Summer Kisses

by Melinda Curtis

  Flynn mentally chastised himself. The town council loved Becca. And she’d only been in town a couple of days? “Ladies, can you say con artist?”

  Their laughter prickled and annoyed and reassured. If they were laughing, chances were his grandfather was in good hands. Flynn had known these ladies most of his life. They were a handful, but they didn’t misplace their trust. There was just that one look of Becca’s to interpret before Flynn felt comfortable.

  After they left, Slade walked over, chuckling. “Don’t tell me you thought they’d stop coming once construction started.”

  “I had hoped,” Flynn said.

  Dane Utley, the project’s general contractor, called them over to the blueprints he had spread out over the hood of his silver-gray truck. “I know we want to fast-track this project, but I’m warning you, old construction has a mind of its own.” Broad shouldered, big-boned, Dane looked like a professional linebacker, but talked with the polish betraying his Ivy League education. “I don’t know how that building has stayed up so long. The beams we examined this morning were either rotted away or split. We’ll shore up everything before we do anything else, starting with the low beams on the north wall.”

  “We promised the Preservation Society this would be a restoration,” Flynn said. “If we can’t use the guts of the barn we may lose community support.” And time. Every day they saved meant he had a better chance of fulfilling his promise to Grandpa Ed to take him on that trip.

  “She’s a beautiful piece of history and we’ll save what we can,” Dane reassured Flynn. “I stopped by the county office this morning and they were still missing a couple of key permits and agreements. We can demo today, but the lack of a public improvement agreement is going to stop us by next week.”

  “Will’s working on it,” Slade said. “He’s in Santa Rosa this morning with our legal team.”

  They needed to widen a portion of Main Street and do earthquake retrofits on the Harmony River bridge. Both projects impacted Mayor Larry Finkelstein’s property. His lawyers, their lawyers and Will were handling the negotiations. Flynn was managing the building contractors and the councilwomen’s daily updates. Slade dealt with finances. If they could obtain these last few permits, maybe things would finally run smoothly.

  “We could use some good luck to get things back on track.” Flynn voiced the understatement of the year.

  Slade nodded.

  A white car pulled onto the gravel driveway.

  “It’s one of the county building inspectors.” Dane leaned around Flynn and shouted, “County!”

  Power tools ground to a halt as word of an inspection spread. Workmen drifted through the red barn doors. The crew turned to watch the inspector approach.

  The ominous sound of timbers snapping had them all spinning back to the barn. The southern wing undulated, wheezing and groaning as if straining for breath. And then it broke away from the middle of the barn, lurching to the ground in a drunken stadium wave, kicking up rolling plumes of dust.

  Flynn felt the force of the collapse from fifty feet away. It eddied about his ankles, tugged at his determination, laughed at timelines and plans and mocked promises made in good faith.

  In the seconds after the barn’s partial collapse, no one moved. Even the building inspector had stopped his car at the fork in the driveway, a safe distance away.

  “Everyone back!” Dane leaped forward, gesturing for his crew to retreat. “She’s not done.”

  The barn shuddered up to its hay loft and tilted precariously toward the collapsed south wing.

  Flynn and Slade ran with the rest of the crew to the inspector’s vehicle.

  The wiry construction worker with the goatee and ponytail jumped into a dented white pickup parked in front of the barn. He sped past those running to safety.

  “Head count. Now!” Dane focused on the man who’d saved his truck. “Idiot! Is a truck worth your life?”

  “Can’t make a living without my tools.” Unfazed by the reprimand, the wiry, gray-haired idiot strode purposefully past Dane to the cluster of workers wearing similar mud-brown Utley Construction T-shirts.

  Flynn couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen the man before.

  “If you weren’t such a good worker, I’d wring your neck, then fire you,” Dane called after him, receiving a shrug in answer.

  “I can’t see a thing. And I don’t hear anyone inside.” Slade squinted toward the still-dissipating dust clouds. “Do you?”

