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It is him.
Relieved. She was so relieved. Jessica blinked at the man—Duffy—who she vaguely recalled and, at the same time, did not.
She’d practiced what to say on the hour-long drive up here from Santa Rosa. Ran through several scenarios. None of them had included him not recognizing her.
She should start at the beginning. Best not to scare him with hysterics and panicked accusations, of which she’d had five months to form.
Don’t raise your voice. Don’t cry. Don’t ask why.
And don’t lead the conversation with the elephant in the room.
Despite all the cautions and practicing and caveats, she drew a breath, and flung her hopes toward him as if he were her life preserver. “I think I’m your wife.”
* * *
DUFFY RELEASED THE woman’s hand as if he’d accidentally grabbed a rattlesnake. “I’m not married.” And he’d sure as hell remember if he had been.
“Or I was... Or I was your girlfriend...maybe?” She glanced down at her belly. Her very pregnant belly.
Holy in-need-of-a-handrail.
Duffy sat down heavily across from her, still chilled from the winter cold. Chilled now to the bone. “I haven’t... You couldn’t...” He swiped a hand over his face, very much aware that his boss was upstairs and the walls in the century-old house were very thin. “Who are you?”
“Jessica... Jess Aguirre.” There was a quiet beauty about her. Long dark hair, big dark eyes, a smooth olive-skin complexion. Many women shared her physical features. Few carried themselves with a combination of contained dignity and edge-of-her-seat intensity. “You...um...don’t know me?”
“You or your passenger.”
Reality was returning. He could see it in her face. Jessica seemed stricken that she wasn’t his significant other, but otherwise she appeared stable. She didn’t wield a knife, didn’t draw a gun, and she wasn’t screaming to high heaven that he should know who she was.
“But...you have to know me.” Jessica leaned over the table—or as far as she could with that baby bump—and whispered, “We’ve kissed and...” She glanced at her stomach.
And here Duffy had thought he’d taken care of all of his brother’s loose ends. “I’m not Greg.”
“Greg.” She murmured his brother’s name, then repeated it—stronger.
“My twin.” Duffy took out his wallet and handed her a picture he’d only recently started carrying—him and Greg before a Little League game.
She placed the photo on the table next to a crumpled newspaper clipping of the winery staff, her smile as soft as morning dew on a grape leaf. “Greg.” She said the name as if testing it with her tongue and finding it acceptable.
He felt compelled to explain. “We were identical.”
“Were?”
“He died nearly six months ago.”
“No.” She moved a hand to her belly.
“Struck by lightning.” Yes, there was a God. Although, “He was killed instantly and didn’t suffer.” Duffy was proud of the detached way he delivered the news. His brother had been a greedy piece of trash, which some siblings may have forgiven, but not when the target was Mom and Dad. “So if you’re looking for the man who did you wrong, it was him.” Duffy gazed out at the cold, dormant vineyard, which felt much like his heart. “My brother was no saint.”
“I don’t believe that.” She slid Duffy’s picture across the table. “Or you wouldn’t be carrying his photo.”
He wasn’t going to rehash the painful details of his life with this stranger. “Why are you here?”
Jessica closed her eyes. “I came looking for closure.”
“Did Greg steal from you?” The question had to be asked, and he didn’t hide the bitterness. Greg had taken every penny of their parents’ retirement fund. Luckily, Greg hadn’t spent it all before he died. “Did he promise you he’d love you until the end of time?”
“I... I... I can’t remember.”
* * *
HE WAS DEAD.
Whatever Jess had been expecting to find by coming here, it hadn’t been this.
He was dead.
Whoever Greg had been.
He was dead.
There’d be no tearful reunions, no admissions of mistakes, no offered apologies. How foolish she’d been to expect to show up here and find a man who loved her, one who’d fall to his knees as he held her hands and begged for forgiveness.
Sadness for Greg’s death mired her insides, more for her baby—who’d never know his or her father—than for the man she barely remembered. It seemed wrong somehow. The day. The news. The man she was left facing.
The baby kicked her ribs.
“What does that mean?” Duffy asked, pulling her back to the present. “You can’t remember.”
