The Hero's Redemption

* * *

STIRRING, ERIN BECAME grumpily aware that her bladder was making demands. Warm, comfier than she could remember being in ages, she tried really hard to ignore it. She didn’t want to wake up.

But she had to. A headache began making itself felt, too. Ugh. This ache felt like a sinus infection, her head stuffed full of cotton wool. She should get up, pee and take some ibuprofen. Yes, but that meant moving, and she couldn’t bear to. The steady heartbeat beneath her ear was too comforting, and she hadn’t been so relaxed in forever.

Abruptly, she snapped to full wakefulness. She wasn’t alone in bed. In fact, she practically lay on top of Cole. She had to have, well, climbed on him during the night. Oh, dear God, had they…?

No. The memory crept out of the muddle in her head.

He’d come bursting into the house, and she cried on him and even beaten him with her fists. After all that, he’d probably been afraid to leave her alone.

The thought made her cringe.

Now she really needed the bathroom. Pretending to stay asleep until he woke up and left wasn’t an option.

At her very first movement, his muscles went rock-hard beneath her. She lifted her head to see his eyes open, sharp, unfriendly. But then he blinked a couple of times and only looked confused.

“Erin?” His head rolled on the pillow. “Damn. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

That caused a little burn in her chest.

Wondering whether her hair was sticking out every which way, she forced a smile. “It’s okay. You coming over here and letting me weep all over you was so…nice. I think this is the first time I’ve ever fallen back asleep after one of my nightmares.”

His expression softened. “I’m glad I did stay, then.”

“Um…” Feeling awkward, she shifted herself off him, swung her feet to the floor and made an undignified beeline for the bathroom.

When she came out, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his hair as if the spiky texture irritated him.

“If you need the bathroom…” she said politely.

“No.” He rotated his shoulders and stood. “I need to take a shower and get to work. I’ll, uh, see you at lunch?”

Erin managed another smile. “Sure.”

Not until she heard the front door close behind him did she gather her clothes and head back into the bathroom, where she spent an embarrassing length of time gazing at herself in the mirror. Threadbare T-shirt, flannel boxer shorts, puffy eyes and hair flattened on one side did not add up to an inspiring sight.

She made a few faces at herself before deciding he’d probably seen her looking worse. Paint-spattered and sweaty, or zombie-like, take your pick, couldn’t have been all that appealing, either.

At least she’d really slept. And she knew how his muscles felt, flexing beneath her hand. She knew his smell, his husky, nighttime voice.

She knew what a good man he was. Just…not hers.

* * *

ONCE ERIN HAD slapped a second coat of paint on the bedroom walls, she showered and started baking. Yesterday evening, she’d sat down with Nanna’s box of recipes and chosen several favorites. Ginger and molasses cookies—who didn’t love them?—pumpkin bread and lemon scones.

She’d begin with the cookies today, since she’d noticed a jar of molasses in the pantry. A shopping trip would be required before she could tackle the other recipes.

The cookies smelled so good baking her mouth watered by the time she took the first sheet out of the oven. Once she got the next batch in, she gobbled two of the cookies with embarrassing haste before sliding the rest onto waxed paper spread on a cutting board.

Erin had discovered an entire cupboard filled with miscellaneous plastic storage containers. Astonishingly, every single one was matched with a lid. She used those for the cookies she was going to give away.

If Cole hadn’t specifically mentioned lunch, she might have avoided it, but she felt compelled to make a pretense at normalcy. And really, she’d miss the half hour they spent together most days, talking quietly.

When she heard him coming up the steps, she went out, carrying not only her sandwich and pop, but also a plastic container of cookies.

Not allowing herself to analyze his expression, she said, “I’ve been baking up a storm. These are for you.”