Summer Kisses Read online

  Even in the fading light, she could see Flynn’s eyes danced with promise. “Walk with me, Becs, and I’ll tell you.”

  She was tempted.

  “Flynn, what are you doing out here?” Agnes opened the door, a purple chenille bathrobe cinched at her waist.

  “Nothing.” He sounded as innocent as a boy caught stealing another boy’s candy. “I’m walking Abby.”

  After a moment, Agnes nodded. “Would you come by tomorrow and show me how to connect to the internet? I want to join The Facebook.”

  Flynn kept a straight face at her misnomer of the popular social website. “I sure will. We ordered a USB antennae for every resident. It should get most of you online.”

  Agnes looked confused, but she thanked him and said good-night.

  “I got one for you, too,” Flynn said, holding out his hand to help Becca down the motorhome steps.

  “I don’t have a laptop.” She couldn’t afford a roaming internet connection. “All I’ve got is this phone.”

  Abby bounded up to them, spun and sat on Becca’s feet, as if giving the opinion that she shouldn’t go.

  He curled his fingers back and forth in the universal come to me wave.

  Becca sighed and took his hand. Abby bounded back down the stairs. Becca followed. “I don’t think an apology is necessary. Let’s go by house rule number seven and not talk about it.”

  “Remind me.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and started walking toward town square. “What did the text say?”

  “Walk with me so I can apologize?”

  “We’re walking. Don’t rush me.”

  Harmony Valley was beautiful as the sun set. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees with more enthusiasm. The air began cooling off.

  They walked in the middle of the street, it being close to or past most residents’ bedtimes and there being no traffic. The carpets rolled up around eight in Harmony Valley, with lights out for many around nine.

  Two night owls were having drinks on El Rosal’s patio. Flynn and Becca waved. Abby ran over to greet them with a quick sniff and tail wag.

  Flynn led her into the back alley toward the Harmony River bridge, on the other side of which was Edwin’s driveway. The gentle gurgle of the river and the frog symphony greeted them as they came closer.

  Becca stole a glance at Flynn. “Are we going back to the house? Is something wrong?”

  Flynn stopped in the middle of the bridge. “Look at that sunset.”

  It was beautiful. Pinks, oranges, blues. Being from Los Angeles, she hadn’t seen many sunsets like it, even when she’d lived in San Diego. The smog was too thick in Southern California.

  They leaned on the bridge and watched. Abby got restless and went to investigate the frog song coming from the far bank.

  “Did you patch things up with Edwin?”

  “No. He won’t give me my hat back, either.”

  She gazed at his long locks. There was something different about him tonight. “Did Kathy call again?”

  “No.”

  Something had to be bothering him. “Is Truman okay?”

  “Set aside your caregiver role for a minute and watch the sunset.” He turned her face toward the west. The intense colors were fading. An inevitable turning, a regular loss, like the cycle of life, like the cycle of her life.

  She sighed, wishing that things were different. That she was different.

  “What is it?” Flynn spoke softly, as if afraid to disrupt the sunset’s show.

  Becca turned her head toward him. “Maybe we should talk about what happened earlier.”

  “House rule number seven—no talking while watching the sunset.” Again, he took her chin and turned it toward the retreating sun.

  She decided not to tell him about her own house rule number seven. “But—”

  He shushed her. “If you watch a sunset in Harmony Valley in silence it washes your cares away.”

  “That’s a bunch of—”

  He shushed her again.

  Grinning, Becca complied. How could a sunset, no matter how beautiful, wash away her cares? She’d kissed her employer. What if Flynn was subpoenaed? What if they asked him under oath if she’d ever done anything...well...out of bounds while he was her employer?

  Flynn draped his arm over her shoulders.

  Becca tensed and started to turn toward him, but he drew her against him and shushed her.

  “You’re thinking when you should be watching,” he said.

  Really, she had no choice but to watch the sunset. In silence. With Flynn.

  She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  The sun dipped behind the mountains to the soft passage of the river and the throaty burst of frog song.

  Becca had no idea why she was out here or what Flynn was going to apologize for. It seemed more appropriate for her to apologize to him.

  She turned to do so.

  He was looking at her, grinning.

  And then he kissed her.

  She hadn’t seen that one coming.

  But she didn’t resist. Becca liked kissing him. He was sweet and hot at the same time.

  She smiled against his mouth.

  He paused, smiling back at her. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m laughing at me. But now that I’m allowed to speak, we should stop.”

  He swooped in to kiss the column of her neck, working his way up to nibble on her earlobe.

  The river gurgled and giggled beneath them, as happy as a silly schoolgirl.

  “Flynn, really—”

  His mouth captured hers again. She had to give him credit. He tackled making out with the same thoroughness that he tackled any other challenge—with dedication, passion and intensity.

  She found herself balancing in his arms as she bent over backward like the famous World War II photo.

  She giggled. “Stop.”

  He obeyed, at least when it came to lavishing his lips on her. Instead, he pulled her up against him until it seemed like there wasn’t an inch of her front that wasn’t touching his.

