marked “yes,” as he had on all the other applications he’d filled out these past days. Lying wasn’t an option; employers could, and would, do a criminal background check before offering a job. Cole’s father always had.
The manager bent his head to read Cole’s application, revealing a small bald spot on the crown. Waiting without much hope, Cole stared at it. Behind him, the wheels of a shopping cart rattled on the uneven floor in the old building.
He saw the exact moment when the man reached that “yes” mark. His eyes narrowed and he looked up. “How long you been out?”
“A week.”
Shaking his head, he crumpled the application and tossed it toward what was presumably a trash receptacle behind the counter. “Don’t need to know what you did. Can’t have an ex-con working here. Now I’ll ask you to be on your way.”
Cole nodded stoically and turned to find himself face-to-face with the woman he’d been watching. Of course she’d heard. He didn’t let himself see her expression or what would be shock and distaste in her eyes. He said a meaningless, “Ma’am,” and walked past, taking the most direct route to the front door.
Outside, he turned left and walked twenty feet or so, until he was no longer in sight through the hardware store windows, before he stopped. He flattened his hands on the wood siding and allowed his head to drop forward.
Maybe he’d have to give up on this shit town. West Fork. He’d refused to stay anywhere near the penitentiary on the east side of the mountains. The Greyhound bus had taken him to Seattle. Overwhelmed by the city, he had hitched north, looking for a smaller town he could handle, one that seemed friendly.
He made a guttural sound. Friendly. What a joke. He needed to move on, but why would the next town be any different?
“Excuse me.”
At the sound of the voice, Cole whirled, his right hand balling into a fist. He never allowed himself to be unaware of his surroundings.
It was her. The woman from the hardware store. Green-gold eyes widened and she retreated a step, making him realize his lips had drawn away from his teeth and every cord in his neck probably showed. It took him a couple of deep breaths, but he managed to straighten, and he outwardly relaxed even if his heart still raced.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You startled me.”
“That’s all right.” She studied him. “I heard. In there.”
Cole schooled his face to blankness. He didn’t say anything.
“I’m wondering what kind of job you’d consider. And what you know how to do.”
He stared at her. What did he know how to do? That was what she’d said.
“Because, well, this wouldn’t be long-term, but...it might tide you over for a while, and I really need someone. That is, if you know anything about yard work or basic construction. Like building porch steps or scraping siding.” Pink crept into her cheeks, as if his blank expression was getting to her, making her babble. “Not that scraping siding takes any experience or skill, I guess.”
“I can build porch steps.” His voice came out rusty. Was she offering him a job? “And scrape and paint. And yard work?” He shrugged. “As long as I know what’s expected.”
“If you’re interested, I can pay ten dollars an hour, maybe up it once I have a better sense of what you can do.”
“Is this...a business?” he fumbled.
She shook her head. “I inherited an old house from my grandmother. It’s...well, not falling down, but in need of a lot of work. Since it’s spring, I thought I’d start with the exterior and yard. It’s a mess.”
“You have a husband or...?”
“Nobody. And my spirit is willing, but I’ve never done this kind of work. I need help—someone with muscle and at least some know-how.”
“I can provide that.” He still sounded like he had a hairball caught in his throat, but she’d taken him by surprise. No, more than that. Was she nuts, hiring an ex-con she knew nothing about to work on her house? With apparently no man around to protect her?
His conscience kicked in. “You did hear. I just got out of prison.”
Here was where she’d ask what crime he’d committed. But once again, she surprised him. “How long were you in?”
“Ten years.”
She blinked. “You said you’ve only been out a week.”
And he felt like a toddler abandoned in the freeway median. Everything whizzing by, with him too terrified to move.
“Yes.”
“Do you want the job?”
His throat almost closed. Even a day or two of work would give him the means to eat for a week. He had nothing to fall back on. Ten years ago, he’d spent every cent he had on his defense.
“Yes.” After a moment, he added a belated, “Thank you.”
“Well, then, will you help me load this stuff?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Erin. My name is Erin Parrish.”
He nodded.
“And yours?”
“Cole Meacham.”
“Cole.”
He trailed her to the front of the hardware store, but then his feet stopped moving. “Where are you parked?”
“Out back.”
Was there a parking lot behind the building? He hadn’t noticed. “Why don’t I meet you there?”
“Oh. Sure. See you there,” she said, matter-of-fact. She disappeared inside, and he turned to circle the corner.
A job. Maybe only a few days, but real work. Basic work, the kind that hadn’t changed in the past ten years. A hot little burn in his chest wasn’t pride or even hope, but might be kin to either.
Unless she changed her mind, or had it changed for her by the man in the hardware store, who must’ve been horrified when the pretty woman customer chased the ex-con outside. Yeah, that was what would happen. His steps slowed. She’d say something like, “I’m sorry, but I just got a call from a guy who decided to take the job, after all.” She might offer him a little money, which pride required him to refuse. Shit, why was he going to meet her at all, setting himself up for more disappointment?
But as he started across the parking lot, Cole saw her struggling with the glass door as she tried to back out with her overloaded cart. He broke into a trot, firmly taking the handle and saying, “Hold the door.”
She glared inside. “With what I just spent, you’d think that jerk could’ve offered to help.”
“He’s
