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Flynn caught sight of the wedding band on her right hand and raised an eyebrow.
“My husband, Terry, was killed in Iraq three years ago.” Saying it no longer brought tears to her eyes, just the memory of a nameless marine with bad news and a stoic expression.
Someday she’d put the thin band of white gold and its small, princess-cut diamond away. She’d tried a few times, but could only move it as far as her right hand.
“Becca, I appreciate you coming by. But you know as well as I do...” Flynn seemed determined. “I have to interview other candidates.”
She knew, but she’d hoped—
“Nonsense.” Edwin frowned with both sides of his mouth now. “She’s a war widow. It’s my duty to help her.”
“Grandpa Ed, let me take care of this.” Flynn edged the walker closer to his grandfather, dismissing her.
Because she wasn’t sweet or loveable or trustworthy.
* * *
“I LIKE HER,” Grandpa Ed said once Flynn had him settled in his recliner in the living room. “Hire her.”
“Slow down.” Flynn opened the ancient gold brocade living-room curtains, letting in the afternoon sunlight. It did nothing to cheer him. Instead, it aggravated the sledgehammer-like pounding in his head. He’d seen something familiar in Becca’s expression. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, not while he was preoccupied with his grandfather.
“I like her,” his grandfather reiterated.
“It’s time for your pills and to check your blood sugar.” Flynn changed the subject, ignoring the light blinking on the answering machine. It was most likely the usual messages from Grandpa Ed’s friends in town—help with a leaky faucet or something heavy that needed lifting. He’d become a go-to resource for the locals.
Flynn rummaged through the bag of medicine and paraphernalia they’d brought home from the hospital, searching for his grandfather’s pill box and the flap that said Sunday lunch.
As he did all this, his mind flashed to the past, to a time without worry. To warm nights out on the back porch overlooking the Harmony River, while Grandpa Ed regaled him and his friends with stories of loyalty, honor and espionage.
How he longed for those days.
Flynn and his business partners had made millions in the dot-com world, but money couldn’t buy health or happiness. Not for an eighty-year-old man with advanced heart disease.
“Why not hire her?”
“Because.” Because people had tried taking advantage of Flynn’s wealth already. He’d had to change his cell phone number twice and Grandpa Ed’s home number. There’d been too many calls from out-of-the-woodwork entrepreneurs and college buddies wanting to manage, or rather, spend his money. Not to mention the temporary reconciliation with his mother. She disappeared after he’d written her a check. Only his ex-con father hadn’t shown up for a handout. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll call Agnes later. She’s the one who recommended Becca.”
“And then we’ll hire her.” Grandpa Ed sounded as if it was a done deal.
But there was something about Becca MacKenzie that poked at Flynn’s subconscious. He could see how his grandfather might be charmed by her warm smile and heart-shaped face. He could see how a man could be distracted by her sleek curves and ribbons of long black hair. But he’d been caught by something in her walnut-brown gaze. Something he had yet to identify. Something that was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar.
“Knock, knock.” Slade Jennings, Flynn’s friend and one of his business partners, opened the screen door. “There’s the big man.” Slade crossed the living room and shook Edwin’s hand, looking as if it was casual Friday in his black slacks, button-down shirt and yellow paisley tie. That was just the way the financial guru presented himself, even on weekends. “How’re you feeling?”
Grandpa Ed’s smile looked sad. “I’ve been better.”
Flynn handed his grandfather two pills and a bottle of water. “He’ll get better.” He had to.
Grandpa Ed had raised Flynn since he was eight. That was the year his father had gone to prison for armed robbery. The year his mother decided she’d needed a new start in life, one that didn’t include a son who looked exactly like his criminal father. The year Flynn learned that no matter what he did, his grandfather wouldn’t leave him on someone else’s doorstep.
If only Flynn had proven how much that meant to him before this, taken Grandpa Ed on the trip of his dreams to the cities and countries where the old man had made a name for himself in the intelligence community, instead of postponing the trip year after year while Flynn made his fortune.
“I picked up the bed.” Slade smoothed his tie. “Are you ready to move it?”
Grandpa Ed turned questioning eyes toward Flynn.
“I ordered a new bed for you.” One with rails and adjustable positions to keep the swelling in his extremities down.
Years of his grandfather’s military service appeared in the form of stiff shoulders and a commanding tone. “My bed is fine. Just because you’ve made a lot of money doesn’t mean you need to spend it on me.”
The pounding in Flynn’s head intensified. He exchanged a frustrated look with Slade. “I didn’t buy you a hospital bed as a homecoming present. It’s what the doctor ordered. If you don’t manage your edema, you’ll go into congestive heart failure.” And die.
