Summer Kisses

by Melinda Curtis

  “Ten thousand dollars.” Flynn’s voice was so flat. Him being a millionaire and all, ten thousand dollars was probably nothing.

  To her, it’d been a fortune. “I’d been struggling for so long, I didn’t want to struggle anymore. I shouldn’t have taken that check.” Becca rubbed her palms up and down her thighs. “I didn’t ask for the money. I’ve never asked my clients for anything.”

  “I bet Virginia’s son was livid.”

  “There’s an understatement.” Becca wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite work up the energy. “Although he inherited close to half a million dollars, he’s trying to bring a lawsuit against me.”

  “Trying?”

  “There’s a pretrial hearing in a few weeks.” She rubbed her hands over her legs again. “I know accepting that money wasn’t one hundred percent right, but it wasn’t one hundred percent wrong, either.”

  He studied her face, intent blue gaze checking for any clue that she was less than truthful. “The legal system moves slowly. What’ve you been doing since Virginia died?”

  “I spent the past nine months working for a wonderful man who passed away from heart failure a few weeks ago.” She’d told Harold she couldn’t deliver the ring. He’d argued, in a twiglike voice staked with death-is-coming urgency, that his daughter would think he’d had an affair if he left the ring to Agnes in his will. It’d taken Becca a week after his death to work up the courage to contact Agnes. And a week more to show her face.

  Regrets? She had too many.

  “And you didn’t accept any money from him?”

  “No.” Her voice was low and husky. Her liar’s voice. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t accepted money, after all. But if Harold’s daughter looked for the ring...

  “Why live in a motorhome? You’re out of debt now, right? Why not rent an apartment?”

  Why was it Flynn asked questions no one else did? Questions Becca didn’t want to answer. But the job was at stake and she’d already told him so much. “I helped my mother pass on. I helped my grandmother pass on. I’m on a first-name basis with grief, but that doesn’t mean that I can shoulder the cares of my client’s family. During their last few days, I’m already thinking about where I’ll go next. I know it’s a cowardly defense mechanism, but it works for me.”

  It had been different when Terry was alive. The San Diego metropolitan area had all been new to her, making it easier to accept assignments in suburbs that had different characters and different landscapes.

  When Flynn didn’t say anything, Becca pressed on. “I like people. Your grandfather may grow fond of me. I can tell him about my case, if you like, to make sure he’s still comfortable hiring me. But from what Agnes told me, you’ll only need someone for a few weeks.” When she was done, she might even accept another assignment in the small, quaint town.

  Flynn blinked, confusion crowding his brows.

  “I mean,” Becca clarified, because it looked like Flynn thought Agnes had predicted Edwin’s demise, “Agnes said you told her it would only be a few weeks before Edwin is up and moving around. Like his old self.”

  “Yes,” he said vaguely, turning to stare at the river, as if trying to figure out how to gracefully get rid of her.

  Her getting the job also seemed to have drifted down river. “I’m so glad your grandfather’s prognosis is good. I’d like to say goodbye to him before—”

  Flynn’s glance cut to her.

  “—I leave.” She stood and whistled for Abby, who was rooting around deep in the bushes lining the bank.

  “Wait.” Flynn touched her hand, sending a current of heat up her arm. He pulled away abruptly and ran his fingers against his thumb, over and over, as if she’d shocked him and his fingers needed reassurance that nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  She’d shocked herself. The jolt of awareness proved that he was a man and she a woman. If there was an awareness switch, she’d like it turned off, please.

  Abby ran up the bank, dancing at Becca’s feet.

  “I know I’m going to regret this.” Flynn was still rubbing his fingers over his thumb, staring at them in wonder. “I won’t let you near my money or my grandfather’s checkbook. What assurance can you give me that you won’t take advantage of him? Or me?”

  He was offering her the job in a roundabout way that wounded her pride.

  Common sense dictated a grateful yet graceful acceptance. “Only my word. If you can’t accept that, I’m sure Gerry Caldwell is available.”

  His brows lowered. “Grandpa Ed wants you. I know you need this job, probably for a character reference or something that’ll help you with your court case.”

  “How did you—”

  “I guessed. It’s what I’d do. Keep my nose clean. Working for a millionaire without any missteps can be a powerful statement.” His words were all business, even if his gaze pried and stroked where it didn’t belong.

  Blackberry bushes lined the path they’d taken to the river. Bees buzzed behind her, the noise vibrating against the circular realization that there was no trust here. No trust. She wanted him to have faith in her.

  What she didn’t want, what she couldn’t afford, was the attraction between them, stoked by his intent gaze, as if he, too, was trying to figure out: Why her?

  “This is a bad idea.” She turned and started down the path back to the house.

  Abby leaped ahead.

  “Wait.” His longer legs stretched past her, until he blocked her way. “They released my grandfather from the hospital, but his health is a delicate balance. You seem to understand him. He’ll be upset if I hire someone like Gerry Caldwell.”

  “Your grandfather will be fine. People overcome this kind of thing all the time.” She couldn’t not reassure him. Who wouldn’t be afraid of losing a loved one after two heart attacks and a stroke? She tried to go around him, but Flynn stepped in her way again.

