“Flynn, I—”
He shushed her and walked faster, pulling her along. “House rule number five—don’t wake those in your care.” Anger vibrated through his words, vibrated through the heat of his hand, vibrated up her arm as she tried to tug herself free.
He must have found out about their road trip to the Cloverdale post office this morning.
“Flynn, look, I’m sorry about this morning. I would have called you if cell service was up.”
He stopped in the middle of the back porch, in front of the table with the sandwich she’d made and covered, in front of a spectacular view of the river. The bramble of blackberry bushes on the slope beneath them was covered in sweet white blossoms being romanced by busy bees. Abby sniffed at them through the slats and moved farther down the porch to sit.
Flynn didn’t let go of her hand. How could he have known they’d left?
Someone must have seen them drive out of town and told Flynn. Once Harmony Valley got internet, she’d bet good money there’d be a lot less gossip going on. They’d be too busy watching kitten videos online.
“Edwin outmaneuvered me. I was going to tell you after lunch.”
After Flynn had a chance to unwind a little.
“Tell me what?”
He didn’t know? She’d dug herself an unnecessary hole. “We must not be talking about the same thing. I took Edwin to Cloverdale this morning.”
Flynn’s grip on her hand convulsed. “I specifically told you not to take him anywhere.” He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t looking at his sandwich. He was looking at the river.
Intuition reverberated in her ears, murmuring a warning. A warning about what?
“Edwin typed his letters. Addressed them. Stuffed them in envelopes. What was I supposed to do? I told him we shouldn’t go, but he’d already canceled his physical therapy.” Becca spoke with freight train speed, words tumbling practically on top of each other. “I drove everyone to the post office in Cloverdale. I had Abby and Truman sit with Edwin in the car in the shade while I bought stamps—your grandfather gave me cash. And then we drove straight back here. I put the change and the receipt on his dresser. We were gone less than ninety minutes.”
“And yet, my grandfather’s exhausted. Why else would he be sleeping at lunchtime?” Flynn gave her a sideways look. It was the same look he’d given her the day they’d met. Probing, piercing, heartbreaking.
It said without a word he didn’t trust her.
The noise in her ears was nearly deafening. She hadn’t realized how much Flynn’s good opinion meant to her. This wasn’t about letters of reference. It was more personal, and therefore more disappointing.
Becca tugged on her hand, but Flynn wouldn’t let go. “Edwin spends most of the day napping. It’s why he’s so lucid when he’s awake.” She put her hand over his, the one that gripped hers so tight. “Tell me what’s happened.”
Flynn stared at their hands, blinking as if he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding hers. And then he released her. Stepped away. Put the railing at his back.
“I had a visit from a private investigator this morning.” His blue eyes pinned her in place. He was unaware she couldn’t breathe enough to escape, even if she’d wanted to. “He’s investigating you. He said he came by the house this morning. You were gone.”
“I’m so sorry.” For too much. “When the investigator didn’t find us here, I bet you didn’t know if I’d rushed Edwin to the hospital or taken him out around town on an errand.” She dragged in a breath. “Of course, I’ll leave. You don’t have to ask me.”
He looked perplexed. “Why?”
“I don’t want Edwin upset if that investigator comes here again.”
“I told him to stay away from the house,” Flynn said, submitting her once more to his probing gaze. “I put my reputation on the line for you.”
She wanted to scream. That ring. She’d known she shouldn’t honor Harold’s last request. “You shouldn’t have done that, Flynn. I’ll leave.”
She didn’t want to, but she didn’t want her mistakes to reflect on Flynn. And to prove it, she took the first step.
Flynn blocked her before she could take another. He held on to her arms. “Don’t run. Don’t quit. Whatever it is you’re guilty of besides taking the money, if you run it’ll only make them look that much harder for something.”
She opened her mouth to deny she was guilty of anything else, but all that came out was a half gasp.
Since Terry died, no one had stuck up for her. No one. Becca wanted to lean against Flynn’s chest and let him shoulder her burdens, but she couldn’t. She’d made a promise to Harold and to Agnes. She couldn’t tell him.
