supposed to get involved with their clients.”
The little dog stared at Flynn with dark, accusing eyes, as if to say: find fault with that.
Grandpa Ed scowled at Flynn. “You did the right thing, Becca. No one’s accusing you of anything.”
His grandfather couldn’t see Becca’s features flinch, as if the right hook she’d been waiting for had been struck. Flynn felt a corresponding jab to his gut.
She was guilty. Of what, he had no idea. But if she was the only acceptable option to Grandpa Ed, he was going to find out what she was hiding.
“We’ll be hiring you regardless,” Grandpa Ed said. “Won’t we, Flynn?”
Flynn didn’t answer. He looked at Becca. Deal breakers lined up in his head like dominos—theft, blackmail, murder, angry ex-husbands searching for her. “I need to talk to Becca outside. Alone.”
To her credit, Becca walked out, head high, as if she’d known all along the gallows awaited.
He led her toward the river, stopping to sit on a fallen log overlooking the steep bank that cut away to the slow-flowing water. She settled on the log a few feet away from him, brushing at the bark as if it was a crumb-littered bench seat at a restaurant.
“I’m sure you’ve realized my grandfather wants to hire you,” Flynn began. “But there’s something else you’re not telling me and I won’t hire you until I know what it is.”
* * *
THE TRUTH PRESSED at Becca’s throat.
She swallowed it back.
Took a breath.
Risked looking toward Flynn.
Beneath his black ball cap, his reddish-brown hair glinted in the afternoon sunlight, almost as blinding as the rippling river. His jaw was a hard line. She couldn’t look him in the eye.
The truth pressed on her once more.
Becca swallowed it again.
She and the truth had an odd track record. Like the time her father had walked out after learning Becca’s mother had stage-four cancer. Or the first time Terry had asked her to marry him. He’d walked out when she’d said she was scared and needed time to think.
Abby pranced across Becca’s toes and looked down the steep, crumbling bank toward the river, her nose quivering.
“You have two choices if you want the job.” Flynn’s voice was as unflappable as his jaw line. “You can tell me what you’re hiding or I can do a background check.”
Tell him the truth? Which version? No one ever really wanted to hear the unvarnished truth. They wanted a massaged answer tailored to their expectations. Telling Flynn about the lawsuit placed her odds of landing the job near zero. But it was a definite zero if she walked away without saying anything.
“I want this job.” She swallowed and rephrased. “I need this job.” To repair her reputation before it fell from somewhere near barely employable to no-way-in-Hades employable.
“I need someone I can trust taking care of my grandfather.”
Untrustworthy. Becca stiffened. She glanced over her shoulder at the driveway, even as Abby picked her way daintily to the shoreline.
“Agnes trusts you,” he said softly. “And I trust Agnes. But I need a reason to believe in you.”
His words drew her gaze back toward his. Gone were the hard lines, the guardedness, the at-a-distance cool. In their place was compassion. A white-flagged truce.
If there was a chance, she had to take it. She had to speak up, without varnish or angles. On a big gust of forced air, she told him the truth. “After leaving the agency I went to work for a wonderful woman who was estranged from her son. Gary had decided twenty-some years prior that his mother didn’t respect him enough, so he didn’t visit. He didn’t call. The most he could be troubled with was a generic card on holidays.” Virginia had been heartbroken every Christmas, every birthday. “I worked for Virginia for two years, and while I was with her, she learned that I had a tremendous amount of debt.”
At the mention of her money woes, Flynn’s expression seemed to close off.
It seemed pointless to say more, but Becca hadn’t told a soul other than her lawyer, and the story continued to bubble out. “My husband and I had bought a house in San Diego and when he died, I couldn’t make the payments. Terry had life insurance, but we’d only been married a few months when he died. He hadn’t changed his policy to include me.” She twisted her wedding ring. “The money went to his mom. The debts went to me. I sold his truck. I sold our furniture. I traded my car for the motorhome and let the house slide into foreclosure, but we still had credit card debt.” It was amazing how quickly the interest on a few purchases multiplied. “When Virginia’s kidneys started to fail, she insisted on paying off the last ten thousand dollars I owed. I knew it went against the caregiver code, but by then she was more like a grandmother than a client, so I accepted.”
“Ten thousand dollars.” Flynn’s voice was so flat. Him being a millionaire and all, ten thousand dollars was probably nothing.
To her, it’d been a fortune. “I’d been struggling for so long, I didn’t want to struggle anymore. I shouldn’t have taken that check.” Becca rubbed her palms up and down her thighs. “I didn’t ask for the money. I’ve never asked my clients for anything.”
“I bet Virginia’s son was livid.”
“There’s an understatement.” Becca wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite work up the energy. “Although he inherited close to half a million dollars, he’s trying to bring a lawsuit against me.”
“Trying?”
“There’s a pretrial hearing in a few weeks.” She rubbed her hands over her legs again. “I know accepting that money wasn’t one hundred percent right, but it wasn’t one hundred percent wrong, either.”
He studied her face, intent blue gaze checking for any clue that she was less than truthful. “The legal system moves slowly. What’ve you been doing since Virginia died?”
“I spent the past nine months working for a wonderful man who passed away from heart failure a few weeks ago.” She’d told Harold she couldn’t deliver the ring. He’d argued, in a twiglike voice staked with death-is-coming urgency, that his daughter would think he’d had an affair if he left the ring to Agnes in his will. It’d taken Becca a week after his death to work up the courage to contact Agnes. And a week more to show her face.
Regrets? She had too many.
“And you didn’t accept any money from him?”
“No.” Her voice was low and husky. Her liar’s voice. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t accepted money, after all. But if Harold’s daughter looked for the ring...
“Why live in a motorhome? You’re out of debt now, right? Why not rent an apartment?”
Why was it Flynn asked questions no one else did? Questions Becca didn’t
