A Memory Away. Melinda Curtis

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      “Because the top of Parish Hill is my home.” Rutgar’s features twisted into something no one would call a smile. It involved drawn-back lips and bared teeth. “I’ve seen you up there wasting the nice lady’s time.”

      “Surveying the land.” Duffy’s patience held. Barely. “It’s easier to keep all the properties straight with a view from above.”

      “Wasting time,” Rutgar scoffed. “Winemaking takes months and years, and a lot of effort.”

      As did placating former landowners. “Since you’re so interested in what’s going on, can I count on you to help cane?” Given the vineyard hadn’t been cut back in what looked like nearly a decade, Duffy was betting the answer was no.

      “You can count on him to watch,” Christine ribbed.

      Rutgar shook a finger the size of a sausage at her. “I like you.”

      “You’ll like him, too.” Christine gave Rutgar’s shoulder a gentle nudge that didn’t move the large man an inch. “Now back out. We’ve got other vineyards to inspect.”

      * * *

      “HOW DID IT go yesterday?” Vera yelled over the sound of the mixer’s grinding motor.

      It was 4:00 a.m. and the owner of Vera’s Bakery in Santa Rosa was preparing the batter for red velvet cupcakes. They sold hundreds of them in the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day. The large industrial kitchen was already filled with welcoming, sugary smells from cinnamon rolls and various breads and cookies of all kinds. At the next worktable, several bakers were chattering in Spanish. Jessica’s maternal grandparents had emigrated from Mexico, but Jess didn’t speak more than a handful of words in their native tongue.

      Normally, Jess couldn’t wait to begin baking. Contributing to a busy kitchen always made her feel as if she belonged. Not today. Today she felt as if she’d never belong. Not with her coworkers, not with Greg’s family, not with anyone.

      “Did you find your baby daddy?” Vera’s white hairnet covered her unnaturally red hair like snow on a high desert mountain.

      “He’s dead.” Jess was saddened by Greg’s death. Sad, yes, but since her memories of him were like dandelion fluffs on the wind, it was a detached sadness. If they’d been in love, wouldn’t she feel broken?

      For what must have been the thousandth time since she’d woken up in the hospital after the accident, Jess wondered if her baby was a creation of love. But now the wonder-train was on a new track.

      What if Duffy’s words were true? What if Greg had used her?

      What if? What if? What if? She was at square one again. Too many questions. Too few answers.

      “Your baby daddy’s a deadbeat?” Vera shouted, sending her dangling silver cupcake earrings swinging over the tattoo of a rose on her neck.

      “No. He’s dead.”

      “What?” Vera promptly switched off the mixer and came around to Jessica’s side of the prep table. “Dead? So who was the guy in the photo?”

      “His twin brother. Duffy.” His handsome and bitter twin brother.

      Vera’s brows shot up accusingly. “You’re sure he didn’t just make up the twin angle? Some guys will do anything to avoid paying child support.”

      Jess tied her apron on as she weighed what she’d been told. The man she’d hoped she might be in love with wasn’t Duffy. She was sure of that. “I believe him.”

      “That’s a shame. If you can’t find a baby daddy, you’ll need a sugar daddy.” Vera shook a finger in Jessica’s face and asked her something in Spanish she didn’t understand. When Jess stared at her blankly, Vera said, “How can you raise a child alone? Without a man’s steady head and regular paycheck?”

      “Women raise kids by themselves all the time.” Jess was more interested in providing Baby with family roots than a secure bank account—although that would be nice, not to mention having a father figure around.

      “Yes, but women shouldn’t bring up babies alone. You’re a smart girl. All you need to complete the package is to learn your native tongue to catch a good man.” Her smile and nod indicated Jess was this close to attracting the right guy. “Smart girls always find sugar daddies.”

      “I’d just like to find my memories,” Jess said.

      Vera muttered in Spanish again and then stared at Jess as if she were a problem child. “I said memories won’t keep you warm at night, but maybe your baby’s uncle can.”

      “I have an electric blanket,” Jess deadpanned. “And to be clear, even though I’m having dinner with Duffy this weekend in Harmony Valley, I am not planning on a brother swap so that I can have an insurance policy.”

      “You should listen to me. I know what I’m talking about.” Vera laughed and turned on her loud mixer. “You be careful driving out there. Big storm coming in with flooding predicted. It’s bad enough you’ll be on leave soon. I need you every day until that baby is born.”

      Given Harmony Valley was sixty miles northeast and at a different elevation, Jessica wasn’t worried about the weather. That was days away. Storms sped up or slowed down, and forecasters often predicted flooded roads during rainstorms and nothing ever happened. Jessica hadn’t seen any roads under significant water since she’d moved to Santa Rosa from Sacramento last summer.

      No. Jessica was more concerned with Duffy. Was he going to show up for their dinner? And could his presence help reveal more of her lost memories?

      Would she ever know if Greg had loved her?

       CHAPTER THREE

      “HOW CAN I tell you this, Eunice?”

      Eunice Fletcher braced herself because Agnes Villanova—town councilwoman, president of Harmony Valley’s widows club, manager of the boutique the women in town ran and general town cog—was often the bearer of bad news.

      “Who died?” Eunice clutched the yellow cotton pieces of a baby quilt she’d been cutting when Agnes stopped by her house. “Mildred? It was Mildred who died, wasn’t it?” Another town councilwoman.

      “Mildred is fine. It’s—”

      “It’s Rose.” The third councilwoman. It’d been years since a spot on the council had opened up. “I knew the poor dear was on her last legs mentally.”

      “Rose is fine. Sharper than ever.” Agnes ran a hand through her pixie-cut gray hair, and pressed her lips together as if trying to stop herself from saying more.

      “Quit beating around the bush and tell me who died. I’m very busy here.” Stitching quilt pieces together at the window that faced the old Reedley place. The two-bedroom bungalow next door was being rented by one of those winery employees. A tall fellow named Duffy, who rose early, made eggs for breakfast with a sprinkle of cheese and liked cream in his coffee.

      “It’s СКАЧАТЬ