Summer Kisses

Curiosity set Becca’s feet in motion.

The trucks parked up and down a long, freshly graveled drive leading to what looked like an abandoned farm. Men clustered about, finishing their coffee and adjusting tool belts. Their laughter lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of green growth.

Both sides of the driveway were bordered with palm trees some misguided soul had planted half a century earlier out of misplaced grandeur. Palm trees had no business in Sonoma County. As if to prove the point, hundreds of lush rows of grapevines flanked the palms, nearly crowding them out.

This must be where Flynn and his partners were building their winery.

The driveway branched at the end. To the right a white, two-story, craftsman-style home that had seen better days squatted. The porch sagged and windows were broken. To the left stood a large, red, prairie-style barn with winglike additions on either side, covered in a tin corrugated roof dappled with rust.

The instantly recognizable Cadillac was parked in front of the weary-looking house. Edwin sat in the passenger seat, head tilted back, snoring, an unopened bottle of water clutched in his puffy hand.

A rocket of exasperated anger launched from her toes to her fingertips, roaring through her ears.

Life was precious. Didn’t Flynn know that?

She spun around quickly, almost tripping over Abby.

Flynn and his red hair were easy to spot. He was talking to a group of men in front of the barn. He held his lean frame confidently in the crowd, unconcerned that his wrinkled gray T-shirt looked like it had sat in a dryer for days. His grandfather wasn’t the only one who needed looking after.

Flynn did a double-take when he saw her bearing down on him.

If she had any chance of landing the job, she had to be diplomatic and squelch the niggling man-to-woman awareness Flynn created.

Squelching awareness was easy. Unfortunately, diplomacy wasn’t in her arsenal this morning.

Becca planted herself so close to Flynn, he could have heard her whisper. Instead, she chose her outdoor voice. “This is how you plan to take care of your grandfather? By leaving him sitting in a car at a construction site?”

Sensing the turbulence above her, Abby lowered her head between her shoulders.

Scowling, Flynn drew her aside. “There’s a problem here I need to deal with.”

“We solved that. You should have left thirty minutes ago.” A tall man with crisp black hair and a crisper dress shirt and tie had followed them toward the barn. He extended his hand. “I’m Slade Jennings. One of Flynn’s business partners. And you are...”

“Becca MacKenzie,” Flynn said wearily.

Covering her surprise that Flynn had remembered her name, Becca shook Slade’s hand and added, “I’m not a stalker. I’m staying in town.” She blew out a breath, trying to release her anger. “I noticed Edwin’s edema yesterday. He needs his extremities frequently elevated above his heart to help control the swelling. This isn’t good for him.”

“You’re the one Edwin was asking about.” Slade smoothed his navy striped tie and smiled just as smoothly at her, creating not a niggle in her awareness meter. “Weren’t you going to call her to set up an interview, Flynn?”

“The day got away from me,” Flynn said, looking uncomfortably like it was true and happened often. “Are you free around two, Becca? I’ll be done by then.”

Becca shook her head. Flynn didn’t understand that old bodies weren’t as hardy as young ones. She could kiss this job goodbye. Her lawyer was going to be disappointed. But someone had to defend Edwin. “Give me your keys.”

“What?” Flynn’s eyebrows nearly touched the brim of his baseball cap.

Slade watched the two of them with unabashed interest and a hint of a grin.

Becca thrust her hand out. “I’ll take Edwin home. Give me the keys.”

“I’m not hiring you, Becca. I haven’t checked your references.”

“This isn’t about giving me a job. It’s about what’s best for your grandfather. I can’t let him sit out here without food or a decent bathroom. I won’t charge you a cent, I promise. Now, give me the keys.”

“Are you always this bossy?” Flynn dug into his jeans pocket for the keys and handed them to her. He was kind of cute when he capitulated, not that she was looking for that in a boss.

“I prefer the term take charge.” She accented the label with air quotes.

“Okay, but just...don’t get comfortable.”

“I know, I know. You have to interview everyone and check into my past.” Becca had no illusions about getting the job if Flynn did a deep background check. It was enough that she could help Edwin through the day.

She hurried toward the black Cadillac, Abby trotting at her side. When she opened the door, Abby hopped up to sit on the bench seat next to the old man, touching him with her nose.

Edwin startled, bumping into the other door. “Oh, it’s you.” He scanned the area, wariness framing his gaze.

“Yes. Who were you expecting?”

“I saw someone I hadn’t seen...” He blinked at her. “Where are we?”

“Flynn’s winery. I’m taking you home.”

“Oh. Flynn hired you.” In a blink, he tucked wariness away, patted Abby and injected cheer into his voice. “I knew that boy would come to his senses.”

She didn’t tell him that boy had no sense, at least not when it came to taking care of his grandfather. When it came to hiring a caregiver, he had entirely too much.

* * *

“YOU SHOULD HIRE HER.”

