Cherry Pie (3 page)

“Yes and no. It’s a nonprofit run by several churches. Today is my day to man the house.”

Conn was staring out the window, watching the street. It was going to be hot today. Probably rain this afternoon. He heard Evan’s office chair squeak as he moved behind him.

“How do you know Ford?” Conn was more than a little interested in that. He wasn’t sure exactly why and wasn’t in the mood to analyze it.

“He’s a big donor to the charity that runs this house. I hit him up for money as soon as he moved in.”

“I’m not surprised you’re a pastor. You were always a good kid. Easy to talk to.”

“I had a crush on you in high school.” Evan sounded amused. “Did you know that?”

Conn looked warily over his shoulder. “Yeah, I knew.”

“And you were still nice to me. And because you were, everyone was. If Conn Meecham didn’t mind, well, then, nobody else did. High school here could have been hell for me. Instead it was great.” He fiddled with a pen on his desk. “People expected me to leave here, you know, because I’m gay.” He gave Conn a hard stare. “I stayed because of you. Because you made this town accept me so I didn’t have to leave. I’ll never forget that, what you did.”

Conn blew it off with a dismissive wave. “You were a good kid. Nobody cared.” Conn leaned against the window frame and crossed his arms. “Mama always told me you get what you give, Evan. I guess you owe me. You gonna save my soul now?”

Evan snorted. “I think your soul is just fine. Now tell me what happened.”

“You remember I blew my knee out?” Conn asked.

“Yeah, your freshman year at Georgia Tech, right?”

Conn nodded. “I guess that’s where my road forked.”

“Your mama said you kept your scholarship. For how long?”

Conn laughed without humor. “Not at all. I just told her that so she wouldn’t worry. It was a football scholarship. No football, no scholarship. Good-bye, Tech.” He saluted sarcastically.

Evan was listening with a puzzled look. “Why didn’t you just come home?”

“After my big send-off? Hometown boy makes good? Gonna set the world on fire with his fine football skills?” Conn shook his head with a disgusted snort. “I was too proud to come back with my tail between my legs. Afraid to shame Mama.”

Evan sighed. “It wouldn’t have been like that.”

“I know.” Conn walked over to the old chair facing Evan’s desk and sat, suddenly tired. “I got addicted to the pain pills they gave me. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“How did you get from there to prison?”

Conn winced. “I didn’t go to prison exactly. I did my time in county.” He shrugged. “Just the same, I suppose.”

“Did you know she’d died, before you came back?” Evan spoke in that quiet, nonjudgmental way his therapist in prison had. It was soothing and annoying at the same time.

“Yeah, I knew. The local paper’s on the Internet. I kept up.”

Thankfully Evan let that drop. “What were you in for?”

“Possession.” Conn leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands and looked at the floor. “Panhandling.” He looked up at Evan and gave him a weak smile when he saw the knowledge on Evan’s face. “I had a good lawyer, a good guy. He got the charge changed from prostitution to panhandling.”

Evan shook his head. “Aw, Conn, jeez.”

Conn fell back in the chair and blew out a breath. “That actually felt good, to get telling someone out of the way.”

“How long have you been clean?” Evan asked, all business.

“Two years,” Conn automatically answered. “I haven’t had so much as a cigarette in two years.”

“Have you been tested?”

Conn nodded. “Yeah, regular drug tests and HIV tests. I’m clean. I’ve got the paperwork.”

“Good,” Evan said. “You’ll need it to get a job.” He sighed. “I don’t know how easy things are going to be here for you. You’re not the boy who left Mercury.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Conn replied evenly. “Somewhere along the way I lost him. I think I left him here, and I’m trying to find him.”

Evan gave him a friendly smile. “I hope we can help, Conn. I really do.”

Conn stood up. “Me too, Evan.”

Chapter Four

John’s coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth, and then he lowered it and set it on the table. He walked over and opened the front door.

“You sleep there last night?” he asked Connor, who was sitting on the top porch step.

Connor dusted off the step, and John saw it was the one with a set of handprints embedded in the concrete. “Nah. I slept at Evan’s.”

“House or shelter?” John wasn’t sure why he asked that or why he cared.

