of the horror that had awakened her, this felt like being enclosed in a cocoon. His embrace, the heat of his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the whisper of his breath on her hair combined to make her feel safe.
But...tears must still be leaking. Her eyes stung.
He rubbed his chin on top of her head. “Let yourself cry,” he
said, voice low and husky. “I’ll bet you haven’t done that very much, have you?”
No. She’d been too afraid of breaking beyond any possibility of putting herself back together. But maybe, with him holding her, she could grieve without fear.
At the mere thought, a sob ripped from her throat.
* * *
THE WOMAN IN his arms cried and pounded his chest with a fist while her whole body quaked. Her body seemed determined to tear itself apart. All Cole could do was hold on.
At one point, he realized he was trying to rock her, and he knew he’d been murmuring something soothing—probably trite bullshit.
He doubted Erin heard a word, anyway. She sobbed, at first irregularly, then with clockwork precision. He found himself timing his own breaths to sync with hers. Not that she’d notice, tumbled as she was by a tidal wave of emotion. And, damn it, he was afraid his own face was wet.
Cole hadn’t cried since his father had grimly paid his bail and brought him home. Alone in his room that night, he’d let go. By morning, he’d convinced himself that the arrest was such an obvious mistake he didn’t have anything to worry about.
After he was convicted and led from the courtroom in shackles, he’d gone numb. To survive, he’d had to become cold, all the way through.
He’d be embarrassed by his tears now if he thought Erin would notice them. Because he knew she wouldn’t, he didn’t try to shut himself down. Maybe this was something he needed to do.
Her grief had triggered his. He hoped he cried mostly for her, but it had to be a little for himself, too. For things he couldn’t go back and change, and for a future that would forever be affected by his screwed-up past.
Her sobs gradually lessened and she relaxed slowly until she went limp, looking as wrung out as he felt. He shouldn’t stay, but he didn’t want to move too soon and wake her up. He could close his eyes... Yeah, he’d wait until she was sound asleep...
* * *
STIRRING, ERIN BECAME grumpily aware that her bladder was making demands. Warm, comfier than she could remember being in ages, she tried really hard to ignore it. She didn’t want to wake up.
But she had to. A headache began making itself felt, too. Ugh. This ache felt like a sinus infection, her head stuffed full of cotton wool. She should get up, pee and take some ibuprofen. Yes, but that meant moving, and she couldn’t bear to. The steady heartbeat beneath her ear was too comforting, and she hadn’t been so relaxed in forever.
Abruptly, she snapped to full wakefulness. She wasn’t alone in bed. In fact, she practically lay on top of Cole. She had to have, well, climbed on him during the night. Oh, dear God, had they...?
No. The memory crept out of the muddle in her head.
He’d come bursting into the house, and she cried on him and even beaten him with her fists. After all that, he’d probably been afraid to leave her alone.
The thought made her cringe.
Now she really needed the bathroom. Pretending to stay asleep until he woke up and left wasn’t an option.
At her very first movement, his muscles went rock-hard beneath her. She lifted her head to see his eyes open, sharp, unfriendly. But then he blinked a couple of times and only looked confused.
“Erin?” His head rolled on the pillow. “Damn. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”
That caused a little burn in her chest.
Wondering whether her hair was sticking out every which way, she forced a smile. “It’s okay. You coming over here and letting me weep all over you was so...nice. I think this is the first time I’ve ever fallen back asleep after one of my nightmares.”
His expression softened. “I’m glad I did stay, then.”
“Um...” Feeling awkward, she shifted herself off him, swung her feet to the floor and made an undignified beeline for the bathroom.
When she came out, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his hair as if the spiky texture irritated him.
“If you need the bathroom...” she said politely.
“No.” He rotated his shoulders and stood. “I need to take a shower and get to work. I’ll, uh, see you at lunch?”
Erin managed another smile. “Sure.”
Not until she heard the front door close behind him did she gather her clothes and head back into the bathroom, where she spent an embarrassing length of time gazing at herself in the mirror. Threadbare T-shirt, flannel boxer shorts, puffy eyes and hair flattened on one side did not add up to an inspiring sight.
She made a few faces at herself before deciding he’d probably seen her looking worse. Paint-spattered and sweaty, or zombie-like, take your pick, couldn’t have been all that appealing, either.
At least she’d really slept. And she knew how his muscles felt, flexing beneath her hand. She knew his smell, his husky, nighttime voice.
She knew what a good man he was. Just...not hers.