  “No,” Flynn rasped, listening for any calls for help from the barn.

  What if someone had been killed? What if their decision to salvage what they could from the barn instead of razing it meant someone wasn’t coming home tonight? A dust cloud enveloped him. He pulled his T-shirt over his mouth, hoping that would help him breathe easier.

  The world hadn’t totally screwed him. The barn held. The sun continued to shine. Beyond that, Flynn was having a hard time finding a silver lining.

  “Everyone’s accounted for,” Dane announced moments later.

  “Thank God,” Flynn murmured into his shirt. As favors went, that was huge. Unfortunately, his timeline had undoubtedly ballooned.

  The balding inspector faced Dane looking like Christmas had come early and Santa hadn’t fulfilled any of his requests. “What happened?”

  “We were shoring up the beams on the north side,” Dane said. “It must have caused instability on the south.”

  Slade tugged Flynn away from the others. “Let’s tear the barn down and rebuild. It’s safer and cheaper.”

  “I know you’re worried about the budget, but this is a piece of Harmony Valley history. We promised to preserve it.”

  “Some promises aren’t meant to be kept.” Slade gestured toward the barn. “If someone had been hurt or killed trying to preserve the barn, we’d be ruined.”

  The inspector was shaking his head at Dane. “This got away from you. I’m shutting everything down on both structures until you can reassure me that any work—be it demolition or rework—is safe.”

  “Which is when?” Flynn quit pretending he wasn’t listening.

  “Until it’s safe,” the inspector repeated coldly.

  Word quickly spread through the men that work was over for the day, sending them streaming like large ants toward the rows of parked trucks, until only a few of Dane’s crew remained.

  “It’s going to be hell proving to County this is a safe construction site unless we take her completely down.” Dane turned to Flynn. “I suggest we demolish the whole thing, salvage what boards, posts and beams we can, and resell the rest. There’s a good market for old, weathered barn wood.”

  The promise they’d made to the community warred with the pressing need to speed things up. “How long?”

  Dane looked toward the trees lining the river. “We’ll lose three to five days from the collapse and a day or two in salvage. We’re out in the boonies. County inspectors can’t just stop by on their way to another job. We’re at the mercy of their schedule.”

  Flynn hated when things were out of his control. A programmer by trade, he liked plugging in commands and seeing them work in predictable, stable order.

  “I’d like to see the estimate for a complete demo before we decide how to proceed,” Slade said.

  Flynn nodded in defeat. “And we’ll need to confer with Will.”

  The construction worker who’d rescued his truck appeared at Dane’s shoulder. His gaze pierced Flynn’s, distracting him for a moment from the outline of familiar cheekbones and sharp chin Flynn suspected was hidden beneath the man’s gray goatee.

  “Before you go, I’d like you to meet my job foreman, Joey Harris.” Dane’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away.

  Flynn’s vision dropped from those unapologetic eyes to the hourglass prison t
attoo on his forearm.

  It couldn’t be...

  He would never...

  But it was. And he had.

  Dane’s foreman was Flynn’s father.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROSE AIMED HER antique ladies birding binoculars out the window at Agnes hurrying back to the car. “Where did you get that ring?”

  Drat. Agnes was hoping that her two friends wouldn’t notice the ruby ring. And Rose hadn’t until she’d retrieved her binoculars, a pair Agnes assumed would only magnify the appearance of a bird if she was standing beneath the tree it was in. And only if it was a small tree.

  Agnes slid behind the wheel of her beloved Buick, a pair of binoculars draped around her neck. “I got a call from Mayor Larry. Part of the Henderson barn just collapsed.”

  From the backseat, Rose gasped.

  “Was anyone hurt?” Mildred lowered her own binoculars.

  “No.” Agnes started the car and headed toward Jefferson Street and the Harmony River bridge. The morning sun had yet to chase away the briskness in the air. It reached through the windows and chilled Agnes to the bone.