Flynn stared at Slade as if his friend had just suggested he wear high heels and a thong to the construction site. “Hello? She was waiting for us on our doorstep yesterday. I can think of a dozen slasher movies that started that way. How can I trust her with my grandfather?”

Slade cocked an eyebrow. “You just did.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” Flynn hated that Becca was right, too.

She’d moved with swift, purposeful strides over to the Caddy. All’s well, said the sway of her hips. Mission accomplished, said the swing of her long, black braid. All woman, said the curves covered in black and pink spandex.

The wind picked up, rustling the silver-green eucalyptus leaves on the sixty-foot tall trees separating the river from the vineyards.

A wiry construction worker with a gray goatee and ponytail glanced Flynn’s way, triggering the elusive feeling of familiarity.

Slade shifted, blocking Flynn’s view and disrupting the path to recognition. “Hire Becca. She clearly has Edwin’s best interest at heart. And if she moves here she brings skills to the town we don’t have now. We promised to increase the population and the tax base.”

The population in Harmony Valley was a whopping seventy-seven. All but two of those residents—their business partner, Will, and his fiancé, Emma—were over the age of sixty-five. The construction crews commuted from other, larger towns, the nearest being thirty to forty minutes away. Flynn and Slade were temporary residents, staying only long enough to fulfill their promise to the town council—to create at least one business to revitalize their hometown.

What fools they’d been to think it would be easy.

They’d experienced a series of false starts, but now, construction on the winery was finally moving forward. Also in the works was a communications tower to bring internet and cell phone service to the remote valley. Today was the first big day of work—demo of unusable parts of the barn, utility work needed to upgrade water, sewer and electricity.

Grandpa Ed waved as Becca drove the Caddy slowly around the drive.

Flynn returned the gesture halfheartedly. “I brought him here because I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

There had been indignation in Becca’s dark gaze today, with none of the subtle emotion he had yet to name layered in her eyes. Regardless, Becca was right. Flynn shouldn’t have dragged his grandfather out here, much less left him sitting. As if he needed more guilt.

Guilt greeted Flynn when he awoke every morning, sat on his chest all day and wove through his dreams at night. Guilt that he wasn’t doing enough, guilt that he wasn’t home enough, guilt that he’d put off doing things with his grandfather until it was too late. If he could just speed up construction on the winery, he’d take his grandfather on the trip of his life. The doctors said Edwin needed a few weeks to regain his balance and what little strength he had left before attempting anything so taxing.

After the Caddy disappeared, a faded green Buick appeared between the palms, carrying three occupants—all councilwomen. They might just as well have been doctors, coming to chart his progress and, if required, give him a dose of medicine.

He walked across the driveway to meet them, determined to avoid their daily meds.

When the car stopped, he leaned down next to the open passenger-side window. With a nod to each woman, “Agnes. Rose. Mildred.” Flynn reached for his easiest smile. “Ladies, we’re no longer open to visitors. This is a construction zone now.”

“We won’t be in the way parked here.” Agnes, a gray-haired pixie who also served as the aging group’s ringleader, turned off the ignition.

“We’re old.” From the passenger seat, Mildred squinted at him through lenses as thick as a hard drive. “We won’t get out. You can tell us what’s going on from here.”

“Actually, I came to see the workers with their shirts off,” Rose piped up from the backseat, her snowy ballerina bun windblown. “For efficiency’s sake, you can call them out while you give us a construction update and then we’ll be gone.”

“Rose,” Agnes scolded, her papery thin cheeks pinkening. “We are not here to ogle men.”

Flynn’s jaw ticked, tugging one end of his smile down. “Ladies, I have nothing new to report since yesterday. You’ll need to move along. We’re expecting delivery of a Dumpster.” And they were parked right in its path.

“Young man, our town has a lot riding on this venture.” Rose drew herself up regally, as if she’d already forgotten her shirtless desires. “As councilwomen, we need to be kept abreast of the activities here.”

“I assure you—” as he and his partners had been for months “—that we have kept you up-to-date. But not only is it not safe here, my contractor won’t allow nonessential personnel on-site.”

The three elderly ladies looked crestfallen.

Flynn bent, just a little. “You can park out on Jefferson Street.”

“I can’t see anything that far away,” Rose grumbled.

“We can go home and get our binoculars,” Agnes suggested.

“Brilliant.” Mildred patted his hand. “We’ll talk later.”

That’s what he was afraid of.

Agnes reached for the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. “Flynn, before we go, I’d like to put a vote of confidence forward about Becca MacKenzie. She’s a wonderful woman.”

“She knows all the songs from Guys and Dolls. And she can shake her bootie,” Rose, the Broadway musical enthusiast, added.

“Any girl who can drive stick shift is okay in my book.” Mildred patted his hand again. “You won’t make a mistake by hiring her.”

Flynn doubted that. Becca had her secrets and worse: he liked her looks, her smile, her chutzpah. “How long have you known her?”

Agnes’s smile stiffened. Rebooted. “I only met her Friday, but she stayed with me all weekend.”

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 tattoo 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.”