wanted this job. Reverend Young, one of the local clergy who volunteered as a prison chaplain, had warned him when he set up the interview that Seth Lawson was a fair but hard taskmaster. That he expected a lot and cut no slack. But that was okay with Scott. He wasn’t looking for any favors. He just wanted a chance to start over. And as an ex-con himself who had served time for armed robbery many years before, Seth was sometimes willing to give newly released prisoners that chance. Which was more than could be said for a lot of employers. Or people in general. Even though ex-cons had served their time and paid their debt, society was often unwilling to take them back. So the odds were stacked against them.
But Scott didn’t intend to become another statistic. With the help of people like Reverend Young and Seth Lawson, he would make it. He straightened his shoulders and gazed steadily into the older man’s razor-sharp, intensely blue eyes. “That’s right. I’m Scott Mitchell.”
Seth studied Scott for another moment, then nodded toward the rear of the greenhouse. “Office is back there. Let’s talk.”
He led the way to a compact but well-equipped office furnished with three unoccupied desks, several filing cabinets, a fax machine and a copier. Instead of sitting behind one of the desks, however, he continued toward a small conference room at the back, pausing as he passed the coffeemaker.
“Want a cup?”
Scott nodded, trying not to appear too eager. He was still trying to shake the February chill, and coffee would help. “Thanks.”
“Cream?”
“Black.”
Seth poured two cups, then moved into the conference room, shrugged out of his jacket and sat down at the round table. Scott followed suit—but he left his coat on.
“So tell me why you want this job,” Seth said without preamble, chewing on his cigar.
Scott wrapped his hands around the coffee cup, letting the warmth seep into his numb fingers. “I need a job,” he said honestly. “More than that, I need a chance to start over. I know something about horticulture, and I don’t want a job with walls. This sounded perfect.”
“It’s far from perfect,” Seth replied bluntly. “Most guys don’t last more than a few weeks. It’s hard work. Dirty work. And the pay’s not great.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work. Or dirt. And I don’t need much money.”
Seth considered that answer for a moment. “You have any family?”
A spasm of pain ricocheted through Scott’s eyes. “I have a sister and brother-in-law in Chicago. And three nephews.”
Seth glanced pointedly at the wedding ring on Scott’s left hand. “That it?”
Scott drew an unsteady breath. “I also have a wife. In name, at least. She doesn’t believe in divorce. But she never wants to see me again.”
“Too bad. It helps to have family and friends around when you get out. But a lot of people can’t handle the stigma of being associated with an ex-con.”
“Jess isn’t like that.”
Seth’s eyebrows rose. “But she never wants to see you again.”
Scott swallowed past the lump in his throat. “For good reason. I made some bad mistakes.”
“You also paid for them.”
“In the eyes of society, maybe. I’m not sure about in the eyes of God.”
Seth considered that for a moment. “How long were you in?”
“Three years.”
“What did you do before?”
“I was in marketing.”
When he named the company, Seth’s eyebrows rose. “Were you in for one of those white-collar crimes?”
Scott frowned. “Didn’t Reverend Young tell you?”
Seth shrugged. “Didn’t ask. Doesn’t matter. I judge people by who they are now, not what they did years ago. I was just curious. Don’t get too many guys in here with your polish.”
Scott took a sip of the scalding liquid, which suddenly tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’m surprised there’s any polish left,” he said quietly.
Seth looked at him shrewdly. “It’s rough in there, all right. Takes a lot out of a man.”
“Yeah.”
“You have any money?”
Scott frowned again. The conversation was all over the place and he was having a hard time keeping up. “No.”
“You’re still married. Anything still in your name?”
“No. I signed it all over to Jess when I was convicted.”
“Think she might give you a loan to get you started?”
“I don’t plan to ask.”
Seth folded his arms across his chest. “Be pretty hard to live on the salary I’m offering.”
“I’ll manage. I don’t need much. Just a chance.”
Seth nodded shortly. “That I can give you.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a wallet and laid several fifty-dollar bills on the table. “Consider this an advance on your salary. Get yourself a warm coat and some sturdy shoes. Be here tomorrow at seven.”
Scott looked at the money. There was a time when he would drop twice that amount on a business dinner with several colleagues. In those days, money had meant prestige and power. Now it just meant survival. Funny how dramatically things had changed, he reflected. Slowly he reached for the bills and carefully folded them over. “Thank you,” he said. “For the loan. And for taking me on.”
Seth shrugged and stood up. “Don’t thank me yet. It’s hard, dirty work. You might not last a week.”
“I’ll last.” The statement was made quietly—but with absolute conviction.
Seth looked at him speculatively, but made no comment. Instead he turned and led the way to the door. “Tomorrow morning. Seven sharp.”
“I’ll be here.” Scott extended his hand, and Seth took it in a firm grip. The older man’s probing gaze seemed to go right to Scott’s heart.
“I was in your shoes once,” he said evenly. “I know how hard it is to lose everything. And society doesn’t make it easy to start over. Some guys make it. Some don’t. The bitter ones never do. Neither do the ones who can’t admit their mistakes. I figure you’re gonna make it.”
Scott felt a prickling behind his eyelids. For some reason this stranger’s words of encouragement touched him deeply. “I figure I am, too.”
“Reverend Young tells me you’re a churchgoing man. That gives you a leg up right there.”
“It
