CHAPTER TEN
“YOU PUT YOURSELF and the baby in danger back there.” The steady notes in Duffy’s voice were missing, replaced by a sharp tension that filled the cab. “I told you to stay in the truck. It was dangerous.”
Duffy took a switchback too fast, sending Jessica’s shoulder banging against the door. She grabbed the handle above the window, almost wishing she’d driven down the mountain with the sheriff and Rutgar.
“Dangerous? An old man bleeding in his home?” Jessica’s derisive snort came out more like a choking cough. “My mom and I lived on the streets for two years. Rutgar didn’t scare me.” The lie didn’t fall easily from her lips. She’d been shaky on her feet, hiding out in the kitchen until she was sure the safety was on the shotgun.
But living rough had taught her you always hid your fear. She refused to admit it now. “I was annoyed with both of you.”
“So you said.” So much sarcasm. And disbelief. It was clear Duffy wasn’t buying any of her bravado.
She needed a comeback, but her brain was as empty as a candy dish after Halloween. She cracked her window and breathed deeply.
Duffy noticed. “You okay?”
“I’m tired,” Jess admitted. “And lately, when I get tired in the afternoon, I get pregnant brain.”
Duffy spared her a quick glance. “What does that mean?”
“I might not remember a word I want to use. Or I might gaze off in the distance like a space cadet. Or I might say something totally inappropriate.” Like admitting she appreciated the way he’d opened up to her about his family and Greg, or that she’d thought about kissing him.
She snuck a glance at Duffy. He had a strong profile. A few days ago, she would have said it was a stern, unforgiving profile. But now she knew better. A man who put up with neighbors like he did didn’t have a heart of ice.
He caught her looking, and gave her a tender smile. “Everything all right?”
Mouth suddenly dry, Jess snapped her attention ahead. The rain was relentless, the wipers on high. Everything was in frenzy mode, including her heart. “I need a drink.”
“That’s a joke, right?” Another switchback.
The baby protested the shift in inertia by stretching.
“I need...” Jess had just been thinking about what she wanted to drink. The word escaped her. And then the muscles in her stomach tensed in a wave that started near her hips and worked its way up to her lungs, locking down all coherent thought.
“A bathroom? A back rub? A martini?”
The practice contraction passed. “Water,” she gasped. “The word of the day is water.”
“So that’s pregnant brain.” There was a teasing note in Duffy’s voice. It was reassuring after the gun and blood and bodily fluids at Rutgar’s. “I can relate to afternoon shutdown. That’s when I have another cup of coffee.”
“Baby doesn’t like coffee.” Baby wanted another cup of Rose’s hot chocolate.
He smiled that tender smile again. The one that made her want to reach over and take his hand. “Why do you talk about your child as if Baby is its given name?”
“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.” She wasn’t going to tell him the entire truth: that she talked to her child because she’d been lonely. “And so instead of saying he or she, I call my little one Baby.”
Baby was fully awake, flapping elbows in her belly.
Duffy turned onto a straight and level street, and Jess breathed easier.
“You’re having a girl,” Duffy said with certainty.
“How do you know?” People made guesses about the sex of her child all the time. She was carrying Baby high, so it was a girl. She was carrying Baby far forward, so it was a boy. What was Duffy’s trick?
“If Greg was happy about becoming a father, it’d be because he could spoil his little princess.” It had to be the sweetest thing Duffy had ever said to her about Greg.
A thought dropped into Jessica’s brain. An awful thought. “I don’t think Greg knew about the baby. I don’t think I told him.”
“You don’t seem like the type to hold important information back.”
“I know, right?” The reason for her secret was there in front of her. Jess could feel the answer like a physical thing pulsing behind her eyes. And then another practice contraction hit and her brain went blank. “I don’t know. I just... I’m not sure.”
He spared her another glance, perhaps noticing her flushed cheeks. “Pregnant brain?”
