“That’s because I hear all the news from old ladies.” Grinning, Ryan didn’t flinch under Duffy’s angry reaction. He tugged another branch free of the tangled, downed mess. “I get it. None of my business.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s just that—”
“Ryan.” Duffy rocked back on his heels, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “It’s a long walk back to the winery from here.”
The younger man considered that for a moment and then nodded, dragging the tree limb out of the way.
Duffy’s phone rang.
Christine thanked him for helping at Rutgar’s. “Ask Ryan when we’re getting results from the lab on the Parish Hill samples we sent in.”
Duffy did. “He says by Friday.” At least one loose end would be tied up by then.
He hung up and finished lubricating the bar and chain. He was about to start the chain saw when his phone rang again.
It was Nate. “They’re sending Rutgar home on Friday.”
Duffy had a ship-sinking feeling he knew where this conversation was going.
“I’m due in court that day, otherwise I’d pick him up.” It was hard to get a bead on the sheriff. Was he annoyed? Stressed? He had one tone of voice: unflappable. “I’m not comfortable with one of the elderly residents bringing him home in case he’s still unsteady on his feet. So I talked to Christine and she said she could spare you to go get him.”
Duffy’s lower back twinged, the way it used to when his debts became too heavy.
* * *
THE WOMEN IN Harmony Valley talked about two things—their men and their grandchildren.
Lacking both, Eunice usually kept quiet when they gathered. But a strange thing happened after Jessica left town. Women asked Eunice about Jessica and Duffy. Two days after Jessica left, Eunice was running out of things to say.
She ignored the quilt she should have been redoing, and knocked on Duffy’s door before he left for work.
The little stray he’d adopted barked.
When he opened the door, she handed him a casserole dish.
“Is that for me?” He looked down on it with a turn of his nose. “What is it?”
Eunice didn’t want to say before she was invited in. And when he didn’t invite her in, she squeezed past him. His house looked the same, but without Jessica it seemed lifeless. “Last Minute Casserole.”
He closed his eyes briefly. For a man, he seemed to have the most delicate constitution and the most limited experience with food. “Which means what?”
“Tater tots, Spam, cream of mushroom soup, broccoli and cheese.” Lots and lots of cheese.
“It sounds more like dinner.”
“The Spam makes it a breakfast food.” Eunice bent to pet Goldie, who wagged her tail. At least someone was happy to see her. “And the tater tots. Also breakfast food.”
“I suppose you want to join me for breakfast.” He sounded incredibly weary for first thing in the morning. He was probably missing Jessica.
“It tastes better on top of toasted English muffins.” And she knew where he kept them. Eunice charged ahead.
“This is becoming a thing,” Duffy said.
Eunice turned from the cupboard, holding the muffins. “What is?”
“You bringing food over every day.” He crossed his arms. “I’m capable of feeding myself.”
“I’m sure you are.” She decided offense was the best defense. She put two English muffins in the toaster, and then asked casually, “Have you heard from Jessica?”
“Ah, I should have known. You’re the conduit to the town grapevine.”
“I’m not following,” Eunice fibbed. The trouble with Duffy was that he was too smart.
“I know how things work in this town.” He had the most annoying way of looking at a person, as if he could see inside their brain and tell exactly what they were thinking. “One person gets the goods and tells everyone else.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She sniffed. “I wouldn’t stop by if I didn’t care.” No one else seemed to. Not even Agnes had visited him. “Oh, look. Your dog has filled out. I can’t see her ribs anymore.”
“She isn’t my dog.” Duffy frowned. It was a deep, deep frown. “She’s only staying here until her owners turn up.”
Eunice might have believed him if not for one thing—Goldie was a dainty little dog, the kind of dog single men didn’t usually own. If Duffy didn’t love her, he’d have gotten rid of her days ago. “Last fall, Shelby, the vet’s wife, found a Saint Bernard and the family came to claim him a few weeks afterward.” She tsked, watching Duffy closely for any sign he might fear losing the dog. “Letting go nearly broke Shelby’s heart.”
“She’s not mine.” He sounded adamant and looked just as determined not to show her he cared.
Goldie sat next to Duffy with her paw on top of his foot. Anyone could see that dog was here to stay. It was typical of Duffy to overlook the good things that passed through his life.
Why, the man needed a good pair of glasses!
* * *
JESS WAS IN TROUBLE.
No job. No job prospects. No job paycheck.
No one wanted to hire a master baker who’d be needing time off in a few weeks.
Not that they told her that specifically. She’d dropped by every bakery she could find in town, résumé in hand, bun in the oven. Surprise, surprise. No one had an opening.
She wanted to phone a friend. Too bad she’d fallen out of touch with her foster-home sisters. And she was too embarrassed to call her fellow culinary school students. That left Duffy or Eunice or...
Instead of calling, Jess paced the living room of her small apartment Friday morning. The lease, Slade’s business card, the newspaper clipping with Duffy’s photo and her cell phone sat on her secondhand dining table. Each time she completed a circuit around the table, Baby kicked.
Okay. That was an exaggeration. But it certainly seemed that Baby wanted to go to Harmony Valley. Jess wanted to go, too.
