Twenty minutes later, he turned past stone gateposts to find paved streets with curbs and sidewalks curving through raw land, logged and then stripped of any vegetation by bulldozers. Unless each house was going to be on acreage, this would be a monster development. It also couldn’t be more than six or seven miles from West Fork.
I could stay. Despite the ache in his chest, he knew better than that.
The minute he parked beside the bones of a house rising from the dirt, a man in a hard hat turned. Cole got out and walked to meet him.
“Mr. Phillips?”
“That’s me.” Tall and rangy, he had blond hair mixed with gray, deep crinkles beside his eyes and the kind of tan that men who worked outdoors had. The hand he extended revealed some serious nicks and scars.
They shook and studied each other.
“You learn what you claim to know in prison?” Phillips asked bluntly.
Well, at least he hadn’t missed that line on the application.
“No, although I did some construction while I was there.” He explained about working for his father, whom Phillips hadn’t met but knew by reputation. “That’s why several contractors took me on later.” Cole then elaborated on his recent jobs for Erin and her neighbors.
“Wheelchair ramps, huh? Those can be tricky.”
“Planning them was interesting,” he agreed.
“Whatever you did to end up behind bars, you planning to do it again?”
Cole considered and discarded making his usual claim to innocence. He settled for “No, sir. I plan to work hard and start fitting in some college classes.”
“Okay. You have those recommendations?”
He’d taken to bringing the folder everywhere with him, and handed it over. Phillips flipped through the pages.
“Lottie, huh?”
Cole smiled crookedly. “She’s a character. Has to be ninety and still drives, even though her spine is crumbling and she’s about so tall.” He held his hand waist-high.
Tom Phillips laughed before saying abruptly, “I’m shorthanded. I’ve had a couple of guys who weren’t reliable. I don’t tolerate that. You’d better be damn sick if you don’t make it to work. I’m willing to give you a try. When can you start?”
Exhilaration rushed through him.
By chance he’d worn his boots instead of the athletic shoes he’d almost put on. “Right now, if you need me.”
They briefly discussed pay, when checks were issued, start time and end time and, when Cole asked, what kind of projects Phillips took on and where. He’d be building at least twenty houses in this development, which would keep them busy for a good long while.
“More, if we can stay on schedule.”
Cole had to admit he didn’t have any tools with him and didn’t own a hard hat.
“Didn’t expect you to. I’ve got everything you’ll need.”
Cole explained that he had to make a quick phone call, then he’d start wherever he was needed. Receiving a brusque nod, he walked back to the truck.
This call to Erin was bittersweet.
“I got a job,” he said. “A good one.”
* * *
HE WENT HOME sweaty and still exhilarated. The work had been easy, nothing he hadn’t learned how to do by the time he was sixteen or so. He’d done his best to prove he was strong and tireless, as well as a perfectionist.
As he walked toward his truck at quitting time, Phillips called after him, “I like what I saw. Keep it up.”
Cole should have gone to the apartment to shower, but most of his clothes were at Erin’s and he was eager to talk to her. Too eager.
And this isn’t home, he reminded himself. He had to quit thinking of her house that way.
He walked in, finding her in the kitchen. Something smelled good. She heard him coming and turned from the cutting board, a paring knife in her hand.
“Hey,” he said.
“How’d it go?”
“Good.” He wanted to say great, but couldn’t trust that this job would pan out, however hard he worked.
Her smile lit her face. “I’m so glad, Cole. Is the job temporary or…?”
“Long-term, if Phillips is happy with my work. He seemed to be today. Ah, you mind if I go take a shower?”