The Hero's Redemption

He was out of practice when it came to responding, and grateful that the football game gave him an out except during commercial breaks. Not that he didn’t like what he knew of her. He did. Soledad worked for a well-drilling company, answering phones and bookkeeping. Her smile came easily, and she wasn’t pushy. Rico wouldn’t have gotten them a table for four tonight if he didn’t think she and Cole should hook up.

But how fast would that change when he found out Cole was an ex-con? He should go for it, anyway. Worry about what would happen down the road when it did happen.

The Seahawks had to punt the ball and then a truck commercial came on. Soledad leaned forward and raised her voice.

“I heard you talking about playing football. I’ll bet you were really good.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Not dedicated enough. Or maybe I just wasn’t smart enough to think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.” And wasn’t that the truth.

She made a face. “In high school? Who is?”

“There are always some serious jocks, plus the students angling for acceptance by good colleges.”

“Did you go to college?”

“A few classes here and there.” Oh, by the way, while I was in prison. “I’ve signed up for the fall semester at the college here, a couple night classes. What about you?”

“I got an AA from Skagit Community College. Going on would have meant leaving West Fork, and…I don’t know…I like being close to family. It wasn’t as if I had any big plan for what to do with a four-year degree.”

He wished he’d followed the path his father had laid out as his only acceptable option, but for Soledad’s sake, he smiled in a vague way he hoped she took as agreement. The game resumed, and he pretended more interest in it than he felt.

Pretended? Why would he do that when a pretty young woman was smiling at him, her eyes holding an open invitation? He’d decided a one-night stand would feel sordid, especially in comparison to what he’d had with Erin. This would be different. He could have a girlfriend. He’d spend the night at her place sometimes, or she at his. He didn’t have to be lonely.

Why did he feel so sure he still would be?

But he knew. Soledad would be a fill-in for what he really wanted. Who he really wanted.

Despite the burst of cheers around him, he closed his eyes in resignation. None of his fears about a relationship with Erin had left him. They carried the same weight as shackles that made every step drag.

He had a long way to go before he could approach her, and by then it might be too late—if it wasn’t already. But having fun with Soledad in the meantime wasn’t something he could do. He’d never make love with one woman while he was thinking about another.

He pulled his phone from his pocket as if it had vibrated and looked at it. “I’ve got to go,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Sorry to run.”

Both women and Rico protested, but he just shook his head apologetically and fled.

Had running away become a habit? Didn’t matter, he told himself. Better to run than get himself into something he’d regret.

* * *

ERIN SMILED AS Laura Carlson came out the kitchen door carrying a tray, calling, “Who wants s’mores?”

Even the badminton players turned at that. The shuttlecock dropped to the grass.

“Really?” asked Jeff Abbott, a nice young guy, fresh out of grad school, who was a research librarian at the West Fork branch of the county library system.

Laura, the branch librarian, laughed. “Of course I’m serious. Why let those coals go to waste?”

Accepting the invitation to the barbecue at the Carlsons’ house had been another way for Erin to push herself out there. She’d been living in limbo, but that was changing.

This gathering had been good. She liked most of the people she’d met; they reminded her of her colleagues at Markham. Some she knew from the library, but those people had brought husbands, wives, friends. Laura’s husband was an assistant principal at the Lake Stevens high school, so some of his colleagues were there, too.

With a fire crackling in the barbecue pit, Erin chose a seat beside a woman named Monique Murphy, whose profession she hadn’t heard. Probably in her mid-to late-thirties, Monique had come alone.