The Hero's Redemption

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Cole smiled, although he wasn’t thinking about either World War. He was thinking he’d almost finished his cup of coffee, and he ought to either offer to help clean the kitchen or make his excuses.

  No contest. Clean the kitchen, he decided. At least that gave him an excuse to linger.

  Taking the last swallow, he pushed back his chair. “You cooked. Why don’t you let me clean up?”

  Erin jumped to her feet, her protest predictable. “Oh, but you worked today.”

  Not as many hours as usual, because of the morning interlude. “I’m not tired.” Really not tired.

  “I... Okay.” She looked shy. “I’ll put the food away if you want to load the dishwasher.”

  The task didn’t take nearly long enough. Meanwhile, Erin covered the casserole dish holding the remaining lasagna with shrink-wrap and stuck it in the refrigerator. She did say, “If you don’t mind leftovers, there’s enough for tomorrow night, too.”

  “I could eat that every night for a week and not get tired of it.” Cole dried his hands on a paper towel and tossed it in the trash beneath the sink. Ask? Don’t ask? He hated this hesitancy, this...need that laid him bare. But he couldn’t go without knowing.

  “Erin.”

  At the exact same moment, she said, “If you’d like—” After she broke off, they looked at each other. Still seeming shy, she was wringing her hands.

  “If I’d like what?” he asked quietly.

  “To stay.” Color had blossomed in her cheeks, too, not subtle against her redhead’s skin. “I don’t know how we left it...”

  Under a flood of relief, he had to lock his knees to keep from staggering. “There’s nothing I want more than to stay.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” His voice came out gritty. “Come here.” But she didn’t have to make a move, because he’d taken the few steps to reach her where she hovered by the refrigerator. He wrapped a hand around her nape beneath the braid. “I thought about you all day.”

  Her eyes were such an unusual color, made even more vivid by the yearning that echoed his. “I...thought about you, too.”

  “Good,” he said huskily. “Funny thing, but I’m ready for bed.”

  “Me, too.” She’d flattened her hands on his chest, and now her fingers flexed, the bite of her nails sending a shudder of pleasure through him. “Shall we?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Except he wasn’t about to wait until they got upstairs to kiss her.

  She obviously felt the same, because her mouth eagerly met his.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “THIS WILL BE WONDERFUL.” Beaming, Lottie Price stood at the top of the new ramp that, like the one he’d built for the Zatlokas, extended from her back door. “Leaving the house has been such a struggle. The ramp will take me right to the garage!”

  On his knees with an electric screwdriver in his hand, Cole had an alarming thought. “You don’t still drive, do you?”

  “Oh, my, yes! I set my mind to staying in my own house until the day I die, and how could I manage if I couldn’t get to the grocery store?”

  She brought to mind illustrations he distantly recalled, probably from a children’s picture book. A witch with a face like a withered apple, that was Lottie, except she seemed invariably good-humored.

  He shuddered at the thought of her behind the wheel of a car, even if he did understand her need for independence. Damn. He’d have to take a peek in the garage to see what she drove. Tiny and crumpled as she was, how could she see out the windshield? Pile pillows on the seat? Then how would she reach the pedals?

  “You can get groceries delivered these days,” he said mildly. “And I’m sure you have neighbors who’d be glad to shop for you, or take you along when they go to the store.”

  Her mouth crimped. “But then I’d be indebted.”

  Cole grinned at her. “Not if you repaid them in baked goods.”

  She giggled, an astonishing sound coming from a woman so ancient.

  He was close to finishing her ramp. The Zatlokas’ ramp had taken him over three weeks, Lottie’s two and a half. He had the design part down pat, and after all the practice he’d had, he was able to work faster.

  He almost wished it hadn’t. In the past weeks, he’d been too happy to apply for jobs the way he’d intended, despite the fact that it was June now, but he’d also failed to ask around the neighborhood to find out if anyone else would be interested in hiring him. Apparently, Erin had kept her word and quit soliciting work for him, which left him... He didn’t know.

  At the sound of a car engine, he swiveled on his heels, his caution automatic. The neighbor’s house blocked his sight line until the vehicle was almost in front of Lottie’s...and slowing to turn into her driveway.

  A patrol car, black-and-white, rack of lights on top. City, not county.

  Ice formed in his veins.

  He heard the old lady say, “Oh, my! Why would a policeman come here?”

  Cole set down the drill and rose to his feet. “I’ll go ask,” he told her, and walked toward the police car. A uniformed officer was just getting out. Over the roof, he looked hard at Cole. As he circled around the front, his hand rested on the butt of his holstered gun in a clear message.

  “Would you be Mr. Meacham?” he asked.

  “I am.” Cole kept his voice low, praying Lottie couldn’t hear what was being said.

  Likely in his fifties and around Cole’s height, the cop carried enough extra pounds to leave his gut hanging over his thick black belt. Gray hair was buzz cut, his face fleshy and his nose red with broken veins. Cole made an automatic assessment. Alcoholic?

  “How’d you find me?” Why he’d come looking was a more important question, but Cole hated the idea of this guy talking to Erin.

  “Your landlady told me you were working down here.” He glanced past Cole. “That the homeowner?”