* * *
ONCE ERIN HAD slapped a second coat of paint on the bedroom walls, she showered and started baking. Yesterday evening, she’d sat down with Nanna’s box of recipes and chosen several favorites. Ginger and molasses cookies—who didn’t love them?—pumpkin bread and lemon scones.
She’d begin with the cookies today, since she’d noticed a jar of molasses in the pantry. A shopping trip would be required before she could tackle the other recipes.
The cookies smelled so good baking her mouth watered by the time she took the first sheet out of the oven. Once she got the next batch in, she gobbled two of the cookies with embarrassing haste before sliding the rest onto waxed paper spread on a cutting board.
Erin had discovered an entire cupboard filled with miscellaneous plastic storage containers. Astonishingly, every single one was matched with a lid. She used those for the cookies she was going to give away.
If Cole hadn’t specifically mentioned lunch, she might have avoided it, but she felt compelled to make a pretense at normalcy. And really, she’d miss the half hour they spent together most days, talking quietly.
When she heard him coming up the steps, she went out, carrying not only her sandwich and pop, but also a plastic container of cookies.
Not allowing herself to analyze his expression, she said, “I’ve been baking up a storm. These are for you.”
His surprise always gave her a funny feeling in her chest. He didn’t expect anything good, even a gift of cookies.
“All of them?” he said. “Aren’t you eating any?”
Erin made a face. “Already did. And don’t worry, I saved some for myself. I used Nanna’s recipe.” And tripled it. “I’d forgotten how sinfully delicious these are.”
While he ate his sandwich, he said, “I thought you were going to paint again today.”
“I did both.” She managed a pert smile. “Thanks to my extrawarm pillow, I slept better than usual.”
He chuckled. Whether that was any more genuine than her smile, Erin couldn’t tell.
He finished his own sandwich, then ate three cookies before groaning and putting the lid back on the container. “I won’t be able to bend over if I don’t stop.”
Now that she knew what his stomach looked like under his T-shirt—washboard-hard, rippling with muscle—a snort came naturally. “Yeah, right.”
He smiled, thanked her and took his container of cookies up to his apartment before going back across the street.
Erin waited until he was out of sight to “go calling,” a Nanna way of saying she was going to drop in on neighbors.
* * *
“YOUR GRANDMOTHER’S PLACE looks fine. Just fine. Josephine would be real pleased if she could see it,” Del Wagner told her. “You’ve done a heck of a job.”
Perfect setup. She smiled over her coffee cup. “I wish I could claim credit, but I think most of it goes to the guy renting the ap
artment from me. Cole Meacham. He did the majority of the work. In fact, he’s building a wheelchair ramp for the Zatlokas right now.”
“Nice fella,” Del said with a nod. “Insisted on pulling my garbage can to the street a couple of weeks ago.”
Someday, she’d have to march into the hardware store in town and tell that manager what an idiot he’d been.
“Cole is like that,” she agreed. “He’s the one who found Mr. Zatloka after he collapsed.”
Del then got distracted telling her about his wife’s stroke, which had led months later to her death, but eventually asked, “You think this Cole fella is interested in any more jobs?”
After assuring him that she believed Cole would be finished at the Zatlokas’ any day and likely open to taking on another job, Erin began the slow process of extricating herself from this elderly neighbor’s house. She really hoped he’d talk to Cole—for his own sake as well as Cole’s. She’d climbed his front porch steps gingerly, not liking the way they felt underfoot. His porch wasn’t as high as hers, but she could withstand a fall better than a man his age. A broken hip might well mean the end of his independence.
She’d intended to go to the Cooks’ next, but after drinking a cup of coffee at each of four neighbors’ houses, she desperately needed a stop at home. Nanna would have disapproved of her asking to use anyone’s bathroom.
Once she was home, she decided she’d done enough for one day. Except maybe she’d go introduce herself to Ryan’s wife. Mikayla...no. Michelle. It was only polite to offer cookies as a thank-you for Ryan’s help, right?
Plump, pretty and a good five inches shorter than Erin, Michelle seemed almost as happy to invite her in as Del Wagner had been.
“A grown-up!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been playing the Disney Princess Enchanted Cupcake Party game. I kid you not,” she added, seeing Erin’s expression. “Your turn will come.”
That stung a bit, since she had trouble imagining herself with a family, but she laughed, as expected.
Five-year-old Gracie didn’t seem to mind Mommy quitting midgame, not when she was allowed to watch a movie while her mother visited with the neighbor.
The Hero's Redemption Page 14