If only she could be sure it was the best choice for her child.
Unfortunately, it seemed like the only choice left for her. Doing nothing is the coward’s way out.
Jess picked up the phone and called Slade.
* * *
“HOW’S JESSICA?”
Everywhere Duffy went, people asked him about Jess.
On the one hand, it was starting to annoy him. He wasn’t sure how Jess was doing. On the other hand, the town had stopped watching him as if he were a veteran quarterback trying to make a comeback.
Goldie rode shotgun with him everywhere. She loved exploring the vineyards. She loved people. Duffy kept trying to find her a new home, but everyone kept telling him that it was too late. Goldie was his dog.
Picking up Rutgar on Friday got Duffy out of town and gave him an excuse to see his parents before taking the old man home. He hadn’t counted on his dad insisting Duffy take them to see Jess. He hadn’t imagined his mother would have drawn up legal paperwork for Jess to sign, forgoing any claim she might have had to Greg’s money. Didn’t contracts like that take time? He’d been hoping she’d forget he ever mentioned it.
Duffy drove them to Vera’s Bakery. The weather was still blustery, but most of the clouds had cleared away. The ride over was mostly silent. Goldie sat in Dad’s lap.
“I like your dog,” Dad said.
Duffy felt the beginnings of a headache. “I don’t think that contract is the best way to approach Jess.”
“I need it,” Mom said.
“It’s a compromise,” Dad said.
Duffy was afraid it was a deal breaker.
It took a few minutes to get the wheelchair out and set up, and push Dad inside the building. Mom stood near the door, clut
ching her contract and a ticket with a number on it. Her hands were shaking.
“It’s going to be okay.” Duffy put his arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t we leave the papers for another day?”
“No.” She was stiff and unyielding in the crook of his arm. “You’ll thank me later.”
Duffy doubted it.
The bakery was high-end. Planters and umbrella-covered tables outside. Inside, slate floors. Mosaic-topped tables. A new-construction smell. Glass display cases that were filled and ran the length of the place. Two fancy espresso machines. And customers. Lots of paying customers.
They waited silently for their number to be called. It was a long wait. There was only one woman working the counter—Rocio, by her name tag.
Duffy ordered three coffees and three blueberry scones. “Is Jessica working today?”
The clerk stared at Duffy as if he’d sprouted fangs and asked to suck her blood. “Uno momento.” She practically ran to the back room.
“You didn’t have to scare her,” Dad said.
Duffy spread his hands. “I didn’t do anything.”
But others in line shot him with sharp, dark looks.
An older woman with a white hairnet covering her too-bright red hair appeared. She smiled the way vendors did with customers when they suspected there was a problem. “I’m Vera, the bakery owner.” She spoke with a heavy Spanish accent. “May I help you?”
“We’re looking for Jessica.” Duffy felt like Prince Charming had come calling for Cinderella. All he needed was a glass slipper and singing mice.
“She doesn’t work here anymore.” There was no longer welcome-and-I’m-ready-to-please in her tone. Vera had her guard up. “Are you her lawyers?”
“I knew it,” Mom burst out in scalding tones. “We need this.” She raised the contract to the ceiling.
“Linda, please.” Dad reached for Mom’s free hand, but she snatched it away.
“Is Jess okay?” Duffy asked. “Did she have the baby?” And why would she need a lawyer?
Vera narrowed her eyes. “Oh. But it’s you.” Her tone softened. She squeezed Duffy’s forearm, and then picked up the plated scones. “I recognize you from the newspaper. Come. Sit.” She led them through the crowded dining area to a table near the window. “So you’re the baby daddy’s family.” She looked them over as if she were trying to determine which apples to include in a tart and which to toss out.
“She stole from you, didn’t she?” Mom blurted, dropping into a chair. “This...this... Jessica. If that’s even her real name.”
Jess deserved none of his mother’s scorn. Shame and anger burned through Duffy like a gas-ignited fire. At any moment, he’d explode. “If you can’t behave, Mom, you’ll have to wait in the car.”
Surprisingly, Mom sealed her lips.
Vera frowned. “Jessica would never steal.”
Duffy seconded that. “Then why did she leave?”
“Because...” There was a trapped look in the older woman’s eyes. It took her too long to answer. “Because she has a...a...benefactor.”
His mother huffed. Duffy felt like huffing, too. How could she afford to leave her job right before Baby came? The truth was she couldn’t. She should have called him. Hopefully, she would soon.
“Someone offered to help her start a business,” the bakery owner chattered warmly, except it was the false warmth of a snake before it struck. “She left. Without giving her two weeks’ notice.” The woman’s tone and gaze dropped, and she muttered, “Without sharing her recipe book. I’ll be ruined.”
Mom shook her pages, but otherwise remained silent.
That didn’t sound at all like Jess. “Did you argue?”
“No, no.” Vera drew back in mock denial. “She wasn’t going to work out anyway once the baby came. She couldn’t put in the hours. No matter how many times I told her this, she wouldn’t believe me.”
Duffy didn’t believe the bakery owner, either.
“Sounds like discrimination,” Dad said. “On your part.”