  “I know I can be blunt—”

  She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

  Abby came to sit at her heels.

  “But...” Flynn opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. “You aren’t making this easy. Not by showing up unannounced, when the only people who show up at my doorstep or call anymore are trying to scam me. And not by telling me you took money from a client.”

  “And?” She sensed there was more.

  “And truthfully, I had something of a shock this morning. I saw the man who calls himself my father at the job site. He’s an ex-con and the reason I have zero tolerance for people who break the law.”

  Becca’s arms loosened. “I think your grandfather saw him, too.”

  “He told you?”

  “No. Edwin said he saw someone he knew, but he looked like he’d seen a ghost. It upset him.” She stared into Flynn’s clear blue eyes and lost her train of thought.

  “It upset me, too. He robbed a bank when I was eight. I haven’t seen him for close to twenty years. Not that it matters. He’s not getting any money from me, and I don’t care what he thinks of me.” He paused and shifted awkwardly, as if realizing his mouth had run past the normal filter applied by his brain.

  Becca saw the little hurt boy behind his eyes, and a part of her she needed solid and strong softened. Her hand twitched with the urge to reach out and comfort him. A light touch to the arm, the shoulder, his cheek.

  Not helpful. So not helpful. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and started walking.

  He matched her pace until they nearly bumped hips on the narrow trail, until she had to stop before they toppled on each other. This time, Abby waited ahead of them.

  Becca drew a breath. “Really, I’m grateful—”

  “I need help, Becca. You’ll make my grandfather happy.” The sincerity in his tone made her hope, that treacherous thing, whispe
r in Becca’s ear—about happy defense attorneys and dismissed court cases. Impossible. “Are you sure you can trust me in your home every day?”

  Trust me with your grandfather? With your things? With you?

  Becca’s gaze rested on the ground, where, presumably, she’d find her lost common sense. Instead, she saw a glint of copper, barely visible in the dirt beneath the toe of Flynn’s sneakers.

  It couldn’t be a penny. It had to be a leaf or a rock or something.

  She could feel Flynn’s gaze upon her, gauging her character. “Old Virginia didn’t write a will or anything?”

  “I have no proof. Only my word.” She tried not to sound bitter, but she was afraid she failed. “It doesn’t seem like you have much faith in people.” And yet, there was the penny, clearly visible when Flynn shifted his feet, an indication that she should accept.

  “Since I became wealthy, my faith in my fellow man has been put to the test.” Flynn tipped up the brim of his baseball cap. “However, I am good at offering second chances. Are you good at accepting them?”

  Becca searched his face to see if this was some kind of cruel joke.

  He wasn’t joking. His blue eyes reflected a combination of sorrow and regret. He wanted to believe the best in her. Wanted, but couldn’t quite. “For my grandfather, if not for me.”

  Her determination to refuse him wavered. If she took this job, she’d see Flynn every day. A daily opportunity for attraction to bloom and cause complications. Complications to the lawsuit, to her equilibrium, to her heart.

  None of that mattered as much as it should. Edwin needed good care and she could give it to him.

  As if sensing her capitulation, Flynn named a generous hourly wage.

  Part of her wanted to accept the indecent sum. The sensible part of her realized it would only make her look guilty in his eyes. And others.

  She snuck a glance at the penny again, at President Lincoln’s wise stare.

  It was official. She was nuts. “I’ll take half that an hour.” It was what the agency would have paid her.

  Flynn started to protest, but she’d have none of it. “That’s my going rate. Take it or leave it. I won’t let you overpay me.”

  He chuckled mirthlessly. “Everyone lets me overpay them.”

  “Then you’re a gullible fool. I can work for you until my hearing. In exchange, I want a letter of reference from your grandfather.”

  He cocked one burnished eyebrow. “Why not from me? I’ll be the one paying you.”

  She shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, when in fact she’d sell her wounded soul for two good references. “Okay, I’ll take both.” The combination was a one-two punch that could knock the lawsuit against her off its foundation.

  “Let’s shake on the deal.” Flynn’s smile didn’t penetrate her armor. She was ready for it this time.

  Their hands met in midair.

  Becca told herself she felt nothing.

  She was a horrible liar.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WE NEED TO TALK.” Grandpa Ed was waiting for Flynn in his recliner. The television—off. The old man’s lopsided frown—on.

  Flynn felt as if he’d been caught out past curfew. Only this time, the only crime he was guilty of was ignoring his urge for self-preservation and submitting to his grandfather’s wishes. “I hired Becca.”

  He’d hired her, giving her the impression that Grandpa Ed was going to get better. Despite the truth—that Edwin might very well die before her court hearing. Despite how worry and determination in her gaze seemed connected to his chest—the more noticeable the worry, the tighter his chest. He’d always been a sucker for people in need.

  Need was not a word he wanted applied to the dark-haired, legally harried beauty.

  Grandpa Ed’s fingers brushed air, as if casting his concerns aside. “It was the right thing to do. That girl needs the job more than I need her.”

  And here he’d thought his grandfather was charmed by Becca. He’d never figure his grandfather out.

  Flynn sank onto the couch.

