Читать книгу Summer Kisses - Melinda Curtis - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

BECCA MACKENZIE WAS sweet and loveable and trustworthy.

At least, that’s what people used to say.

But that was before. Before a Taliban bullet widowed her, before her smile felt scarred, before she got it into her head that everyone deserved the granting of their last wish.

Sure, go on, ignore trusts and wills and judgmental relatives. Never mind the necessity of paper trails to protect those left behind.

What had she been thinking?

Not about protecting herself. She’d been thinking, screw grief. She’d been thinking that if you loved someone and they loved you back, fulfilling that person’s last request was an honor.

Sweet and loveable and trustworthy.

That’s what Becca’s clients would say about her.

If they weren’t all dead.

Becca’s lips were so tightly sealed grief had no chance to escape.

Death was an appendage of being a certified nursing assistant who cared for the elderly. Easing their passing was a sacred trust, whether they died of natural causes, of cancer or kidney disease, of heart failure or just plain fatigue. Life was exhausting, too short for the ones she loved, and, well, exhausting for those left behind.

Exhausted, Becca sat in her temporary home in Harmony Valley, a don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it town in the northernmost corner of California’s Sonoma County. Her home was mobile. Twenty-one feet long, with rusted bumpers, and an orange burlap dinette that doubled as her bed. She’d been in town less than three days, and was parked at the house of a prospective employer, waiting for him to get home.

When Flynn Harris showed up with his grandfather, she’d stand up straight, look him in the eye and ask him for the job. She would not think about the near-zero balance in her checking account, the accusations a previous employer’s family made against her or the lawsuit she had almost no chance of winning without this job.

A cold, wet nose pressed against her side. Trust Abby to know when Becca needed reassurance. The black, tan and white Australian shepherd looked at her with dark, adoring eyes, as if to say everything was going to be as right as her nightly kibble. Becca stroked the small dog’s silky fur, but even Abby couldn’t chase away the tension knotting her stomach.

A classic black Cadillac the length of a small cruise liner turned into the lightly graveled driveway, moving slowly toward the army-green, ranch-style house where Becca was parked. The car stopped so that the passenger-side door was even with the front walk.

Becca hopped out of the motorhome and would have hurried to the passenger door, Abby trotting eagerly at her heels, if not for the penny she saw at her feet. Shoved between two small white rocks, the penny seemed bent and beaten. Becca shoved it into the pocket of her jeans and waved to the elderly passenger through the open Cadillac window.

Edwin Blonkowski’s pale face was dominated by a bulbous nose, his expression stuck in a stroke-induced half frown, framed by a stringy gray comb-over. The T-shirt at the folds of his neck was a dingy gray, the collar curled as if clinging to life. He was so clearly in need of TLC that Becca’s heart panged.

And panged again when she glanced at the driver, Edwin’s grandson, Flynn Harris. Locals said Edwin was on the road to recovery. Flynn’s eyes told a different story. They were the crisp blue of a morning sky, but sharp, so sharp. Sharpened by the fear of loss. Sharp enough to shred her hopes.

For a moment, Becca doubted the penny.

Flynn got out of the car and walked toward the trunk, adjusting his baseball cap over his shoulder length, reddish-brown hair. Faded blue jeans. A wrinkled white Comic Con T-shirt. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, same as Becca. His wasn’t the domineering muscularity of a military man. His was the tall, wiry frame of an athlete built for speed.

For the first time in years, Becca looked at a man and her body buzzed in appreciation.

A totally unexpected response. She was looking for a job, not a date. And there’d been that penny.

She opened Edwin’s door and assembled a smile as carefully as if it were an unfamiliar yoga pose. “I’m Becca MacKenzie, a certified nursing assistant. Agnes Villanova recommended I stop by and ask about the job.”

“Wasn’t expecting you.” Edwin’s words slurred as he shook her hand, his hospital identification bracelet too tight on his swollen wrist. “Told Flynn. I’m done with nurses.”

“You’re done with hospitals.” Flynn’s voice was deeper than she expected, rumbling along her nerves like drawn-out thunder after a lightning strike. “But we need a nurse at home. While you get better.”

Hope strengthened Becca’s smile. The sharpness in Flynn’s gaze may have been due to worry, not lost optimism.

“I’m not muddle-headed,” Edwin said. “Don’t need a jailer.”

Abby put her paws on the Cadillac’s bottom door frame, stretching to sniff the old man.

Edwin patted the dog, his fingers exhibiting the bluish tinge caused by very poor circulation. “Who’s this?”

“Abby.” Becca snapped her fingers and Abby trotted a few feet away. “Can I help you out of the car?”

“Please.” There was a determined twinkle in his eyes. “I can’t dance like I used to.”

“None of us can.” Becca steadied Edwin as he stood. She didn’t dare look Flynn’s way for fear he’d start a conversation with, “Thanks for coming by.” And end it with, “But we’ve already hired someone.”

“You did great,” she told Edwin, rubbing a sweaty palm on her jeans, feeling the penny in her pocket.

Abby barked her approval once, high and sharp, pacing behind Becca as if she and Edwin were two sheep in her care.