Becca lifted her gaze to Flynn’s.
His lips thinned. “You’re not a very good liar.”
“I haven’t lied to you.” Her deep I’m-not-telling-the truth voice.
“You haven’t told me everything.” His fingers dug into her arms. “I can get you a lawyer.”
“No! I have a lawyer. There’s nothing to worry about.” Not unless they discovered Harold’s ring. Her voice pitched low enough to sing bass in a boy band. “I’ll have your character reference and others. My lawyer would be overjoyed if he could get your grandfather on the stand. Can you see it? Edwin telling the courtroom Gary’s accusations are nonsense?” She tried to laugh, but it got caught in her throat and sounded more like a sob. She pieced together a smile. “Not that I’d let Edwin get up there.”
“He can’t testify.” Flynn’s grip faltered. “The legal system is a tangled web. Whatever lawyer you’ve hired can’t be the caliber of someone I can afford.”
“If I let you hire me an attorney, I’ll look even more guilty.” She reached for his hands, removing them gently from her arms. She gave them a slight shake, a thrill going through her when he gripped her hands tighter. “You have enough to worry about without taking on my burdens. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s just it. I can’t. I can’t stop worrying about you. I can’t stop wondering why you live a nomadic life, why you don’t have any friends, why you aren’t a stay-at-home mom with a houseful of kids. You don’t have to do this alone.” He stared at her lips in the same way a parched man stares at a glass of water.
Intuition reverberated again, this time with a very clear warning—move or accept his kiss!
A kiss would ruin everything.
What a way to go.
Wisely, she ignored that thought and the pound of her pulse, and forced her feet to move a solid step sideways. “Flynn, you worry about everyone in Harmony Valley. You don’t need to add me to that list.”
Still holding her hands, he turned with her, as if they were doing a slow country reel. “Becca, I can’t explain this, but—”
“Flynn.” She managed to get her hands free. “House rules, remember? You can’t hold my hand. Or hug me.” She wouldn’t add the K word to the list. He ought to know kissing was out. “I have to do this by myself and be aboveboard in everything I do.”
“Alone in everything? Aboveboard in everything?” His hand cupped her cheek and for the life of her, she couldn’t keep herself from resting her cheek against his palm. His gaze burned with the promise of heat, of kisses and soft whispers across pillows. “Promise me you won’t quit. My grandfather needs you.”
She shouldn’t. She couldn’t.
But in the end, she did.
* * *
NEARLY KISSING BECCA was becoming a habit that made Flynn’s brain a mess.
Manual labor didn’t help. Idle conversation didn’t help. Days went by, time passed. It didn’t help.
Webber had warned him Becca bonded quickly with her clients in order to sucker them in, but the private investigator didn’t know her. Becca truly cared about people. If only Webber could see Becca with Truma
n or his grandfather, he’d realize she wasn’t a thief. But that might upset Grandpa Ed, and was a risk Flynn wasn’t willing to take.
Becca was genuine when it came to her feelings. She was loyal. Offering to quit when she needed a reference was just one of many check marks in her favor. Refusing to accept a pay raise when she began watching Truman was another.
And then there was the soft feel of Becca’s skin, the ripe promise of her lips, the trapped look in her eyes. Flynn had to figure out a way to help her, even if he never kissed her.
That was the hardest thought of all to move on from. Kissing Becca.
Until he saw Joey on Sunday.
Flynn was finishing up fixing a cat kennel in Felix Libby’s side yard when he saw Joey slowly drive by. Slade was two houses over, fixing Maurice Ingleton’s loose screen door.
He knew Becca was a good person inside, just as he knew Joey wasn’t. The way a man treated his kids said a lot about him.
Flynn shied away from putting his sister Kathy in the same box. She’d call. Soon.
Truman and Abby were playing in Felix’s front yard. Felix rescued cats, so the backyard was off-limits to them. Fulfilling his role as Flynn’s wingman, Truman handed him things he needed whenever Flynn asked—water, a new box of nails, a screwdriver.
