Man with a Past (4 page)

She shook her head firmly. “No,
I'm
sorry. I'm just so sorry. If I could only change—”

“What?” he murmured. “None of us knew. I'm a lawman and didn't suspect Joe could do something like that. But it'll be all right.
Everything
will be all right,” he soothed, even though they both knew good and well it could go either way. Just like it had with her mother.

Please, God, please don't take her, too.

Hal pulled his daughter into his arms and held her for a while, rocked her back and forth on the bed like he had when she was little and she'd had a bad dream.

After a bit Mel pulled herself together and he kissed the top of her head, then gently pushed her away from him with his hands at her shoulders. Once she relaxed against her pillow, he grabbed a tissue from the box by her bed and handed it to her.

“Dry your eyes and blow your nose. I'm going to go heat up some of those dumplings for us.”

She did as she was told, sniffling. Silent. But he could see her mind working. See her remembering. “No more worries, Mel. I'll take care of Joe Brody.”

Because if he ever comes near you again, I'll kill him myself.

 

O
NCE THE WORST
of the water was off the floor, Ashley continued to mop and dry the aged wood while Joe got to work under the sink. He welcomed the task since it gave him the opportunity to distance himself from his memories of Josie.

He knew he should speak up then and there, tell Ashley the truth before she found out some other way, but something held him back. Maybe it was the expression on the old man's face that warned him to remain quiet until they could finish their conversation. Maybe it was the fear of losing the only job someone had been willing to give him.

Or maybe it was Max himself.

Joe shifted beneath the sink, the damp towels beneath his back bunching at his neck as Max's and Josie's faces blended.

Josie had been younger than Max when she died. Only two months, and so tiny since she'd been born premature, but in Max's face he saw his little girl. Big, soulful eyes surrounded by a sweetness and innocence that drew him in and reminded him of all the good in the world.

“Do you, um, need anything?”

The wrench slipped from his fingers and landed in the center of his chest with a painful thud.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Joe angled his head until he could see Ashley's anxious face outside the cabinet. “No problem. It's hard to keep a good grip when it's wet.”

He thought he heard her mutter “Don't I know it” under her breath. She hesitated, then squatted down next to his hips as he lay with his head and upper body under the sink. His blood heated, began to pool where it had no business, but her nearness and the image of her in the wet T-shirt flashed through his mind and obliterated all attempt at control. Where was her husband?

She must be the one in charge of restoring the house, but he wouldn't be having such a difficult time if he could see them together.

“You look like you know what you're doing.”

“No.” He caught himself, and smiled wryly. “I mean, yes, I do—and no, thanks, I don't need anything.”

Her tongue swept out over her full lower lip and drew his gaze there. Wet, moist, she had lips made to be kissed. Sort of like that actress Angel or Angeline. What was her name?

“It's past lunch time. Nearly two-thirty. You want to take a break and eat a sandwich?”

His stomach rumbled at the suggestion, but that reaction was nothing compared to what he felt when she smiled at his loud response.

Get a grip, Brody. Don't screw this up by fantasizing about your boss. Your
married
boss.

“Mayonnaise or mustard?”

“Mustard.”

“You makin' lunch, missy?” Wilson called from
the room located off the kitchen. “Gonna starve that boy, if not.”

“Lunch is coming, Wilson, just be patient.”

Joe returned her smile with a tense one of his own. “He's a hoot.”

“Yeah, he is. He sort of came with the house, and now I don't know what I'd do without him.”

Joe took the opening she presented. “He's related to your husband?”

Another small shake of her head. “No.”

Ashley Cade didn't offer up any more information than asked, much the same as he'd learned to do while behind bars. But the comparison made him question her past and wonder what experiences had created the need to keep to herself.

“Wilson's sort of an adopted grandfather. We broke down as we drove through town and Wilson helped us out. Long story short, he found out I wanted to open a B and B and we've been here ever since.”

“But…he's still living here.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, he is. That was part of the deal. In exchange for selling us the house dirt cheap, we agreed to let him stay as long as he was able to care for himself.”

He raised a brow. “And when he got hurt?”

