Out of the Ashes Read online

  "Once we get you inside, you need to ice it down and stay off your leg. I'd avoid stairs if possible."

  Thank God for small favors. "It's a one-story house." That—would likely appear to be a cluttered mess in her eyes. Shannon McCarty had already learned far more about him than he would ever know of her. But, it couldn't be helped. At twenty, recovering from the accident that had destroyed his leg, Curt had been forced to adapt to accepting help. At nearly twenty-two, the trial had been worse. His personal life—what little he'd experienced up to that point—had become public fodder. The weed in the car. The mysterious, fleeing girlfriend. The sweet, grandmotherly librarian he'd recklessly killed. By twenty-four, he was an ex-con with no friends remaining from the years preceding the accident. He was alone and used to being that way.

  "I can get you situated if you'd like." She glanced his way.

  He tried to remember when he'd last cleaned the house. Or shopped for food.

  "If you know where they are, I can dig out your crutches and brace so you don't have to move after I leave."

  Curt nodded, suspecting she'd likely steamroll over him if he tried to stop her. For now, he needed her help. "Thanks. I appreciate you driving me home. I'm sorry to make you go out of your way." Once he was in the brace, he could move around at will. The brace, though clunky, was effective. Until then, he was at the mercy of a shredded ACL and what remained of his tortured muscles.

  "It's no problem. I'm glad to help." She drummed restless fingers against the wheel. "I'm living with my sister until I find a job, so . . . I'm fine with going home late."

  "Tight space?" Shifting closer to the window, the cool breeze ruffled his hair, drying his clammy skin. If Shannon hadn't come along, he'd probably still be sitting on a bench in a dark, deserted parking lot, wondering what the hell to do.

  "Well—it's Brookline, so it's expensive. I live in her sitting room," she confessed. "Which is slightly larger than a closet. Not that I'm complaining." She smothered a laugh. "I'm truly grateful, but the sooner I can move out, the better. Her boyfriend is starting to get that look-"

  He mustered enough energy to lift his head. "What look?"

  "You know—that 'three's a crowd' look?"

  Curt smiled. Her honesty was refreshing. "I guess now might be a good time to offer you the job?" Her ponytail swished when she jerked her head toward him.

  "Really?" Her smile spread across her face, lighting her features in a way that made his pain subside for a moment as he enjoyed it.

  "I was going to call you tomorrow." After suggesting a salary, Curt spent the next few miles defending his position as Shannon haggled. He was chuckling by the time he agreed to a slightly higher amount. She was definitely not afraid to speak her mind. "When can you start?"

  "How about tomorrow," she suggested. "I'll have to spend a few hours with my patient, Mr. Sleighton on Thursday, to give the office time to reassign another nurse, but we could get a jump on training if I start tomorrow."

  He nodded. It was better than he'd hoped. By choosing Shannon, he could spend nearly four weeks training her before his surgery. In that time, she'd easily learn the office routine and whatever else he could manage to teach her so she could hold down the fort while he was gone. With his foreman, Felix managing the field operations and Shannon running the office, he just might have a business to return to after the surgery.

  CURTIS FORSYTHE WAS a mess. Or—at least, his house was. Shannon surveyed the kitchen with dismay as she rummaged for an icepack. The crutches had thankfully been exactly where he'd thought they might be—in a hall closet. She'd opened it carefully, fully expecting to be buried by a landslide of items tumbling from it. Instead, she'd been pleasantly surprised to find it neat and orderly.

  Taking a moment to peruse the room, Shannon re-evaluated. Not exactly a mess. His house was just—unloved. In fact, it bordered on utilitarian. The only clutter to be found was in the stack of mail tossed haphazardly on a counter. But, it cried out for cleaning. "Like his office," she muttered. A little elbow grease and his house had the strong potential for cute.

  She couldn't believe her luck. For a change—it was good. By landing the job, she'd accomplished a month's worth of goals in only a day. Any job would've been great, but this job in particular- She was officially working for the enemy. Now—she was in his house. Helping him. The blast of cold air from his freezer made her pause. Scooping ice into the pouch, she questioned her plan. What exactly, was she doing here? Why was she helping him? When she'd spent so many years despising him.

