“No, I can’t stay. I left the bread on your doormat.” Her sister-in-law tilted her head back, seemingly oblivious to the dropping temperature. “You were, what, twelve when Brody left town? Do you remember much about him?”
“Not really, no. Do you?”
“He was a bad boy in a way the rest of your brothers never were. He got out of Knights Bridge before he could do real damage to himself or anyone else. My mother says she asked Vic once what happened to him. Vic didn’t go into detail, but she figured out he’d gone into security work and hadn’t ended up in prison. She didn’t realize he was with the Diplomatic Security Service. Of course, she knew he still has property on Echo Lake.”
In addition to being Vic Scarlatti’s closest neighbor, Elly O’Dunn worked in the town offices and knew just about everything that went on in Knights Bridge. “Did Brody leave behind any broken hearts when he left town?”
“Now, why would you ask that, Heather Sloan?”
“Curiosity.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. To answer your question, Brody wasn’t that kind of bad boy, at least not that I ever knew. He was more of a ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’ troublemaker. He didn’t have much supervision or guidance. His mother was mostly absentee during his teen years, and his father was oblivious and probably did worse things in his day than Brody ever considered doing. Brody was never arrested, but he came right up to that line a few times.”
“Vic helped get him turned around?”
Maggie nodded. “Apparently, something Vic said must have sunk in, and that’s how Brody became a DSS agent. I never would have guessed.” She started down the walk toward Thistle Lane, hopping over the treacherous spot, even though it was now sanded. She stopped, glancing back at Heather. “Brody won’t be here for long, Heather. You know that, don’t you?”
“Honestly, Maggie, my only interest is doing a good job on the renovations.”
“Sexy, dangerous guys with an agenda don’t interest you? Never mind. Don’t answer. Then I’d have to tell Brandon since we keep no secrets from each other.” Maggie stepped onto the narrow lane. “He and Dylan are in touch about their first adventure travel trip. I doubt Dylan will go on many of the trips himself, but he seems to enjoy the planning. I think combining adventure travel and Sloan & Sons is going to work out well for Brandon. He’s happier in his own skin than I’ve seen him in a long time.”
“That’s great,” Heather said.
“Yeah. This time last year, I didn’t think we’d get back together.” Maggie adjusted a bright blue scarf around her neck. “Neither of us misses Boston. We both love being back in Knights Bridge, raising our boys here. We never hated it here the way Brody did.”
“Maggie...” Heather picked up Maggie’s cup of sand off the porch step. “I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? I’m not getting mixed up in Vic Scarlatti’s life while I’m on this job. I know where my lines are.”
“That makes a lot of sense to me. Enjoy the bread. My mother says hi, by the way. She asked about the puppy. Still no luck finding out if he’s lost or was abandoned?”
“No luck at all,” Heather said. “He can’t be from town, or your mother would know.”
Maggie laughed. “True.”
“How does she like Southern California?”
“She says she misses the cold weather.” Maggie grinned. “She was not serious.”
“And Phoebe?”
“Phoebe and Noah are one of those couples who are meant to be.”
It was almost dark when Maggie continued down Thistle Lane toward the library. Heather sprinkled the rest of the sand onto the porch steps and collected the bread, now barely warm under its foil wrap. Once inside, she put the bread on the kitchen counter and opened the freezer, getting out a container of some kind of soup Maggie had dropped off last week. Whatever kind it was, it would go with the bread. The country store would be open for another hour, but Heather didn’t feel like grocery shopping. Maggie’s soup and bread tonight, Smith’s or toast in the morning.
“Works for me,” she said aloud.
She sat at Phoebe’s small kitchen table while the soup thawed. She debated going upstairs to fetch The Scarlet Pimpernel. Adventures and dangers, honor and romance—not at all like her own solid, predictable life filled with family and friends...but no man.
Nine
Brody stayed a few feet behind Rohan as the puppy trotted up Vic’s driveway on his evening walk. It was dark, just enough light from the house to keep him from needing a flashlight. The temperature had dropped to twelve and stayed there. The cold felt good. Maybe it would clear his head. He’d awakened that morning thinking about Heather Sloan, and it looked as if he’d go to bed thinking about her.
Too much idle time on his hands.
When he’d set out for Knights Bridge, he hadn’t considered that the youngest and only female Sloan was all grown up. Blue-eyed, shapely, fearless and charming.
“Damned if she didn’t disarm me, Rohan.”
The puppy stopped and relieved himself in the snow.
Brody grinned. “Smart dog. Take care of business and never mind anything else.”
Rohan rolled on his back for no apparent reason then jumped up and dived after a small stone he’d spotted. He plopped down, chewing on the stone.
“So much for taking care of business, eh, pal? All right. Come on. Up on your feet, and let’s head back.”
Surprisingly, Rohan did as requested. It was a total coincidence, but Brody went with it. He hadn’t had a dog since tenth grade and had never known much about the proper way to train a puppy, anyway.
