Man with a Past (13 page)

She thought he'd hired on with honorable intentions, when the reality was she was the only one willing to hire him. Period.

And once she found out about Josie's death, all the love in the world wouldn't matter because she'd never look at him the same again.

Still, he had to tell her. Somehow. Before someone else did.

He owed her that.

Joe leaned back against the lounge chair, his thumb finding the switch on the side of the monitor to turn it off. He didn't have the right to listen in, to enjoy the mother-son bonding moment instead of working up the courage to tell her the truth.

He tried to picture the scene. She'd automatically smile at him as he entered the room, sweet and seductive after what had just happened, then hurt and horror would dawn on her face.

She'd hate him.

Joe shoved himself to his feet and he paced to the end of the small shack, banged his fist against a wood beam.

God above, he needed help, guidance. He didn't want to hurt her, and he had no right to let her think he was something he wasn't. No right to make love to her.

He glared at the house, the dull light trickling out of Max's bedroom window.

Over the past few weeks he'd taken care of the worst of the house repairs. The roof, the ceilings. Now he quickly made a mental list of the projects he knew Ashley couldn't handle on her own.

He'd work hard. Get those biggest projects done and come clean knowing when she kicked him out she could handle the rest of the restoration by herself. It was the only thing he could do.

The right thing to do for the woman he could love but not have.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
Joe borrowed Wilson's truck again and made a run for supplies. He planned on stopping by Ridgewood on his way home, and still get an early start on the wheelchair ramp into Ashley's house. Once that was done, the kitchen would be next. Then he'd find a place for his pop and him to live, come clean with Ashley and leave because he knew she'd want him gone.

He entered Home Depot, his mood sour, but received a only a few curious glances as he made his way to the aisle he needed.

“Hey—Joe?”

Joe spun around. A man stood a couple feet away with thick, decking spindles in both hands.

Joe braced himself for whatever was about to happen. “Yeah?” The man was around his age,
maybe a little older, with a receding hairline and the thick build of a one-time athlete.

“You're Joe Brody, right?”

He nodded and backed up. “I don't want any trouble, I just came for supplies.”

The guy looked down at his hands and back at him. “Aww, man, you must really be getting a hard time if you think you'll be jumped in a store.” He shoved one of the spindles under the other arm and held out his free hand. “I'm Nathan Boyle. I wanted to thank you, that's all.”

Come again? Joe searched his brain for recognition. “For what?”

“Helping out my granddad.” His face took on a ruddy hue and he dropped his hand to his side. “I've been so busy I hadn't made it over to check his wheelchair and didn't know it had quit on him. Mrs. H. said you got it going again.”

Surprised, Joe stared at him, the moment surreal.

“My grandad sure appreciated it. That's his only way of getting around, you know? Without someone pushing him.” The guy tossed the spindles back onto a nearby shelf and took a couple steps closer to him, holding out his hand again. “Anyway, I wanted to say thanks. I appreciate what you did for him.” His expression turned sheepish. “Hopefully you won't have to do it again, but I know who to call if I can't get it working, right?”

Joe hesitated momentarily before reaching out and shaking the man's hand. “No problem.”

“So, you working anywhere?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah. Handyman stuff.”

“Good. But if you ever need work, let me know. I've got my own construction business and I can always use help. I'll give you a shot if you need it.”

Humbled, grateful, Joe nodded before turning away to continue on down the aisle.

A
SHLEY FROWNED
as she left the house and carried Max on her hip toward the garage. Joe was avoiding her. Last night, although wonderful, could have been better. After she'd put Max down for the second time, she'd quickly showered and left her room with the intention of going to Joe. Instead she'd found the portable receiver hanging on the bedroom doorknob.

She'd stood there, mortified when she remembered what she'd said to Max about loving Joe. Still, somehow, she'd bolstered her courage and padded to his bedroom, hoping to talk and explain her confusing emotions.

Joe wasn't there.

Nor did he come to her room during the night because she'd spent the remaining hours staring up at the ceiling and wondering where he'd gone. Knowing exactly what she'd done—said—wrong.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Clearly he wasn't ready for that kind of declaration. What were the rules of dating? Never give up the L word too soon? Talk about the quickest way to drive a guy off.

Even though he seemed to be feeling the same way?

She walked around to the carport where she'd parked the truck, only to find it gone.

“He went to get some supplies,” Wilson called from the willow trees beyond.

She hadn't seen him through the drooping foliage, but now she headed in his direction and paused once she neared the lawn chair where he sat, the stray dog lying at his feet. She ignored the dog, not wanting to get attached to something that would just leave whenever it wanted.

“Hey, Max. How are the teeth?”

“Not so bad today,” she offered, distracted. “Joe's not listed on the account I set up. How can he buy supplies?”

Wilson frowned up at her, his bushy brows low to combat the sun dappling the shade above her head. “Well, now, 'cause I loaned him cash. He said he'd bring the receipt and you could pay me back. We thought it'd be easier since you weren't up yet.”

“You gave him cash?”

