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
