Summer Kisses Page 6

  “He told me about your struggles.” A widow who wasn’t a widow and had chosen to honor her marriage vows, rather than follow her second love.

  Agnes glanced furtively around, as if checking to see if anyone was listening at the windows. “No one in Harmony Valley knows. They would have said it was too soon after Manny passed away.”

  “Not even Rose or Mildred?”

  “No one.” Her gaze begged for silence. “Not anyone in my family. Can you imagine what a tramp they’d think I was?”

  “I gave my word to Harold that I’d return the ring and not tell a soul.” Becca prayed she’d never have to choose between her promise to Harold and self-preservation if Virginia’s son’s lawyers found out about the ring.

  “This ring is proof that love lasts forever.” Agnes sounded so certain.

  Becca didn’t want to disillusion her by adding: even if life was not.

  “I see love in the peach tree my husband and I planted in the backyard. The winding path he made through the garden for me. His fishing gear in the garage.” Agnes pushed her food around her plate. “My loss is wrapped up here, entwined, like my life, to this place. But the ring reminds me that I chose to stay, that I could have gone out into the world, that I could have been...different.”

  Becca sat very still. She’d given up “their place,” divided up Terry’s personal things with his mother, split up her memories into manageable chunks. She had little things that fit into her compartmentalized life—his high school basketball jersey, a card he’d made her one Valentine’s Day, his Purple Heart medal tucked in her dresser drawer.

  “Do you think of him when you see a stray dime?” Agnes asked.

  A grief counselor had told Becca about the comforting tradition of thinking it was Terry who placed lost coins in her path, helping reassure her of decisions, reminding her of Terry’s love. “I chose pennies.”

  “My Manny has always been dimes, but I could think of Harold when I see pennies.” Agnes gazed out the window. “Like you, I learned too young about grief. It made it hard to love again. But Harold was wonderful. He understood when I needed to be alone, to cry, to have silent conversations with Manny.” She managed a brave smile for Becca. “It made it harder to give my heart back to Manny when he returned. It was years before I could trust he wouldn’t disappear and leave me with the pain of loss.”

  Becca nodded. She’d never joined a support group. Agnes was the first widow she’d spoken to about her loss. It felt good to talk to someone who’d been through what she had, even if Agnes’s husband had shown up alive a year later. “I’ve decided not to risk loving again. I’m comfortable with my life.”

  Flynn’s patient expression came to mind, bright blue eyes beneath reddish-brown hair, glistening in the sunlight as he listened to her confession about Virginia’s gift. Terry’s penny at his feet.

  “We’ll always grieve. There will always be that sense of loss and emptiness because our men were a part of our hearts.” Agnes tsked. “But thinking you’ll never love again when you’re, what? Twenty-seven? That’s just asking for love to be dropped in your life.”

  “I won’t be that foolish.” Becca couldn’t stand to have her heart torn apart again.

  * * *

  BECCA WAS A FOOL.

  Yes, she needed the money this job would bring. Yes, her lawyer was pleased with fresh job-related references. Yes, Edwin needed her.

  Yes, she’d had a dream about Flynn.

  One of those naked dreams, where she was naked and Flynn noticed.

  Becca knocked on Edwin’s front door. She was a bit early for her first day at work. It was six forty-five. But she wanted to make sure Flynn saw her with her clothes on. It was one of those “expel the dream” moments by facing a dose of reality.

  She knocked again. Abby put one paw on the front stoop and looked at her expectantly.

  The house was silent. The wind skipped through the eucalyptus trees bordering the property along the river. The sun had risen long ago, but its rays filtered lazily through a layer of fog.

  A quick glance allayed fears that Flynn had taken his grandfather to the hospital. Both Flynn’s black truck and Edwin’s black Cadillac were in the carport.

  Becca knocked a third time.

  Abby gave the door a gentle scratch.

  The living-room curtain moved, just enough for Becca to catch a glimpse of Flynn in a pair of navy boxers, a toothbrush in his mouth, his wet hair hanging haphazardly around his face. The curtain dropped back, but not before Becca registered how Flynn’s body was well formed and muscular.