She heard the sound of a motor and the crunch of gravel as a car drove up to the house, but when no one continued on around to the back of the house, as Joe would have had it been him, she frowned.

“I'd better go see who it is. Be right back.” She
hurried to the house, through the kitchen and down the hall, smiling when Max laughed at the bumpy ride on her hip. She opened the front door in time to see two men exit a police car. Neither were smiling.

When they neared the steps, she asked, “Can I—can I help you?”

The older of the two climbed the steps, and Ashley took note of his badge and name tag. Why was the chief of police on her doorstep?

“Are you Ashley Cade?”

“Yes.”

“And this is your home?”

“Yes, why?”

“Does Joe Brody live here?”

Her stomach knotted so hard she felt ill. “Yes, but he isn't home at the moment. Is something wrong?”

The chief and his officer exchanged an intense look.

“Ma'am, is the child yours?”

Her spine snapped straight and the air rushed out of her lungs. “Yes, he's mine. Why do you ask?”

The chief swore softly and stared at the windows lining the porch, his gaze moving from spot to spot as though looking to see if Joe was behind one of them.

The deputy handed an envelope to the chief and then tipped his hat before he stepped off the porch
and walked back to the patrol car, obviously looking for any sign of Joe.

“No offense, ma'am. I just didn't know if you were the child's mother or simply babysitting him.”

“What does that have to do with Joe?” she asked tersely.

The man held up the envelope, his expression darkening even more. “A restraining order's been issued for him.”

“By who?”

The man hesitated. “By me. On behalf of my daughter.”

She stared, uncomprehending. “Your daughter.” All sorts of thoughts came to mind—bad thoughts, horrifying thoughts. “I don't understand. What's he done? What is going on?” Her voice revealed her growing upset.

The man stared at her a long moment as though searching for something, but when he didn't find it, he reached behind him to pull out his wallet. He flipped through a couple pictures before holding one up for her to see.

Ashley frowned. “She's a beautiful baby.” The infant was dressed in a pink dress and ruffled bloomers, the bow atop her head attached to a surprisingly thick thatch of dark hair.

“She was.”

Her voice shook when she weakly murmured, “Was?”

Chief York turned the picture around and stared at it himself, and when he raised his gaze back to her, he looked sad, tormented. And angry.

Very, very angry.

“The man you have living here as your
handyman
—under the same roof as your son,” he continued, glancing at Max briefly, “was convicted of murdering her. Joe Brody killed my granddaughter. If I were you, I'd pack his bag and have it waiting on him when he gets back. If not, I might have to make a phone call or two about how you're not looking out for your son's best interests.” He nodded at Max. “I'll do whatever it takes to keep your son safe.”

 

A
S
J
OE DROVE UP
to the house he looked for Ashley, but saw no signs of her outside. He parked the truck close to the back porch to unload and grabbed the receipt lying on the bench seat next to him.

That's when he heard the arguing.

Ashley's voice was raised, Wilson's much calmer and more resigned.

Joe jogged for the porch steps and entered the kitchen to notice two things: the official document from the Taylorsville Police Department on the table with his name on it; and Ashley's pale angry face.

She stared at him, unblinking, shaking her head back and forth as she held up her hand. A long
moment passed before she gathered herself enough to speak.

“I can't believe it. You're finally here and now that you are, I don't even know what to say to you!”

Joe stepped toward her. “What happened? Where's Max? You don't want to upset him.”

Her face softened even as her eyes blazed. “Don't you dare. Don't you dare pretend you care about my son because if you did, you wouldn't be here in the first place!”

He took another step toward her only to stop when she held her hand up again.

“Stay away from me.”

Give me a walk in the moonlight.
He wanted to go back in time, freeze it after she'd said those words and then somehow, someway, explain.

“Ashley, don't be scared—”

“Scared? Scared is having the police show up on my doorstep claiming my handyman is a
murderer!
” Her voice shook, her hands. Her entire body. Joe wondered how she still managed to stay on her feet she trembled so badly.

“Give me a chance—”

“Every time I close my eyes I see her sweet little face. I can't get her out of my head!”

He knew the feeling. Not that he ever wanted to rid himself of Josie's memory.

“You killed her!”

“No.”
His hands fisted. His stomach churned.
Joe fought back the urge to puke, his thoughts on the day he'd come there looking for his father's things and saw her on the stairs with Max.

“Get out.”

“Now, missy—”

“Get out!”

Joe couldn't move, his feet rooted to the spot while hurt lanced deep, stronger and more painful than the shiv slashing through his body.

She ran toward him then, fists raised, but he still didn't move because he deserved every smack and slap Ashley gave him as she tried to push him back out the door. Deserved them for not telling Ashley the truth. For not being able to save Josie.

Wilson followed them, tossed his walker aside and grabbed hold of Ashley, his old wrinkled hands smoothing down her arms as he tried to calm her down. Joe couldn't look at the old man. All he could do was stare into Ashley's pain-filled,
betrayed
expression and blame himself.

