The Hero's Redemption

Cole nodded stoically and turned to find himself face-to-face with the woman he’d been watching. Of course she’d heard. He didn’t let himself see her expression or what would be shock and distaste in her eyes. He said a meaningless, “Ma’am,” and walked past, taking the most direct route to the front door.

Outside, he turned left and walked twenty feet or so, until he was no longer in sight through the hardware store windows, before he stopped. He flattened his hands on the wood siding and allowed his head to drop forward.

Maybe he’d have to give up on this shit town. West Fork. He’d refused to stay anywhere near the penitentiary on the east side of the mountains. The Greyhound bus had taken him to Seattle. Overwhelmed by the city, he had hitched north, looking for a smaller town he could handle, one that seemed friendly.

He made a guttural sound. Friendly. What a joke. He needed to move on, but why would the next town be any different?

“Excuse me.”

At the sound of the voice, Cole whirled, his right hand balling into a fist. He never allowed himself to be unaware of his surroundings.

It was her. The woman from the hardware store. Green-gold eyes widened and she retreated a step, making him realize his lips had drawn away from his teeth and every cord in his neck probably showed. It took him a couple of deep breaths, but he managed to straighten, and he outwardly relaxed even if his heart still raced.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You startled me.”

“That’s all right.” She studied him. “I heard. In there.”

Cole schooled his face to blankness. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m wondering what kind of job you’d consider. And what you know how to do.”

He stared at her. What did he know how to do? That was what she’d said.

“Because, well, this wouldn’t be long-term, but…it might tide you over for a while, and I really need someone. That is, if you know anything about yard work or basic construction. Like building porch steps or scraping siding.” Pink crept into her cheeks, as if his blank expression was getting to her, making her babble. “Not that scraping siding takes any experience or skill, I guess.”

“I can build porch steps.” His voice came out rusty. Was she offering him a job? “And scrape and paint. And yard work?” He shrugged. “As long as I know what’s expected.”

“If you’re interested, I can pay ten dollars an hour, maybe up it once I have a better sense of what you can do.”

“Is this…a business?” he fumbled.

She shook her head. “I inherited an old house from my grandmother. It’s…well, not falling down, but in need of a lot of work. Since it’s spring, I thought I’d start with the exterior and yard. It’s a mess.”

“You have a husband or…?”

“Nobody. And my spirit is willing, but I’ve never done this kind of work. I need help—someone with muscle and at least some know-how.”

“I can provide that.” He still sounded like he had a hairball caught in his throat, but she’d taken him by surprise. No, more than that. Was she nuts, hiring an ex-con she knew nothing about to work on her house? With apparently no man around to protect her?

His conscience kicked in. “You did hear. I just got out of prison.”

Here was where she’d ask what crime he’d committed. But once again, she surprised him. “How long were you in?”

“Ten years.”

She blinked. “You said you’ve only been out a week.”

And he felt like a toddler abandoned in the freeway median. Everything whizzing by, with him too terrified to move.

“Yes.”

“Do you want the job?”

His throat almost closed. Even a day or two of work would give him the means to eat for a week. He had nothing to fall back on. Ten years ago, he’d spent every cent he had on his defense.

“Yes.” After a moment, he added a belated, “Thank you.”

“Well, then, will you help me load this stuff?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Erin. My name is Erin Parrish.”

He nodded.

“And yours?”

“Cole Meacham.”

“Cole.”