“Pregnant brain, practice contraction, fatigue, dehydration.” The contraction eased. Jess wanted to collapse on a bed. “Did I mention fatigue?”
“We’ll get you some water in town.”
Minutes later, they pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office and got out in the rain. Jess sought shelter beneath a sidewalk awning, waiting for the men to help Rutgar out of the sheriff’s truck.
“I can walk,” Rutgar said, putting his boots on the ground before anyone was ready to help him. And then he startled, beefy arms tossing about for purchase. “Why is the ground spinning?”
“Look up,” Duffy shouted, rushing over to keep the old man from falling.
As they’d done on the mountain, Duffy and Sheriff Nate grabbed each other’s wrists and had Rutgar sit on their arms. They carried him into the sheriff’s office.
“No one needs to know about this.” Rutgar’s voice boomed as loud as thunder. He looked up at a gray-haired woman holding the sheriff’s door open. “Patti, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve got a doctor in Cloverdale ready to live chat on my phone.” She carried a backpack and wore a green scrub blouse over her blue jeans. “And I’ll be telling all my friends how far the mighty Norseman has fallen.”
As they carried him inside, Rutgar’s response was lost beneath the sound of the pelting rain.
Jess should go inside to find water, but she wasn’t keen on seeing any more blood or vomit.
Instead, she called Vera to give her a heads-up that she might be stuck in Harmony Valley more than a night or two.
“I told you to watch the weather report.” The bakery owner’s voice snapped with unexpected sharpness.
“I’m sorry,” Jess said. She knew missing work was Vera’s hot button. That’s why she’d wanted to give her advance warning.
Vera made a noise that was the equivalent of the verbal evil eye. “I told you when I hired you that I need reliable employees. Not people who get into car accidents and can’t work. Not people who need maternity leave.” Vera was sucking in air like a clogged vacuum. “This is only the beginning. First there will be weather. Then there will be a sick child. Then there will be a wedding and a honeymoon and more children!”
Jess refrained from pointing out that it was Vera who’d encouraged her to find a baby daddy or a sugar daddy—either of which might want to make an honest woman out of her. But the venom in Vera’s rant played into her pregnant brain’s malaise.
“How can I run a business like this? Huh? Huh?”
Jess kept her response calm and respectful. “I hope to be back in time for my shift Tuesday morning.”
“If you’re not...” Vera huffed and collected herself. “Be here.” She hung up.
Baby shuddered. Jess tended to agree.
Wanting to be alone, Jess walked away from the sheriff’s office, passing beneath several awnings atop old buildings adorned with quaint, old-fashioned gas lamps.
The space next to the sheriff’s office housed huge vats and wine barrels. Small block lettering on the large plate-glass window proclaimed it to be the Harmony Valley Vineyards wine cellar. The next space looked to have been an office of some kind. There was a lone metal desk. On the corner was a small bar, also abandoned. She turned and hurried along the side of the building and across the alley to the
next corner on Main Street. The wind picked up its pace and sent Duffy’s rain slicker flapping against her legs.
Main Street had more action. Across from her was an empty grocery store, but down the block a barbershop pole spun lazily. Mae’s Pretty Things sat across from the barber pole with quilts and afghans in the window. Next to it was a small restaurant called Giordano’s Mexican-Italian Café. El Rosal was at the far end of the block.
And then Jess reached the empty bakery. A hand-carved wooden sign hung above the door: Martin’s Bakery. Inside, there was a window seat and a collection of round and oblong tables. The chairs were wood, mismatched and stacked in a corner. Three feet of dark brown paneling was capped with a chair railing on the side wall. Three bakery cases made an L-shape in the space. A large chalkboard hung on the wall behind the register. It looked like the last daily special had been pumpkin scones.
But what kept catching Jessica’s gaze were the photos on the walls. She pressed her nose against the glass. Sepia or black-and-white, yellowed with age and dulled with dust. There were group photos and photos of women standing in front of the bakery in long dresses with aprons, holding parasols or babies or bread. The bakery had roots. Agnes had mentioned generations of bakers and here they were.
