Second Chance Hero (17 page)

But it was no use. She didn't find the sense of satisfaction and accomplishment she normally found when she worked on a hat. Instead, her thoughts turned to her own reprehensible lack of control. Ever since Mr. Cooper had appeared on the scene she hadn't been herself. She'd been acting impulsively and emotionally and without proper regard for consequences.

And look what it had gotten her.

She supposed she could understand why Mr. Cooper hadn't told her his history sooner—his idea of getting a fresh start probably included suppressing all traces of his past. Whether that was the ethical thing to do, however, seemed questionable.

If they hadn't kissed, would he have told her at all? Would she have been better off not knowing?

Because now he had turned her into a coconspirator in keeping his secret from everyone here, as well. Being the only one in town who knew his secret was...

She stilled.

No, that wasn't entirely true. Though Mr. Cooper hadn't said so, she knew there was one other person in Turnabout who had to already know of his past. The same man who had practically vouched for the newcomer to the rest of the townsfolk, who had, in fact, recruited Mr. Cooper for the church pianist job.

She set down her materials and began to forcefully roll down her sleeves.

Oh, yes, Adam Barr definitely had some explaining to do.

Chapter Sixteen

V
erity entered the bank and went directly to the manager's office. She'd taken a circuitous route so she could avoid passing in front of either Mr. Cooper's or Hazel's shop. Cowardly and perhaps a bit foolish of her, but there it was.

To her satisfaction, Mr. Barr was alone in his office.

He looked up when she tapped on his door frame and greeted her with a smile as he stood. “Mrs. Leggett, hello.”

She gave a stiff nod. “Mr. Barr.”

“Please have a seat and tell me what I can do for you today.”

She remained in the doorway. “Do you mind if I close the door first?”

There was a subtle shift in his expression from friend to businessman. “Not at all.”

He waited until she was seated, and then took his own seat behind his desk again. “Now, what's on your mind?”

“Mr. Cooper.”

His expression took on a wary aspect, as well it should.

“What about him?” he asked.

“He told me some troubling things about his past yesterday afternoon. I assume you are aware of where he's been for the past nine years and why.”

There was the barest flicker of surprise before he schooled his expression again. “I am.”

“And yet you said nothing.” She didn't bother to mask her disapproval.

He spread his hands. “It wasn't my story to tell.”

“Perhaps not.” Verity could feel all of her pent-up emotions starting to spill out, but felt helpless to stop it. “But, if I understand the sequence of events properly, it was you who encouraged him to move here, you who helped him get established, and you who convinced him to take Zella's place while she is out of town, even though you knew that it meant working with the children's program.”

“All of that is true. And I stand by all of it.” He gave her a steady, unapologetic look. “And I also stand by him.”

How could he say that?

He studied her for a heartbeat, then leaned forward. “Mrs. Leggett, I know what happened to your husband, so I know Nate's story was difficult for you to hear. But do you honestly believe he poses any kind of danger whatsoever to the children, or to anyone in Turnabout for that matter?”

She shifted in her seat. “Not directly. Not deliberately.”

He spread his hands. “Then?”

“These are
children
, children I have some responsibility for. What if they learn to trust him, to...to care for him? And then later they learn the truth about who he is.” To feel betrayal, as she had.

He raised a brow at that. “Who he is?”

She waved a hand impatiently. “A bank robber, of course.”

“That's what he
did
. It's not who he
is
.”

His matter-of-fact tone and steady gaze were making her feel defensive. “You're splitting hairs.”

“I disagree. Those are two very different things.” He leaned back in his chair. “But, be that as it may, if it's the children's sensibilities you're worried about, it's been my experience that children might give the adults they encounter a token respect, but they only give their trust—and their hearts—to those who deserve it.”

He held her gaze. “And for that matter, how would anyone else ever find out the truth, unless Nate himself chooses to tell them?”

She heard the underlying question in his tone and stiffened. “They won't hear it from me.”

“Nor will they hear it from me. As I said, it's his story to tell, when and if he chooses to do so.” Then his expression softened slightly. “You say Nate told you what he did. Did he tell you
why
he did it?”

