Summer Kisses. Melinda Curtis

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      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 the 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 СКАЧАТЬ