Flashes of memory shuttered in her head with every word Duffy uttered, every shrug of his shoulders, every nuanced flick of his brow. His face was austere, where Greg’s had been amiable. His eyes were care-lined where Greg’s had been carefree. And the clash of burgundy vest with a red-sleeved T-shirt? Greg would never have paired those two colors. Of that, she was certain.
“I was in a car accident five months ago.” Jessica dropped her gaze to her baby barge, needing to swallow twice before she could get more words out. “I have retrograde amnesia. I can remember growing up. I can remember how to make sugar cookies from scratch.” She swallowed again. “But I haven’t been able to remember anything about my baby’s father.” She couldn’t even remember whether they’d once been married or in love. “Not until I saw you.”
“So Greg’s the father?” Even Duffy’s voice was different. His words spoken slower. His tone deeper and filled with cynicism.
“I’m certain of it...now.” She took a drink of her once-hot tea, feeling as cold as the green beverage. How much should she tell Duffy? He wasn’t coming across as the most supportive listener. But what had she to lose by holding back? “You seem so familiar. I remember you kissing me—”
“Greg,” he inserted tersely, staring at her hard. Not only had Greg been unwelcome here, Jess was, as well.
She strengthened her voice. She’d lived too long without answers to walk away from his obstinacy. “I remember us—him and I—laughing.” It was hard to imagine her laughing with Duffy.
“Well, I’m glad he made someone happy.” He’d perfected that unforgiving look.
Greg, what did you do? “But...you were twins...brothers. You didn’t get along?”
“Greg would steal the belt from your waist if he could make a buck off it.” So much anger. It vibrated in the air between them, pressing her back as if he’d pushed her.
Snatches of images. Smiles and laughter. Tender touches and endearing words. She couldn’t believe Duffy’s opinion of Greg. Still, doubt crept up her throat, closing it off.
“Greg took all your money, didn’t he?”
So much weariness in his tone.
It weighed on Jess. She’d felt burdened for so long, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
It couldn’t have been Greg who’d taken her money. There’d been love between them. She just knew it. Every time she began to question it, a feeling of love would rise up. That feeling was conspicuously absent today. “I can’t prove he took anything.”
“Fess up. There’s something missing.” His gaze probed for the truth, but there was a reluctant slant to his eyes, as if he didn’t want to know.
I’m so sorry, Baby. Jessica’s hand drifted to her stomach. “The only thing I know is that a week before the accident, my bank account was drained.”
“He did it.” Duffy was maddeningly certain.
Jessica shook her head when instead she wanted to shake him. “I can’t be certain of that.”
“I am. I know my brother better than anyone.” His lips pinched upward at the corners, so tense she wouldn’t have called it a smile. “Twins, remember?”
She didn’t want to believe him. There were the recently remembered smiles and kisses.
Duffy stood. His gaze cut toward the door. His feet pointed that way, as well. “Sorry about the memory thing, but I need to get back to work.”
She should never have gotten her hopes up. She should have accepted that the father of her baby was gone and his family wouldn’t want anything to do with her. Being unwanted was her reality.
But something inside of her wouldn’t settle. Not this time. “Wait. Can I see you again?” At his frown, she rushed on. “I’ve recovered quite a bit today just by listening to you talk. For five months, I’ve had nothing.” Desperation seized her and squeezed. “Please. It’s important to me that I remember.”
His jaw worked. He didn’t look at Jess. Clearly, he didn’t want to see her again and be reminded of Greg. But his hesitation meant he wasn’t as cold and uncaring as he might want her to believe. That perhaps somewhere in that closed-off heart of his were memories of Greg he cherished.
Above them, the ceiling creaked.
“There’s no point.” But he didn’t leave or ask her to go.
Hope flooded her chest. “There is. There’s every point. Up until today, I couldn’t remember how I got pregnant. If I’d been abandoned by my husband or raped...” Steady, girl. She squared her shoulders. “I grew up without knowing my father, not even his name. All I’m asking for is a little of your time.”
