by Kay Lyons
“What are you doin’ then?” the old man pressed. “We’ve been waitin’ on you so we could talk to you.”
And she recognized an ambush when she saw one. “Why is he still here?”
“Joe’s workin’. He got a late start on the ramp, but he’s trying to get it done before the rain hits later in the week.”
Joe was still working? She wasn’t sure what to make of that. If she could make anything of it at all. “I told him to leave. He should’ve been gone by now.”
“Well, if you thought that you ain’t as smart as I told him you were.” Wilson wagged a finger at her. “Now don’t go givin’ me the evil eye. Ain’t gonna do you no good.”
“Lucky me.”
The old man chuckled. “There you go. Gettin’ back to your old self now that you’ve had some time to think things through.”
The laugh erupting from her chest was anything but amused. “That’s right. I’ve thought things through and know my ordering Joe to leave was the right decision to make, and if you don’t like it,” she continued, raising her voice when Wilson opened his mouth to argue, “tough! This is my home, Wilson. You sold it to me, I own it. The deed says so.”
Wilson stared at her, his expression disappointed. She hated that he looked at her like that.
“Then Joe can stay with me in my rooms down here.”
“No, he can’t. Wilson, please—”
His brows rose even as his mouth turned down in a scowl. “You cain’t tell me who can stay with me and who can’t. That weren’t part of our bargain. I say he’s stayin’. Now, you fixin’ anything for dinner?”
The gall of the man astounded her, and Ashley knew she wouldn’t gain any ground with him in the mood he was in. Emotions ran too high. She ignored Wilson as best she could and stalked to the stairs.
“Now, missy—”
“Don’t ‘now missy’ me,” she said, pausing at the bottom. “I’ve had it up to here—” she made a slashing motion with her hand “—with all the down home, countrified, good ole boy talk about belonging and family and loyalty and—and crap, Wilson! I’ve cooked for you, cleaned for you, taken care of you after your hip replacement despite the terms of our agreement, and in return you lie to me?” Her voice cracked, thickened with tears she tried to control. Max picked up on her upset and began to fuss, and Ashley bounced him with a quieting murmur.
“I never lied to you. I didn’t tell you about Joe’s past ’cause it’s done and over and he didn’t do it anyway.”
She stared in open-mouthed shock. “So that makes it okay? You should be on my side!”
“Ain’t about sides, missy. It’s about right and wrong. The boy didn’t—”
“Don’t,” Joe said quietly. He walked down the hall toward them, his boots thudding gently on the wood floors. “Leave it alone, Wilson. She’s angry with me so let her talk to me.”
Still bouncing Max, she shook her head. “Not likely. I have nothing to say to you, you lying—”
“I never lied to you.”
“Gee, where have I heard that before?” she growled with another glance at Wilson’s pouting face. “You neglected to tell me a crucial part of your history. What’s the difference between that and lying?”
“Sounds like you got more to say to him than you think,” Wilson muttered. “I’ll just go on in there and sit a spell.”
Ashley stared at Joe and wished she could read his mind. Then she remembered the feel of his hands on her and all she’d told him, shared with him. Her tone softened, but not her resolve. “I understand what it’s like to want a second chance, Joe, but for Max’s sake, it can’t be here.”
“I didn’t hurt her.” His face darkened, and his glance slid to where Wilson had disappeared, then back to her before he stepped close. Ashley fought the instinctive urge to back away.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You cut me off that day in my room and I let you. I let you because I didn’t want you looking at me the way you are right now. I should have told you last night, but,” he closed his eyes briefly, “things were going so well I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“You mean you thought you might get laid,” she murmured, “and you didn’t want to risk it.”
He took another step toward her and it was everything she could do to hold her ground. Not because she was afraid, but because she wanted to believe him, but knew better.
“I wouldn’t have let things go further without your knowing the truth. Ashley, I told you last night I wouldn’t walk away from you. What we have—”
“We have nothing. It—everything I thought we had—was all a lie.”
His gaze narrowed on her. “You said you loved me.”