“I would never fire her. Her skills have made my bakery trendy.” Vera waved to Rocio and said something in Spanish, then gave them that fake smile again. “Take a dozen cookies. On the house.”
“She’s bribing us.” Mom crossed her arms, content to direct her bitterness at a new target.
“Dos docenas. Dos!” Vera called to Rocio. “Rápido.”
“Two dozen?” Now Dad looked as uptight as Mom. He leaned forward. “What have you done?” he asked.
“I can give you three dozen,” Vera offered. “Final offer.”
“We’d rather have her.” A sense of urgency snapped Duffy’s shoulder blades back. They were wasting time. Something had happened, something that wasn’t right if Vera thought they were Jessica’s legal team. “We need Jessica’s address or phone number.”
“It would be inappropriate for me to give that to you.” Vera stood and backed away. “Enjoy your cookies.”
“I’m going to choke on them and then sue this place,” Mom declared loudly, causing several patrons to stare. “Michael, why don’t you have Jessica’s phone number?”
He had trouble admitting it. “Because—”
“Because you didn’t want anything to tie yourself to her,” Dad said with a disappointed shake of his head. “A phone number would mean you’d feel responsible to call.”
The three of them looked at each other. The father with unshakable love. The mother with a broken heart. And the brother who boxed up his relationships and stored them out of reach.
Duffy couldn’t speak for his parents, but he was afraid of what he might lose if he opened up. Not fear for his bank account. Not fear for his free time.
This was a fear that hit harder, had the potential to devastate. He feared for his heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“THIS IS ALL your stuff?” Flynn scanned the suitcases, few boxes and furniture in Jessica’s apartment Friday afternoon. Once Jess had accepted, the young entrepreneurs had wasted no time coming to get her.
“I don’t have much.” Jess had more boxes marked Kitchen than she did clothing in her two suitcases. It had been too easy to pick up empty boxes from a local grocery and pack them. Was she moving too fast?
She still had doubts about moving at all. What Harmony Valley was offering felt like a handout. And then there were the unknowns...starting with how she’d sustain her energy level through to the end of her pregnancy, to what Duffy’s reaction to her showing up would be, ending with how much time she’d need off when Baby came. And what had they said about day care? The unknowns. They sat on her chest, squashing her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
Slade’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. He took inventory quickly. “We didn’t need two trucks for this.”
“You don’t have a dining room set?” Flynn seemed stuck in a state of disbelief.
“I have a kitchen table. No chairs.” Jess tried not to agonize over her lack of possessions.
“What about a crib?” Slade glanced into her bedroom. “Or a rocking chair?”
“I haven’t bought any furniture for Baby yet.” And she’d have to balance that need with the cost of buying supplies for the bakery. She desperately wanted an espresso machine. “Do you really want me to come?”
“Of course, we do.” Flynn shed his doubts as easily as he adopted a fresh smile. “Let’s take out the couch first.”
In no time, Jess was back in Harmony Valley.
* * *
“WHERE’S YOUR WOMAN?” Rutgar asked, petting Goldie, who sat next to him on the center console in Duffy’s truck. “Did you trade her in for this poor excuse of a dog?”
Duffy resisted the urge to defend Goldie. She had a quiet way of winning people over.
“
Jess went home.” Duffy’s voice was louder than necessary, but he was worried, his ego bruised by her lack of contact. He couldn’t wait to get back to Harmony Valley and track down Slade. Surely he had Jessica’s contact information. Why hadn’t she called him when things went sour with her job?
Because I made it clear I’m not interested in taking on more responsibility. Even friendship.
“In my day—” Rutgar’s voice was sandpaper-coarse, pumicing Duffy’s jangled nerves “—if you wanted a woman, you asked her to stay and made the offer attractive with a ring, a big juicy steak and the promise to remodel the house.”
“I don’t need your advice,” Duffy said through gritted teeth. “She’s not... We’re not... She dated my brother.” He carefully avoided using the word love. The more he dwelled on Jess loving and forgiving Greg, the more his own unresolved feelings tumbled about his gut.
“I wouldn’t hold a grudge against her for that.” Rutgar’s chuckle was as rough as his voice. “Heard your brother’s dead. That baby’s gonna need a father.”
They passed vineyards owned by the winery, flanking the two-lane highway. Overgrown vines undulated in the breeze, calling to Duffy to transform them into neat, tidy vineyards.
A change of subject was in order. “Flynn and Slade fixed your porch.”
Rutgar ignored him, drawing Goldie into his lap. Ha!
“You young bucks nowadays need a masculine influence. If you aren’t going to be there for the girl, I will.”
“What?” Duffy nearly choked.
“You heard me. I’ll need her address, so I can write her.”
Forget for the moment that Duffy didn’t have Jessica’s address. “There’s a new invention you might not have heard of—a telephone.”
“I read in The Wall Street Journal or somewhere that no one calls anyone anymore.”
Rutgar read The Wall Street Journal? Duffy’s head hurt. “They were right. People don’t call, they text.” He could text Jess. If he had her cell phone number.
“Well, I type,” Rutgar said firmly. “I have a perfectly good electric typewriter. And I trust the US Mail to deliver messages for me.”
A Memory Away Page 16