  "Did you find it?" Curt's voice from the living room disrupted her thoughts.

  "I've got it. I'll be right in." Thus far, Curtis hadn't turned out to be anything like what she'd imagined. He was . . . funny. Smart. Passionate about his business. Realistic about his limitations. Absently, she closed the freezer door. She'd expected to find the man she'd learned to hate. The selfish, surly twenty-year-old she'd witnessed at the trial. He'd been emotionless. Appearing not to care about his own life any more than the one he'd stolen. The boy/man who'd destroyed her family. Though Shannon hadn't realized it at the time, her grandmother had been the thread holding the dysfunctional McCarty quilt together—the threadbare, patched-up fabric of her unraveling family.

  Returning to the living room, she found him propped up in a scarred, leather chair, his eyes closed to the artificial brightness of the overhead light. A sheen of blond stubble gleamed across his cheekbones. Thick lashes fluttered down over fatigued eyes. He looked worn down by the pain. Snapping off the overhead light, she switched on a lamp near his chair. When he winced, she experienced a surge of compassion for him. "You okay?"

  "It's been a long day."

  "Take these." When his eyes fluttered open, she handed him three ibuprofen. Though they likely wouldn't make a dent in his pain, they could take the edge off. He'd propped his bad leg up on a foot stool. At least he was following orders. She'd helped him strap a heavy-looking post-op brace around his leg. Clearly a remnant from a past surgery. She wondered how many he'd endured in the thirteen years since the accident.

  "Thank you for everything tonight." Curt downed a sip of water before accepting the icepack from her and positioning it on his knee.

  "No problem. Thanks for the job."

  "No problem." He mimicked with a rueful smile. "Can I ask for one more favor before you leave?"

  Shannon sank down on the couch near his chair. "Of course. What do you need?"

  His expression chagrined, he hesitated. "I never had dinner tonight. I can't believe I'm going to ask this, but . . . I'm really starving. Could you bring me a jar of peanut butter and the crackers from the pantry?"

  She hesitated. "Is that what you'd like to eat?"

  "Since it's nearly eleven, and I've held you up for over an hour—yes. That's what I want."

  "I could make you something." She would've been blind to miss the flare of hope in his eyes.

  "No—thank you."

  Ignoring the admonishment from her brain, Shannon didn't analyze why she wanted to help him. Curtis just seemed so alone. So isolated. And so used to being that way. "I don't suppose you'd care for some of that pasta on the backseat of my car? Unless the smell turned you off earlier."

  He sat up straighter in the chair, causing the leather to creak. "Seriously? I would kill for real food. But—are you sure? It's not too late?"

  Clearly, he was feeling a little better. Rising from the couch, she smiled. "I was going to heat it up when I got home anyway. I'm sure my sister and Theo would be happier if I don't stink up her kitchen with garlic at midnight."

  "Theo's the boyfriend?"

  "Yeah. He and my sister, Kerry have been together about four months. He seems pretty much perfect for her. If I can just manage to stay out of their way."

  "Out of curiosity, how is he perfect?"

  It was a million little hints. "He's—attentive to Kerry." Maybe even overly so—if there was such a thing. Biting her lip, she hesitated. "He's though
tful-" Not so much to her—but he appeared to be with her sister. "He seems able to overlook her . . . moods-" A huge plus, in her opinion.

  Curtis grinned. "I'm sensing you'd like to substitute another word for moods."

  She dropped her gaze, knowing her face was heating. "I can't say bad things about my sister—especially when I'm living with her for free." She threw her ponytail over her shoulder. "You know how everyone has their little flaws?" When he nodded, she continued. "Stuff that annoys most people—but your friends accept because they love you."

  "I guess."

  "I've noticed Theo doesn't get bothered. Like—because it's Kerry, he doesn't even notice her annoying habits." Digging in her bag, she surfaced with her car keys. "And she's got tons of them, believe me."

  He smiled. "And you don't?"

