“Do you two know each other?” Dane asked, frowning when Flynn didn’t reciprocate Joey’s handshake.
The sun warmed Flynn’s face, but his insides were making ice cubes. Now he could name the emotion he’d seen on Becca’s face when they first met and he hadn’t immediately hired her. It was the same look he’d seen years ago on Joey’s face. Captured. Cornered. Trapped.
The question was: Why?
Slade stepped between Flynn and Joey, saving the moment that Flynn had no intention of saving.
Awkward? Who cared? The man had left him—no calls, no letters, no postprison visits. He didn’t deserve the title Father.
Joey—Flynn refused to think of the man as his dad—did a civilized meet-and-greet with Slade, all the while keeping his gaze trained on Flynn.
Presumably, he was still looking at Flynn when Flynn walked away.
CHAPTER FOUR
HOURS LATER, WHEN a long walk along the banks of the Harmony River had drained the resentment over the appearance of Joey Harris out of his system, Flynn’s feet led him home.
He’d stayed away too long. Worry for his grandfather’s condition had resumed its piggy-back position on his shoulders. Until the cell phone tower was completed, no one could get in touch with him if there was an emergency.
He didn’t recognize the car parked in front of the house.
Becca’s dog barked once. Her small nose pressed against the screen.
Flynn removed his muddy work boots, listening with relief to the sound of his grandfather’s I’m-in-command voice. “I see you live in Santa Rosa. We’d want you here by seven every morning.”
It came back in a rush—another candidate for caregiver—shoving his shock and hurt over Joey aside. Grandpa Ed was scaring her off, leaving him no choice but to hire Becca. Despite the town council’s endorsement, he couldn’t hire Becca until he knew what she was running from. If she’d broken the law, there was no way he’d hire her.
Flynn threw open the screen door so hard it banged against the opposite wall.
Everyone in the house paused to stare at him, even the dog.
Becca’s hand was frozen midair, clutching a coffee mug she’d been about to put in the dishwasher. The skin around her eyes was tense.
Definitely cornered, ready to run.
Flynn looked away.
Grandpa Ed pinned him with a stern expression that demanded an apology.
After a moment, Flynn muttered one.
An older woman sat on the couch across from his grandfather. She was as tall as she was wide, dressed in dark blue scrubs decorated with the bodies of pro wrestlers. Her thinning, too-brown hair was helmet-short. And the frown she wore indicated the interview he’d forgotten about wasn’t going well and wouldn’t likely improve with his appearance.
His grandfather performed the introductions. “Miss Caldwell’s come a long, long way for this interview.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Flynn came forward to shake Miss Caldwell’s hand. “We had an emergency at the construction site.”
“So I heard.” Miss Caldwell stood, accepting his handshake with a firm one worthy of the professional wrestlers that dotted her attire. She remained standing, as if preparing to leave. “Is the position still open?”
“No,” Grandpa Ed said briskly. “I’ve got Becca.”
Flynn ignored him. “We haven’t made a decision. Becca is a temporary solution.”
Miss Caldwell didn’t believe Flynn, nor did she sit. She glanced toward the kitchen.
Flynn followed the direction of her gaze.
Becca wore the same black exercise leggings and pink hoodie that she’d had on that morning. Her long, black hair hung in a thick, smooth braid down her back. No scrubs. No disapproving frown, although he knew she had one. Becca looked like someone’s girlfriend, not a caregiver.
Flynn blinked and glanced back at Miss Caldwell, who looked as if she might want to plant at least one of her bright white sneakers on his backside.
“Well.” Miss Caldwell ping-ponged looks at each of them. “Mr. Blonkowski has my résumé. I’d better be going.”
Given the choice between arguing that Miss Caldwell should stay or having his caregiver—at least temporarily—be Becca, Flynn surprised himself. He thanked Miss Caldwell for coming, and escorted her as far as the front door.
Grandpa Ed turned on a rerun of Jeopardy! The well-known theme blared from the television.
Flynn swiped the remote from him and muted the show. “I thought we agreed to be nice.”
“Miss Caldwell wouldn’t have lasted a week driving an hour in good traffic, much less ninety minutes each way in bad traffic. Did you see her chin? It was soft. The first time I lost my temper she’d be out the door. I did her a favor.”
“She looked capable enough to me.” The term battle-ax came to mind.
“She’s very qualified.” Becca scrubbed the sink as if it deserved punishment. “I think she’d do an excellent job. She wouldn’t quit in a week.”
“She might last two,” Grandpa Ed allowed grumpily. He lowered his voice. “Any woman who’d praise the competition is worth hiring.”
Flynn took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his hair. It was long enough to pull into a short ponytail, longer than Joey’s had been the last time he’d seen him, but not as long as Joey’s had been today. “You drove Miss Caldwell away.”
His grandfather huffed. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did.” Becca wiped her hands on a dish towel, sniffed it, made a face and set it aside. “She was confused as to why I was here. We used to work at the same agency.”
“Used to?” Flynn asked.
“Yes.” She drew a deep breath.
Flynn had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever she said next.
Thank God.
“We don’t care about your previous employment.” Grandpa Ed gave Flynn the stink eye. His back was to Becca, so she couldn’t see him. “Do we, Flynn?”
“Yes, we do.”
“No, we don’t.”
Flynn’s fingers dug into the crown of his baseball cap.
“I’ll tell you anyway.” Becca raised her chin, as if bracing herself for a punch.
Flynn looked forward to whatever she was about to say. Her confession would most likely convince his grandfather they couldn’t hire her.
“Three years ago I moved to Santa Rosa. I worked for the agency that’s sending candidates out here. I was assigned to care for an elderly woman who rescued Australian shepherds.” Becca walked over and knelt beside Abby, stroking her dark fur. “When Lily passed away, her son wanted to take all the dogs to the kill-shelter. I protested and eventually found homes for them all, including Abby. But I got fired because caregivers aren’t 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