  Heat flooded her veins, filling her mind with unwanted images that had to be part of the dream she didn’t remember. His arms around her. His lips working their way along her collarbone.

  Becca turned away from the door, fingering her wedding band. She retreated as far as the bottom step, trying to breathe deeply, hoping to dispel the heat rushing through her cheeks. Maybe if she jumped around a bit, made it look like she’d run over from Agnes’s house, he’d attribute the blush to exertion rather than...

  She refused to give the cause of her blush a name.

  The door opened behind her.

  She whirled, expecting more of Flynn in boxers, unsure whether she wanted to see him that way or wanted him wearing an unflattering parka, snow pants and a neon orange ski mask.

  He’d thrown on jeans and a wrinkled navy T-shirt. His hair still hung around his face, glints of dark copper calling to her fingers. For a moment, Becca imagined she saw a heat in his eyes that matched the temperature in her veins.

  She clutched the strap of her purse. “I’m here.” So lame. She might just as well have said, “Take me.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you this early.” The frost in his voice cooled any misconceptions she’d made.

  “I need to do a few things around the house and I...kind of half ran over here. I’m outta breath.” Lame didn’t get any lamer. “May I come in?” Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he’d realized this was a game of fire they shouldn’t be playing. Maybe—

  He opened the door wider.

  Abby took that as an invitation to enter, bounding inside and trotting around with her nose to the ground. She wouldn’t be happy until she tracked down all the occupants in the house. Her tail wagged like a small black fan as she disappeared down the hall.

  “Is Edwin up?” Becca put her purse on a hook by the door.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll make coffee.”

  He stood between her and the kitchen.

  She veered to open the drapes. There was a letter on the coffee table. Still nervous, she picked it up. Totally the rude, uncivilized employee. He should fire her. “India Mentoring Program?”

  Flynn walked to her and leaned over her shoulder. “They want me to go to India in October to mentor other entrepreneurial programmers.”

  “That’s quite an honor.” She stepped back with a frantic glance at her jeans and T-shirt, suddenly fearing last night’s naked dream was no longer a dream. But she was dressed and so was he.

  He looked at her as if she was the trouble his mother had warned him about when he was a teenager. “I like giving back, but it’s a monthlong program.”

  “But that’s four months away. Edwin should be stable by then.” She edged farther toward the kitchen.

  Flynn frowned. “It wouldn’t feel right to leave him.”

  Abby trotted back to Becca, looking happy with herself.

  “Did you wake up Edwin, girl?” Becca leaned over and ruffled Abby’s fur. She drew a deep breath and shoved her libido back where it belonged—in hibernation. “I’ll start by ironing your shirt.”

  He gazed down at the navy cotton. “Unnecessary.”

  She shook her head. “Necessary. Unless you’re in college and a
lso wear white ankle socks with your flip-flops, you need to wear a decently ironed shirt every day.”

  “Point taken.” He started to peel off his shirt.

  “Whoa. House rule number one.” She expected she’d need many. “No shirt, no service.” Heat creeped up her cheeks again and had her retreating toward the kitchen. “I’ll start coffee and breakfast while you iron.”

  His deep chuckle did nothing to dispel the previous night’s dreams.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I TOLD YOU Becca would be perfect for the job.” Slade’s triumphant grin caused Flynn to grumble about good friends and loyalties.

  “I thought the finish on the kitchen table was worn off.” Will’s golden boy grin mirrored Slade’s darker version. “Turns out it was just years of grime. Look at this shine.” He passed a hand over the smooth surface. “It’s a wonder we didn’t contract some dreaded disease eating on this thing.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.” Flynn stared at the winemaker’s résumé in his hand, but the job duties seemed to be listed in Greek. He couldn’t get beyond the first line of experience: supervise the crush, pressing, settling, juice treatment and fermentation of the must.

  Huh?

  His lack of translation abilities had nothing to do with Becca’s presence. She was solicitous of his grandfather’s needs, but insistent that the house be Hoovered and degermed to avoid infection for Grandpa Ed. Personally, Flynn figured his grandfather was immune to the house germs, having lived with them for years, but Grandpa Ed agreed to whatever Becca suggested.