  "Oh, no," she corrected. "I already warned you, I have plenty." Crossing the room, she headed for the front door. "I'll be right back. It shouldn't take any time to reheat it. Prepare to be amazed," she said over her shoulder. "My mother's spaghetti is worth everything I have to endure to get it."

  Fifteen minutes later, she was dining on reheated pasta off TV trays in Curt's living room. With a baseball game on television for a backdrop, Shannon was enjoying herself. If this had been a date, she would be hoping for a second one.

  Holding his stomach, Curt grinned. "That was the best meal I've eaten in a month."

  "That was starvation talking." She slid the TV tray away, careful to avoid his leg. "I'm just glad I didn't take it all home."

  "Why? It was delicious."

  She shot him a look. "Because there's a good chance I would've eaten all of it myself."

  "I'm surprised you'd admit that." He chuckled. "I thought nurses ate healthy. Tofu. Quinoa. Green tea."

  "I try to eat healthy most of the time," she admitted. "But, I don't go in for all the trendy stuff." She took his plate, heading for the kitchen. "Since I like eating so much, I make up for it by running."

  "I like that philosophy." His admission drifted to her at the sink. "Eat what you want and work out hard. You look good."

  His glance was admiring when she returned with ice to replenish his pack. Shannon knew her cheeks had grown warm by the knowing smile he gave her. Sometimes, she wished she was less easy to read. But, 'mysterious' had never been one of the skills she'd ever mastered. "Thank you."

  Between the mountain of pasta he'd inhaled and the effect of the ibuprofen kicking in, Curt was downright charming. And despite his obvious pain, despite his weariness, he was so damned attractive. Those glacier blue eyes. When they weren't bleak with pain, they were mesmerizing. Shannon felt a sharp needle of guilt over the admission. How could she be so shallow? I'm sorry, Gram.

  "As much as I'm dreading it—in a way, I can't wait for the surgery to be over," he confessed. "I can concentrate on the PT and work to regain my strength. I can't imagine what it will feel like to have two good knees for a change."

  "It's your ACL?"

  "And MCL . . . a few shredded muscles." He shrugged. "Who knows what they'll find this time. My surgeon has been in there so many times, I'm not sure there's anything left to work with."

  "How many surgeries?" Mentally crossing her fingers, Shannon wondered if he would answer. She wanted so badly to ask questions. How’d you injure your leg? If only to see the expression on his face as he offered explanation. But, she was also afraid. Instead of discovering something crucial about him, she might reveal her own secrets. The timing would be critical. He needed to trust her. Only then, would she have any hope for the truth.

  "This will be my fifth." The gleam in his eyes seemed to wink out. "The first was thirteen years ago . . . after a car accident."

  "I'm sorry." It was all she could manage to squeak out around the sudden thundering of her heartbeat. Was she really prepared for this? Could she go the distance if he started talking about the accident? What if he . . . changed the details? What if he- She swallowed. What if he blamed Gram? How would she react if he twisted history to suit himself? "W-what happened?"

  "I was twenty." Forsythe shook his head. "And stupid. I was reckless on a cold, icy night when I should have been cautious. With terrible results." He waved at his braced leg. "I was lucky. It's taken me several years to accept that."

  He was lucky? He'd taken a life, she wanted to scream. How was that lucky? Unsure what her eyes would reflect, Shannon kept her shocked gaze on the fireplace. "I'm sure the surgery will go well."

  "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

  "I'm fine. Like you said—it's been a long day." Risking a glance at him, she forced a smile." I should probably go. I'm starting a new job tomorrow, remember?"

  When he would have pushed up out of the chair, she stopped him. "Don't get up. You just got settled. I can see myself out."

  He nodded, his eyes scrutinizing her face a little more closely than before. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

  "Definitely. What time should I be there?"

  Curt hesitated. "I get there by six-thirty to get the crews scheduled, but I think I'd rather have you work more like an eight to five shift. That's when the phones are ringing the worst and the office gets traffic. Will that work for you?"