“You mean his hip?” She waved a hand in the general direction of the living room. “Oh, that's no big deal. He'll be back to normal in a few weeks.”

He stared at her, curious. No big deal? It certainly was to some. How many people would care for an elderly man who wasn't a relative? She might keep to herself, but Ashley Cade had a soft heart.

He shifted beneath the cabinet, guilt plaguing him. “What about your other plans? Where were you going when you broke down?”

Another shrug. “Mac and I always wanted to get out of the city and raise a family someplace quiet. Taylorsville is as good as any other Mayberry.”

Mayberry. The remark alone said a lot. She obviously had preconceived notions of small towns. A lot of people did. Small towns were great. Filled with folks with big hearts and generous souls.

But small towns were also filled with problems, and it was hard to start a life, or rebuild one, when everybody thought they knew your business better than you.

“I'll go get those sandwiches.”

She stood and from his position beneath the cabinet, Joe watched as she walked away. Unable to help himself, he stared, appreciating the slow sway of her hips until she left his line of vision.

Where was her husband?

Joe clenched his jaw. It was none of his business. Ashley's T-shirt said it all. She wasn't a clingy woman who depended on her husband to take care of things at the house.

He shook his head at his wandering thoughts,
and got back to work gluing and reattaching the pipes. Once everything was in place, he got out from beneath the cabinet.

“I'll let that set for a bit while I eat and then test it,” he informed her as he got to his feet.

Ashley whirled around, her eyes widening comically as she took in the kitchen's now spotlessly clean and dry floor.

A smile tugged at his lips. “Don't worry. I'll keep the pressure low until I know for sure it'll hold. That way there'll be no more floods.”

“Oh.”

A guilty expression played across her face and made him wonder if she'd caused the flood by blasting the pressure.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I knew that.” She hesitated briefly before she returned to making the sandwiches, waving the mustard-covered butter knife in his direction. “You can use the baby wipes over there to wash up since there's no water. And there's antibacterial gel, too, if you can't get the gunk off.”

Her words prompted a glance down at his hands. Grime and glue coated his fingers and despite his unwillingness to use the items, he walked over to the container and opened the lid.

Memories bombarded him as the scent of baby powder filled the air. Lost in thought, he pulled out several wipes, his mind spiraling back in time to im
possibly soft skin and sweet baby noises. The papery sound of diapers. Gurgles and trusting little eyes.

God help him, he missed her. And he hated himself for letting Josie down. For not being the father he should've been when she needed him most.

“Here you go.”

Joe punched the pop-up lid closed with a snap and tossed the now shredded towelettes in the wastebasket sitting on the counter out of flood range. He inhaled the baby-scented air and found Ashley holding a loaded plate with two sandwiches, chips and a slice of pickle on the side. He stared at it, his appetite gone even though he'd been starving minutes earlier.

“I hope turkey is all right. I'll make you something else if you like, but I've got to warn you all I have at the moment is bologna.”

“Turkey's fine.” He reached for the plate.

“Iced tea?”

He nodded again and she hurried to pull a glass from a nearby cabinet.

“Wilson, you want a tray?”

“No, missy, I'm a-coming.” Wilson appeared in the doorway, his knuckles white as he gripped his walker for the next step. Distracted, Ashley poured the tea and handed the nearly full glass to Joe, frowning as she watched the old man's progress. “You've been up a lot today. Better take it easy or you'll pay for it tomorrow.”

Wilson ignored her and continued on into the room. “Max is playing with a chew thing and drooling all over hisself. Never seen a youngun water so much. He's gettin' fussy, too.”

“I hope that tooth comes in soon,” she said as she quickly loaded a second plate with food. “And it's his lunchtime. Maybe he'll settle down with a bottle and take a nice long nap.”

She hurried around Wilson and placed the plate on the kitchen table before pulling out the closest chair for the old man to sit down. That done, she hurried back to get another glass of tea.

“Here's your iced tea and, please, go easy on the sugar. I've already warmed a bottle, so I'll feed Max and try to get him to sleep while you two eat.” Ashley grabbed a bottle from the counter next to the stove and disappeared into the living room as her son's fussy whimpers turned into full-fledged cries.

