Echo Lake

by Carla Neggers

  “Thank you.” He smiled and raised his glass to her. “Cheers.”

  But after two sips, he knew he was done for the night. Totally beat. Adrienne kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, Vic. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  He didn’t know what to say. “Yeah. Sleep well.”

  By the time he stumbled up to his bedroom, he was too tired—too inebriated, maybe—to notice that Rohan had followed him. Next thing, the cuddly little beast was on the bed. Vic didn’t have the heart or the energy to kick him out and take him back downstairs. They could start proper puppy training another day.

  “You pee in my bed, mister, and we’ll have words.”

  Rohan responded by collapsing onto the right side of the bed, where, in past years, a fetching woman might have slept.

  Vic took off his shoes and clothes and crawled under the duvet in his shorts. Would he ever have another woman in his life? He’d long known, and accepted, that he wouldn’t have an Ozzie-and-Harriet family, much to his mother’s disappointment. His father’s, too, but he’d recognized that his only son was a workaholic with a wandering eye and would have been a lousy father and husband.

  But he was in his sixties now, and the idea of one special woman in his life had an appeal it hadn’t even five years ago.

  Or was he deluding himself?

  The wind was still whipping around out in the dark.

  As he settled into his pillows, he felt something warm and wet on his cheek and realized Rohan had licked him.

  My new life, Vic thought. Yes, indeed.

  Eleven

  Heather almost fell off the couch in Phoebe’s living room when she woke up automatically at six. She didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch and had a moment of panic. Had she drunk that much wine last night? As she sat up, her elbow caught The Scarlet Pimpernel on the cushion and knocked it onto the floor.

  “Oh, right.”

  She’d stayed up reading because she’d been preoccupied with thoughts of the federal agent up at Vic’s house. She’d needed something else to occupy her mind, and Sir Percy Blakeney and his alter ego—the daring, mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel—had done the trick.

  Phoebe would be proud, Heather thought as she stumbled into the kitchen, made coffee and stared out at the backyard. In the warm-weather months, it would be filled with flowers. Now icicles dripped off trellises and stone pots. Phoebe had expected to live here on her own and retire as the Knights Bridge librarian. Then Noah Kendrick had swooped into her life at a Boston costume ball.

  Phoebe’s unlikely swashbuckler.

  Heather smiled, thinking of her friend, in love with a billionaire, expert fencer, high-tech genius and thoroughly decent man.

  For reasons that now escaped her, Heather had convinced herself that Brody would kiss her again last night when he walked with her out to her truck. It didn’t happen—decidedly just as well—and she’d found herself home alone with The Scarlet Pimpernel.

  She poured her coffee then remembered she didn’t have milk. She wasn’t particularly hungry and could wait and have coffee at Vic’s, but she wasn’t going up there feeling groggy and out of sorts. Never mind wanting to appear professional and in control in front of Vic, her client, she needed to be properly fed and caffeinated dealing with his federal-agent guest.

  Another morning for Smith’s, even if it meant encountering some combination of her brothers while she was still feeling groggy and out of sorts. Better a couple of Sloans than Brody Hancock, who was in full-on DSS agent mode. That was what she’d concluded last night, anyway, after another fifty pages into her book.

  She headed up to her bedroom to get dressed. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes, but she wasn’t rewearing them for the day. A hot shower improved her energy level, and clean clothes at least helped her feel as if she could survive Brody’s scrutiny. She had nothing to hide, and if someone was trying to get under Vic Scarlatti’s skin, it wasn’t her or, she was almost positive, anyone on the list she’d done for Brody.

  She wasn’t sure if her shower and fresh clothes would make her impervious to her physical attraction to him, but maybe a good breakfast would help.

  When she headed out, laptop and clipboard in hand, Christopher, her youngest brother, was on the front porch, about to ring the doorbell. She and her youngest brother were thirteen months apart in age, each the least likely in the family to argue. As far back as Heather could remember, Christopher had always wanted to be a firefighter. It had been a straight path for him, if not always an easy one.

  “I just finished my shift and decided to walk over here,” he said. “I was looking for some company at breakfast before I hit the sack. Join me?”

  “Sure. I was heading in that direction myself.”

  He jumped into her truck with her. He had on jeans, a frayed canvas jacket and boots but no hat or gloves. He didn’t look cold, just tired.

  “Rough night?” Heather asked as she started the engine.

  “Not too bad. I need to catch up on some sleep.” He peered at her, alert, despite his obvious fatigue. “You don’t look so good yourself.”

  “Hey, I haven’t had coffee yet. I’m still half-asleep. I was up late reading.”

  “Reading?”

  “Yes, Christopher. Reading. A lot of people like to read.”

  “I like to read,” he said.

  “What’s the last book you read?”

  “I don’t know. Oh, yeah. King Lear. It’s a play not a book, but it counts.”

  Heather gaped at him. “King Lear, Chris?”

  “Yeah. I was taking one of Ava O’Dunn’s theater friends to see a production of King Lear in Amherst. I figured I’d better read it first. I didn’t want to look like an ass or fall asleep because I didn’t know what was going on.”

