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.
CHAPTER TWO
EARLY MONDAY MORNING, Becca stared through the window into what used to be the ice cream parlor on the northern corner of Harmony Valley’s town square. The metal dipping freezers stood empty and forsaken. Cobweb streamers dangled from the ceiling. Most other stores on Main Street were just as deserted and decaying inside.
She rested her head against the cool glass and rubbed her chest.
Abby stood on her hind legs to peer into the store. She dropped to all fours and looked at Becca expectantly, as if asking what they were still doing in Harmony Valley.
“I was hoping, girl.” Hoping that some of her childhood faith in the world and the world’s faith in her would be renewed. Hoping that Flynn’s grandfather would prevail and change Flynn’s mind about the job. That she’d receive a call from them last night or first thing this morning. That maybe this time things would work out.
One thing she definitely was not looking for was love. She’d given up on happily-ever-afters once she’d cast her husband’s ashes into the ocean. She was destined to be alone. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t fill her heart temporarily by caring for someone in need. She’d gotten good at smiling through the loneliness, at saying goodbye and letting go.
Since she’d parked in Agnes’s driveway again last night, she’d checked with Agnes as soon as she was sure she was up. No call came. No second chance presented itself. It was time to stop hoping. Time to figure out how to pick up the pieces of her life elsewhere.
At the south end of town a parade of trucks made the same turn onto a side street. Utility trucks, beat-up work trucks, construction workers with orange coolers strapped to their truck beds. They lined up as if they’d been at the same coffee shop and had left at the same time for the eight o’clock whistle.
Curiosity set Becca’s feet in motion.
The trucks parked up and down a long, freshly graveled drive leading to what looked like an abandoned farm. Men clustered about, finishing their coffee and adjusting tool belts. Their laughter lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of green growth.
Both sides of the driveway were bordered with palm trees some misguided soul had planted half a century earlier out of misplaced grandeur. Palm trees had no business in Sonoma County. As if to prove the point, hundreds of lush rows of grapevines flanked the palms, nearly crowding them out.
This must be where Flynn and his partners were building their winery.
The driveway branched at the end. To the right a white, two-story, craftsman-style home that had seen better days squatted. The porch sagged and windows were broken. To the left stood a large, red, prairie-style barn with winglike additions on either side, covered in a tin corrugated roof dappled with rust.
The instantly recognizable Cadillac was parked in front of the weary-looking house. Edwin sat in the passenger seat, head tilted back, snoring, an unopened bottle of water clutched in his puffy hand.
A rocket of exasperated anger launched from her toes to her fingertips, roaring through