  Was it possible he was a good person? Who'd done a terrible thing? Had he matured from the careless twenty-year-old he'd been the night of the crash? Had the event truly changed him? Or was she allowing a killer smile and a solid job offer sway her? She didn't know him. He could very well be the same reckless person. It was her job to find out all she could about him. And then make her decision.

  "That will be fine," she agreed. "Your crutches are leaning against the couch. I'll lock the door on my way out."

  "Thank you for everything tonight." The appreciation in his tone had her pulse stuttering. How could she dislike him when he was so damned likeable?

  "I'm glad I could help." Avoiding his beautiful eyes, she waved over her shoulder. "See you in the morning." After diving into the deep end, Shannon was more confused than ever. Only time would prove whether she was in over her head.

  GRATEFUL TO GIVE UP the illusion of sleep when his alarm went off, Curt slid carefully out of bed, a fatigue hangover clouding his head. Tossing and turning all night had renewed the throbbing in his knee. Though it was tight and stiff this morning, he suspected his sleeplessness had little to do with his brace-encumbered leg.

  Crutching his way to the bathroom, he let the steam in the shower work magic on his aching limbs. The previous night had been hellish. Awkward. Embarrassing. Until the moment Shannon had shown up to the rescue. She'd taken a miserable, pain-filled situation and somehow made it better. Worse than pain, was the sensation of being helpless. Of needing someone. For anything. He despised his weakness. The constant reminder of all the ways he'd managed to screw up his life. Of how far he'd had to claw his way out of the nightmarish hole he'd dug for himself.

  His brother had taken adversity and pummeled it into strength. Travis had emerged from the vicious abuse of their childhood with his eyes on a prize. He'd run as far as he could from their mother and her parade of brutish father stand-ins. To college. To his own business. To love—with a crazy hot woman he adored. Now, he had a family he would do anything for. Travis had achieved a dream—unrecognizable from what they'd experienced as kids.

  "If only you'd been smart." He hadn't studied in school. Easily impressionable once his brother wasn't there to slap sense into him, he'd fallen in with a group of kids who, by default, had become his family. Hindsight revealed his new 'family' as little better than the mother he avoided. They were the wrong crowd in every way, but at that time in his life, he'd been blind to their faults—not that there'd been any adult in his life who’d cared enough to warn him against them.

  Grimacing as he hobbled from the shower, Curt acknowledged how vulnerable—how weak he felt before the cumbersome brace was safely strapped around his leg. He couldn't even be angry over the injury that had changed his life. He didn't have the right. Be
cause his stupidity had cost another person her life.

  Until the moment of the accident, his life had equaled the sum of a series of bad decisions. Bad crowd + bad grades + bad attitude had equaled trouble. His direction had been downhill. Aimless. A series of dead end jobs. A series of bad influence friends. Live-for-the- moment girlfriends who were ultimately as lost and floundering as he'd been. Topped off by recreational drugs on the rare occasions he could afford them. He and Cindy had been smoking weed the night of the accident.

  Glancing down, he stared at the crisscross of angry scars on his misshapen leg. Faded now, but soon to be joined by a whole new set. His penance. Pain. Weakness. Limitation. And unending guilt. Though his life since prison had grown exponentially better—Curt knew it could only ever be a stunted version of good. Because, no matter what he accomplished in the years to come—his capacity for happiness would forever be measured against the mistakes he'd made. The life he'd taken had crippled his own. Permanently.

  Scrubbing his hair with the towel, he avoided his reflection in the mirror. When the spiral of self-loathing kicked in, it was better not to look at himself. Today, he'd awakened with a renewed sense of guilt. Though it had resided in him for thirteen years—like the annoying friend who stays long after the party has ended—this morning was worse than usual. Curt suspected he knew why.

  It was Shannon. Her act of kindness. His mind replayed the previous night. Trapped on a park bench—completely out of ideas on how the hell he would make it back to his truck. Helpless. Wallowing in frustration over the hated weakness, yet resigned to the fate he'd dealt himself. Until Shannon had miraculously come along—calmly jumping in and taking charge. Though he was far more accustomed to handling issues on his own, the previous evening had been an unavoidable, yet pleasant change.