Jessica’s heart wrenched. She would have loved to have been a part of a large family with a business like this one. She longed for such history. For family traditions and favorite recipes. For the simple state of belonging.
A large black truck parked in front of the bakery. A man about Jessica’s age leaped out and ran through the rain to join her. His smile was as bright as his reddish-brown hair. “You must be Jessica. I’ve been looking for you. Give me a sec to text Slade.” His thumb flew over a fancy phone, and then he tucked it in the pocket of his gray hooded sweatshirt. “I’m Flynn, part-owner in the winery Duffy works for.”
Duffy’s boss? What did he want her for?
Jess wrapped the ends of Duffy’s yellow rain slicker around Baby, taking in the wet cuffs of Duffy’s sweatpants bagging at her ankles. For hours she’d been comfortable in the nonbinding clothing. She should have changed into her own clothes for the drive. Now she felt not like herself, a fraud. Or worse, someone guilty by association with Greg. Why else would this man be searching for her?
Had Greg stolen money from someone Flynn cared for? Was someone putting two and two together and incorrectly coming up with Jess as four? She took a step back.
“I was just looking.” She bit her lip to keep her mouth closed, determined not to say anything else lest she get Duffy in trouble.
“Nothing wrong with looking.” Flynn peered in the window. His voice held no hint as to why it was important to find her. “I remember grabbing a chocolate milk and apple fritter in here before school.”
“Breakfast of champions,” Jess blurted. That was the trouble with pregnant brain. You could be determined not to say something one minute and blurt out embarrassing things the next.
Flynn didn’t seem to mind. “My wife, Becca, thinks I turned out okay.” He grinned, giving her bulky midsection a sideways glance. “When Agnes called and told me about you, I didn’t think you’d be so...” He pointed at the baby.
“Pregnant?” Oh, pregnant brain. She wished she could flip a switch and go silent.
“Yeah.” His cheeks colored slightly. “I didn’t think you’d be quite so...”
“Large?” There was a time to beat around the bush and play coy, but now wasn’t it. If her being at the bakery put Duffy’s job at risk, Jess had to put things to rights. No games. “Duffy has nothing to do with my being here.” But she wished he were by her side. She could use his strength.
A silver Mercedes sedan parked next to Flynn’s truck. A man in a dress shirt and teal tie ran through the rain to join them beneath the awning. He looked as if he were running errands during his lunch hour from Wall Street. His black pants were crisply pressed. Platinum cuff links flashed at his wrists, along with what looked like a Rolex. Even his loafers were high quality.
He dresses like Greg.
Jessica’s stomach clenched. She put a hand on the glass for support as her suspicions seemed to be coming true.
Greg, what have you done?
“Really?” Flynn flipped the newcomer’s tie. “It’s Sunday.”
“This is a business meeting.” The well-dressed man turned to Jess and took her in with one sweep of his dark gaze. “Oh.”
Jess wanted to excuse herself and be sick. Instead, she swallowed back the sour taste of fear and said, “I don’t know what Greg did, but Duffy had nothing to do with it. And neither did I.” At least, not that she remembered. Jessica’s gaze bounced from one man to the other.
A gust of wind sent raindrops dancing at their feet. The men exchanged glances and a message Jess couldn’t decode.
“We don’t know any Greg.” Flynn produced a key. “Why don’t we talk inside?”
Jessica’s knees wobbled. “This isn’t about Duffy?” She swallowed. “Or Greg?”
“No. I’m Slade.” The man with the tie took her arm and led her inside. “Part-owner of the winery. We don’t know Greg.”
“He was Duffy’s twin and my... Anyway, it seems Greg wasn’t always on the up-and-up, but he’s gone now.” Pregnant brain strikes again.