  “Mrs. Price. She’s a nice lady who doesn’t get around very well anymore.”

  “Ramp looks good.” That sounded grudging.

  Cole bent his head in acknowledgment.

  The hard stare met his again. “We had an armed robbery last night, at the ampm convenience store. Your name came up.”

  Of course it had. Rage mixed with hopelessness. His voice didn’t sound quite right when he said, “I’ve been employed nonstop since I got to West Fork. I’m making good money. I wouldn’t do something like that.”

  The cop sneered. “You wouldn’t have done the time if you hadn’t done the crime.”

  “I did not do the crime,” he said steadily, despite knowing how his claim would be received. “I refused to accept a plea that would have shortened my sentence by years, because I wouldn’t admit to doing it and express remorse. I didn’t do it, and I won’t say I did.”

  “Sure. Now, why don’t you just tell me where you were yesterday evening, ’round 11:00 p.m.?”

  Cole’s thoughts spun. He wanted to keep Erin out of it, but he wasn’t willing to get arrested for another crime he hadn’t committed. “Did you ask Ms. Parrish that question?”

  The cop’s expression changed. “You have something going with her?”

  Nauseated, he said, “I had dinner at her place. We talked.” In bed.

  “That what you call it?”

  Cole gritted his teeth. “If it was a convenience store, you must have footage from a surveillance camera.”

  “Guy wore a ski mask.”

  “And just happened to be built like me.”

  For the first time, uncertainty showed on the cop’s face. He opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything.

  “How’d he get away?”

  “Jumped in his car and peeled rubber.”

  “I don’t have a vehicle of any kind.”

  “You got yours
elf a driver’s license.”

  “I did, because Ms. Parrish went along so I could use her Jeep Cherokee for the test.” Forestalling the next question, he said, “I do not have a key to her Jeep.”

  The cop’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Lottie spoke from behind Cole. Her voice sharp, she demanded to know what this was about.

  The asshole nodded at Cole. “You realize you have an ex-con working for you, ma’am?”

  Cole held himself rigid. This was what he’d feared. He should have told people.

  Who, then, wouldn’t have hired him? He wouldn’t have the money in the bank he did now.

  “This fine young man?” Lottie snorted. “All of us in this neighborhood think the world of him. He saved Mr. Zatloka’s life, you know.”

  The guy blinked at her claim, a more-than-slight exaggeration Cole wasn’t about to dispute right now.

  “Why, he’s worked for four of us on this block and done a splendid job. I’d have been housebound in no time if it weren’t for him!” She glared at the officer.

  “Don’t let yourself be fooled by the fact that he knows construction,” the cop said. Cole focused on the name tag he wore. Officer Larry Watson.

  “Nobody has ever called me a fool, Officer.” Lottie’s voice had chilled. “Mr. Meacham is quick to lend a helping hand unasked. We don’t see many police officers in this neighborhood bothering to find out whether seniors need assistance.”

  Officer Watson’s fleshy cheeks were almost as red as his nose now. “Our job is not—”

  “If you don’t mind, I’m paying Mr. Meacham for the time you’ve kept him standing here,” she added, somehow looking down her nose even if the cop did tower over her.

  Despite the angry flush, he backed up a step. He leveled a scowl at Cole. “You keep your nose clean, son. We’re watching you.”

  Neither Cole nor Lottie moved until Officer Watson had backed out of the driveway and started down the street.

  Cole realized he was clenching his fists. He loosened his fingers with an effort and closed his eyes. “I had no business not telling you.” He couldn’t look at her. “I knew no one would hire me, but that’s not a good excuse.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, the old-age creaks apparent now that she was trying to soften her voice.

  Surprise made him turn.

  “I’ve seen the quality of your work. Heard how pleased Del and Roy are. And Erin, of course.” Lottie paused. “Does she know your history?”

  He choked out a “Yeah.”

  “I can’t imagine she would’ve recommended you to the rest of us if she’d had any hesitation at all.” Now she sounded starchy. “I do not for one minute believe you’d hold up some teenage clerk at a convenience store for a few dollars. Ridiculous!”

  “Thank you.” Stunned as he was, that was hard to get out, too. Lottie wasn’t ordering him off her property. Or looking at him with new doubt.

  But what about Erin? She’d let him take her Cherokee out on his own enough times, he could’ve had the key copied. Had she felt doubt when the cop told her why he wanted to talk to Cole?

  His hands had formed fists again, but he willed himself to relax and say, “I should get back to work.”

  “If you’re too shaken...” Lottie’s voice trailed off.

  “You’re a good, kind woman, Mrs. Price.” He summoned a smile. “And I’m perfectly capable of finishing what I started.”

  “Oh, you.” She lightly whacked his arm and simpered, a frightening expression. “Why would you be formal now?”

  Formal? Oh. “Lottie,” he corrected himself.

  He strode to the backyard as she shuffled after him. Cole took a second to remember where he’d left off, then crouched and reached for the screwdriver with a hand that shook. He had to give himself a minute to feel steady again.

