Kisses Sweeter Than Wine

by Heather Heyford

  It was the first time Sam had ever called her something other than the casual throw-away “Doc.”

  In spite of her anger, her heart went out to him. “There have to be other options. If we have to, we’ll go to Portland.”

  From the elevator down the hall came George, accompanied by Judy and a man in scrubs.

  “I’m at the consulting room now. Your dad’s on his way. I gotta go.”

  There was no time for good-byes.

  George and Dave, a male nurse, entered the consult room, followed by Red.

  “Have fun with Randy Andy,” Judy said out of the corner of her mouth.

  After helping George take his seat, Dave took the chair behind him, discreetly tucked into a short hallway by the door.

  The first words George said were, “Are you here to get me out of this place?”

  “We’ll talk about that in a minute. First, I need you to tell me what’s up with you and the female residents. I’m hearing there’s been some inappropriate behavior.”

  “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You haven’t been saying things to the ladies here? Touching them?”

  “I have a perfectly good wife and three kids back home. Luke, Cindy, and Sam.”

  Red made some notes.

  “We talked a little before about the reason why you’re here. Do you remember that, George?”

  “My son told me we were going to McDonald’s. Strangest McDonald’s I ever seen. That was a long time ago. I’m ready to go home. Where’d he get to goddamn it?” Restless, he turned in his chair.

  From his seat near the entrance, the nurse kept careful watch.

  Red’s head spun. George couldn’t stay here, but neither could he go back to the saltbox. Sam didn’t want him there.

  “Where’s my phone? I’m going to call him now. Tell him to come down here and bring his gun.”

  “Settle down. We’re not through talking.”

  “Do you know my son?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Crackerjack sniper. Three Bronze Stars for meritorious service in a combat zone. I raised him up.” Talking about his son, George glowed with pride. “But it was the Army that gave him his mental stamina. Tempered him in fire till he was hard as flint.”

  In dementia, long-term, episodic memory often remained intact even while the hippocampus was damaged. There was an unmistakable ring of truth in the proliferation of details George gave.

  “A sniper?”

  Red fought to separate her emotions from her professionalism.

  “Always was a helluva marksman.”

  She recalled Sam’s habit of estimating distances down to the inch.

  “Who do you think it was taught him to shoot?” He thumped his chest. “First gun I got him was an air gun. Next was a Winchester.”

  The long rifle hanging above the fireplace in the saltbox.

  “Started out shooting squirrels and rabbits, same way my daddy taught me. Then one morning I caught that dog of his with another one of his mother’s chickens in his mouth. Know what I did?”

  She held her breath.

  “Dug a hole under his bedroom window. Threw in the half-eaten bird. Then I marched right upstairs to the boy’s room and shoved that Winchester in his hands. Threw up the sash and told him to call his dog. Dog come runnin’ the minute he heard Sam’s whistle.

  “‘Shoot him,’ I said. Couldn’t do it at first. Still had sleep in his eyes. ‘Shoot him or I will.’ I was doing him a favor.

  He knew I wasn’t half the shot he was and it might not be as clean. He shot him then. Dog fell right into the hole I dug for it. You look for it, you can still see the cross.”

  Behind George, the nurse’s eyes were saucers.

  Red leaped from her chair, grabbed her bag, and flew past George and the nurse and out the door.

  No wonder Sam hated that house. Her hand shook as she jammed her key into the ignition. Abandoned there by his mother, brother, and sister…left to fend for himself with a quintessential psychopath…a man who was shallow, uncaring, and selfish.

  She had to find him, before he spun out. Before he destroyed her dream house.

  Chapter 36

  Sam was probably watching his phone, waiting to hear from her. But there were some things that should be talked about in person.

  She headed for his office.

  During the tourist season, the consortium stayed open later Friday nights.

  When she got there, she found a smiling Keval sitting at the bar with—Jordan Hasselbeck.

  She allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. But there would be time to congratulate herself later.

  She waved to Keval on her way back to Sam’s office, as if she weren’t falling apart inside.

  “He’s not back there,” called Keval.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. “Where is he?”

  Keval shook his head. “He tore out of here about an hour ago. I asked him what his hurry was, and he said there was something he had to do.”

  Red got back in her car and headed west.

  Now she knew what Sam meant about being a mess even before he’d joined the Army. That’s why he felt like he had to protect everyone around him. No wonder he considered it his solemn duty to protect what he loved best. His country, his consortium members, and now, her. At a crucial age in his development, he hadn’t been able to protect the only creature who loved him unconditionally: Riggley.

  She got back in her car.

  As she drove, she saw again in her mind’s eye the images she had clung to for so long: the sweet bungalows with their distinctive windows, the colonials with their colorful front doors, the ornate Victorians, and last but not least, the saltbox. All this time she’d believed that the only way she’d ever be whole was to one day own one of them. But this time when she thought of them, she felt nothing. As usual, Grandma was right. It wasn’t the house that was important. Humble trailer or grand estate, what mattered most in a home was who you shared it with.