  “Agnes, about the ring?” Rose was doggedly annoying sometimes.

  “Which ring?” Agnes tried to play dumb.

  “The red ring as big as a stapler on your finger,” Rose said sarcastically. “Do you think I’m as blind as Mildred?”

  “I take offense to that,” Mildred half turned, her eyes barely visible behind her thick lenses.

  Rose huffed. “As if you noticed Agnes was wearing a new ring.”

  Harold’s ruby ring glinted on Agnes’s right hand. She’d returned the engagement ring to him decades ago on the Harmony River bridge. The same day the army informed her there’d been a mistake—her husband hadn’t died in the Battle of Inchon. He’d been captured, freed and was coming home, leaving Agnes to choose between her childhood sweetheart and the man who’d picked up the pieces of her heart when she thought her first love was dead. “I can’t believe we’re talking about a ring when there’s been an accident at the winery.”

  “Thank heavens no one was hurt or killed.” Suitably distracted, for now, Rose clutched the back of Agnes’s seat as she took a corner faster than usual. “Do you think they’ll realize this is an omen and quit?” Rose wasn’t a proponent of change.

  “More likely they’ll realize the barn is past saving.” Mildred raised her binoculars to her thick glasses, twisting the dials for a clearer view, which was nearly impossible given Mildred was legally blind. “Sometimes you need to cut your losses and move on. No regrets, right, ladies?”

  Agnes pressed her lips closed and tried not to look at the ruby ring. She had regrets aplenty. If she’d chosen Harold that day instead of honoring her wedding vows, maybe her life would have been different. She was nearly eighty and she’d never gone skydiving or driven a race car, something both of her friends had done. Her days were spent cleaning and gardening, meeting up with Mildred and Rose to go to a museum or the botanical gardens. She’d been a boring, devoted housewife, and that was no doubt why her kids and grandchildren rarely came to visit.

  The ruby winked at her, reminding Agnes of all that life had to offer. She could hear Harold’s baritone whispering in her ear: come away with me.

  She’d been unable to run away. She’d needed to stand by the promises she’d made. She had more promises keeping her here today, as she tried to breathe some much-needed life into Harmony Valley before it became a ghost town.

  “It’s a shame when old things give out.” Rose sniffed. “I just wish this winery business would go away.”

  “Rose, please.” The winery was Agnes’s only means to attract some of her family back to Harmony Valley. She wanted the chance to mention to one of the men starting the winery that her granddaughter, Christine, was an award-winning winemaker. She wanted the chance to mention that her daughter, Joanna, loved dealing with the public and might enjoy working in the tasting room. But she didn’t want to appear as if she was asking for any favors.

  She didn’t want to be one of those old women who schemed and manipulated.

  But if it was all she had left...

  * * *

  EDWIN WAS QUIET on the ride home. Abby rested her head on his shoulder. He squinted frequently into the side-view mirror, as if checking to see if someone was following them.

  “Here we are at your house, safe and sound.” Becca tried to sound reassuring. At her last job, Harold’s edema had caused bouts of disorientation, especially when the old man was tired. A little grounding and reassurance were called for. “Are you expecting someone? Perhaps the person you saw back at the winery?”

  “No. I thought I saw... But it couldn’t be.”

  “Well, we’re the only ones here now.”

  Abby was their chaperone as they made their way into the house, waiting patiently as they paused on each porch step so Edwin could catch his breath.

  “You don’t have to fuss over me. I was military intelligence.” Settling into his recliner, Edwin smiled with the half of his face unaffected by the stroke. “Although you couldn’t tell by looking at this old body, I directed campaigns and prevented wars.”

  Becca could have guessed the old man’s profession by looking around the house. Edwin’s good deeds had been acknowledged and rewarded with framed ornate military accommodations and medals. He’d be remembered as an honorable war hero, while she...

  Becca’s composure wavered like a flag in a hostile breeze. How would she be remembered? As a compassionate woman who helped the elderly she cared for? Or—as Virginia O’Dell’s family accused—a woman who took advantage?