“Always running somewhere, that one. Get that sink done?”

Joe pulled out the chair next to Wilson and sat down. “It's drying. Should be set by the time I finish this,” he said, picking up one of his sandwiches. “What's next on the list of repairs?”

Wilson shrugged. “Gotta ask Ashley that. She's got a list a mile long.”

Joe glanced at the empty doorway and cleared his throat, careful to keep his voice low. “Look, I
don't mind helping out, but as far as this job goes…I don't like keeping secrets. Especially one as big as my record.”

Wilson pursed his lips and nodded sadly. “Guess the evidence was right then,” he drawled. “You killed that baby girl.”

“I
DIDN'T
,” J
OE
Countered forcefully.

Wilson pointed a gnarled finger at him as he nodded. “That's what I wanted to hear. And I never said you couldn't tell her, boy. But I'd wait and let her get to know you and have something else to go by before you go spillin' your guts about why you were behind bars.”

Joe stared down at his plate.

“Got some friends left in town, you know. Buried more than I care to think about, but a friend called to check on me while you were under that sink. Heard all about you getting turned down when you went looking for a job this mornin'. You tell Ashley now and you'll be out of here so fast your head'll spin.” His rheumy eyes narrowed. “Whether I believe you or not.”

Joe took a drink of tea only to find it bitter. He set the glass down and watched as Wilson scooped spoon after spoon of sugar into his.

“I know I'm the topic of conversation today,” Joe murmured, “so Ashley will know soon enough.
I'd rather it came from me. What's going to happen when her husband shows up for dinner and finds me here after hearing the news in town when he stops for gas or something?”

Wilson dipped his spoon into the tea and began to stir the syrupy liquid, giving Joe his chance at adding a little sugar to his own glass.

“Well, now, if he did show up, it'd be as an angel.”

He stilled. “Come again?”

“Her husband's dead. Got killed before she found out she was pregnant. One of our first boys to go join his Maker in Iraq.”

Joe's empathy for her loss warred with a surge of relief and protectiveness. She wasn't married.

But she still wore her wedding band.

Which meant…what? That she still loved her husband? Wasn't finished mourning him? Wasn't interested in anything but finishing her house?

It didn't matter. Regardless of who told her the truth, Ashley would know about his record eventually and then he'd be out of her life. Long before he ever got the chance to get to know her. He cursed softly.

“Every swear word costs money in this house,” Wilson informed him. “Ashley don't want Max repeating 'em since he's startin' to talk so she came up with something called a swear jar.” He leaned forward. “I say plenty when the boy ain't around to hear 'cause it pays for the good stuff.”

Almost afraid to ask, Joe frowned. “Good stuff?”

The old man glanced behind him to the room beyond, his gray head cocked to an angle. From within the living room, he heard Ashley talk to her son as though reading him a story.

The husky, happy sound touched a place in him long buried.

Wilson waved a hand and motioned Joe closer. “You know—good stuff. Cookies, ice cream. Popcorn. Once a month she empties the jar and buys treats with it, but when they're gone they're gone and we don't get no more until next time.” Wilson shook his head and shot Joe an nettled look. “She's a stubborn one. Says junk food rots the innards.”

Joe sat back in his chair with a chuckle. He finished off one sandwich and picked up the other. “I'll remember that.”

“Anything you partial to? Oreos? Little Debbies? I like ginger snaps myself. With vanilla ice cream and caramel syrup on top.”

Still smiling, Joe shook his head as he finished off his second sandwich and drank the last of his tea. He gathered up his dirty dishes and carried them to the sink. “Whatever you like is fine. Anything's good when you haven't had it for such a long time.”

Anything
was
good after being confined so long. New and different. Everything tasted better,
had more color. Smelled good. Things had changed while he'd been incarcerated and the limited access with the outside world he'd had at the halfway house and working on the various job sites hadn't prepared him for everything.

Like the grocery store where he'd tried to get a job to help stock. It was huge, one of those new super stores versus the little mom-and-pop places that had been around when he'd been sentenced.