The white truck backed up and into Felix’s driveway.
Truman watched Joey pull in.
Before Flynn realized what was happening, Joey got out and introduced himself to Truman.
By the time Flynn made it to the driveway, Truman and Abby had made a new friend.
Joey threw Abby’s tennis ball across the yard. His T-shirt sleeves were rolled up. His tattoos showing. He looked at Flynn. “He yours?” There was hope in Joey’s voice.
Flynn wanted to tell him to get lost. Instead, he gritted his teeth. “Kathy’s.”
Joey’s face fell. “He’s got your mother’s eyes.”
“What do you care?”
“I loved your mother. And you.” He met Flynn’s gaze squarely. “And when I was on the good side of the barbed wire, I was good to Kathy.”
Flynn couldn’t argue with that.
Truman and Abby ran around the yard, taking the ball away from each other.
Flynn swallowed his pride and decades of crushed hopes. “Is that why you never tried to contact me? Because you loved me so very much?”
Joey’s eyes turned cold. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” He shook his head. “You’d think now, when he’s dying, that the old man wouldn’t lie to you.”
“He’s not dying.” Becca wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.
“I’ve seen men die.” Joey’s gaze flickered to a distant point on the horizon, before flickering back to Flynn. “I saw Edwin the day the barn collapsed. You can lie to others, if that’s the kind of man you’ve become, but don’t lie to yourself.”
Flynn didn’t want to ask. He didn’t. He clenched his fists. “My grandfather isn’t a liar.”
“Isn’t he?” Joey laughed bitterly. “He lied about everything. Your mother. Me. The money.”
Flynn waited. He wouldn’t give Joey the satisfaction of asking for details.
“He paid me to stay away.” Joey jutted his jaw, so like Flynn’s. “Paid me well, even in prison. Paid your mother, too, I expect.”
Flynn’s world spun on its axis. His parents had chosen to leave him. His parents considered him a mistake, unloveable, a castoff. Hurt churned in his gut, rejecting what Joey said, rejecting and doubting his grandfather, the man he couldn’t confront about this without getting upset, raising his blood pressure and potentially ruining his old ticker permanently. It was safer to reject Joey’s words. “I don’t believe you.”
Joey shrugged. “I’m not the one about to die with lies weighing on his soul.”
“Grandpa Ed isn’t about to die.” Flynn had been lying for weeks about his grandfather’s condition. How long had his grandfather been lying about Flynn’s parents?
“Don’t kid yourself. He looks like he has one flag staked in the grave already.” Joey backed toward his truck. “You ask him. You ask him about me and your mother. I’ll see you tomorrow at Sam’s.” He waved to Truman. “Nice to meet you.”
So confident. So self-assured. Flynn felt none of those things as he watched Joey drive away.
“Are you done with the cat cage? My tummy tells me it’s snack time. And at snack time Becca makes yummies.” When Flynn didn’t answer, Truman tugged on his hand. “Uncle Flynn? Are you okay?”
He wasn’t. He was seeing his mother’s hand clutching a small piece of paper the day she’d left him in Harmony Valley. Had Grandpa Ed given her a check? Or had Joey’s suggestion put the image there when it hadn’t been there before?
Flynn scrubbed a hand over his face. “Let’s load up the truck.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WE’RE HOME!” TRUMAN ran up the front steps and inside. “We need a snack.”
Flynn trudged across the lawn behind him. Joey had to be lying. His grandfather couldn’t have paid Joey to stay away all this time. He couldn’t be that cruel.
Flynn stood in the doorway. His grandfather’s face was hidden behind a newspaper.
Becca was in the kitchen, setting the microwave to cook popcorn for Truman. She glanced at him over her shoulder and immediately turned. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Flynn held up a hand, a numb, cold hand.
“Grandpa Ed.” Flynn walked over and sat on the floor at his grandfather’s feet, like a child waiting for a story. “Joey came by while I was working. He asked about Truman. He wanted to know...if Truman was mine.”