“Shelter.”

“What time did you get here?”

Connor shrugged. “After sunrise.”

John laughed. “Had to be just barely. It’s only eight o’clock now, and you look like you’ve been here awhile.” He went over and got his coffee and stepped out on the porch, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the other side of the step, about two feet between him and Connor. “How’d you get here?”

Connor lifted his leg and shook his foot. “Walked.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?” John took a tentative sip of his coffee. Still too hot.

“Sure I do.”

When nothing else came from Connor, John smiled as he blew on his coffee to cool it. “Sure you do,” he agreed.

“I told Evan I was gonna look for a job today.”

“Did you?” John looked over at Connor. He didn’t seem in a rush to get to work.

“Yep.”

John sighed. “Where?” Now he was doing it.

“Here.” Connor looked at him then. “He was the last thing my daddy gave me before he died. Seeing that grave…” He looked away. “It was like losing them all again, right there.”

He was talking about the dog. John didn’t say anything for a minute or two. What was he supposed to say? “I could use help with the fence,” he finally offered.

“I thought you could,” Connor said.

They sat in silence while John finished his coffee.

“What am I supposed to pay you?” John asked while they were taking a break a few hours later. They were sitting in the shade of the live oak, drinking a Coke. Apparently a “Coke” was any kind of soft drink in the South. John wondered how much that kind of advertising cost.

“What do you want to pay me?” Connor asked. He didn’t sound as if he cared one way or the other. He was just content to dig postholes and hammer nails, sweating in the humidity. John wished he could be so agreeable.

“Nothing.”

Connor just grinned at him, showing him a dimple, and then took a drink from the sweating can. A drop of water ran down Connor’s pinkie and onto his wrist, and then John lost it in the dark hair on his forearm.

“What’s the going rate?” John asked, and then he took a drink too.

“For making an ex-con dig postholes in the midday heat? Room and board.”

John paused with his can halfway to his mouth and slanted a look at Connor. He was still sitting there all relaxed and casual, but there was a watchful stillness about him that told John he was expecting a refusal. He’d framed it like a joke. John could pretend that was how he took it. He went ahead and took the drink, looking away from Connor, giving himself time to think about it.

He didn’t think too long. Being in this house alone had been harder than John thought. Maybe he was being selfish and not thinking it through, things Steve had always accused him of. But he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“All right,” he said, rolling to his knees and standing up. “But you’ve got to clean that room up.” He couldn’t do it. Moving Steve’s things in there had been hard enough.

“I don’t need much space.”

John had to laugh as he took in Connor’s six-plus feet as the other man stood up. “Nope, not much,” he agreed and was rewarded with the crooked smile and dimple again.

They walked back over to where the fence posts were piled in the yard. Connor picked one up and then shoved it in a hole he’d already dug. He worked it in by twisting it from side to side, and John had to pause to admire the muscles in his arms as they rippled with his movements. He was lean, but it was clear by the way he moved that those muscles had been around a long time.

“What are you gonna do with the stretch over there?” Connor asked, pointing at the far side of the yard. The fence was covered in vines.

“Cut it out, I suppose,” John answered. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. His new philosophy was taking it day by day. He hadn’t gone crazy yet under that plan. The look Connor gave him made him reassess that conclusion. “Or not?” he asked.

“You know what you got there?” Connor asked.

“Um, no,” John answered. “Clearly I do not.”

Connor shook his head and his lips flattened for moment. “That is a healthy wisteria vine,” Connor lectured him. “Took years to grow along the fence.” He pointed to the trees. “Now, you got to cut it off those trees, or it’ll kill ’em. Have you seen wisteria in bloom?”

John just shook his head.

Connor grinned, and John’s shoulders relaxed. Surprise skittered through him. He hadn’t realized he’d tensed up with Connor’s disapproval. He huffed a disgusted sigh at himself. He wasn’t supposed to let other people’s disapproval bother him anymore. Right.

“Big bunches of purple flowers,” Connor said, holding his hands apart in front of him with the fencepost held in place against his chest. “About this big. Look just like grape clusters.” Connor sniffed loudly with a look of pure bliss on his face. “Smell as pretty as anything. Prettier, even.”

