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 her ears.

      Life was precious. Didn’t Flynn know that?

      She spun around quickly, almost tripping over Abby.

      Flynn and his red hair were easy to spot. He was talking to a group of men in front of the barn. He held his lean frame confidently in the crowd, unconcerned that his wrinkled gray T-shirt looked like it had sat in a dryer for days. His grandfather wasn’t the only one who needed looking after.

      Flynn did a double-take when he saw her bearing down on him.

      If she had any chance of landing the job, she had to be diplomatic and squelch the niggling man-to-woman awareness Flynn created.

      Squelching awareness was easy. Unfortunately, diplomacy wasn’t in her arsenal this morning.

      Becca planted herself so close to Flynn, he could have heard her whisper. Instead, she chose her outdoor voice. “This is how you plan to take care of your grandfather? By leaving him sitting in a car at a construction site?”

      Sensing the turbulence above her, Abby lowered her head between her shoulders.

      Scowling, Flynn drew her aside. “There’s a problem here I need to deal with.”

      “We solved that. You should have left thirty minutes ago.” A tall man with crisp black hair and a crisper dress shirt and tie had followed them toward the barn. He extended his hand. “I’m Slade Jennings. One of Flynn’s business partners. And you are...”

      “Becca MacKenzie,” Flynn said wearily.

      Covering her surprise that Flynn had remembered her name, Becca shook Slade’s hand and added, “I’m not a stalker. I’m staying in town.” She blew out a breath, trying to release her anger. “I noticed Edwin’s edema yesterday. He needs his extremities frequently elevated above his heart to help control the swelling. This isn’t good for him.”

      “You’re the one Edwin was asking about.” Slade smoothed his navy striped tie and smiled just as smoothly at her, creating not a niggle in her awareness meter. “Weren’t you going to call her to set up an interview, Flynn?”

      “The day got away from me,” Flynn said, looking uncomfortably like it was true and happened often. “Are you free around two, Becca? I’ll be done by then.”

      Becca shook her head. Flynn didn’t understand that old bodies weren’t as hardy as young ones. She could kiss this job goodbye. Her lawyer was going to be disappointed. But someone had to defend Edwin. “Give me your keys.”

      “What?” Flynn’s eyebrows nearly touched the brim of his baseball cap.

      Slade watched the two of them with unabashed interest and a hint of a grin.

      Becca thrust her hand out. “I’ll take Edwin home. Give me the keys.”

      “I’m not hiring you, Becca. I haven’t checked your references.”

      “This isn’t about giving me a job. It’s about what’s best for your grandfather. I can’t let him sit out here without food or a decent bathroom. I won’t charge you a cent, I promise. Now, give me the keys.”

      “Are you always this bossy?” Flynn dug into his jeans pocket for the keys and handed them to her. He was kind of cute when he capitulated, not that she was looking for that in a boss.

      “I prefer the term take charge.” She accented the label