“Say no more,” Slade murmured comfortingly. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”
They glanced around the bakery. It smelled musty, but also yeasty, confirming many loaves of bread had been made here. Despite the gray day outside, the bakery felt dry and cozy.
Jessica fought the urge to study the family portraits, to close her eyes and breathe in the smells and imagine she was part of it all, and that the place was hers. Instead, she squared her shoulders. “What does the winery have to do with me?”
“Have a seat.” Flynn had been dusting off chairs with his hand. He brought three to a small round table. “We’ll explain.”
Jessica was grateful of the sturdy chair legs, because her own had a hard-to-hide wobble. She hung Duffy’s rain slicker on the chair back. It dripped onto the wood floor.
Flynn straddled his chair, crossing his arms. His smile was more welcoming than a used-car salesman’s, not a point in his favor. “You may have noticed there aren’t many businesses in Harmony Valley. We’re trying to change that.”
“Bringing life back to the town.” Slade nodded, sitting and straightening his tie, as stiff as Flynn was loose.
“And we heard that you’re a baker.” Smiling kindly, Flynn gestured at the room. “What do you think of the place?”
She loved it. But that didn’t mean she’d forgotten about reality and what was practical. “I don’t have the money to open my own bakery.” For the first time, anger, not dismay, coursed through her veins at the thought of her lost savings.
“You don’t need much.” Slade leaned forward. Cosmopolitan guys like him were used to working with movers and shakers, not bakers. “The owner of this property, our mayor, is offering a special deal. Free rent and utilities for six months.”
Charity. Jessica’s anger danced through the doorway to resentment, strengthening her backbone. “I won’t be the town’s hard-luck case.” Although in Duffy’s sweats, she looked the part.
“If anyone’s in need of luck,” Slade said, smile fading, “it’s the town, not you.”
“There’s also an apartment upstairs.” Flynn’s smile was unfazed. “A studio, but it’s perfect for you and the baby. We’re willing to make sure the place is livable and everything would be move-in ready. Also rent-free for six months.”
Their smiles and kind words made Jess want to believe it was really happening to her, but who would invest in a pregnant woman wearing a man’s sweats and loosely laced sneakers?
“I don’t accept handouts. I was in the system too long.” At their looks of
confusion, she added crisply, “Foster care and government assistance. I make my own way now. I don’t need your charity.”
Flynn and Slade exchanged silent glances. Again, Jess wished she shared their codebook. So much was being spoken, yet she didn’t understand.
And then Slade changed. He sat up tall, leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. His face was no longer relaxed and welcoming, but intent. It may have been Sunday. They may have been sitting in a run-down bakery in remote Harmony Valley. She may look like she’d tumbled out of bed as she headed for the delivery room, but Slade looked as if he were taking a very important business meeting in New York with a very important person—her.
“We’re not making a special offer to you because you need it,” Slade said. “We need help here in town, not the other way around. For every business we get to open and every family we bring to Harmony Valley, it creates the need for another four jobs.”
“In theory,” Flynn said.
Slade waved off his business partner’s caveat. “Let’s say that you came to Harmony Valley and you thought, ‘Hey, there’s no bakery here, what a great opportunity.’”
Jessica’s nod was so tentative, the two men probably didn’t see it.
“You’d find out who owned this place and negotiate a lease,” Slade continued, as smoothly as the patter of rain outside.
On the wall over his shoulder, three generations of bakers stood framed behind the counter. There was room in that photo for another generation, for a slight woman with a passion for scones and cakes and....
Slade shifted back into Jessica’s line of vision. “You might negotiate a few months rent-free given the low demand for space in town.”
A photo of several women in long skirts standing in front of the bakery hung on the wall above Flynn’s head. One of the women held a baby. Jess nodded, firmly this time.
Slade leaned closer, spoke with more urgency. “You’d sign a lease. You might even apply for a small business loan or other government help.”
Baby kicked at being thought of as needing government help, causing Jess to jerk upright in her chair.
A Memory Away Page 9