His grandfather set aside his newspaper, his chest heaving as if it was suddenly hard for him to breathe. He rubbed his chest. Coughed. “You talked to him? I told you not to talk to him.”
Flynn nodded. “And he told me... He accused... Did you pay Joey to stay away from me?” He prayed the answer was no. If it wasn’t, all the years of pining for his father, walking with his head held high when his friends had their dads at ball games and karate lessons, all the years of alibis he’d told himself about not caring that he never saw Joey Harris again, would be a sad, unnecessary fairy tale.
Becca talked quietly with Truman in the kitchen. Flynn was grateful she was keeping him occupied. He was often grateful to her for her thoughtfulness and stability. He’d be more grateful if she’d wrap her arms around him and make him forget the idea Joey had put in his head.
His grandfather couldn’t be that cruel.
But his grandfather had yet to speak.
Grandpa Ed struggled to hold his composure. His lopsided expression wavered and wobbled. And then it crumpled, destroying what little hope Flynn had left.
“Do you remember those months after your father went to prison? The squalor? The gunshots, both day and night? Drug dealers for neighbors?” Edwin lisped. “I died every time I came to visit, begging your mother to come home.” Edwin’s breathing was ragged, scaring Flynn as much as his words, but he wouldn’t stop him, not until he knew the truth. “But your mother didn’t want to come here. Harmony Valley lacked the things she craved—drugs, money, men. Do you remember the men?”
Flynn did. He didn’t want to. They’d come and go. Watching movies in his mother’s room, she’d say. Even at eight he knew better. But the few times he’d protested, he’d earned a slap and harsh words. She’d tell him to take Kathy outside. They’d huddle in the bushes at the bottom of the stairs until her movie visitor was gone, until she was sober enough to remember her children weren’t at home.
Flynn fists dug into his thighs.
Becca’s and Truman’s voices. Abby lapping up water in the kitchen. The scene so normal. His life so surreal.
“Kids shouldn’t be raised that way. She gave
you up first and disappeared. Took me nearly three years to find her and Kathy.” Grandpa Ed touched the brim of Flynn’s ball cap. Sighed when Flynn said nothing, and continued. “Joey wanted to take you away from me when he got out. He was hoping to be released early on good behavior. I couldn’t trust him to stay within the bounds of the law, not a third time. So I paid him. I gave him money until you graduated high school.” His voice rose high and tight. “What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to protect my grandchildren?”
“You could have told me.” Flynn’s voice sounded like he was eight years old again, clingy and fragile as he watched his mother drive away. “I would have liked to have some say in it.”
Abby walked over and laid down next to Flynn. He rested a hand at the base of her small head.
“I suppose I could have told you sometime in the past eight or nine years. You could have sought Joey out and seen for yourself what he was like. But he’s here now, isn’t he? Looking for money. I’m sure he blew every dime I gave him on drugs and women when he was released four years ago.” Grandpa Ed reached a hand toward Flynn. His fingers brushed Flynn’s baseball cap.
Flynn ducked away. He wasn’t ready to forgive. His hat ended up in Grandpa Ed’s shaking hand.
After a moment, his grandfather put the ball cap on his own head. “I’ve been worrying about how to tell you. The longer you keep a secret the harder it is to let loose.”
Flynn’s gaze drifted to Becca. She stood in the archway separating the kitchen from the living room, a hand over her mouth. Her gaze softly pleaded for Flynn to forgive.
He couldn’t.
Truman came to sit in Flynn’s lap with a bowl of popcorn. “Grandpa Ed, did you know someone has a zoo-ful of cats in town? He has all different sizes and colors of cats. They didn’t like Abby, but they liked me. I like this town. Everyone here likes me.” Truman opened his mouth to say more, and then decided he’d rather fill it with a handful of popcorn. He slouched against Flynn’s chest, smelling of sticky, sweaty boy. “But I miss Mama. When is she coming back?”
Flynn could feel the boy’s conflicted emotions in every breath—there was the desire for his mother versus the desire to stay where he’d found happiness. His chest felt heavy.
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