The old man nearly lost his balance when Ashley pulled away from him, her breath rushing in and out of her chest in ragged gasps. Tears trickled unheeded down her cheeks.

Once again Joe pictured her as she was last night in the shed, so beautiful, and now, so heart-broken. He'd done that to her.

“Joe, take a walk,” Wilson ordered. “Go for a
drive. Come back in awhile when we've had a chance to talk things out.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” Ashley insisted, establishing some distance between herself and them.

Before Joe's eyes her barriers went up, and she was once again the kid from the orphanage, one of the mutts no one wanted. He saw it in her stance. Her expression. No matter what was said now, she wouldn't listen. Wouldn't believe that he wanted her and Max more than he wanted his next breath.

“
You
are leaving,” she growled, her voice hoarse and thready. “You're fired, you hear me? You're done!”

Wilson frowned and he raised a hand in exasperation and motioned to Joe. “Well, don't just stand there, boy, tell her. Explain! Show her you care!”

Ashley's laugh revealed her thoughts, and he knew exactly what she was thinking, remembering. And the relief on her face that things had been interrupted before they could make love completely made his heart ache.

He stepped forward, deliberately placing himself in smacking range again. Then waited until she stopped glaring at Wilson long enough to focus on him. “I didn't hurt Josie. I swear to you, Ashley, I didn't.”

Her eyes filled with tears once more. “The
police and your prison record say differently,” she choked out before she turned and stomped from the room. “Get your stuff and get out of my house before I do what he asked and call him to come get you.”

 

A
SHLEY RAN UPSTAIRS
and plucked Max from his crib. She held him close, Josie's image in her head. That image changed to a tiny casket and she shuddered in fear. Max protested her hold with a whimper.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry. Mommy didn't know.”

She paced the floor of her bedroom, unable to sit still, then peeked outside to make sure the hall was clear before hurrying down the stairs and out the door with Max in her arms.

How could she have been so stupid? She'd identified Joe as a bad boy as soon as he'd walked into her kitchen, confirmed it when she'd commented on his tattoo and he'd admitted to being in prison, and yet she'd allowed Wilson to wave away her concerns over his references and Joe to— Well, to charm her with his quiet manners and haunted good looks.

Murder.

Murder.
Hal York had explained it all. But what had really shocked her beyond Joe's act of shaking his baby girl to
death,
earning a manslaughter charge, was learning Josie's mother was none other
than Melissa York. There was a connection she'd never have otherwise put together. Joe and Melissa.

She moaned and used one hand to wipe away the annoying tears trickling down her cheeks. Her heart ached for the woman. To have been so young, practically a baby herself, when she'd lost her little girl. And now cancer? Sometimes life just didn't make sense.

Ashley raised her head and groaned when she discovered she'd walked to the shed. Memories bombarded her. Joe's touch, his whispered words, the revealing look on his face as he'd climaxed.

It was a conspiracy. Everyone knew about Joe, about what was going on. Everyone but her.

Joe was packing now, would be gone soon. Then what? With Joe gone the repairs on her house would stop, but who cared? Max would be safe.

From a man who said he didn't do it?

“Every criminal says they didn't do it,” she mumbled to Max, moving to the dock. She sat down and placed Max on her lap, remembering how she'd lain awake last night dreaming of Joe making love to her.

“Oh, Max, didn't I learn anything from watching the delinquents going in and out of the home? They lied. They cheated. They did whatever it took to stay one step ahead of the game. Joe's no different.”

Or maybe he's telling the truth.

She shook her head, glad that Max was content with simply being outdoors, since she was doing well to breathe on her own after everything she'd learned. Ashley pressed her palm to her pounding head while Max gurgled out a long line of gibberish.

Josie.

How could anyone hurt a child like that?

Something cold brushed her arm and she turned with a gasp to find the stray mutt staring at them, mouth open, its body hunched low as though unsure of its welcome.

She fought her panic and eyed the dog's big, sharp teeth, concentrated instead on its wagging tail. That was a good thing. Right?

She grabbed Max's hand when he reached out for the animal. “Max, no!” The dog's ears quirked up at her voice and his head lowered even more. “Go on. Go away!”

The dog hunched lower, its stomach nearly dragging the deck.

“I'm not in the mood for you today, dog, so go.”

It whimpered pitifully.

“Go! Go on,
go!
” She turned her back to the dog and made sure Max kept his hands to himself. She didn't think the dog was harmful, but who knew? She hadn't thought Joe was harmful, either.

The dog whimpered again and its nails scratched along the planks. She glanced over her
shoulder and found sad brown eyes watching her from where it lay. She turned back to the water, to the trees, and tried to find the peace this spot had always brought her before.

Before Joe. Before falling in love. Before learning she was a lousy judge of character.

Scratch, scratch.

Ashley glanced back and saw the dog crawl until it was close enough to press its cold doggy nose against her leg. When she didn't say anything, its gaze flicked to hers briefly before it released another whimper and belly-scooted another inch or two. This time it had the nerve to lay its head alongside her knee, near Max.