  She tapped his shoulder. “This is not operating under the guidelines of at least three of the house rules.” No hugging. No good night kisses. No talking during sunsets.

  “Have you ever considered that you have too many house rules?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “If it weren’t for house rules, you could just enjoy my kisses.”

  This time when he swooped in she was ready, deflecting his lips, which detoured to nibble along her chin to her ear again. “We’re going to stop.” As soon as he reached her ear. Or maybe after he kissed his way back to her mouth.

  “Anything you say.” His hands slid down to the small of her back.

  Becca was awash in sensation, and he was holding her so tight she could barely breathe. In short, he was big trouble on an old bridge.

  “Stop,” she panted.

  “Gotcha.” He didn’t. Why should he? She’d been crying wolf the first two times. He seemed to be memorizing her curves. His hands left a trail of heat across and around her body. He couldn’t have done a more effective job if he’d been applying suntan lotion on her for a hot day at the beach.

  “Wow. Whoa. Stop.” She captured his clever, pleasing hands, because somebody had to remember what was at stake.

  Flynn laced his fingers with hers and brought his forehead down for a meeting of the minds.

  She wanted to laugh some more. Instead, she remembered—finally—that she needed to keep her head for a few more weeks. She shoved him back, albeit, not as firmly as she might have done had he not made her lose her resolve.

  Becca shook her finger at him, the way she’d seen Edwin do countless times. “I am not amused.” Clearly a lie, sh
e used her lower-than-low voice.

  He grinned. “I sincerely apologize for having such a wonderful, hot, awesome time with you on the Harmony River bridge.”

  “You what?” She squeaked like a mouse caught in a trap. “This was your plan all along? Kiss me and apologize?”

  “Here’s the thing, Becs.” His shortening of her name gave her a small thrill. “If you live with someone sixty or so years older than you, you tend to hear a lot of clichés. One of my personal favorites is, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”

  “I’m going to slug you.” She started walking home, whistling for Abby, who came racing up and past her. She stopped walking at the base of the bridge. “Wait a minute. This is the bridge.”

  Flynn’s grin dared her to wipe it off.

  “The bridge where couples kiss good-night?”

  “So you’ve heard of it. Maybe the apology wasn’t necessary.”

  “Are you saying that I knew? That I realized? That I’d jeopardize everything for a kiss?” She whirled and would have tripped over Abby if he hadn’t caught her. She leaped ahead, mumbling, “Stupid, stupid, stupid. What would Harold say? Or Virginia?” Or Hank, her lawyer?

  Flynn was next to her again. Annoying that, how he could catch up to her without breaking a sweat. She should have been taller or leggier or smarter. Any of the three would have gotten her out of this situation more quickly.

  “I’m sorry.” But Flynn was laughing when he said it. “Do you want another apology?”

  “No.” They were walking so fast Abby barked in front of her. The little dog always seemed to have boundless energy, but she was in it for the long haul. Short bursts wore her out. “Suck it up, girl.”

  “Now, Becs, be reasonable. It was nice, wasn’t it?”

  “I can’t afford nice. I can’t afford anything at all.” She stopped and knocked on his noggin with her knuckles—a wake up call, not a pounding. “Do you not get it? I’m your employee for the next few weeks. That’s it. That’s all I can be.”

  “Okay, got it. Two weeks. It’s a date.” He tried to capture her hand.

  “No, no, no. No dates. No plans. No nothing. If you can’t think of me as your employee, think of me as one of the guys.”

  He frowned. Turned and pointed back toward the bridge, frustration jerking his movements. “That sunset is imprinted on my brain. And it didn’t happen with Will or Slade. You are not, and never will be, one of the guys.”

  Okay, he was getting riled now. This could be a good thing.

  Becca hurried around the corner of El Rosal and entered town square. The restaurant’s patio was empty. Town square deserted.

  “It’s not like you’re a local. I don’t expect you to know about our traditions, like ice cream with your friends on that bench over there, or marriage proposals under the town square oak tree. But I do expect you to be civil and accept an apology when it’s given.” Flynn didn’t sound apologetic or flirty.

  Definitely riled.

  “You weren’t sincere.”

  “Neither were you. You aren’t sorry we kissed. You’re sorry we didn’t kiss two weeks from now when your court hearing is over.”

  The hardest part of his tirade was realizing he was right.

  Becca slowed, glancing up toward the sprinkling of stars just starting to come out.

  Terry, give me strength.

  It probably wasn’t wise to ask her departed husband for advice when she’d just been thoroughly kissed. The good news was lightning didn’t strike her down. The bad news was Terry didn’t whisper sage words of advice in her ear or show up in plasmic form to kick Flynn to the curb.

  She stopped and glanced at the ground. Of course, there was a penny.

  Refusing to pick it up, Becca spun her wedding ring on her right hand. “From the moment I saw you tonight, leaning against the motorhome, I didn’t give Terry a thought. What kind of widow am I?”

  “The kind who loves him so much, she can’t take the symbol of his love off completely. The kind who did the best she could to hold her head high and clear up the debts you made together. The kind who knows that at some point, Terry would want you to move on.” Flynn didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. His words enveloped her in a way his arms couldn’t.