Ashley couldn’t help it, she snickered, laughing at the irony of the situation. Yeah, she’d said that. She’d finally found someone who’d seemed to care for her, someone who worked hard and helped her toward her dream. She’d even gone one further and fallen in love with him and what did she have to show for it?
A murderer stood in her house.
“What if our situations were reversed, Joe? What if I were a nanny or maid or something and you hired me to work in your house only to find out—”
“It was a mistake. My mistake. I should’ve told you right from the beginning. I didn’t and I’m sorry, but try to understand why I didn’t.”
“Because you’re a murderer!”
Joe flinched at her glib tone, and Ashley felt more than a hint of shame.
“Because you didn’t know me well enough to know I wasn’t.”
She still didn’t. “All of this has made me realize I don’t know you at all. I thought I did, but you’ve proven me very, very wrong.”
Joe’s face resembled stone. A muscle twitched along his jaw, before his attention dropped to Max. Her arms tightened protectively.
“Fine. You want nothing to do with me. I get that. But until I get this house to where you can handle the rest of the restoration yourself, I’m staying…as Wilson’s guest if nothing else.”
She shook her head firmly. “No way. The police were here, remember? I don’t want children’s services showing up and claiming I’m endangering Max because you’re here.”
Even though he’d never been alone with Max? Had taken pains to avoid him knowing full well this conversation would take place eventually? Had Joe deliberately kept his distance, not because of Josie, but because of Max and how she’d feel right now?
Joe ran a hand over his head, his face. “Look, believe it or not no one wanted to hurt you. Wilson and I, we just wanted to give you a chance to get to know me. So you’d see I could never harm a child.”
“The chief told me all about the evidence.”
“I’ll bet he did,” he muttered wearily.
Ashley stared at him, lost in the depths of Joe’s eyes and wondering how he could sound so sincere if he were lying.
Good liars lie well.
And honest people spoke the truth with a conviction that matched Joe’s.
Wilson came back into the hall then, making her think he’d only slid around the corner and been eavesdropping the entire time. “We can go round and round if you want, missy, but it comes down to this—if you want to open by spring, you need help and Joe’s it. Everything else aside, you make Joe leave and you can kiss your business and Max’s future goodbye.”
She silently pleaded with the old man to understand. She wasn’t the bad guy, Joe was! But she saw no softening in Wilson’s gaze. No, as far as sides went, Wilson was definitely on Joe’s.
She swallowed, furious, disillusioned. More tired than she’d ever been in her life.
“If you didn’t hurt your daughter, who did?” she asked bluntly.
Joe shook his head, his blue eyes bleak and pained. “I don’t know. But I confronted Melissa the other day, which is probably why the restraining order was issued.”
“You think she shook her baby to death?” She didn’t know Melissa York at all, but she just couldn’t imagine the woman
doing something so horrible. Besides she’d read enough baby books cover to cover to know most incidents of shaken baby syndrome were almost always caused by the father, usually in his teens or early twenties, and inexperienced with child care.
Like Joe.
But Joe had never once shown signs of temper or anger when Max cried. If anyone had, it was her.
So what now?
“If you want to keep your job, you’ll have to find somewhere else to live,” she murmured finally, her voice hoarse.
“Now, missy—”
“I’ll move into the shed,” Joe readily agreed. “I’ve slept in worse. I need to save my cash since Pop’s getting out of the nursing home soon.”
She ignored the despair in his tone, ignored the shaming glance Wilson sent her. “You can take bedding and towels. One of the twin mattresses. There’s already a shower,” she said, trying to get the mental image of Joe using the outside shower from her head. “I’ll…I’ll fix your meals and all that like we agreed. It’s the best compromise I can offer that will allow you to stay and still keep the chief of police from siccing children’s services on me.”
“It’s fine.”
“And Max is off limits.”
“Now, missy—”
“I’ll keep my distance.”
Ashley stared at Joe, hurt, torn, numb and yet not nearly numb enough. “Good,” she said before turning her back on him and hurrying up the stairs, placing her cheek to Max’s head to hide her tears. “Make sure that you do.”
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 ev
en allowed Carl to give him a haircut despite the man being mostly blind.” Mrs. Hilliard laughed softly. “The poor man misses his barbershop 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 prospect 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.