  Ava was one of Phoebe’s younger twin sisters, both theater graduate students without a shred of snobbery in them. Heather considered all four O’Dunn sisters—Phoebe, Maggie, Ava and Ruby—friends. She stopped her truck at the intersection of Thistle Lane and South Main. “Ava’s an incorrigible matchmaker. Why don’t I know about this woman?”

  “Because we didn’t hit it off. Didn’t even make it through King Lear.” He didn’t sound the least bit upset. “She told me I was bored and should go home. I wasn’t bored with the play, but I did go home.”

  “You were bored with her,” Heather said, knowing her brother. “She was a snob?”

  “Class-A snob.” He settled back in his seat, stifling a yawn. “Ava claims she warned me, but I think she and Ruby had a bet whether I’d make it through King Lear with this woman.”

  Heather tried to bite back her amusement with Christopher’s story but sputtered into laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He grinned. “Don’t be. I’ve had worse dates. How ’bout you?”

  It wasn’t, she suspected, an idle question. “I haven’t had a date in a while. I’ve been busy.”

  “The Scarlatti renovations. Going out there today?”

  “Right after breakfast.”

  “Watch the weather. It’s supposed to turn nasty later.”

  She’d been so preoccupied with waking up on the couch and thinking about Brody and his lists that she hadn’t checked the weather. Chris was always aware of the weather and his surroundings in general.

  She pulled up in front of Smith’s, but she and Chris ended up ordering breakfast sandwiches to go. She dropped him off at his apartment down the street from the restaurant.

  “Twenty minutes with you, Chris, and you didn’t once mention Brody Hancock.”

  “Didn’t need to. He’s why you were up late reading.”

  “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “Yes, I can,” he said with his usual confidence. “Mind the weather.”


  He shut the passenger door and sauntered off with his breakfast sandwich. Heather continued out to Echo Lake, noticing the sky was overcast—no lavender-streaked sunrise today. She parked in her usual spot but didn’t see anyone. Just as well, she thought. If she saw Brody now, in the cold gray morning light, would she think about their kiss down by the lake, or yesterday when he was in DSS-agent mode? Had her evening alone and her night on the couch purged her of her attraction to him? She had no idea. Normally, she wasn’t indecisive, but she was right now.

  Best, she thought, to go with the flow and try not to think too much. It wasn’t as if Brody would be sticking around Knights Bridge. One in-the-moment kiss wasn’t about to change anything for him—or for her. Once he was on his way, they would both put his brief return to his hometown and their inconsequential kiss on the shores of Echo Lake behind them.

  Maybe her overheated attraction to him was a wake-up call that she needed to pay attention to her social life. She couldn’t be like the black bears in the dense woods on the other side of the lake and hibernate all winter.

  She headed inside. No one was in the kitchen, but she could hear voices toward the front of the house. The coffee in the pot was fresh, or fresh enough. She poured herself a cup and sat at the table, determined to get Vic a hard-and-fast start date for work by the end of the day. The wine cellar and now the sauna shouldn’t cause any delays.

  Brody entered the kitchen from the hall. He had on his jacket and said nothing as he made straight for the mudroom.

  Heather barely looked up from her laptop. “Good morning, Brody.”

  “Good morning, Heather. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Quiet night?”

  He had his hand on the doorknob but turned to her, his gaze settling on her. “Yes. Very quiet.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Depends on your point of view,” he said, then headed out.

  It was a good five seconds before Heather breathed again, and even then, it wasn’t a decent breath. She’d stepped into that one. Couldn’t she have asked him if he’d had a good breakfast? Why ask about his night?

  He’d meant to get to her. She knew that much. Brody Hancock, she decided, didn’t do or say anything that wasn’t deliberate and totally under his control.

  Not a thought she needed as she was about to head back down to the dank, dark cellar. She grabbed her laptop and clipboard, determined to focus on her work, even if it was now clear that their quick kiss hadn’t gotten anything out of the way—for Brody or for her.

  * * *

  A midday trip out to Frost Millworks and the Sloan & Sons offices—mercifully empty of Sloans—and Heather was back at Vic’s place by three o’clock. Adrienne was in the dining room, cleaning out the built-in cupboard ahead of renovations, sorting books, photo albums, dishes, decks of cards and outright junk into neat piles.

  “Vic’s down in the cellar, rethinking the sauna,” Adrienne said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  Heather resisted a moan. “He’s giving up on it?”

  “Oh, no. He’s now considering whether he should turn this place into a day spa to give himself something to do.” Adrienne smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s a whim. He said he didn’t sleep well. Retirement jitters, and Rohan got him up twice in the middle of the night.”

  Heather made no comment on Vic Scarlatti’s approach to puppy training. She would concentrate on finalizing plans for the sauna and the extensive work on the house’s three porches.

  Which led her to the front door and, ten minutes later, down the porch steps to a shoveled walk that wound through pine trees to the guesthouse. The promised storm was getting started as a cold drizzle. She wanted to be on her way before it turned to freezing rain, but first she needed to see Brody.

  She debated for two seconds before she knocked on the side door.

  “It was the hardware,” she said when he opened the door. She pointed vaguely back toward the house. “Vic’s door yesterday. He might have shut it tight, but there’s a shaft that’s worn-out.”