And the latest style of clothes? He'd seen teenagers in belly-revealing shirts that gave new meaning to the word skimpy. Piercings in places he cringed just thinking about.

Then there was Ashley Cade and her son.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for being out of prison a day and suddenly finding himself under the same roof as the mother and child.

 

A
SHLEY SMOOTHED
her fingers over her baby's soft forehead and simply enjoyed the peace that came with holding her son in her arms.

“What do you think, Max? Think we might've finally found someone to help us?”

Max blinked up at her, his little hand tapping the bottle.

“Guess we'll see, huh? We'd be pretty silly if we didn't give him a shot, but don't worry, I won't take any chances. No, I won't. Because this is our future and your daddy paid a high price for it.”

Max latched on to her finger where it held the bottle up for him and squeezed as though he understood her words, her sadness.

“I miss him, Max. He always knew how to make me smile, you know that?” She laughed, her memories sliding backward in time faster than she could adjust. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the rocker as she moved them to and fro. “Hmm, I stopped our story not long after your daddy came to the home to live, didn't I?

“Well, there was this girl. Her name was Sarah Peters and she was pretty and blond with pasty white skin and big blue eyes. Everyone talked about how quickly she'd be adopted in spite of her age. A family was coming who wanted to meet all the girls so they paired us up and took us into a room two at a time.” She made a face. “Yeah,
I
got Sarah. Lucky me, huh? So we were waiting outside when Sarah went on and on about how nobody would ever want me after they saw her. I got so mad and so upset I forgot all about the people wanting a little girl and pushed her down. Sarah made a ruckus and I knew I'd get in trouble so I left, which was exactly what she wanted.

“You know what happened next? Well, your daddy came after me. He looked right at me and said, ‘Get your butt back in there before you lose your chance at getting out of here.'” She smiled down at Max and earned a smile in return. Formula
leaked out of the side of his mouth and she caught it with the burp cloth covering his chest. She began rocking again.

“Then he wrapped his grubby, scrawny arm around me and kept yelling at me while he pulled me back inside. Boy, was he mad. Not because I'd pushed Sarah down but because I'd let her cause me to miss out on a chance at being adopted. Attitude is everything,” she said, mimicking Mac's tone. “Attitude is everything.”

She smoothed her forefinger over Max's dimpled knuckles. “I didn't know it then but now I think about that day and realize your daddy liked me. Because he cared enough to want me to be adopted even though he'd have been sad if I'd left.”

Max stared up at her, blinked drowsily in response.

“And even though your daddy's not here now to help us,” she continued as she pulled the now empty bottle out of his mouth and sat him up on her lap to burp, “we're going to succeed because that's what he'd want for us. That's right. He loved us so much and he'd want us to be happy, Max, so—”

A prickling sensation slid over her and she turned her head, startled to discover Joe stood in the doorway watching her, one shoulder propped against the casing. How long had he been there?

“Sorry. I didn't want to speak up and chance waking him,” he murmured.

“He's not asleep yet.”

Obviously uncomfortable, Joe glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen behind him. “Wilson ordered me in here because he said time was wasting and you'd want to be the one to show me around.”

Max let out a burp that rivaled a volcanic eruption, but more surprising was the sound of Joe's deep chuckle. What was it with guys and bodily functions?

“Good one, Max.” She kissed his cheek and neck a couple times as she carried him over to the crib. “Hopefully a full tummy and no sleep will make for a long nap.”

She lowered Max to the mattress and snuggled him up with his favorite stuffed toy and a light blanket, aware of Joe behind her in the doorway.

“There you go. Go to sleep, bugaboo.” She smoothed her hand over his head. “Behave for Grandpa Wilson and have good dreams.”

Ashley turned and faced her handyman with a self-conscious sigh. Back to business. “Okay, well,” she said, forcibly pulling herself from the past and her memories of Mac and focusing on the overwhelming job at hand, “the most important thing needing fixed is the roof. I'm sure you noticed the water spots in the kitchen? Once the roof's taken care of, the damage from the leaks needs to be repaired. I already know some of the Sheetrock will have to come down and I thought
while we're at it, the pipes and wiring should be checked out just to be safe. The other major job is updating the kitchen, but the rest of the house mostly needs only minor repairs. I've got a list already made up.”