Grandpa Ed’s weakened state from a fall a year ago plus the trifecta of diabetes, high blood pressure and high cholesterol had already tried to shut down his heart twice. The doctors didn’t think he’d survive any heart procedures or live to see Labor Day, less than two months away.
“Oh,” Grandpa Ed settled back down. “In that case, you can put the new bed next to mine. I don’t want my bed moved out.”
Impossible. “There’s no room in there for two beds.”
Grandpa Ed reached for the remote. “Slade, take it back.”
“And while you’re at it, Slade, take my grandfather and drop him off at the nearest hospital. He’s going to need it.” Flynn glared at his grandfather.
His grandfather glared back.
Flynn belatedly remembered stress could end things permanently for Grandpa Ed, as Slade backed slowly toward the door.
“Oh, all right.” Grandpa Ed shook the remote at Flynn. “But don’t you get rid of my bed. I’m going to need it when I get better.”
Slade walked down the hall. “That’s the spirit, Edwin.”
His grandfather had spirit all right and he showed it to them. He showed it when they brought in a new recliner, one that helped him stand and sit. Unnecessary, he maintained. He showed it as they rearranged the furniture so he could navigate the house in his walker. Not how his wife wanted it, he declared.
At one point, Flynn pulled Slade into the kitchen, needing to vent. “Months spent trying to convince Harmony Valley that change is good and I can’t even get my grandfather to accept little changes in his own house!” Ones that would help keep him healthy and safe and alive.
“He’s been in charge most of his life.” Slade peered through the kitchen archway at Edwin, who was snoring almost as loudly as the television news droned on. “This has to be hard.”
It felt harder on Flynn.
“It’s only short-term,” Slade reminded him. “A little change to his diet, a little physical therapy, and he’s back on his feet, right?”
Flynn couldn’t look Slade in the eye as he mumbled, “Right.” He’d made his grandfather a promise—no one else would know the end was near.
As the job candidates started showing up, his grandfather found something objectionable in each one.
“I want Becca,” he’d say as soon as one left.
And Flynn would always reply, “Keep an open mind. The agency stands behind their staff.” He had no idea who stood behind Becca, other than Agnes, who was on the town council.
“I should be allowed to choose,” Grandpa Ed wheezed after the last interview, clearly spent. “She’s not going to be wiping your bottom.”
“And on that note—” Slade gathered the paperwork they’d been reviewing “—I’m outta here.”
After Slade left, Flynn counted ten sledgehammer strikes in his head before speaking. “I’ll ask Becca to come by for an interview tomorrow, after the last interview we have from the agency.” But when Flynn dialed the number on her résumé, it rolled directly to voice mail—not surprising given Harmony Valley didn’t have cell service yet. Just as he was about to leave a message, the house phone rang.
The phone didn’t stop ringing until nine o’clock, as nearly every Harmony Valley resident, of which there weren’t many, wanted to talk to Grandpa Ed and welcome him back.
By then it was too late to call Agnes and ask her about Becca.
CHAPTER TWO
EARLY MONDAY MORNING, Becca stared through the window into what used to be the ice cream parlor on the northern corner of Harmony Valley’s town square. The metal dipping freezers stood empty and forsaken. Cobweb streamers dangled from the ceiling. Most other stores on Main Street were just as deserted and decaying inside.
She rested her head against the cool glass and rubbed her chest.
Abby stood on her hind legs to peer into the store. She dropped to all fours and looked at Becca expectantly, as if asking what they were still doing in Harmony Valley.
“I was hoping, girl.” Hoping that some of her childhood faith in the world and the world’s faith in her would be renewed. Hoping that Flynn’s grandfather would prevail and change Flynn’s mind about the job. That she’d receive a call from them last night or first thing this morning. That maybe this time things would work out.
One thing she definitely was not looking for was love. She’d given up on happily-ever-afters once she’d cast her husband’s ashes into the ocean. She was destined to be alone. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t fill her heart temporarily by caring for someone in need. She’d gotten good at smiling through the loneliness, at saying goodbye and letting go.
Since she’d parked in Agnes’s driveway again last night, she’d checked with Agnes as soon as she was sure she was up. No call came. No second chance presented itself. It was time to stop hoping. Time to figure out how to pick up the pieces of her life elsewhere.
At the south end of town a parade of trucks made the same turn onto a side street. Utility trucks, beat-up work trucks, construction workers with orange coolers strapped to their truck beds. They lined up as if they’d been at the same coffee shop and had left at the same time for the eight o’clock whistle.
Curiosity set Becca’s feet in motion.
The trucks parked up and down a long, freshly graveled drive leading to what looked like an abandoned farm. Men clustered about, finishing their coffee and adjusting tool belts. Their laughter lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of green growth.