  Becca was everywhere, her snug jeans and bright red T-shirt a beacon, drawing his gaze. Her flowery scent a trail he couldn’t block out. Becca was currently in the back, cleaning Grandpa Ed’s bathroom. He’d tried to tell her to stop working once he and his business partners had returned after lunch, but she’d insisted on continuing.

  Will leaned conspiratorially across the table. “Is Becca the reason you rediscovered how to iron a shirt?”

  “No.” Flynn pushed Will back, sparing a glance toward his napping grandfather to make sure his chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm. Alive was good.

  “Are you expecting Kathy?” Slade glanced out the kitchen window at the new red sports car pulling into the driveway.

  “No.” It was Tuesday afternoon. What would his half sister be doing here? Had Joey contacted her?

  Flynn rejected the idea almost quicker than it came to mind. Joey had given Kathy his last name, but he wasn’t her father—not by blood or by action. She’d been conceived during one of his many incarcerations.

  “We’ll move outside,” Slade said. He and Will retreated to the porch overlooking the river, taking the stack of winemaker résumés with them.

  Flynn loved his younger sister. If his first eight years had been rough, her first ten had been hellish. After he’d come to stay with Grandpa Ed, she’d lived a few more nomadic years with their drug-and alcohol-addicted mother, who had no problem dropping Kathy with a just-met neighbor and disappearing on a binge.

  “Grandpa Ed, Kathy’s come for a visit.” Flynn gently roused his grandfather from his nap in the fully extended recliner.

  His grandfather blinked slowly awake. “Put me upright, will you? All the blood’s rushed to my head. Did Kathy bring Truman?”

  Flynn glanced out the door while operating the chair’s remote. His ginger-headed nephew got out of the car with deliberate care, as if he was eighty, not eight. “Yes.”

  “Remember your promise,” Grandpa Ed reminded him.

  “Of course.” He wouldn’t tell Kathy their grandfather was dying. She’d hate him for it later. But it was better than wondering if he’d survived another night or would live to see tomorrow.

  Abby pranced at Flynn’s heels, watching his sister and nephew come up the front walk.

  Flynn opened the front door and the little dog raced down the steps, circling the pair like new additions to her flock.

  “Who got a dog?” Kathy wore flip-flops, jeans and a loose yellow T-shirt. She looked too young to be the mother of a seven-year-old. And at twenty-five, she was.

  “Abby isn’t mine. She belongs to Grandpa Ed’s caregiver.” He hugged Kathy. “Are you too big for a hug?” he asked Truman, who was kneeling down to pet Abby.

  Truman solemnly shook his head and stood, as if accepting his punishment.

  Flynn embraced him with care. The kid always seemed as if he was about to shatter. “What brings you out on a Tuesday, Kathy? Shouldn’t you be working?”

  She dropped her basketball-size purse on the couch. “I quit.”

  Flynn was suddenly glad Slade wasn’t around to hear this. When Flynn became wealthy, he’d paid off his sister’s condo, bought her a new car, paid off her credit card debt and generally paid for anything else she claimed to need but couldn’t afford on her secretary’s salary. Anything to make up for those first ten years. Slade disapproved.

  “I’m assuming you have another job lined up,” Flynn said.

  “No.” She bent to kiss Grandpa Ed’s cheek. “They wouldn’t give me vacation and I...need time off.”

  “That’s nonsense. You don’t just quit a job.” Edwin waved Kathy back. “Where’s my great-grandson?”

  Kathy’s face pinched, as if she was fighting off tears.

  “Here,” Truman said softly, coming forward to hug Edwin as if afraid he’d break the old man. “Are you done with hospitals, Grandpa Ed?”

  “I hope so.” Edwin clung to Truman’s hand. “It’s good to see you, boy.”

  “You, too, Grandpa.” Truman looked up at Flynn with big, blue eyes. “Can I play with Abby?”

  “Sure,” Flynn said.