  A mile before she got to the house she saw the faint orange glow. As she navigated the rutted road, it grew brighter and brighter.

  There was Sam’s bike, parked safely back on the road.

  And there was the saltbox—once, her dream house—engulfed in flames.

  She parked and ran as close as she dared to where sparks danced in the billowing smoke, frantically scanning the grassy area lit up by the blaze.

  “Sam!” she screamed.

  But she couldn’t see him through the smoke.

  She ran around to the back of the house, oblivious to the thorns on a clump of bushes scratching her legs.

  “Sam!”

  She thought she saw movement up on the small hill. Blinking in the acrid smoke, she scrambled up it, stopping to peel off her sandals until she found him lying on his stomach on the rough ground.

  “Get out of here!” Sam cried with a sweeping motion when he saw her coming.

  He still had the Winchester pointed toward the house.

  “I know everything.”

  “This is none of your business. Now get out of here! I don’t want you anywhere near this place if the cops show up. Can’t have you involved, do you hear me?”

  At a loud pop and a flash from the depths of the house, Red cringed.

  Sam leaped up, leaving his gun lying in the grass, and grabbed her by the arm. Standing before her wide-legged he thumped his chest and yelled, “My life. My house. My call. Now get out!” He pointed, straight-armed, toward the driveway.

  Nothing in Red’s training could have prepared her for this. She acted straight from the heart.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I know about Riggley,” she said, coughing. “Your dad told me.”

  “Riggley trusted me with his lif
e, and what did I do? Destroyed him.”

  “It wasn’t your fault! You were a child. A little kid! Your father made you do what you did.”

  His face distorted in agony. He covered his eyes with his hand and turned away.

  “The only way I could erase that, become the kind of person who doesn’t destroy his loved ones, was by destroying the place where it happened.”

  “Sam. Your father is so proud of you. He always was. He just didn’t know how to show it. He doesn’t have the skill set. To this very day, if anyone told him he had done wrong by you, he would deny it. He was raised the same way he raised you—perpetuating a vicious cycle of bad parenting. It happens all the time. It happened to me.”

  Red clutched his arm, turning him around, refusing to let him go through this alone.

  He yanked away from her. “Why don’t I see you burning down your past?”

  “There was a time I would have said because I talked about it. But the truth is, I don’t know. There are some things we just can’t know. Not even us shrinks.”

  She reached for him again.

  This time, he gave in, relaxing into her with a wail of pain.

  She held him close, absorbing his heaving sobs into her body, making them her own. Shushing his cries on her shoulder, she gazed out at the inferno, watching the roof on her one-time dream house collapse, taking with it any remnants of attachment she’d once had for it.

  Sam leaned on her with all the weight of his six foot, hundred sixty pound frame. She braced herself to keep from buckling, appreciating her strong body as never before, holding him tight as together, they watched his past go up in smoke.

  Chapter 37

  “I would like to start by saying what a pleasure it is to be best man at Manolo and Junie’s wedding.”

  Sam paused his speech to look out at the guests assembled under the stars at Broken Hart Vineyards. There was Manolo’s mother, her walker within easy reach, next to her chair.

  His father, who had come to his senses and shown up for his only son’s nuptials. Keval, with—who was that tall dude with the biceps that threatened to burst through the sleeves of his suit jacket?

  “Marriage is going to be great for Manolo. It will teach him loyalty, compromise, and all those other qualities he wouldn’t need if he had just stayed single.”

  Laughter rippled across the crowd.

  “But I doubt that anything could ever teach Manolo to be humble. He has always been conscious of his good looks. In fact, just this morning he asked if there was anything I could do to not show him up at his wedding. I told him not much, short of wearing a bag over my head. And I’d rather not do that again.”

  He exchanged significant glances with the groom.

  “Sorry. Private joke from our Army days. Lieutenant Santos is a living reminder of the values we share: loyalty, integrity, and personal courage. At different times throughout our lives he’s been my brother-in-arms. My confidante…” He paused to clear his throat. “My conscience. Manny is the finest friend any man could ask for. Were it not for him, I wouldn’t have this woman.” Sam looked at Red. “The best thing in my life. The woman I’m proud to call my girlfriend. Red McDonald.” He held his hand out to her.

  From her nearby table, Red shook her head, but Sam was insistent, and so to cheers and applause, she finally got up and stepped under Sam’s outstretched arm. There, in front of the whole town, Sam dipped her backward and kissed her.

  After the main course, Pat Berg sidled up to Red at the crowded dessert buffet.

  “How are you?” Red asked congenially.

  “Three weeks, and no nightmares,” Pat replied, holding up crossed fingers. “Who would have thought our minor marital spats would cause Cassadee so much worry? Then again, how were we supposed to know the parents of not one, but two, of her friends were divorcing?”

  Red shrugged. “Never hurts to talk. Communication is everything.”

  “Speaking of communicating, how is Sam’s ‘little problem’?’” she said, making air quotes.