  “A shaft that’s worn-out,” Brody repeated, his tone neutral.

  Heather nodded. “It’s nothing you’d notice right away. I was checking my order and saw that it was shot. We’ll have to replace the door. Frost Millworks can do a copy of the original. It’s too far gone to fix.”

  “I see. Can’t have a worn-out shaft.”

  She stopped still, then put a hand on her hip and sighed at him. “You know I have five brothers, right, and have heard everything? There isn’t one smart-aleck remark you can make about shafts and such that will make me blush. Not one.” She stood straight, noticing his smile. “That was your point, wasn’t it? To see if I’d blush?”

  “Just having a bit of fun. Come inside. Tell me about this shaft.”

  “There’s nothing more to tell. I don’t know if someone’s messing with Vic’s head with the other stuff he says has been going on, but it makes perfect sense that the door wouldn’t stay shut. Anyway, I wanted to let you know.” She glanced behind her, the telltale sheen on the walk suggesting the drizzle was already turning to freezing rain. “I should get going.”

  “Too late. You won’t make it to your truck, never mind back to town.”

  “You don’t have sand?”

  “Not enough to handle freezing rain.” He stood back and opened the door wider. “Why don’t you come inside and wait for the freezing rain to change over to snow? I’ve been stuck out on that back road in ice. It’s not pleasant.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Left the car and walked home. There was soft snow on the side of the road. I managed not to get hypothermia. I suppose you’d have someone you could call if you got stuck.”

  “Could,” Heather said. “That doesn’t mean I’d want to.”

  He gave the door a jiggle. “In or out?”

  “In.”

  He grinned. “You make it sound as if I just invited you into the wolf’s den.”

  “I have things to do. I don’t have time for an ice storm.”

  “Life in Knights Bridge,” he said.

  “Not all the time.”

  She stepped past him into the warm living room. Even trying to get back to the main house posed a challenge in the rapidly deteriorating conditions, but so did waiting out the freezing rain alone with Brody. She saw he had a cozy fire going in the woodstove. A blanket and pillow were stacked on one end of the sectional.

  “Better view out here than in the bedrooms?” she asked.

  “Simpler to sleep on the couch.”

  “You must be hit by memories at every turn.”

  He winked. “Just the ones I haven’t blocked.” He opened the lid to the woodstove, checking the fire. “I offered to make dinner tonight. I should be able to get up to the house by then. Adrienne said she’d choose a wine. Vic said he’d set the table. Why don’t you join us?” He smiled. “You can help cook.”

  “My father and brothers didn’t warn you about my cooking abilities yesterday, did they?”

  “We didn’t get into that particular subject.” He shut the stove lid without adding another log to the fire. “You’re not much on cooking?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I’m just not that good at it, at least according to my family and friends.”

  “Let me see. I’m going to guess that you don’t follow directions. Am I right?”

  She pulled off her vest and tossed it onto the back of a chair. “Directions? You mean there are directions?” She grinned at him. “I have to be very precise in my work. I treat cooking more like an art. Maggie, who’s a caterer, says that’s great, but I should have the basics down first, then experiment.”

  “And you think you do have them down.”

  “I’m learning by doing. I’ve never p
oisoned anyone.”

  “I have, but they all lived.”

  Heather laughed and unzipped her sweatshirt. With heat from the woodstove, the small house was toasty warm. She took off her sweatshirt and tossed it on top of her vest.

  “I’ve been wondering what you wear under that sweatshirt,” Brody said then nodded to her. “A Sloan & Sons T-shirt. I should have known.”

  “It’s a hand-me-down from Adam. Works. Were you expecting lace?”

  He stepped away from the woodstove. “Do you ever wear lace?”

  “I’m more partial to sequins.”

  “I can see you in sequins,” he said. “And lace.”

  “Sure. Why not? I do get out of my steel-toed boots every now and then.” She tried to ignore the surge of heat in her veins. It wasn’t just the fire in the woodstove, either. “Do we ever get to see you in a tuxedo?”

  “Only if the job or a friend’s wedding requires it.” He motioned toward the kitchen. “I have soup makings. I grabbed what looked good at Hazelton’s and figured I’d toss it into a pot and see what happens.”

  Heather noted he’d used Hazelton’s, the local name for the Swift River Country Store. “No directions?”

  “Experience.”

  He was visibly relaxed as he went into the kitchen. She followed him, not as relaxed herself. He had an assortment of vegetables lined up on the counter, and one of Hazelton’s fresh baguettes.

  Brody handed her a paring knife. “I don’t blame you for being on guard with me.”

  His words caught her by surprise. “Should I be?”

  “No. Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not here to stir up trouble or play out teenage nonsense. Seeing your brothers again...” He opened a drawer and withdrew another knife. “Time’s passed.”

  Heather placed a cutting board on the counter and selected a few carrots to chop. “I’m used to butting heads with my brothers. It doesn’t surprise me when other people do, too. They’re straightforward, and they can be very stubborn, but they don’t hold grudges. I think they’re not sure what you’re up to.”

  “With their little sister or with Vic?”