He let Rohan lead him back down the driveway. Whether yesterday’s mishap had taught him a lesson or he just wasn’t interested tonight, the rambunctious retriever made no move for the woods and the lake. Brody didn’t want to picture Heather grabbing the stuck puppy from the icy brook, but he did. That might have been when he’d first wanted to kiss her. At least he hadn’t known she was a Sloan then, and his attraction to her had nothing to do with Knights Bridge history.
He’d planned to steer clear of the Sloans.
Well, plans changed.
The Sloans, however, didn’t change. They were still solid, hard-working, stubborn and suspicious—at least of him.
And not for no reason.
He didn’t regret kissing Heather, but he didn’t plan to repeat that little maneuver, either. From her reaction, he doubted she regretted kissing him back, if only because he’d been right and they’d needed to get that out of the way. It’d been percolating between them since he’d watched her rescue Rohan yesterday.
In the end, though, they wouldn’t go beyond a stolen, harmless kiss. Anything more would be madness. Wasn’t happening. Heather belonged in Knights Bridge. He didn’t. Nothing more to it than that.
He returned Rohan to the mudroom, but the puppy bounded into the kitchen, where Vic was chopping garlic at the counter. “You know, Rohan, my friend, I’m not your new master,” Vic said, neatly hacking a garlic clove in half. “I’m your interim master. There’s a difference. Look it up.”
Rohan promptly sat on Vic’s foot.
Brody grinned. “Twelve-week-old puppies are hard to resist.”
“Golden retriever puppies are impossible to resist, period. Doesn’t mean I know what to do with one.” Vic set his paring knife on the counter and peeled off his chef’s apron. “I’m making my mother’s spaghetti sauce, but I’m missing a few ingredients, not because I can’t find them in town but because I can’t remember her recipe. It’s been so long since I’ve cooked. Really cooked, not heating up something from the deli. You cook, Brody?”
“Some.”
“Did you ever meet my mother?”
“Once. Little white-haired lady who thought you were the best.”
“That was my mom. When was this?”
“Not long after my father and I moved out here. It was summer. You had us to a barbecue on the lake. We talked fishing. She said she loved to grill fresh trout.”
“Damn...I don’t remember. A barbecue?”
“We threw a grate over a fire in the sand.”
“That’s not a barbecue, Brody. That’s a campfire. Anyway, I remember now. You were a pain in the ass.”
“You were preoccupied with affairs of state. This is still the difference between us.” Brody snatched a bit of fresh tomato Vic had already diced. “You think big thoughts and call for patience on all sides, and I get to be a pain in the ass.”
“Ha. You do like things to be straightforward.”
“They seldom are, even in my line of work.”
Vic nodded thoughtfully. “What happened in November wasn’t straightforward, was it?”
“It still isn’t.”
“You left behind unfinished business. I know you hate that, but I expect you had no choice.” Vic picked up his paring knife again. “How is Greg Rawlings doing?”
“He’s recovered or close to it.”
“That’s good news, Brody. That’s damn good news.”
Brody didn’t want to talk about November, and he couldn’t—not here. He pointed at Vic’s sauce-making ingredients. “Did your mother add red wine to her sauce?”
Vic’s face lit up. “Wine! How could I forget? I’ll get Adrienne to choose a bottle for tonight. A little for the sauce, a little for our glasses. Excellent. We’re not having the sauce tonight, though. I’ll never finish, and it should sit at least a day.”
“Where’s Adrienne now?”
“She went into town this afternoon, but she must be back by now. Probably by the fire. She’s great, isn’t she?” Vic peered at Brody, then sighed. “No sparks?”
“That’s not why you invited me here, is it?”
“I exaggerate a few incidents so I can get you here and play matchmaker? It’s a thought, but no, that’s not why I invited you.” Vic used his knife to scrape bits of garlic off the cutting board into the sink. “Go visit your folks, Brody. Visit Agent Rawlings. You don’t get much time off. You need to enjoy it. I’m fine here. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Being around two attractive young women could be messing with your head.”
“Could be. You know, I could try this matchmaking thing, after all—”
“Not on me,” Brody said.
“How bad could it be? Things don’t work out, you can go hide in some hot spot until the romantic coast is clear. Adrienne’s an only child, but her mother’s a barracuda. Heather—well, you know what you’d be in for if she fell for you and it didn’t work out. I don’t need to tell you.”
“That’s right, Vic. You don’t need to tell me. In fact, you don’t need to get involved in my love life at all.”
“Do you have a love life, Brody? I don’t mean a sex life. I mean a woman you want to come home to at night, a woman you want to be with when you’re ninety and your parts are shriveled. You know what I’m saying?”
“I do. You’re saying you wish you weren’t sixty-two and alone, but you’re not alone.” Brody decided he wasn’t having any of Vic’s maudlin mood. “You’ve got Rohan, who is now chewing your shoe, a sure sign of true love.”
Vic moaned. “That’s Italian leather. Rohan!” When the puppy looked up with his brown eyes, Vic swore under his breath. “I’m not very good at being the alpha dog. Adrienne says I need to start crating him. Dogs naturally go to their den. Better than chewing an expensive shoe.”
“Rohan will still chew your shoe, Vic,” Brody said, heading for the back door. “He’ll just chew it in his crate. See you later.”
“I’m throwing a couple frozen pizzas in the oven.”