  Her hand drifted to her stomach, covering the butterfly sensations that made her nervous. “Why are you always right?”

  “I’m brilliant.”

  She laughed. How like Flynn to make a joke out of it.

  She picked up the penny. “Thank you. The walk was...interesting.”

  “Do it again tomorrow?”

  “Nice try.” She pushed his shoulder. “Now, get on home before someone sees us together and talks.”

  “Too late.” He pointed to the opposite corner of town square, where a woman in a flowered housecoat and bunny slippers was walking a Saint Bernard.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IF CHAOS LIVED somewhere, it was Harmony Valley.

  Flynn was trying not to think about Becca while working on the electrical in Sam’s back room when Agnes, Rose and Mildred descended upon him.

  “You’re a hard man to track down,” Agnes said, holding the door open for Mildred and her walker.

  “We’re here for our progress report,” Rose adjusted the coattails of the Sherlock Holmes jacket hanging on a stuffed skunk Sam had on display. Then she admired the mounted deer head on the wall, complete with toupee and tie. “And to see if Sam has anything new on display.”

  Mildred flipped the seat down on her walker and sat on it. “It’s been days since we’ve talked. We attended a gallery opening in Santa Rosa and a matinee performance of The Book of Mormon in San Francisco. We had to get caught up on laundry before we got caught up on you.”

  “Hold that door.” Becca escorted Flynn’s grandfather into the store. She looked like his kind of candy in snug jeans and a bubble gum–pink T-shirt that complemented the blush in her cheeks.

  In the back room, Abby barked and came racing to the front. Becca leaned down to pet her. Then Abby did her wiggly greeting to each person, before returning to the back room and Truman.

  Grandpa Ed saw Mildred sitting and promptly took a similar seat on his own walker.

  “What are you doing here?” Flynn forgot Becca and kisses. “I thought we all agreed you were to stay at home.”

  Becca shrugged. “There was a rebellion.”

  “I told you I didn’t want a jailer,” Grandpa Ed grumped.

  “And Truman could use a snack.” Becca held up a plastic bag filled with apple slices.

  “Are all you people parked out in front of my store?” Sam said from his seat behind the glass display counter. He’d stopped reading a Superman comic book. “Where are my customers supposed to park?”

  Everyone started giving Sam excuses at the same time. Becca stepped forward and introduced herself.

  “Nobody is staying very long if you’re not working on my problem, unless you have commerce with me. You get me?”

  Becca paused to admire a display of Depression glass. “This is beautiful. Is it for sale?”

  Sam warmed up a smidgeon, while Flynn placated the ladies of the town council. “We had to remove the old foundation.” Like they needed another delay. “We’re pouring the new foundation tomorrow. Beams will go up next week.”

  “What about the farmhouse?” Agnes’s right hand was clenched against her chest, as if she held something she was afraid of losing. “What’s happening with it?”

  “They’re gutting most of it.”

  Mildred gasped. “But the antique buffet—”

  “Will remain as a key feature behind the tasting room counter,” Flynn reassured them. “We’re trying to save as much as we can. I promise.”

  The la
dies finally left. Voices drifted out from the back room. Truman’s. Becca’s.

  Flynn turned to his grandfather, who still wore Flynn’s ball cap. “I thought we agreed you should stay at home.”

  “I live my life on my own terms. I’m here to visit Sam.” Edwin stood and wheeled himself closer to the glass display counter, sitting across from his comic-reading friend. “If I die today, then I’ll die a happy man. I’ve decided I don’t want to go tethered to that fancy recliner you bought me.”

  “Those game shows will be crushed.” Flynn leaned on the counter, reluctant to leave his grandfather alone. And he didn’t want Grandpa Ed to see Joey working in the back.

  * * *

  THE STOREROOM AT Snarky Sam’s was crowded with junk. And that was a nice description.

  A concrete-frosted wheelbarrow was parked in one corner with two bread makers stacked in it. A brandy cask had been rolled into another and was topped with several toasters. An artificial Christmas tree crowded the door. Several square fans were lined up around the tree. There was barely room for Slade and the older man up on the ladder, who poked beneath the light fixture that was rumored not to work.

  “Becca!” Truman ran to greet her, hugging her leg and snatching the apple slices. “This is the greatest place ever. Sam said I could have a toaster to take apart. And Uncle Flynn said I could use his tools as long as I didn’t plug it in.”

  Becca added that to her mental monitoring list. Wouldn’t do to have a curious boy in her charge electrocute himself.

  The man on the ladder turned to her with a smile so familiar, it distracted. “Are we getting another pair of hands?”

  “That’s Joey.” Truman spoke through a mouth full of apple slice. “Doesn’t he look like Uncle Flynn?”

  “He does,” Becca said. The high cheekbones. The strong, wiry body. The intense gaze that seemed to see everything. The resemblance was so strong she could see why Flynn hid his face beneath a baseball cap.

  But the smile was also the same. It said I’m sweet, and loveable and trustworthy. No agendas.

  Just like Flynn.

  “He’s Flynn’s dad, which means we’re related.”