The question caught her by surprise. “No, but surely you don't believe the end justifies the means? You, of all people, should have a stronger sense of justice than that.” In addition to managing the bank, Mr. Barr was a lawyer.

“No, but the kind of man that you know in your heart that Nate is, the kind of man who would set aside his own safety to rescue a child in danger, must have had a powerful motive to take such a step, don't you think?”

She winced at this not-so-subtle reminder of what she owed Nate.

But he had one more question for her. “Don't you believe in second chances, Mrs. Leggett? In leaving ultimate justice in God's hands, and in obeying His directive to forgive one another?”

“Of course. I just...” Verity let her words trail off, not sure how to finish the statement.

Then she stood. “Thank you, Mr. Barr. You've given me a lot to think about.”

He stood, as well. “You're welcome.” His gaze held a note of sympathy. “Despite what he did, Nate's a good man. I think if you'd just talk to him and give him a chance to explain, you'd agree with that, as well.”

Verity nodded noncommittally, then made her way home at a slower, more deliberate pace than she'd used on her earlier march to Mr. Barr's office. She mulled over everything he'd said to her. Was he right? Would Nate's explanation of
why
he'd robbed that bank change her mind about him? She certainly wanted to believe she hadn't been
entirely
wrong about the sort of man he was.

Perhaps knowing the full story would bring her some peace with all that had happened. And she did owe him that chance.

But in her heart she knew that understanding his motives might help her look more kindly on him, might even heal their friendship, but it would never be enough to bring them back to that sweet, we-belong-together bond they'd shared ever so briefly.

That part of their relationship was dead before it had really had an opportunity to set down roots in their hearts.

And that made her ache deep inside for what might have been.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Verity took a deep, bracing breath and walked into Nate's saddle shop. When he looked up she saw the surprise in his eyes, quickly followed by a strange mix of hope and wariness.

It seemed a reflection of how she herself was feeling.

Nate set down his tools but didn't rise. “Can I help you?” His tone was guardedly polite. Not unexpected.

Beans had popped up from his nap beneath the worktable and was now staring up at her with a tail-wagging welcome.

She bent down to pat the dog and tried to keep her tone equally businesslike. “Aunt Betty made a cobbler with some of the dewberries we picked yesterday.”

“I'm glad they served her purpose.”

“Since you didn't take any of the berries for yourself, she wanted to make certain you got some of the cobbler.” She straightened and lifted the basket she was carrying. “I have it right here.”

“That was very generous of your aunt. Please tell her thank you for me.”

“Of course.” He was certainly not making this easy for her. “Where would you like me to set this?”

He waved to the counter. “Right there, if you don't mind.”

She crossed the room and carefully placed it just so on the counter. She could feel his gaze on her the entire time. Did she have the courage to go through with this?

She turned and met his gaze.

“Did you come here just to deliver the cobbler?” he asked softly.

“No.”

“Then what?”

She tightened her lips a moment, then leaned back against the counter. “It's a nice day. I thought, if you were ready to take a break, we could go for a walk.”

This time there was no mistaking the flicker of hope in his expression.

Before he could say anything, she clarified, “It would give us an opportunity to talk without interruption.”

For a moment Nate just sat there, studying her face, as if trying to read something there. Then he nodded. “Very well.” He stood and reached behind him to untie the leather apron he wore. His movements were calm and deliberate, but she once more had that sense of tension simmering below the surface.

Nate hung the apron on a peg, then moved around the table to open the door for her. She was very careful not to brush against him as she passed.

He started to follow her out and then paused. “Do you mind if Beans joins us?”

“Not at all.”

The silence between them held as they left the shop. He let her take the lead and she headed for the churchyard. As before, she led him through the entrance to the cemetery and around to the bench beside the oak.

Nate remained standing. Beans took the opportunity to sniff around what was obviously new territory to him.

While she was still trying to figure out how to start, Nate spoke up. “If this is about my continuing to work with the choir or the children, then I will make it easy—”

“That's not what I want to talk about.” Was that a flicker of relief she saw in his face?

“Then what?”

She sat up straighter, determined to see this through no matter what. “I have two questions for you.”

He seemed to brace himself. “All right. Ask.”