  She never should have given Agnes that ruby ring. But how could she refuse Harold’s dying request to prove he’d never stopped loving Agnes? Becca’s protests to him about amending his will went nowhere.

  It was the look on Agnes’s face that made the risk worth it. The delight she’d tried to hide that a former lover had remembered her, tears she couldn’t conceal when emotions overwhelmed her—grief, joy, regret, happiness. She’d hugged Becca as if she’d delivered Harold himself into her arms.

  Just for a moment, Becca felt she belonged somewhere again. She’d welcomed the invitation to spend the weekend, hanging out with Agnes and her energetic friends. Baking banana nut muffins and singing show tunes.

  A cool breeze coming off the river fluttered through the screen. Becca draped a deep green afghan over Edwin, who was staring at Flynn’s graduation picture. His eyes were hooded, haunted. She rearranged the pillows beneath his feet and stepped back to survey her work, pausing to pat Abby’s head. “Who did you think you saw back there?”

  “Someone from the past.” Edwin lisped slightly more than he had yesterday, a sign the morning’s events had taxed his strength.

  Abby padded over to the door, circled a spot on the foyer’s black and white linoleum twice and lay down with a contented grunt.

  Becca sat on the blue plaid couch. Dust puffed out of the cushions. She knew she shouldn’t pry, but something was bothering Edwin, and she hated when her clients weren’t mentally and physically at ease. “Was it someone from Flynn’s past? Or yours?”

  Edwin’s gaze ricocheted to Becca’s. Difficult as it was in the chair, he thrust his chest forward, and his shoulders back. “I didn’t say.”

  “Of course, you didn’t,” Becca soothed. “It’s none of my business.” But she wondered nonetheless as she stared at the divots in the orange carpet marking where the coffee table had recently been moved. “Have you had breakfast? Do you like scrambled eggs?”

  Edwin sighed. “I can make my own breakfast.”

  Not hardly, in his weakened state.

  “It’s okay to ask for help or accept a little help while you’re on the mend.” Why was independence the hardest thing for seniors to give u
p? When Becca was eighty, she wouldn’t put up a fuss if someone wanted to cook for her.

  “I’ve never asked for help and I’m not starting now.” Edwin glanced toward the remote resting on the end table nearest him, just out of reach. “Could you turn on the television?”

  Becca laughed. Edwin quickly realized he’d asked for help and did, too.

  As their laughter died away, Edwin stared at Flynn’s picture again. Worry etched a stockpile of wrinkles around his eyes. She’d seen that look before—in the eyes of her mother, her grandmother, and most recently, Harold Epstein.

  “Sometimes...” Becca tried to stop herself. She didn’t need any more trouble. But stress hindered recovery, and knowing Edwin had been in military intelligence, he probably had plenty of secrets, perhaps ones he still kept from Flynn, perhaps ones he didn’t really want to take to his grave. She suspected he needed an outlet, a sympathetic ear, a keeper of secrets. Not her, of course. She’d made that mistake before and look where it’d gotten her. “Sometimes you might need help of a different kind. For example, you might want to get something off your chest or need help sorting through a box you stored in the attic.”

  There was a wounded quality to Edwin’s gaze that indicated Becca’s words struck a target the old man may not have realized he’d been harboring.

  “Mostly, you should ask for a hand when you’re unsteady. The rest of it—” the bucket list, the last wishes, the people he needed to make peace with. There was no hurry except to unburden himself. According to town gossip, he had years left in him “—just know that Flynn can help you if you talk to him.” That was good. She didn’t need to get involved.

  Perhaps things would have turned out differently with Harold if he’d had a family member he was willing to confide in, instead of a daughter who considered him an inconvenience.

  “Flynn’s too busy to talk now,” Edwin said gruffly. “We’re going on a trip in three months. I’ll talk to him then.”

  That seemed a long wait for an old man.