Keeping Cole's Promise. Cheryl Harper
will scare you less? If you tiptoe forward and deposit them on the bottom step or if I come down to get them?” Cole muttered. If she’d brought something else, like spinach, he’d have closed the door in her face. He avoided her at work. How dare she come here like this? “I’m not up for visitors.”
He wanted those cookies. He’d investigated all the cookies in the discount store’s bakery but walked away. There was no sense in spending good money on something that would disappoint him. The need for his grandmother’s sugar cookies would go unfulfilled.
Whatever Rebecca held might soften that blow.
“I have something to say to you.” Her voice broke on the last word, ruining her delivery. Rebecca’s shoulders squared off and her chin snapped up. “I am coming inside and you will listen. Then I will give you the cookies.”
Whatever mental pep talk she’d given herself must have been powerful. The teacher voice was enough to make his lips twitch. Instead of breathy nerves, this time he could hear steel and no-nonsense “do what I say or you will regret it, mister.”
She was good at faking confidence. He had to admire that in anyone.
Cole stepped out of the doorway and did a courtly sweep of his hand. “I wouldn’t dare argue with that tone or the boss’s boss.” Then he raised both hands and backed slowly into the living room.
He watched her face carefully, certain he’d see distaste or dismay. Seeing how the other half survived would be good for her.
Rebecca’s march didn’t slow down until she was standing in the center of his grandmother’s tiny kitchen. She did a measured spin to take it all in and then slid the tin on the empty counter.
“I used to have the same refrigerator.” When she met his stare, her lips flattened. “Put your hands down. I’m not here to rob you.” The small flush that bloomed in her cheeks the second she realized she’d said “rob” to a would-be robber should have been satisfying. But it made her blue eyes brighter.
“Of course not. Nothing here to steal.” Cole lowered both hands. “But I don’t want to scratch my chin and scare you into screaming bloody murder.”
Rebecca crossed both arms over her chest.
“Especially when you might have dropped the cookies.”
Her eyes met his, and some of the grim determination on her face faded.
“You don’t have a weapon, do you?” Cole asked. “If I sneeze, are you going to pull out a handgun and stand your ground?” He lowered his hands.
“Just cookies. A tin of cookies that I can toss out the door at any second.”
He wondered if she knew her shoulders were raised so high that they brushed her golden curls.
“Wasted home cooking. That would be a shame. I might actually cry.” Instead of sitting on the verge of tears like the biggest wimp in Texas. Whether it made him mad or sad, too much thinking brought out the worst in him.
That didn’t mean he was up for visitors, though.
“That almost sounds like the truth,” she said as she shifted from one foot to the other. “You haven’t even tasted them. What if I’m a terrible cook?”
“Frilly apron like that, I figure you must have some skill.” If he could still grin, he would have at the way her head snapped down to check if he was telling the truth.
“Great.” Rebecca closed her eyes. “Exactly the good impression I was hoping for.” She reached behind her to untie the apron, whip it off and fold it carefully before placing it on the counter. Her khakis were still spotless and the white shirt she was wearing was the same one she’d worn to the shelter. There was not one wrinkle in the cotton.
Millionaires probably had a staff dedicated to making sure they didn’t wrinkle.
Showering off the fish smell before he put on his new pair of shorts and one of the three clean T-shirts he owned had been all Cole could manage after the long day.
“Why are you here?” Cole asked. She still didn’t trust him. He wasn’t sure she realized she was leaning toward the door even as she did her best to pretend she was in control.
“I made cookies. I wanted you to have some. You’ve done such a good job this week.” Rebecca clasped both hands in front of her. Her eyes darted to meet his before she returned to studying the linoleum.
“That’s what you came to say? Good job?” No way. Cole knew better.
“This is me making amends. For...when you came in to apply for the job. It’s clear you were the best man for the position.” She smiled. “And I’m welcoming you to Holly Heights.”
And now she was here to make herself feel better. With cookies and a frilly apron and spotless clothes and a superiority that she’d been born with.
Cole grunted. “Well, Your Highness, it’s difficult to express my gratitude for the effort. I have the job. No hard feelings.” He hadn’t done anything wrong, except talk over her and insist on an interview. She thought her expression of remorse was a big gesture, no doubt.
But she had a stubborn streak. She pressed her lips together. “Fine, I understand I have no reason to be so...”
“Afraid?” Cole said. He didn’t want to rehash his history, but curiosity was building. Where was she going with this?
“Right. My only excuse is that I had a...run-in with a student, ended up with his hands around my throat. When you came in that day, it surprised me—”
Cole held up a hand. “I get it. First rule of prison life is not to sneak around behind a man. Good way to get hurt.” And even when he’d made his presence known, Stitch, his cell mate, had reacted violently when Cole caught him off guard. Fight or flight was powerful, especially when a person’s only choice was fight.
“Except this isn’t prison. You weren’t sneaking. And there was no reason to...” Rebecca pursed her lips. “Freak out.”
“I respect fear.” Cole shrugged. “Better than most, I get being afraid. And I should never have put my hands on you.” He had no explanation for why he had except desperation. This soft, sweet woman wouldn’t understand desperation. “The kid. What happened?” Why was he asking? The situation had zero to do with him. He wasn’t getting involved with anyone, much less her.
“He realized the mistake he was making, I think.” Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut. “He might be your neighbor. When I drove up, I’m sure it was Eric standing under the basketball goal.”
“Ah, another reason to shake like you were about to meet with a serial killer when you opened your car door.” Cole shoved aside the curtain to look out the window. The same three kids who’d loitered under the goal almost every night that week were in their usual spot. “Don’t know them, but they spend a lot of time right there. Days and nights.” He didn’t add that that was where all his trouble started. The plan to steal his grandmother’s station wagon for a joyride had hatched right there and ended with a long walk to town and his grandmother having to pay a tow truck to pull it out of the mud. His first taste of alcohol had been under that goal.
Ricky Martinez had shown him the handgun he’d “borrowed” from his stepfather there, too.
Maybe he shouldn’t have felt the wave of nostalgia for the goal. The kids might be better off if he knocked it down.
“I haven’t seen him at school since that day.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t it occur to me that he hadn’t been there since then? It’s been more than a week.”
“Seems like that would be a relief.” Cole let the curtains drop. A weak breeze lifted the fabric before it settled. “Just like me avoiding you was my gift to you. Accept it and move on instead of invading my space with a peace offering I can’t refuse.” He shrugged.