John contemplated the fence so Connor wouldn’t catch him staring at him. John hadn’t seen him so animated since they’d met. He must really love those flowers. “Can we fix the fence without killing them?”

Connor leaned his crossed arms on the fencepost and nodded as he looked at the vine. “I think so. We need to trim it anyway. It’ll take over if you don’t tame it. If we slide the new posts in one at a time before we take out the old, it should be all right.”

John tipped his head to the side as he tried to imagine what Connor was saying. He nodded. “It might work.” He looked at Connor. “How do you know so much about it?”

Connor laughed and began to fill in the hole around the post. “Who do you think did the yard work around here? Mama supervised. I did the sweating.”

John grinned and squatted by the hole, packing the dirt around the post. “Yeah? Her own personal yard slave?”

Connor snorted. “Yard, house, you name it. We spent years fixin’ up this old house only to start all over again. First my dad, then me.” Connor wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt, the same faded one he’d worn yesterday. John froze as he came face-to-face with Connor’s flat, pale stomach, a line of dark hair slicing down the middle to the low-rider waist of his jeans. A strip of plaid boxers was visible above his waistband.

John’s mind went blank as his body sat up and pointed like a hunting dog. The shock of awareness that went through him actually made him jerk back from Connor, and he fell on his ass in a clumsy sprawl.

Connor gave him a funny look. “You all right? Maybe the heat’s gettin’ to you. People who aren’t used to it find they wear out pretty quickly.” Then, without any preamble, he whipped the shirt off over his head, wiped his face and neck with it, and tucked it into the back waistband of those damn faded jeans.

John found himself facing lean, hard pecs covered by a fine layer of dark, curly hair. His mouth went dry, and he scrambled to his feet.

“The heat. Yes. The goddamned heat.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his hand, backing away from Connor. “I need a minute. I’ll be back.” He turned and had to force himself not to run to the house.

Once inside he sat down at the kitchen table and put his head between his knees. The tears burned behind his eyes, and he welcomed the sting. Not since Steve… He couldn’t finish the thought. It was the heat, he convinced himself. It wasn’t Connor. It was the heat and the physical exertion and the unexpected sight of a naked man. Half-naked. Thank God, only half-naked.

After a few minutes he sat up, under control. This wouldn’t be a problem. It hadn’t been a problem in a long time. He could handle Connor being here. He was just so damn glad not to be alone anymore.

“You ready?” John asked.

It was early evening, and Connor was sitting on the back steps, drinking a bottle of water. He nodded. “Yeah.”

They were going to get Connor’s things from the shelter. John watched as Connor unraveled his tall body from the step and walked toward him. The sun was getting lower in the sky behind him, making it hard to see his face. It outlined his rangy frame perfectly, and John forced himself to turn away.

“I can walk over.”

John frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can drive.” He jerked a little when he felt Connor’s warm, rough hand wrap around his upper arm, stopping him.

“Are you sure you want me here?” Connor asked, and John looked from the large hand on him to Connor’s unsmiling face.

“Yes,” John lied. “I’m sure.”

Connor let go of him, and they walked to the garage.

Chapter Five

Conn was sitting on the front steps. John liked that; he could tell. He liked to see Conn there when he got up in the morning. Conn always woke up early. A habit formed in jail, he supposed. He could hardly remember if he’d done it before that. Didn’t much matter if he did. He did it now.

He took a sip of John’s hot coffee. Man, this shit was strong. He wondered if the hair on his chest was growing with each sip. The thought made him grin. He’d been drinking it for two weeks now. You’d think he’d be used to it. Two weeks of hot, backbreaking work in the sun, getting that fence up with John. Two weeks of not having to watch what he said or how he acted or worry about where he was going to be tomorrow. Two weeks of pure heaven, watching John sweat and curse and struggle to make something out of this old house, and then falling into bed in his own space.

His grin faded as he looked down at his childish handprints in the concrete of the top step. He dusted his hand over them. He remembered the day he’d done it. His daddy was pouring the concrete, and Conn wouldn’t leave him alone. So he’d let him make his mark. He’d run all over town telling everyone to come and see “his” steps. He sighed and took another sip. Burned his tongue on it too.