Summer Kisses

by Melinda Curtis

  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 wh
o 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.

  * * *

  “YOU SHOULD HIRE HER.”

  Flynn stared at Slade as if his friend had just suggested he wear high heels and a thong to the construction site. “Hello? She was waiting for us on our doorstep yesterday. I can think of a dozen slasher movies that started that way. How can I trust her with my grandfather?”

  Slade cocked an eyebrow. “You just did.”

  “I hate it when you’re right.” Flynn hated that Becca was right, too.

  She’d moved with swift, purposeful strides over to the Caddy. All’s well, said the sway of her hips. Mission accomplished, said the swing of her long, black braid. All woman, said the curves covered in black and pink spandex.

  The wind picked up, rustling the silver-green eucalyptus leaves on the sixty-foot tall trees separating the river from the vineyards.

  A wiry construction worker with a gray goatee and ponytail glanced Flynn’s way, triggering the elusive feeling of familiarity.

  Slade shifted, blocking Flynn’s view and disrupting the path to recognition. “Hire Becca. She clearly has Edwin’s best interest at heart. And if she moves here she brings skills to the town we don’t have now. We promised to increase the population and the tax base.”

  The population in Harmony Valley was a whopping seventy-seven. All but two of those residents—their business partner, Will, and his fiancé, Emma—were over the age of sixty-five. The construction crews commuted from other, larger towns, the nearest being thirty to forty minutes away. Flynn and Slade were temporary residents, staying only long enough to fulfill their promise to the town council—to create at least one business to revitalize their hometown.

  What fools they’d been to think it would be easy.

  They’d experienced a series of false starts, but now, construction on the winery was finally moving forward. Also in the works was a communications tower to bring internet and cell phone service to the remote valley. Today was the first big day of work—demo of unusable parts of the barn, utility work needed to upgrade water, sewer and electricity.

  Grandpa Ed waved as Becca drove the Caddy slowly around the drive.

  Flynn returned the gesture halfheartedly. “I brought him here because I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

  There had been indignation in Becca’s dark gaze today, with none of the subtle emotion he had yet to name layered in her eyes. Regardless, Becca was right. Flynn shouldn’t have dragged his grandfather out here, much less left him sitting. As if he needed more guilt.

  Guilt greeted Flynn when he awoke every morning, sat on his chest all day and wove through his dreams at night. Guilt that he wasn’t doing enough, guilt that he wasn’t home enough, guilt that he’d put off doing things with his grandfather until it was too late. If he could just speed up construction on the winery, he’d take his grandfather on the trip of his life. The doctors said Edwin needed a few weeks to regain his balance and what little strength he had left before attempting anything so taxing.

  After the Caddy disappeared, a faded green Buick appeared between the palms, carrying three occupants—all councilwomen. They might just as well have been doctors, coming to chart his progress and, if required, give him a dose of medicine.

  He walked across the driveway to meet them, determined to avoid their daily meds.

  When the car stopped, he leaned down next to the open passenger-side window. With a nod to each woman, “Agnes. Rose. Mildred.” Flynn reached for his easiest smile. “Ladies, we’re no longer open to visitors. This is a construction zone now.”

  “We won’t be in the way parked here.” Agnes, a gray-haired pixie who also served as the aging group’s ringleader, turned off the ignition.

  “We’re old.” From the passenger seat, Mildred squinted at him through lenses as thick as a hard drive. “We won’t get out. You can tell us what’s going on from here.”

  “Actually, I came to see the workers with their shirts off,” Rose piped up fr
om the backseat, her snowy ballerina bun windblown. “For efficiency’s sake, you can call them out while you give us a construction update and then we’ll be gone.”

  “Rose,” Agnes scolded, her papery thin cheeks pinkening. “We are not here to ogle men.”

  Flynn’s jaw ticked, tugging one end of his smile down. “Ladies, I have nothing new to report since yesterday. You’ll need to move along. We’re expecting delivery of a Dumpster.” And they were parked right in its path.

  “Young man, our town has a lot riding on this venture.” Rose drew herself up regally, as if she’d already forgotten her shirtless desires. “As councilwomen, we need to be kept abreast of the activities here.”

  “I assure you—” as he and his partners had been for months “—that we have kept you up-to-date. But not only is it not safe here, my contractor won’t allow nonessential personnel on-site.”

  The three elderly ladies looked crestfallen.

  Flynn bent, just a little. “You can park out on Jefferson Street.”

  “I can’t see anything that far away,” Rose grumbled.

  “We can go home and get our binoculars,” Agnes suggested.

  “Brilliant.” Mildred patted his hand. “We’ll talk later.”

  That’s what he was afraid of.

  Agnes reached for the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. “Flynn, before we go, I’d like to put a vote of confidence forward about Becca MacKenzie. She’s a wonderful woman.”

  “She knows all the songs from Guys and Dolls. And she can shake her bootie,” Rose, the Broadway musical enthusiast, added.

  “Any girl who can drive stick shift is okay in my book.” Mildred patted his hand again. “You won’t make a mistake by hiring her.”

  Flynn doubted that. Becca had her secrets and worse: he liked her looks, her smile, her chutzpah. “How long have you known her?”

  Agnes’s smile stiffened. Rebooted. “I only met her Friday, but she stayed with me all weekend.”