Melinda Curtis - Summer Kisses

“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 want to answer. But the job was at stake and she’d already told him so much. “I helped my mother pass on. I helped my grandmother pass on. I’m on a first-name basis with grief, but that doesn’t mean that I can shoulder the cares of my client’s family. During their last few days, I’m already thinking about where I’ll go next. I know it’s a cowardly defense mechanism, but it works for me.”

It had been different when Terry was alive. The San Diego metropolitan area had all been new to her, making it easier to accept assignments in suburbs that had different characters and different landscapes.

When Flynn didn’t say anything, Becca pressed on. “I like people. Your grandfather may grow fond of me. I can tell him about my case, if you like, to make sure he’s still comfortable hiring me. But from what Agnes told me, you’ll only need someone for a few weeks.” When she was done, she might even accept another assignment in the small, quaint town.

Flynn blinked, confusion crowding his brows.

“I mean,” Becca clarified, because it looked like Flynn thought Agnes had predicted Edwin’s demise, “Agnes said you told her it would only be a few weeks before Edwin is up and moving around. Like his old self.”

“Yes,” he said vaguely, turning to stare at the river, as if trying to figure out how to gracefully get rid of her.

Her getting the job also seemed to have drifted down river. “I’m so glad your grandfather’s prognosis is good. I’d like to say goodbye to him before—”

Flynn’s glance cut to her.

“—I leave.” She stood and whistled for Abby, who was rooting around deep in the bushes lining the bank.

“Wait.” Flynn touched her hand, sending a current of heat up her arm. He pulled away abruptly and ran his fingers against his thumb, over and over, as if she’d shocked him and his fingers needed reassurance that nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

She’d shocked herself. The jolt of awareness proved that he was a man and she a woman. If there was an awareness switch, she’d like it turned off, please.

Abby ran up the bank, dancing at Becca’s feet.

“I know I’m going to regret this.” Flynn was still rubbing his fingers over his thumb, staring at them in wonder. “I won’t let you near my money or my grandfather’s checkbook. What assurance can you give me that you won’t take advantage of him? Or me?”

He was offering her the job in a roundabout way that wounded her pride.

Common sense dictated a grateful yet graceful acceptance. “Only my word. If you can’t accept that, I’m sure Gerry Caldwell is available.”

His brows lowered. “Grandpa Ed wants you. I know you need this job, probably for a character reference or something that’ll help you with your court case.”

“How did you—”

“I guessed. It’s what I’d do. Keep my nose clean. Working for a millionaire without any missteps can be a powerful statement.” His words were all business, even if his gaze pried and stroked where it didn’t belong.

Blackberry bushes lined the path they’d taken to the river. Bees buzzed behind her, the noise vibrating against the circular realization that there was no trust here. No trust. She wanted him to have faith in her.

What she didn’t want, what she couldn’t afford, was the attraction between them, stoked by his intent gaze, as if he, too, was trying to figure out: Why her?

“This is a bad idea.” She turned and started down the path back to the house.

Abby leaped ahead.

“Wait.” His longer legs stretched past her, until he blocked her way. “They released my grandfather from the hospital, but his health is a delicate balance. You seem to understand him. He’ll be upset if I hire someone like Gerry Caldwell.”

“Your grandfather will be fine. People overcome this kind of thing all the time.” She couldn’t not reassure him. Who wouldn’t be afraid of losing a loved one after two heart attacks and a stroke? She tried to go around him, but Flynn stepped in her way again.

“I know I can be blunt—”

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

Abby came to sit at her heels.

“But...” Flynn opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. “You aren’t making this easy. Not by showing up unannounced, when the only people who show up at my doorstep or call anymore are trying to scam me. And not by telling me you took money from a client.”

“And?” She sensed there was more.

“And truthfully, I had something of a shock this morning. I saw the man who calls himself my father at the job site. He’s an ex-con and the reason I have zero tolerance for people who break the law.”

Becca’s arms loosened. “I think your grandfather saw him, too.”

“He told you?”

“No. Edwin said he saw someone he knew, but he looked like he’d seen a ghost. It upset him.” She stared into Flynn’s clear blue eyes and lost her train of thought.

“It upset me, too. He robbed a bank when I was eight. I haven’t seen him for close to twenty years. Not that it matters. He’s not getting any money from me, and I don’t care what he thinks of me.” He paused and shifted awkwardly, as if realizing his mouth had run past the normal filter applied by his brain.

Becca saw the little hurt boy behind his eyes, and a part of her she needed solid and strong softened. Her hand twitched with the urge to reach out and comfort him. A light touch to the arm, the shoulder, his cheek.

Not helpful. So not helpful. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and started walking.

He matched her pace until they nearly bumped hips on the narrow trail, until she had to stop before they toppled on each other. This time, Abby waited ahead of them.

Becca drew a breath. “Really, I’m grateful—”

“I need help, Becca. You’ll make my grandfather happy.” The sincerity in his tone made her hope, that treacherous thing, whisper in Becca’s ear—about happy defense attorneys and dismissed court cases. Impossible. “Are you sure you can trust me in your home every day?”