With one last glance down at a sleepy Max, she crossed the room and ignored the way Joe seemed to jump back a step to get out of her path. In the kitchen she asked Wilson to keep an eye on Max and grabbed her ongoing list from a drawer.

“Thought maybe you might've at least fixed some pudding for dessert.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, Wilson. Maybe tonight.” She read over the list to remind herself of what all needed to be done while the old man grumbled about not getting his sweet tooth appeased.

She turned and reentered the living room. “Here's the list,” she said softly, noting Joe now stood over the crib. “I'm not sure where to start after the roof's fixed though. Maybe you can figure out a better order of things.”

When Joe didn't respond or step near, she looked up. “Joe?”

No response. Frowning, she edged a step or two to one side to get a better view of his face and gasped. He looked…pained.
Devastated?

She crossed the room in an instant and after seeing for certain Max was okay, she laid her hand on Joe's arm. He flinched.

“Is something wrong?”

He shrugged, his face pale. “No. Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed. “You're staring at Max like—”

The expression on Joe's face hardened to one of careful indifference. “Where did you get that crib?”

She looked down at where Max lay. His little mouth now moved rapidly in a sucking motion, his eyes closed. Just above him, on the head of the wooden crib, someone had painted an angel hovering over a sleeping baby, protecting and loving. Guarding. She liked to think the angel was Mac, watching over his son.

“I took it from one of the rooms,” she whispered. “The books said it's best if children have normalcy in their routine and with me working so much, I put Max in the crib here during the day so Wilson can keep an eye on him, and in his crib in the nursery at night.”

“The crib was part of my father's things. He made it for…me.”

“
Oh.”
She swallowed, uneasy. “I'm sorry. I thought it was Wilson's. He sold me the furnishings with the house and I didn't realize— He never said a word when I brought it in.”

“Forget it, it's fine. It's a beautiful piece of woodwork and it should be used.”

“Maybe with permission, but when you saw it you probably thought—”

“Forget it,” he repeated, his voice rough. “I was surprised, that's all. Where's that list?”

She held the paper out and without a word, Joe took it and walked away. He continued on into the kitchen and passed Wilson along the way. Ashley hesitated in case Wilson needed her help getting positioned in his recliner after being up on his feet so long, but once Wilson's slippered feet were propped up on the footrest, his clicker in his hand and his glasses perched on his nose, she told herself to quit stalling.

Joe stood looking outside the kitchen door, but he glanced over his shoulder at her as she entered the room, his expression closed and devoid of the many emotions she'd seen moments earlier.

“What rooms have water spots?”

“The far corner here in the kitchen. And also the bedroom above where the roof lines meet. I haven't seen any others, so hopefully the problems are confined even though the whole roof definitely needs to be replaced.”

He nodded, his hand on the screen door. “I'll go check it out. Those clouds rolling in don't look good so the rest of the list and tour will have to wait.”

“There are tarps in the truck, passenger side.”

Ashley watched him leave the house, antsy, uneasy, wanting to help. And wondering why a baby crib bothered Joe so much.

 

O
NCE HE'D CALMED DOWN
, Joe came to the realization it wasn't seeing the crib that had upset him—it was seeing Max
in
the crib.

One minute he was standing in the doorway waiting for Ashley to return and the next, he was staring down at the baby boy, frozen and panicked because he wasn't sure if Max had closed his eyes and fallen asleep—or stopped breathing.

So much for the CPR class he'd taken in prison.

Job or no job, staying here wasn't a good idea.

“Joe?”

Ashley's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned, surprised to find her balanced on the ladder instead of on the ground below.

“What can I do?”

He finished securing the tarp into place, all the while thinking there weren't many women in the world who'd climb up on top of a house in the midst of a brewing storm to help her hired help repair a roof.

“Nothing, get down!”

The wind whistled through the trees and grew stronger with every passing second. It had already sprinkled and thunder rumbled in the distance. There was such a charge to the air, Joe knew it was only a matter of time before the clouds really opened up.