Both sides of the driveway were bordered with palm trees some misguided soul had planted half a century earlier out of misplaced grandeur. Palm trees had no business in Sonoma County. As if to prove the point, hundreds of lush rows of grapevines flanked the palms, nearly crowding them out.
This must be where Flynn and his partners were building their winery.
The driveway branched at the end. To the right a white, two-story, craftsman-style home that had seen better days squatted. The porch sagged and windows were broken. To the left stood a large, red, prairie-style barn with winglike additions on either side, covered in a tin corrugated roof dappled with rust.
The instantly recognizable Cadillac was parked in front of the weary-looking house. Edwin sat in the passenger seat, head tilted back, snoring, an unopened bottle of water clutched in his puffy hand.
A rocket of exasperated anger launched from her toes to her fingertips, roaring through her ears.
Life was precious. Didn’t Flynn know that?
She spun around quickly, almost tripping over Abby.
Flynn and his red hair were easy to spot. He was talking to a group of men in front of the barn. He held his lean frame confidently in the crowd, unconcerned that his wrinkled gray T-shirt looked like it had sat in a dryer for days. His grandfather wasn’t the only one who needed looking after.
Flynn did a double-take when he saw her bearing down on him.
If she had any chance of landing the job, she had to be diplomatic and squelch the niggling man-to-woman awareness Flynn created.
Squelching awareness was easy. Unfortunately, diplomacy wasn’t in her arsenal this morning.
Becca planted herself so close to Flynn, he could have heard her whisper. Instead, she chose her outdoor voice. “This is how you plan to take care of your grandfather? By leaving him sitting in a car at a construction site?”
Sensing the turbulence above her, Abby lowered her head between her shoulders.
Scowling, Flynn drew her aside. “There’s a problem here I need to deal with.”
“We solved that. You should have left thirty minutes ago.” A tall man with crisp black hair and a crisper dress shirt and tie had followed them toward the barn. He extended his hand. “I’m Slade Jennings. One of Flynn’s business partners. And you are...”
“Becca MacKenzie,” Flynn said wearily.
Covering her surprise that Flynn had remembered her name, Becca shook Slade’s hand and added, “I’m not a stalker. I’m staying in town.” She blew out a breath, trying to release her anger. “I noticed Edwin’s edema yesterday. He needs his extremities frequently elevated above his heart to help control the swelling. This isn’t good for him.”
“You’re the one Edwin was asking about.” Slade smoothed his navy striped tie and smiled just as smoothly at her, creating not a niggle in her awareness meter. “Weren’t you going to call her to set up an interview, Flynn?”
“The day got away from me,” Flynn said, looking uncomfortably like it was true and happened often. “Are you free around two, Becca? I’ll be done by then.”
Becca shook her head. Flynn didn’t understand that old bodies weren’t as hardy as young ones. She could kiss this job goodbye. Her lawyer was going to be disappointed. But someone had to defend Edwin. “Give me your keys.”
“What?” Flynn’s eyebrows nearly touched the brim of his baseball cap.
Slade watched the two of them with unabashed interest and a hint of a grin.
Becca thrust her hand out. “I’ll take Edwin home. Give me the keys.”
“I’m not hiring you, Becca. I haven’t checked your references.”
“This isn’t about giving me a job. It’s about what’s best for your grandfather. I can’t let him sit out here without food or a decent bathroom. I won’t charge you a cent, I promise. Now, give me the keys.”
“Are you always this bossy?” Flynn dug into his jeans pocket for the keys and handed them to her. He was kind of cute when he capitulated, not that she was looking for that in a boss.
“I prefer the term take charge.” She accented the label with air quotes.
“Okay, but just...don’t get comfortable.”
“I know, I know. You have to interview everyone and check into my past.” Becca had no illusions about getting the job if Flynn did a deep background check. It was enough that she could help Edwin through the day.
She hurried toward the black Cadillac, Abby trotting at her side. When she opened the door, Abby hopped up to sit on the bench seat next to the old man, touching him with her nose.
Edwin startled, bumping into the other door. “Oh, it’s you.” He scanned the area, wariness framing his gaze.
“Yes. Who were you expecting?”
“I saw someone I hadn’t seen...” He blinked at her. “Where are we?”
“Flynn’s winery. I’m taking you home.”
“Oh. Flynn hired you.” In a blink, he tucked wariness away, patted Abby and injected cheer into his voice. “I knew that boy would come to his senses.”
She didn’t tell him that boy had no sense, at least not when it came to taking care of his grandfather. When it came to hiring a caregiver, he had entirely too much.
