The Hero's Redemption
Of course she helped. They leaned the old rake and shovel and whatever else against the wall and used the hooks and nails to hold the new tools. The smaller tools hung above the workbench.
“Okay,” she said, “let me show you around.”
He followed silently, his expression no more readable. She was slightly unnerved to notice he carried a screwdriver. When they reached the front porch steps, he stabbed the screwdriver into the wood, which made a squishy sound. He removed it, straightened and looked at her. “Your foot’ll go right through.”
“I have been worrying about that. The back steps aren’t so good, either.”
He shook his head, poked at the porch apron, then gingerly climbed to the porch itself, where he did some more stabbing.
His verdict? “Whole porch should be rebuilt.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
“Well, then.” Gosh, buying lumber might have been a smart thing to do. She’d bought a circular saw with the vague idea that she could use it for small projects. Was that what he’d need?
“Can you drive?” she asked.
Not wasting even one word, he shook his head.
“Then I guess I should go to the lumberyard.”
“Did you buy a measuring tape?”
Oops. “I’ll…go see if I can find one inside.”
“I’ll check the workbench. If you can get a pencil and piece of paper…”
Feeling awkward, she went inside, aware that he’d disappeared into the garage. The best she found was an old wooden yardstick. But she stepped out onto the porch to find him crouched, a metal measuring tape already extended across the porch steps. “I can do the writing,” she offered.
He reeled off dimensions and what kind of board was needed. Two-by-four. Four-by-four. Two-by-two. Nails. Primer. Brushes. He asked if she’d bought paint for the house yet. No.
“Might be good to decide what colors you want,” he suggested. “Then I can paint the porch as I go, while the weather holds.”
She could do that.
He said he hadn’t seen a ladder. She told him she had a stepladder inside. A faintly condescending expression crept over his impassive face. Three steps wouldn’t get him very high on the side of the house, he pointed out. Um, no, they wouldn’t.
“Tell you what,” he said finally. “If you want to run to the lumberyard, I’ll get the clippers and start cutting back the growth that’s crowding the house. Can’t scrape it if I can’t get to it.”
“Will you recognize the lilac and…there used to be a big climbing rose to the right of the porch?” she asked, remembering the garden in bloom so many years ago. “Oh, and some rhododendrons.”
“I’ll recognize them.”
They agreed she could pick up paint chips today and think overnight about what colors she wanted for the house. When she left, clutching the piece of paper with the materials list, she told him the front door was unlocked if he needed the bathroom. But she saw his face. He wouldn’t be going in.
Now was a fine time to wonder whether she’d crossed the line to crazy.
CHAPTER TWO
COLE SWUNG THE machete in a smooth rhythm, glad Erin had thought to buy one. The sharp blade sliced through blackberry canes, salmonberries, fireweed and other nuisance weeds, baring the foundation and clapboard siding of the old house. He used the ancient clothesline he’d found in the garage to pull salvageable shrubs away from the house.
When he heard the Jeep turn into the driveway, he walked around the corner of the house to meet her.
The first thing he noticed was the aluminum extension ladder tied to the roof. Lumber was piled in the back of the Jeep, extending beyond the bumper. A strip of red cloth dangled from the end of the longest board.
He forgot everything else when Erin got out, carrying a pizza box.
His stomach cramped and saliva filled his mouth. Pride made him want to thank her politely and refuse her offer of lunch, but he was too damn hungry. If he didn’t get more to eat, he wouldn’t be able to do the work she’d asked of him.
“Let’s eat before we unload,” she said.
He managed a stiff, “Thank you.”