“First—did you bring a gun with you when you robbed that bank?”

He clenched his jaw, but he nodded. “I did.”

Her spirits dropped. How could he? Whether he intended to harm anyone or not, just by bringing a weapon to—

“But it wasn't loaded.”

“Oh.” Did that make it better? She wasn't sure.

“What's your second question?”

His tone was brusque. Was he in a hurry to get this over with, too?

She tilted her chin up. “I want to know why.”

His guarded expression wavered for a moment, then returned. “Why?”

“Why did you rob that bank?”

A bitter smile twisted his lips. “Does it matter? You're not someone who believes that the ends justify the means, are you?”

Almost the exact same question she'd asked Mr. Barr. “No. But I want to understand. And the only way I can do that is to hear the whole story, complete with your reasons why.”

Would he open up to her? And if he did, would it truly change anything?

* * *

She wanted to understand.

Nate thought about that for a moment. Would it do him any good to go through that whole sordid tale again, or would it only stir up those old wounds and still leave her unmoved?

It hadn't been lost on him that she was wearing mourning attire again—that solid black skirt and a drab gray shirtwaist. That was undoubtedly his doing.

He supposed he owed her that small satisfaction she'd asked for, regardless of the cost. But where to start? He raked a hand through his hair, trying to decide how much to tell her, or more to the point, how much of himself to reveal to her.

“That question is going to take me a little longer to answer than the first.”

She shifted, as if settling more comfortably in her seat. “I have the time.”

Nate glanced toward the graves that held the remains of her parents. “The other day you told me how your parents died.” He had treasured the way she shared that part of herself with him. Would she feel even the tiniest bit of the same?

He turned back to meet her gaze. “Now I'll tell you about mine.”

Her eyes widened a bit at that, but she merely nodded.

“My family was well-to-do. Not wealthy, mind you, but we didn't lack for anything and were able to enjoy some of the finer things of life.” He hadn't realized just how good a life he'd had growing up, until he lost it.

“In addition to my parents, I had a sister, Susanna, who was two years younger than me. We were a relatively happy family, with a wide circle of friends.

“Then, when I was seventeen, my father made some disastrous financial investments and lost nearly everything we had. We were forced to sell our home and move to more modest quarters just to get by. We also let go all the servants except Leena, our housekeeper, who was elderly and almost part of the family. My mother, who always had a somewhat delicate disposition, not only had to take on more of the household work herself, but she cut herself off from many of the friends in her social circle.”

Verity folded her hands in her lap. “That must have been hard on all of you. But surely you don't mean you robbed a bank just to—”

“No, of course not.” He waved a hand impatiently. “We were getting by well enough, even if it was without the luxuries we'd grown so used to. But my father felt a great deal of shame over what had happened and, two months after we moved, he hung himself.”

He heard a small gasp and saw Verity's hand go to her throat. “Oh, Nate, I'm so sorry.”

He took some comfort in her soft tone and use of his given name. At least, for the moment, she wasn't looking at him with loathing.

But she was waiting for him to continue. He skipped over the part of the story where it had been he who found his father's body, he who had had to shield his mother and sister from the gruesome sight, he who had had to deal with all the nightmare of official inquiries and paperwork. “Afterward, my mother took to her bed, leaving me and Susanna to deal with the day-to-day household things as best we could. Six months later she passed away in her sleep.” It was Susanna who had found the body this time. He wished he could have spared her that at least.

“At the age of eighteen, I had sole responsibility for my sixteen-year-old sister, for Leena, who was staying to help even though we couldn't pay her, and for the upkeep of our home. All of that with no income and my only skill that of playing the piano.”

“Is that when—”

He shook his head. He'd still had his pride, even then. “I got a job playing piano at a music hall. It wasn't much, and it wasn't socially acceptable, but it was enough to keep us going.”

“That was resourceful of you.”

“I thought, if I could just keep us together and make do for a few years, perhaps I could find a good, decent husband for Susanna and a viable position for Leena, and then I could strike out on my own.”

“So what happened?” Sometime during the discussion she'd picked up Beans and now held him in her lap, stroking his back with gentle, even movements.