“I know I’m going to regret this—”
“You won’t.” Jessica gathered her things, anxious to leave before he changed his mind.
“Come back Saturday at six. There’s a restaurant in town, El Rosal. I’ll be having dinner there.” She wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him because it sounded as if he’d added the words Whether you’re there or not.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_e65cfc1a-2650-5937-aca1-cc7360bbd0e7)
THE ONLY THING worse than finding out your brother had left a bun in the oven? Duffy’s new boss hearing all about it. At least Ryan, the assistant winemaker, was off today.
“Sorry for the lack of privacy. That was pretty heavy.” Christine stood in the doorway between the tasting room and the kitchen. “How are you doing?”
Duffy shrugged, watching Jessica walk to her car with carefully measured steps. She tugged the ends of her jacket, trying unsuccessfully to wrap them around her belly, hunching her shoulders against the cold.
So frail. So fragile. Duffy wanted to believe her.
She didn’t remember Greg? How was that possible?
Christine came to stand next to him. “I’m not sure how I’d react to knowing I was going to have a niece or nephew soon.”
I’m going to be an uncle.
Duffy hadn’t processed Jessica’s news in that light. He’d been blindsided by her presence and her pregnancy and her claims of amnesia. He supposed that as the child’s uncle, he had a responsibility—to be a fatherly influence since Greg wasn’t around, to teach the little tyke how to throw a ball and swing a bat, to make sure the kid had some money socked away for college.
Money?
Recently buried worries resurfaced in his gut, sour and unpleasant.
After Greg swindled their parents, Duffy had helped support them. Since Greg’s death, he’d sold and liquidated all his twin’s assets, and given everything to his mom and dad. He’d set them up in a senior living apartment complex, one that could help his mother take care of his wheelchair-bound father. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Duffy’s paycheck was his own. His weekends were his own. His life was his own. All because of the money Greg left behind.
Did Jessica and her baby deserve a share of Greg’s money?
Morals dictated he give Jessica something. But what if she was lying? What if she was exactly like Greg?
Jessica drove away in a dinged and dented four-door sedan. Everything about her said trust me. That’s how he’d felt about Greg, too.
His gut continued its churning. Duffy couldn’t shake off the feeling of being sucked back into a Greg-induced vortex of financial folly.
Trust Jessica? Give her money? She claimed she had amnesia. Greg would have told her that was a hard scam to sell. And Greg had been the king of con artists.
Christine glanced up at him. “You think she’s lying.” It wasn’t a question.
“You know how when you meet someone you give them the benefit of the doubt? How you trust what they tell you is the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You could never trust a word that came out of my brother’s mouth.” Duffy barely recognized his own voice. It was as thick with emotion as the day he’d learned of Greg’s death. “If she and Greg...”
“Don’t judge her so quickly,” Christine said. “If only for the baby’s sake.”
Duffy nodded, but the desire to convict outweighed the compulsion to trust.
Thankfully, Christine’s work ethic intruded. “You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to show me something.”
He had. “Let’s take a drive.” He needed a distraction and he needed to show Christine the extent of the threat on the hill.
The winery had recently purchased several small vineyards around town, ones that had been lying idle and untended for years. One of their properties was on the slopes of Parish Hill and might have a problem. As the winery’s newly hired and first-ever vineyard manager, it was Duffy’s responsibility to restore the vineyards to optimal production.
A few minutes later, Duffy drove them down Main Street. There was little traffic. With a population just reaching one hundred, and barely twenty of those residents below the age of sixty-five, there weren’t many cars around.
Nearly two decades ago, the largest employer in town had burned to the ground. Younger Harmony Valley residents had moved closer to civilization, leaving the town on the brink of extinction. And then three local boys made it big in the dot-com world, returned home to decompress and decided to save the town by starting a winery. The jury was still out on the saving part, but those employed at the winery were optimistic.
“It’s sad about Jessica, isn’t it?” Christine waved to the elderly barber, standing on scarecrow-like limbs in front of his shop.
“I suppose.” Duffy drove slowly around the town square with its ancient oak tree, and took the turn toward Parish Hill and its steep switchbacks.