  Red frowned. “Sam has a problem?”

  “You know,” Pat winked, “between the sheets?”

  Over Pat’s shoulder, Red saw Sam approaching, holding a small plate. She straightened up to her full five foot eight. “Thanks for your concern,” she said. Then, enunciating each syllable loudly enough to be heard all the way over at the strawberry shortcake, “Sam Owens is a freaking stud. Nice talking with you.”

  Heads turned as Sam escorted Red back to their table.

  “What do I owe you?” asked Sam, watching Pat scamper off to spread the word of his virility.

  “A bite of your chocolate mousse,” Red said, without missing a beat.

  The patio had been cleared of furniture to make room for dancing. As Sam and Red left the floor after Michael’s “The Girl is Mine,” the tall man Sam had noticed during his speech tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me. My name’s GQ. Have we met?”

  Sam’s gaze traveled over his size forty-eight shoulders to his thirty-two waist. Coolly, he said, “You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

  Unconvinced, the man frowned. “I could have sworn—”

  “Hear that?” Sam asked Red at the prelude to Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed & Delivered.” “Our song.”

  He grabbed Red’s hand and pulled her back onto the patio. But instead of joining in with the other eager dancers, he dragged her across the patio to the abandoned tasting room.

  Slipping in behind her, he wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her.

  “Our song, huh?” she asked, puzzled yet smiling, when they came up for air.

  “Mm,” he said, smacking his lips, pulling her tight against him. Over her head he mumbled, “You taste good.”

  “Strawberry shortcake.”

  “Not bad.”

  “I thought you didn’t like strawberries.”

  “I didn’t used to. But I’m developing a taste for them. They make your kisses taste sweet.”

  She leaned back from the waist and straightened the knot in his tie. “Are my kisses as sweet as Manolo’s?” she asked with a sparkle in her eye.

  e held her at arm’s length. “How long have you known?”

  She threw her head back and laughed out loud.

  “Manny told Junie the minute they got home.”

  Sam pulled her close again. “Damn. Don’t those two have any secrets between them?”

  “Why else do you think they’re so happy together?”

  As her words sank in, Sam took Red’s hand and twirled her to the music playing outside.

  “Here I am baby,” he sang. “Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours.”

  Chapter 38

  Two months later

  Red was standing at the counter at Poppy’s Café when Sam walked in and gave her a kiss.

  “Hey,” she said. “How was lunch with your dad today?”

  George was living in a new home that specialized in memory care forty-five minutes away in Beaverton that Red had helped Sam find.

  “He has moments when we’re able to connect. We were talking about back when I was a kid.”

  “That’s the thing about Alzheimer’s. Though it’s hard to remember what you did yesterday, sometimes you can call up things that happened a lifetime ago.”

  “He was telling me how hard it was to keep an eye on me, back when I was starting to walk.”

  Red laughed, because that’s all you could do. “He can remember things you can’t even remember.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  Red smiled with sympathy. “I’m just glad you two have had this chance to get reacquainted.”

  Sam nodded. “You almost ready? The Realtor’s going to be waiting for us.”

  Sam still had a low tolerance for sappy.

&n
bsp; “I’m ready.” She patted her shoulder bag.

  They got in Sam’s van and headed west out Meadowlake Road, up a hill and across a stream. Ten minutes outside of Clarkston, they pulled into a paved driveway leading to a wood frame farmhouse surrounded by a fenced-in yard. On the southeast side was a large, well-tended vegetable garden. Ten-foot tall tripods served as supports for the pole beans that had been harvested earlier in the season. Now, pumpkins the size of basketballs lay scattered in one corner. Yellow sunflowers hung their heavy heads over the fence.

  It was their second visit to the property. The realtor was already in the driveway, waiting for them.

  “I’d like to go inside again,” said Red.

  “You two go ahead,” he said. “Now, don’t forget about the amenities. You’ve got ten private acres, hand-scraped hickory floors, and skylights.”

  Quivering, Red looked up at Sam. It wasn’t the chill in the air. It was pure excitement.

  He put his arm around her and gave a squeeze.

  “Take your time,” said the realtor. “I’ll wait out here.”

  Red wandered through the spacious interior to the screened-in back porch.

  Sam came up behind her and put his arm around her. Together they gazed out at the panorama of blue hills.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I like it.”

  “What do you like about it?”

  “The established garden, of course. It has a sense of permanence. It’s just rural enough that I feel like I’m in the country, but not so far that Grandma is afraid to visit. What about you?”

  “I like that you like it.”

  “That’s all? You have to want it as much as I do, Sam. I can’t afford a place like this on my own.”

  “Aren’t I the one who suggested we take a closer look at it?”

  “After I spotted it on the net. I thought it was just a dream—”

  “A what? You thought it was a what?”

  “A dream house.”

  He took her into his arms and nodded toward the mountains, long, tawny lashes like crescent moons above those shining eyes…eyes that seduced her without even trying.