Not his father. Dad had abandoned him, and Dani’s claim that Dad had changed his tune didn’t ease his resentment.
Dani, sure. Cole could just hang up if his sister’s husband or one of the kids answered. She’d want to know he was doing okay. On the other hand, what was the hurry?
Now that it was dark, he was happier walking back to Erin’s house than he’d been going. He made people working out in their yards anxious when he went by. Even passing drivers stared. He regretted not growing his hair a little longer before he got out. Would that make a difference? Different clothes might help, too. Cargo pants, like he saw the men here wearing, instead of his tattered jeans? Maybe. Cole made a mental note to find out if there was a thrift store in town. He hated to part with a cent he didn’t have to. He looked back now with disgust at the time when he’d spent money as fast as he could earn it.
Erin’s Jeep was still parked in front of the garage, and lights were on inside the house. He wondered what she’d do if he rang her doorbell. Would she invite him in?
Good thing he wasn’t dumb enough to do anything like that.
Having missed the early news, Cole decided to read rather than turn on the TV. Most of what the other inmates watched had seemed stupid to him, so he’d ignored the TV except when news or sports came on. Baseball was his least favorite sport to watch, though, and the first exhibition football games weren’t until late summer.
Clasping his hands behind his head and staring into space, Cole decided that, come fall, he’d go to some of the high school football games wherever he was. He’d loved playing. He’d even been recruited by college scouts. Not by any of the big names—Alabama or USC or the University of Washington—but he could have accepted a scholarship to play for any other state school and gotten an education while he was at it.
Turning them all down—well, that was stupid. He’d paid and kept paying for that mistake.
Cole shook off the darker memories. Next time he went to the library, he’d use the computer. Nobody would notice if he struggled to figure out the internet. Patrons were limited to fifteen-minute segments if anyone was waiting, which was fair, since there were only eight computers, and half stayed available so people could use the library catalog. Still, if he could manage a search, even fifteen minutes would be long enough to look up his father’s construction company and get an idea of how it was doing, and how his dad was doing, too. Dani hadn’t said in her occasional letters or visits. Cole wasn’t 100 percent sure why he cared, considering that after his conviction, his father had said he no longer had a son and walked away. Cole wanted to think that all he felt was curiosity, nothing more, but he knew better.
Putting his father out of his mind, he decided he’d figure out how to set up an email address. Cole couldn’t help feeling renewed frustration. If he’d been allowed to learn this stuff as an inmate, transitioning to the outside would have been a lot smoother.
Since he had only Dani to exchange emails with, he felt no great urgency. But down the line, who knew?
If he could get to garage sales, he might look for a cheap stereo system, too. Right now, he didn’t feel the lack; one of the greatest gifts Erin had given him was this silence, the closest thing to peace he’d had in ten years.
Lying on the lumpy couch, he opened the first of his books, a mystery called Bitter River. He felt an odd tingle, as if something inside him had opened along with the book cover. He’d read the first chapter before he identified that feeling. Anticipation.
* * *
ERIN DIPPED HER brush into the peach-colored paint she’d selected for some of the trim on the house. It would be accented by a much deeper coordinating color. She smiled, remembering Cole’s reaction.
“That’s pink.” He’d looked stupefied.
Naturally, she’d argued. “It’s not. Anyway, it’ll be perfect.” She thought. Since she’d never owned a house, only a condo, she’d never had one painted, either. But he was currently spray-painting the clapboards a warm, midbrown, and she could already see that the trim colors worked.
He’d finished building the front porch and the smaller back stoop. Yes, getting those heavy pieces of plywood high enough off the ground had been a job and a half. She didn’t tell him how much her arms, neck and back had ached the next day. They should’ve found someone with more muscle to help him, but Erin didn’t know anyone in town except for elderly neighbors, and Cole didn’t know anybody but her.
Well, they’d managed, and she loved her new front porch. She’d resolved to buy a couple of Adirondack chairs and a porch swing, too. Cole was confident the beam would support one.
At the sound of a soft footstep behind her, Erin realized she hadn’t heard the sprayer for several minutes. She finished the swipe of the brush she’d begun, then set it on the paint can and turned to look down from the ladder.
Open amusement and even a glint of white teeth as Cole grinned made her heart seize up. In the ten days he’d worked for her, she had yet to see more than a faint twitch at the corners of his very sexy mouth.
His grin faded at whatever he saw on her face.
No, no.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, pretending deep suspicion.
Another curve of his mouth betrayed him. “You look like you have chicken pox.”
“I can hardly wait to see myself in the mirror.”
He laughed, a low, rusty sound that seemed to startle him as much as it did her.
To keep him from retreating, she said hastily, “You’ve sprayed yourself, too, you know. Except around your eyes. You have the raccoon thing going.”
He shrugged. “It’s latex paint. It ought to wash off.”
“But not from our clothes.” Dismayed, she said, “I should’ve bought you coveralls.” He couldn’t possibly have had more than one change in that duffel bag.
Seeming unconcerned, Cole glanced down at himself. “I’ll keep these for messy jobs. The jeans have about had it, anyway, and T-shirts are easy to replace. I picked up some more clothes the other day.”
She nodded. “What do you think? Is this color not perfect?”
“I don’t know. I would have liked a nice cream...” He smiled again at her expression. “Yeah, it looks better than I thought it would. Kind of different, in a gingerbread-house way.”
She sniffed. “And I’m the wicked witch.”
“Well, you said it, not me.”
Erin grabbed her paintbrush and brandished it. “I’ll polka-dot you.”
Another rusty chuckle, and he backed away.
“I put a roast in the Crock-Pot.” Now or never. “Will you have dinner with me?” He’d taken care of his own meals since those first few days.
He went still, in that way he could, his blue eyes unreadable. The moment stretched. Erin suddenly realized that the brush was dripping down her front and she hastily moved it over the can.
Pride had her shrugging and turning back to the window. “Or not.”
“No.” Cole cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, that’d be great. I’m...not much of a cook.”
Having