  Not once in the remaining hour of his workday did he forget the suspicion—no, certainty—he’d seen in the cop’s eyes, the outright accusation only because he lived in town and had the conviction on his record. He knew this would happen over and over. This last month...he’d deluded himself.

  * * *

  COLE HAD ESSENTIALLY been living with Erin. He didn’t need to ring the doorbell anymore. He walked in. So when she heard the chimes at five thirty, Erin assumed a neighbor was stopping by. When she opened the door, Cole stood waiting, hands shoved in the pockets of his cargo pants, his expression closed tighter than a bank vault.

  Surprised, she peered past him. “Was the door locked?”

  “Just...thought you might want some warning.”

  “Warning?” she echoed, before it hit her. This had to do with the cop who’d come by looking for him. Standing back, she said, “Come in. I’m working on dinner.”

  Behind her, he said, “Me staying might not be a good idea.”

  Erin stopped and turned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what happened today.”

  “The police officer?”

  His mouth curled unpleasantly. “Forgot about him, did you?”

  “I just thought...that maybe Ramirez asked him to check up on you or something. He seemed pleasant.”

  He stared, his blue eyes as sharp and yet unreadable as they’d been at the beginning. “There was an armed robbery at the ampm. Who else could have done it but the ex-con lurking in town?”

  “Oh, dear God.” She fumbled backward for a chair, pulled it out and sank into it. “He really suggested...”

  “Oh, yeah.” Cole hadn’t moved past the kitchen doorway. “He made sure to tell Lottie she’d been foolish enough to hire an ex-con.”

  Momentarily dizzy, Erin thought she must have turned ghost-white. My fault. She’d set him up to have some faith that his past didn’t define him. Maybe because he’d been convincing her that she could put her own tragedy behind her. What if they were both wrong?

  “What did Lottie say?” was all she could think to ask.

  His expression softened. Soft wasn’t really a word that applied to this man’s features, though.

  “She told him she was no fool, said I’d saved Mr. Zatloka’s life and helped all the seniors in the neighborhood. Good God, I haven’t even met most of them!” He shook his head. “Then she got snide and asked why cops didn’t take the time to check up on the old folks.”

  Erin smiled. “That’s Lottie.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “But you know damn well that she started making calls the second she got inside. Everyone will have heard by now.”

  “Do you really believe they’ll change their opinion about you?”

  He gave her a scathing look. “Of course they will. The Zatlokas...hard to say. I got to know them. But Del? He’s pretty conservative. I don’t think he’d answer the door if I stopped by.”

  Erin didn’t know Del Wagner well enough to argue with Cole’s opinion.

  Hugging herself, she said, “The cop went away. Will he be back?”

  Cole sighed and lifted a hand to knead the back of his neck. “Probably not. They have footage from a security camera. The guy wore a ski mask, but I had the impression he isn’t as big as I am. I don’t have a car, either. Sounds like it was a sedan, not an SUV like yours, or they’d be trying to convince you I took it out last night.”

  “You couldn’t have. And I’d be happy to tell them that.” After dinner yesterday evening, he had read while she watched a TV program that didn’t interest him. Then...they went up to bed and stayed tangled together all night long. He hadn’t once gone back to the apartment; he rarely did anymore. His clothes had gradually migrated to her bedroom, and their loads in the washing machine were mixed.

  “No, but sooner or later something like this will happen when I can’t prove where I was. I’m on their radar, and
they’re waiting for me to screw up.” Bitter, he said, “The cops will never believe I’m not the scum they think I am.”

  “They can’t all be that narrow-minded.”

  He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. It didn’t matter if not all cops were quick to assume the worst about him. There were enough who would.

  “Will you tell me what you were convicted of?”

  Cole only looked at her for a minute. Then he asked, “Are you sure you want to know?”

  He must have seen that panic had already struck. Finally, she shook her head. Knowing what crime he’d committed might change how she saw him. However cowardly it was to live in a delusion, she’d been happy. Was it so awful to cling to that happiness, just a little longer?

  The oven timer dinged and she jumped. She hadn’t put on any vegetables yet—but did he even intend to stay? Nonetheless, she got up and took the casserole dish from the oven, bringing it straight to the table where she’d set out a hot pad.

  “I haven’t made a vegetable or salad or anything, but if you don’t mind...”

  He gave what seemed to be a resigned nod and came to the table.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Erin making an effort, although her appetite had deserted her. Cole managed to eat more than she did, but he chewed and swallowed mechanically, his usual pleasure in her cooking gone. He was refueling, that was all.

  Plate still half full, Erin laid down her fork. “What are you thinking?” She couldn’t make herself come out and say, You’re going to leave, aren’t you?

  More slowly, he did the same, aligning his knife and fork on the plate. “This—you and me—isn’t going to work. I’ve been kidding myself.” Resignation rang in his voice, but also some anger. Pain, too? She couldn’t tell.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered, even though that wasn’t really true. “Why would you be better off on your own? Unless...you plan to go home? Or to your sister’s?”

  “Neither. And it’s not that I’ll be better off. You will be.” When she started to object, he cut her off. “I won’t put you in the position of having to provide alibis for me. They’ll figure you’re lying for me, that you’re so desperate you’d take scum like me into your bed.”