looked 1940s. Truly ancient linoleum, metal-edged counters, not enough cabinets, a small wooden table with two chairs in the middle of the extensive space.
“The stove isn’t bad, but the refrigerator—” He stopped himself.
Looking over her shoulder as she pulled a cookie sheet covered with golden-brown biscuits from the oven, Erin wrinkled her nose. “Is an antique. I know. I’ve been here something like two months, and I’ve had to defrost the freezer twice. And chip out ice creeping down into the refrigerator compartment.”
“Why haven’t you replaced it?”
She straightened. “I don’t know. It works.” Her shoulders sagged. “It seems wrong just to throw it away.”
He already knew her sentimental side, but discovered it went deeper than he’d realized. “It makes you think of your grandmother.”
“I guess so.” She sighed and turned her back to him as she used a spatula to deftly lift the biscuits off the cookie sheet and into a basket.
He watched her, staggered by how beautiful she was. Usually, he tried not to notice, but now her cheeks were pink from the oven heat; she was clean and her red-gold hair was shiny, bundled at the back of her head with some stretchy thing holding it in place. Above the collar of her T-shirt, her neck showed, long, slender, pale. Were those faint freckles on her nape?
Cole caught himself taking a step to close the distance between them. No.
He rolled his shoulders and backed up. “Anything I can do?”
“Um...” She looked vaguely around. “Get yourself something to drink. I’ll take milk, if you don’t mind pouring.”
His stomach growled, although if he’d had a choice... His hunger for the meal wasn’t the first he would have satisfied. In fact, he managed to keep his back mostly turned to her as he poured milk for them both and set the glasses on the table, then took a seat so she wouldn’t see that he was aroused.
It was the setting, he tried to convince himself. Sexy woman in snug jeans cooking for him. Didn’t explain why he’d been so damn tempted earlier to lift her off the ladder, strip her and lay her down on the grass.
Brambles, he reminded himself. He’d have hurt her delicate, translucent skin.
Crap. He cast a single, desperate glance toward the hall and escape.
ALREADY SEATED AT the small table, Cole realized that standing up and walking out wasn’t an option.
A huge, crockery bowl held the pot roast with potatoes, carrots and other vegetables. Now, Erin set butter and the basket of fresh-baked biscuits on the table, sighed and sank down in her chair. “This does smell good.”
“Will you actually eat any of it?” His question was probably rude, but also genuine. She nibbled. She didn’t eat.
Erin made a rueful face. “Yes. It just...doesn’t always seem to be worth the effort. You know?” She took a biscuit and handed him the basket. “Help yourself.”
She’d set out generous-sized bowls as well as small plates for the biscuits. He dished up a hefty serving for himself and watched as she took less. It seemed to be a reasonable amount, considering she must weigh half of what he did.
“This is nice of you,” he said finally, long-ago lessons taught by his mother rising from the depths.
Erin seemed to concentrate on the food in front of her. “It’s okay if you don’t want to eat here. I kind of put you on the spot today. I just...” She shrugged. “I get lonely, I guess. I thought you might, too. Sometimes I look out the window and see the light above the garage and think it’s silly that we’re making separate meals.”
Get lonely? She had no idea. Having her right in front of him made things worse, increasing his sense of aloneness. It would be hell, being conscious of her every shifting expression, every breath she drew, the tinge of color in her cheeks and the fragility of her too-slender body—when his history felt like an invisible force field that would scald his hand if he tried to reach across it.
After a pause, he said, “Most people are afraid of me. Even when they don’t know I’m an ex-con, they watch me when I go by as if they expect me to attack.”
Exasperation flashed in her eyes when they met his. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never been afraid of you.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he had to ask. “Why?”
She blinked a couple of times, as if he’d taken her aback. “I don’t know,” she said finally. Her forehead puckered. “I’m not afraid of much. Or maybe anything.” She talked slowly. “I think...that instinct has been burned out of me. But I wouldn’t have been afraid of you, anyway. Somebody with bad intentions wouldn’t have reminded me that he’d just gotten out of prison. Besides, you don’t have that look.”
He ignored the last bit. She didn’t know what she was talking about. The only way to survive in the pen was to respond to challenges with quick, vicious strikes. That “do unto others” saying? In there, you did unto others what you feared they’d do unto you.
What really caught his attention was the middle part of her speech.
“Burned out of you?”
She shook her head, as if shedding water. “It doesn’t matter. We all have quirks.”
True, but an unwillingness to protect yourself? That had to be unnatural.
“What you did for Mr. Zatloka was nice,” she said.
“Mr....? Oh. The neighbor.” He filed away the name. “He looked like he’d have a heart attack by the time he was done, or just topple over.”
Erin laughed. “I had the same thought. But I knew if I offered to help, his male ego would be bruised.”
Cole smiled. “Probably.”
Damn, this meal was good. The meat all but melted in his mouth, as did the biscuits. He reached for another one.
Erin hadn’t put a lot away, but she was eating at least. “Have some more,” she said, nudging the bowl toward him.
“Did you grow up here?” he asked.
“No, but my dad did. It’s funny thinking of him living here as a little boy.”
“Where are your parents?” Apparently, he hadn’t entirely forgotten how to make conversation.
“Dead. Breast cancer for Mom six years ago, small-plane crash for Dad a couple of years later. He was taking lessons, and there was a mechanical failure.” Clearly, she didn’t want to expand. But she did raise her eyebrows. “What about your parents?”
“My mother died when I was ten.” One of his worst memories, despite everything that came after. “Sudden, splitting headache. Aneurysm, as it turned out.”
“Can’t