  “I saw your father today.” Grandpa Ed sounded old and hollow.

  Flynn nodded, grateful for Becca’s heads-up. “He works for the main contractor on our winery.” Flynn tried to keep his voice calm. Stress and upheaval were to be avoided with his grandfather at all costs.

  Unfortunately, Joey Harris embodied stress and upheaval.

  “Fire him. He’s only there for your money.”

  It was Flynn’s fear, as well. “I’m not firing him.”

  “Flynn—”

  “It’s what he’d do. Fire someone he didn’t like. I’m not sinking to Joey’s level.” Flynn lowered his voice, tried to sound upbeat. “Letting Joey work there proves he means nothing to me.”

  “But what if he tries to talk to you? What if he comes here?” Panic noosed about Grandpa Ed’s words, as if the old man had something to fear from his son-in-law.

  “He won’t.” Flynn wouldn’t let him.

  “But—”

  “He won’t dare show his face at the house.” But the only way Flynn could make sure he didn’t was to tell Joey he wasn’t welcome here. Face-to-face. Man to man. Boss to hired help.

  Flynn had every reason to expect his command would be obeyed.

  If he didn’t factor in things like history or experience.

  * * *

  BECCA HAD TO be more careful what she wished for. She’d wished for the perfect job.

  The perfect job was one where she never had to care for someone who was dying, where she could earn a great character reference, where she could walk away without saying goodbye in a cemetery.

  She should have specified to God and the Universe that the perfect job also entailed a No Hottie Zone.

  Becca slouched into the dinette couch in her motorhome and stared at the two pictures beneath the kitchen cupboards. Terry hugging a buddy after making it through an obstacle course during training, his face striped in camouflage paint. But no amount of camouflage could disguise his grin. He’d loved the marines. He’d loved the action and the hardship and the honor. He’d loved her. If she lost the lawsuit, Terry would be disappointed.

  Abby jumped into the shotgun seat of the motorhome, looked out the window and barked.

  Something thumped against the door. “Becca, there’s a phone call for you.” It was Agnes, whose hospitality was a bright note amid the stress.

  The only person Becca had given Agnes’s number to was her lawyer. Her heart didn’t leap with anticipation or hope. It did a slow slide toward her toes.

  “I brought dinner.” Agnes held a tray with two plates of chicken and vegetables. Her cordless phone was wedged in between the plates, at risk of being ambushed by the broccoli.

  Becca relieved Agnes of the tray, placed it on the motorhome’s dining table and picked up the cordless phone.

  Agnes followed her up the stairs. Her sweet, short self looked more fitting in the motorhome than Becca felt most days.

  “I’ve been talking to your landlady. I hear you got a job.” Hank Weinstein’s pack-a-day, deliberate cadence was meant to intimidate clients and foes alike. “I want you to treat this client with kid gloves. I want more than a character reference as an exhibit. I want to put this client of yours on the stand.”

  Becca tried to imagine out-of-breath Edwin being cross-examined by a hostile attorney. It was easier to picture Flynn in the attorney’s face, his temper as fiery as his hair. “I’m not sure he’s going to be up to it.”

  Agnes rummaged in the kitchen drawers for cutlery.

  Hank swore. “Is the old guy dying?”

  “No.” Becca wanted to explain, but she was very much aware of Agnes setting the table and listening. If she’d learned anything about Harmony Valley over th
e past few days, it was that the elderly residents loved to gossip.

  “Then he’ll testify. I bumped into opposing counsel in court today and they sounded too excited, like they’ve got something unpleasant planned.”

  “Really.” Becca didn’t like unpleasant surprises. She glanced at the ruby ring on Agnes’s finger.

  Hank reminded her not to take any gifts—monetary or otherwise—from clients, harped on her about her court date and then hung up.

  “Problems?” Agnes asked sweetly, pouring two glasses of milk.

  Becca forced a light-hearted response. “Nothing a good lawyer can’t handle.” After filling Abby’s bowl with kibble, Becca sat across from Agnes and cut a piece of chicken. “This is sweet. But I don’t expect you to make dinner for me. I’m parked in your driveway, not your guest bedroom.”

  “I love to cook and I hate eating alone.” Agnes looked around the motorhome with undisguised curiosity as she speared broccoli. “This is cozy.”

  “We like it.” It had everything Becca needed—kitchen, bathroom, shower, wheels to move on with. All that was missing was a laundry room.

  “Is that your husband?” Agnes pointed to the picture of Terry. “He looks handsome.”

  The chicken suddenly seemed very dry. Becca swallowed. “He was, although how you can tell beneath all that war paint is beyond me.”

  “Anyone who can smile like that is handsome in my book.” Agnes’s gaze moved on to the other picture. “Who are the women?”

  “My mom and grandmother. That was taken at Mom’s college graduation.” The Polaroid shot had faded, even the orange in her grandmother’s dress, but their smiles still felt bright.

  Abby finished her dinner and went to sit at the steps leading outside, ready for her walk.

  “Feel free to park here as long as you like. It’s the least I can do, along with a couple of dinners to repay you for bringing me Harold’s ring.” Agnes gazed at it fondly.