Flynn closed the trunk. A walker appeared to Becca’s left. “You’re not from the agency. Those candidates are coming by this afternoon.”

They hadn’t made a decision. Becca wanted to sag with relief.

“I’m an independent C.N.A. I have letters of reference. And a résumé.” Emotion tinged her voice, the way it did when she didn’t speak the entire truth. There were gaps in her résumé, names and dates missing. She cleared her throat and produced the envelope with her qualifications from her back pocket. “Agnes told me you’re looking for someone to help your grandfather regain his sea legs. And it just so happens I’m available.”

Edwin gave her a half grin, and a thumbs-up. “Until I’m okay, I’m sold.”

Becca grinned. Edwin was just what her lawyer suggested—a recovering client who’d give her a stellar character reference within the next few weeks. There would be no honoring a last request, no gift, no deathbed vigil. Edwin was recovering and after a few weeks, Becca would move on.

Flynn took the envelope reluctantly, as if it contained germs, and stuffed it into a plastic bag from the hospital. “Don’t set your parking brake just yet, Grandpa. We should review all the candidates before we make a decision.”

“Why?” Edwin asked.

“Because selecting a caregiver is almost as important as selecting a doctor.” The edge to Flynn’s voice was more pronounced. “You don’t just pick one up off the street. Or off your driveway.”

And then their gazes collided—hers and Flynn’s. It wasn’t a cursory glance like the one he’d given her from across the roof of the car. His scrutiny landed on her and delved deep in one surprisingly quick hit that left her breathless and panicky.

Because in his gaze she saw recognition.

Of her? Of her desperation? She didn’t know which.

Becca pulled herself together, trying to salvage the opportunity, along with her smile. “I have eight years experience, mostly in transitioning patients from rehab to home life.”

“Sounds super,” Edwin slurred, at the same time that Flynn said, “We have to choose carefully.”

Abby circled Flynn’s ankles, doing a bit of character judging with her nose. Flynn leaned over to scratch behind her ears. She licked his hand approvingly and then ran up the front steps, giving them a satisfied smile as she sat.

“Even the dog thinks we should hire Becca,” Edwin said.

At Flynn’s frown, words tumbled from Becca’s mouth. “I tailor my care to each client. I work toward my patient’s goals as well as their doctor’s orders. Abby’s a licensed therapy dog. She’s well behaved and loves everybody. I can work whatever hours you need if you’ll let me park on-site.” Becca pointed at her motorhome and rushed on. “I hear you’re building a winery in town. You’re probably incredibly busy and need someone right away...”

Flynn caught sight of the wedding band on her right hand and raised an eyebrow.

“My husband, Terry, was killed in Iraq three years ago.” Saying it no longer brought tears to her eyes, just the memory of a nameless marine with bad news and a stoic expression.

Someday she’d put the thin band of white gold and its small, princess-cut diamond away. She’d tried a few times, but could only move it as far as her right hand.

“Becca, I appreciate you coming by. But you know as well as I do...” Flynn seemed determined. “I have to interview other candidates.”

She knew, but she’d hoped—

“Nonsense.” Edwin frowned with both sides of his mouth now. “She’s a war widow. It’s my duty to help her.”

“Grandpa Ed, let me take care of this.” Flynn edged the walker closer to his grandfather, dismissing her.

Because she wasn’t sweet or loveable or trustworthy.

* * *

“I LIKE HER,” Grandpa Ed said once Flynn had him settled in his recliner in the living room. “Hire her.”

“Slow down.” Flynn opened the ancient gold brocade living-room curtains, letting in the afternoon sunlight. It did nothing to cheer him. Instead, it aggravated the sledgehammer-like pounding in his head. He’d seen something familiar in Becca’s expression. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, not while he was preoccupied with his grandfather.

“I like her,” his grandfather reiterated.

“It’s time for your pills and to check your blood sugar.” Flynn changed the subject, ignoring the light blinking on the answering machine. It was most likely the usual messages from Grandpa Ed’s friends in town—help with a leaky faucet or something heavy that needed lifting. He’d become a go-to resource for the locals.

Flynn rummaged through the bag of medicine and paraphernalia they’d brought home from the hospital, searching for his grandfather’s pill box and the flap that said Sunday lunch.

As he did all this, his mind flashed to the past, to a time without worry. To warm nights out on the back porch overlooking the Harmony River, while Grandpa Ed regaled him and his friends with stories of loyalty, honor and espionage.

How he longed for those days.

Flynn and his business partners had made millions in the dot-com world, but money couldn’t buy health or happiness. Not for an eighty-year-old man with advanced heart disease.

“Why not hire her?”

“Because.” Because people had tried taking advantage of Flynn’s wealth already. He’d had to change his cell phone number twice and Grandpa Ed’s home number. There’d been too many calls from out-of-the-woodwork entrepreneurs and college buddies wanting to manage, or rather, spend his money. Not to mention the temporary reconciliation with his mother. She disappeared after he’d written her a check. Only his ex-con father hadn’t shown up for a handout. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll call Agnes later. She’s the one who recommended Becca.”