  Truman drifted down the hall with Abby, humming to himself.

  “What’s wrong?” Flynn demanded in a low voice so Truman wouldn’t hear.

  Kathy’s hand drifted around her waist once, before she caught him looking. “Nothing.”

  “Quitting your job isn’t nothing,” Grandpa Ed said.

  “I know.” Her gaze cast about. “I need...I need...some time to myself.” Kathy’s voice was delicate, a thin twine about to snap. “Truman’s great, but I’m crumbling and I...I need to get away for a few days.”

  Becca’s soft tone drifted from down the hall. Flynn couldn’t make out her exact words, but they were levelheaded, soothing.

  He drew a deep, calming breath.

  “What about Truman?” Grandpa Ed’s voice rumbled with displeasure. “Why can’t you get away with him?”

  Kathy held up her hands. “I don’t just need a break from my job. I need a break from Truman. From my life. I feel so overwhelmed.”

  “Why?” Flynn asked. “It’s summer. There’s no homework. Truman’s attending summer camp.” Flynn knew all about Truman’s summer camp. He’d paid for it. “I thought you liked this job.”

  Grandpa Ed tried to sit straighter. “In my day, people didn’t up and quit their jobs.”

  Her normally bubbly laugh had an edge of hysteria to it, as if Kathy was on a ledge and had missed catching the rope that would’ve saved her. “Please don’t ask me questions. I need Truman to stay with you for a while.”

  “Kathy,” Flynn began, making sure Truman wasn’t in the hall and couldn’t hear him. “If you’d just tell us—”

  “I’m fine.” Her gaze whipped about the room again. “Or I will be soon.”

  Gone was his sweet-natured little sister, the one who used to ride on his handlebars and beg to go fishing. Gone was the woman who put her son first.

  “You should face up to your responsibilities.” Grandpa Ed was on a roll. “You need to earn your own way. And you’re a mother. You need to provide stability for Truman, not just disappear for days at a time. Where are you going?”

  Kathy straightened her
shoulders. “I won’t tell you. I don’t have to tell you.” Despite her determination, tears welled in her eyes.

  Flynn thought of Becca’s trapped look. This was the same, but different. Kathy had moved from being trapped to doing something about it. “We won’t stop you. We’re just concerned. If there’s anything you need—”

  “A break. I need a break. I keep telling you and you don’t want to listen.” Kathy’s chest heaved.

  Fear scuttled down Flynn’s spine. “Don’t be like Mom,” Flynn whispered. Moving on and disappearing was the only thing their mother did well. If Kathy left for longer than a few days, Truman would suffer.

  “It’s not like that. Please, I can’t say anymore.” Kathy wiped away a tear. She grasped at Flynn, her emotions as heavy and stifling as her perfume. “I just need a few days. A week, maybe.”

  “Okay,” Flynn relented.

  “Thank you, oh, thank you. Truman’s bag is in the car.” Kathy grabbed her keys and bolted out the door into the sunshine.

  Flynn followed her at a more deliberate pace, listening to the low buzz of male voices on the deck that stopped, as if on cue, when the screen door banged. “Everything is all right, isn’t it? You’re not going to go off somewhere and—”

  “I am not suicidal.” Kathy fumbled with the key fob. “I just...made some mistakes and I need to correct them.” She froze, an animal caught crossing the road at night, realizing too late there was no escaping the approaching headlights. She’d said too much.

  A warm wind sent the towering eucalyptus above them swaying ominously.

  Flynn kept his face carefully blank. “Kathy.” Her name seemed a cold reality check.

  She shuddered back to the present. “Flynn, I had Truman when I was a baby. You and Grandpa Ed convinced me to keep him. I had to drop out of college my first semester. I love him, but you owe me some space.” Kathy blinked, as if surprised she’d voiced such brutal honesty. She looked away, working the keys in her hand like a stress ball. “No more questions, please.”

  Kathy was at the breaking point. Maybe she was right. Maybe she needed to find herself. One thing was certain. Flynn wasn’t leaving her alone with his nephew until he was reassured that she was fine. “Okay.”