CHAPTER FOUR

      “YARD WASTE BINS are full.” Stopping at the foot of what would be the porch steps, Erin peeled off her gloves. “The rest will have to wait until Thursday.” Astonished at how much progress Cole had made, she asked, “Did you do this kind of work in prison?”

      Kneeling on the porch proper, he’d paused at the sight of her and straightened. For the past hour, the rhythmic sound of his hammer striking nails had begun to remind her of a heart beating.

      “No.” He watched her warily.

      She knew he didn’t like her asking questions, but this seemed innocuous enough. “Then...how do you know what to do?”

      “My father’s a contractor. I worked for him some.”

      “Oh. That makes sense.”

      He didn’t say a word. An eyebrow might have twitched at what was, admittedly, an inane comment.

      “Um, did you have jobs while you were serving time?”

      He lowered his head.

      She waited.

      He rolled his shoulders. “Different ones.” Pause. “Machine shop.”

      “You mean, you can fix mechanical things, too?”

      “Probably.”

      “Have you ever done wiring or plumbing?”

      “I could do simple jobs. Replace an electrical outlet or a light fixture. Same for plumbing. If you need the house completely rewired or the plumbing replaced, you’d be better off hiring an expert.”

      “I don’t think I do.” She hoped. “But my shower drips and plugs are too loose in some of the outlets. Plus, the light in the pantry doesn’t work. I tried different new bulbs.”

      “I can take a look.” He moved as if preparing to stand up.

      “Not now. There’s no urgency. Just something to get to later.”

      He studied her, nodded and, after a decent interval, reached for a nail.

      Wham. Wham.

      She’d been forgotten.

      Except Erin knew that wasn’t true. She suspected Cole was hyperaware, not only of where she was and what she was doing, but also his surroundings in general. She’d seen his head turn before she heard the sound of an approaching car. An elderly neighbor walked her slow-moving pug several times a day. Cole always turned to look. She wondered if his caution would slowly abate, or whether in ten years it had become part of his makeup. Cops were probably the same—although Cole might not like the comparison.

      They didn’t exchange another word until their lunch break. After yesterday, she didn’t offer him anything, just went inside, aware that he was heading toward the garage. But as she peeled a carrot, she saw him coming down the stairs from the apartment with a can of pop and what looked like a sandwich. So she carried her plate outside, too.

      Most of the porch boards were laid. Cole sat at the top of what would be the steps, his lower legs dangling. His sweat-dampened T-shirt clung to a broad back and shoulders. A screwdriver poked out of a pocket of his jeans, drawing her gaze to his muscular butt. Feeling a little shy, she joined him, seeing him glance at her lunch.

      “You don’t eat much,” he said after a minute.

      A carrot and a serving of cottage cheese were more than she’d had for a midday meal a month ago. Taking a page from his book, she merely shrugged.

      After finishing the cottage cheese, she said, “This porch is going up fast.”

      “Long way to go.” The supports were in place, but he hadn’t started on the roof.

      It occurred to her that getting heavy sheets of plywood up there wouldn’t be easy. Could they do it, just the two of them?

      Cole seemed to be assessing the work still to be done when he said, “Heard you leave last night.”

      She’d hoped to be quiet enough that he’d sleep through her departure, but wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t. She chose not to answer.

      Now he looked directly at her. “Thought someone might be stealing your car.”

      Of course, that was exactly what would leap to mind, given his background. Had he stolen cars? That was a more bearable possibility than some she’d considered, although a ten-year sentence for car theft seemed extreme.

      “Or you’d had an emergency,” he added.

      Astonished, Erin studied him in profile. Had he been worried about her? How unexpected. Unless, she reminded herself, he’d been concerned about his employment and not her personally.

      “I just went for a drive.” She would have been ticketed if the state patrolman had caught her. She’d managed to turn off the highway and quickly disappear down a driveway leading to a rural property, killing her engine and headlights before the patrol car went by. Stomach clenched, she’d driven home at a sedate pace. Her need to speed, to lure death, warred with the law-abiding good girl still in her. Unwilling to talk about what she barely understood, she scooted back from the edge of the porch, stood and went into the house, where she dropped her half-eaten carrot in the trash.

      Her emotional health was nothing to brag about, but she was getting better. Wasn’t she?

      * * *

      BEING NOSY HAD gone over about as well as it would have in the pen. Cole couldn’t imagine what had gotten into him to ask that kind of question.

      He finished his lunch and went back to work, half expecting Erin not to reappear until she came out to pay him. He heard her scraping the siding again, but around the corner where he couldn’t see her. It was all he could do not to go and see, to reassure himself that she was working from the ground, not teetering on top of the ladder.

      None of my business. Why did he have to keep reminding himself?

      Being unsure of the answer made him uncomfortable. Something was eating at the woman, and he didn’t like not knowing what. Self-preservation, he told himself. Hiring him had been odd behavior to start with. He’d give a lot to know why she had.

      But he made himself keep working, just the way he did when she walked by and he couldn’t help noticing the sway of her hips or her breasts beneath a T-shirt that should be baggy but wasn’t.

      When she paid him at the end of the day without comment, Cole nodded his thanks and stuffed the bills in his pocket, the way he always did. But in his head, he tallied the total, feeling a subtle relaxation that worried him. Yeah, he was making money, but she wouldn’t need him for more than a month or six weeks at most, unless the inside of the house was a disaster demanding another few weeks. Once she cut him loose, he’d face the same odds he had while job-hunting.

      A recommendation from her might help. The idea of asking for one tasted bitter, but he had a suspicion he wouldn’t have to ask. He remembered that she’d offered a rental contract; he wouldn’t have thought of needing one, but it would open some doors.

      Since it wasn’t raining, after dinner he walked the mile to the library, answered the library clerk’s questions and got a card that he placed carefully in his wallet. The one awkward moment had been when she asked for his phone number, and he had to say, “I don’t have a phone.”

      After, as he browsed books, she seemed to be watching him. Did she think he was going to steal a book? Maybe he just made her nervous. A few patrons, from a stout older woman to