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“There was no pattern. Both he and my mum called when they felt the need to. Or missed me.”
I reached over and squeezed his hand like he’d done with me. “I’m sorry, Beau.”
“Don’t be. I cannot envision a trip more ideal than the one we’re on.”
“You know which trip wasn’t?”
He cocked his head. “There are so many trips to choose from.”
I smacked his arm. “When you came to get me after my car broke down a half hour outside of Fresno.”
“Ah, yes, in the lovely hamlet of La Rosa.”
I nodded. “It was scary. Thank God you got there when you did.”
“I didn’t feel any safer.”
I studied him.
“What?” he asked.
“You didn’t let on you were afraid. Not even a little.”
“That wouldn’t have done, now, would it?”
“At times, you’re a better man than you let on to be.”
I grimaced. “Only at times?”
“You work overtime to hide it.”
He was thoughtful before he spoke. “I once overheard one of the vineyard workers say Press was the good son.”
“Ouch,” I commented.
“He went on to say it was too bad I wasn’t more like him. Even before I overheard that conversation, I’d always done my level best to be as least like Press as I could.”
“How old were you?”
He chuckled. “Seventeen, and even I have to admit I was a hellion.”
I didn’t recall all that much about Beau’s reputation back then, but I did remember he’d always been nice to me. “You taught me to drive.”
This time he laughed—hard.
“What?” I asked.
“You were dreadful at it. I did many dangerous things as a teenager. None more so than that.”
“Teaching me to drive was themostdangerous thing you did?”
He nodded. “And that includes motocross racing, skydiving, and bungee jumping.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
He raised a brow.
“Maybe in the beginning.”