“I’ll be back.”
Brody walked to the guesthouse in the dark, the crunch of the packed snow and sand under his feet the only sound. He should feel calm and safe here, but he didn’t. He knew he was physically safe—not always the case—but he felt agitated and exposed, as if he were perched on the tip of a needle. He couldn’t stay still and had nowhere to go but down.
It was emotions, he knew. Being back here. Vic and his problems, made-up or otherwise. The Sloans.
Heather and her easy wit and good humor.
Her sexy curves and deep blue eyes.
It didn’t matter that she was attracted to him and he was attracted to her. Their kiss had been a little heat on a cold late-January day. A little fun—a little risk-taking—for a woman whose life had been laid out before her when she was born.
What Heather needed now was a reliable, sensible guy who loved Knights Bridge. They could build a nice, solid house in town. Have some kids. Get a dog.
Have a life together.
Brody felt himself tense as he came to the back entrance to the guesthouse. He wasn’t that man. He never would be that man, not for Heather Sloan or any woman. Maybe Vic was right in pushing him toward a woman like Adrienne Portale.
Brody mounted the stone steps and opened the door with more force than was necessary. He hadn’t bothered to lock it, an indication, maybe, of his opinion of Vic’s “incidents.”
He went inside and was relieved when his cell phone buzzed. He saw it was Greg Rawlings and answered. “What’s up, Greg?”
“I’m on the case between my last couple of physical therapy appointments. This Scarlatti thing isn’t urgent, is it?”
“No.” Brody didn’t know why he felt so confident about his answer, but he did.
“That’s what I thought. I’ve been reading Adrienne’s wine blog. Is she as pretty in real life as her photo?”
“I haven’t seen her photo.”
“Okay, is she pretty?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Not your type, huh?”
Brody turned on a floor lamp and took off his jacket, laying it across a chair. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“We’re not talking about me, Greg. How are you doing?”
“I’m getting cynical. I need distractions.”
“Then you must be on the mend.”
“I could go back to work now.”
Brody sat on the sectional and waited for his friend and colleague to continue, but Greg was silent. It was one of those weighty silences Brody hated but had learned to wait out, at least on the job. Patience wasn’t his long suit but sometimes it was the best option.
Finally, Greg heaved a sigh. “I’m the guy you don’t want to be, Brody. They should have me come in to do training sessions. Here’s how you screw up your personal life as a DSS agent. Works like a charm.”
“A lot of people think you’re a hero, Greg.”
“They’re fools if they do. You don’t, do you, Brody? I don’t have to come up there and beat some sense into you, do I?”
“You’re bored.”
“My big excitement today was perfecting correct spinal alignment.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “All right. I’ll have more for you tomorrow. I think Adrienne Portale is...well, quite the wine lady.”
“Wine lady, Greg?”
“She doesn’t pitch herself as a wine expert. I don’t know—what would you call her?”
“I’d go with wine expert. Wine aficionado.”
“I can’t say aficionado.”
“You just did.”
“Only because I copied you. I’ll forget the minute we hang up.”
Greg Rawlings spoke seven languages. Brody wasn’t buying into his friend’s mood. “Wine lady might be a little patronizing.”
“Ah. No wonder my wives have all left me, right?”
“O
ne wife, and she hasn’t left you.”
“She’s in Minnesota. I’m in New York. All that needs to be said. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Greg was gone. Brody stared a half beat at his blank screen then tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him. He stretched out his legs. He could build a fire before he headed back to Vic’s and let the place warm up while he was at dinner. He could look up Adrienne’s blog. He could check out the Sloan & Sons website, assuming they had one.
He did none of those things.
Even from his position on the couch, he could see the stars twinkling in the black evening sky. He pictured the surprise in Heather’s eyes when she’d realized he was going to kiss her—that moment when he knew she wasn’t going to tell him to back off. He could feel the softness of her mouth, the cold of her cheek as they’d stood on the shore of that frozen lake.
He blew out a breath.
He needed to get out of Knights Bridge. Soon.
* * *
By morning, Brody was refocused on finding a way to satisfy both himself and Vic that, in fact, nothing was going on with the “incidents.” He wanted to clear out of Knights Bridge within twenty-four hours. Reentry into his hometown was over and done with. Any resulting emotions were back in their cage.
It wasn’t as cold as the past two days, either. Nineteen at nine in the morning. Not exactly warm, but it would get up to thirty by the afternoon. He skipped a hat and gloves when he headed outside and walked up to Vic’s house.
As he rounded a curve in the driveway, he knew something was wrong. He automatically felt for his weapon, but it wasn’t that kind of wrong.
Heather was to his left, just out of her truck, approaching the back entrance.
To his right, Vic was charging down the back steps holding Rohan. Rohan looked as if he were trying not to fall out of Vic’s arms. Vic looked agitated, pale, in full tunnel-vision mode.
Heather immediately ran to them. “Vic, are you okay? Did something happen to Rohan?”
Vic didn’t respond. Fight-or-flight mode, Brody thought, picking up his pace. He eased next to Heather and touched Vic’s shoulder. “Vic. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Echo Lake Page 12