“And then we’ll hire her.” Grandpa Ed sounded as if it was a done deal.

But there was something about Becca MacKenzie that poked at Flynn’s subconscious. He could see how his grandfather might be charmed by her warm smile and heart-shaped face. He could see how a man could be distracted by her sleek curves and ribbons of long black hair. But he’d been caught by something in her walnut-brown gaze. Something he had yet to identify. Something that was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar.

“Knock, knock.” Slade Jennings, Flynn’s friend and one of his business partners, opened the screen door. “There’s the big man.” Slade crossed the living room and shook Edwin’s hand, looking as if it was casual Friday in his black slacks, button-down shirt and yellow paisley tie. That was just the way the financial guru presented himself, even on weekends. “How’re you feeling?”

Grandpa Ed’s smile looked sad. “I’ve been better.”

Flynn handed his grandfather two pills and a bottle of water. “He’ll get better.” He had to.

Grandpa Ed had raised Flynn since he was eight. That was the year his father had gone to prison for armed robbery. The year his mother decided she’d needed a new start in life, one that didn’t include a son who looked exactly like his criminal father. The year Flynn learned that no matter what he did, his grandfather wouldn’t leave him on someone else’s doorstep.

If only Flynn had proven how much that meant to him before this, taken Grandpa Ed on the trip of his dreams to the cities and countries where the old man had made a name for himself in the intelligence community, instead of postponing the trip year after year while Flynn made his fortune.

“I picked up the bed.” Slade smoothed his tie. “Are you ready to move it?”

Grandpa Ed turned questioning eyes toward Flynn.

“I ordered a new bed for you.” One with rails and adjustable positions to keep the swelling in his extremities down.

Years of his grandfather’s military service appeared in the form of stiff shoulders and a commanding tone. “My bed is fine. Just because you’ve made a lot of money doesn’t mean you need to spend it on me.”

The pounding in Flynn’s head intensified. He exchanged a frustrated look with Slade. “I didn’t buy you a hospital bed as a homecoming present. It’s what the doctor ordered. If you don’t manage your edema, you’ll go into congestive heart failure.” And die.

Grandpa Ed’s weakened state from a fall a year ago plus the trifecta of diabetes, high blood pressure and high cholesterol had already tried to shut down his heart twice. The doctors didn’t think he’d survive any heart procedures or live to see Labor Day, less than two months away.

“Oh,” Grandpa Ed settled back down. “In that case, you can put the new bed next to mine. I don’t want my bed moved out.”

Impossible. “There’s no room in there for two beds.”

Grandpa Ed reached for the remote. “Slade, take it back.”

“And while you’re at it, Slade, take my grandfather and drop him off at the nearest hospital. He’s going to need it.” Flynn glared at his grandfather.

His grandfather glared back.

Flynn belatedly remembered stress could end things permanently for Grandpa Ed, as Slade backed slowly toward the door.

“Oh, all right.” Grandpa Ed shook the remote at Flynn. “But don’t you get rid of my bed. I’m going to need it when I get better.”

Slade walked down the hall. “That’s the spirit, Edwin.”

His grandfather had spirit all right and he showed it to them. He showed it when they brought in a new recliner, one that helped him stand and sit. Unnecessary, he maintained. He showed it as they rearranged the furniture so he could navigate the house in his walker. Not how his wife wanted it, he declared.

At one point, Flynn pulled Slade into the kitchen, needing to vent. “Months spent trying to convince Harmony Valley that change is good and I can’t even get my grandfather to accept little changes in his own house!” Ones that would help keep him healthy and safe and alive.

“He’s been in charge most of his life.” Slade peered through the kitchen archway at Edwin, who was snoring almost as loudly as the television news droned on. “This has to be hard.”

It felt harder on Flynn.

“It’s only short-term,” Slade reminded him. “A little change to his diet, a little physical therapy, and he’s back on his feet, right?”

Flynn couldn’t look Slade in the eye as he mumbled, “Right.” He’d made his grandfather a promise—no one else would know the end was near.

As the job candidates started showing up, his grandfather found something objectionable in each one.

“I want Becca,” he’d say as soon as one left.

And Flynn would always reply, “Keep an open mind. The agency stands behind their staff.” He had no idea who stood behind Becca, other than Agnes, who was on the town council.

“I should be allowed to choose,” Grandpa Ed wheezed after the last interview, clearly spent. “She’s not going to be wiping your bottom.”

“And on that note—” Slade gathered the paperwork they’d been reviewing “—I’m outta here.”

After Slade left, Flynn counted ten sledgehammer strikes in his head before speaking. “I’ll ask Becca to come by for an interview tomorrow, after the last interview we have from the agency.” But when Flynn dialed the number on her résumé, it rolled directly to voice mail—not surprising given Harmony Valley didn’t have cell service yet. Just as he was about to leave a message, the house phone rang.

The phone didn’t stop ringing until nine o’clock, as nearly every Harmony Valley resident, of which there weren’t many, wanted to talk to Grandpa Ed and welcome him back.

By then it was too late to call Agnes and ask her about Becca.