“You’re not that convenient for me, either, you know. This federal agent who lives all over the world. This guy who hates my hometown and got run out by my brothers over some fight about pumpkins.”
“The fight wasn’t about pumpkins. The fight involved pumpkins.”
“Pumpkins.” She gulped in a breath, realizing her throat was tight, and she was on the verge of breaking into tears. “Brody.” She draped her arms over his shoulders and lifted her mouth to his. “I could fall in love with you, you know.”
“I know.” He kissed her softly. “Be well, Heather.”
“Where are you going, or can’t you say?”
* * *
“I promised to visit my folks in Florida.”
“A dose of warm weather will make Knights Bridge seem unreal.”
“I doubt that.”
“Adrienne and Vic can figure things out from here. It might not be easy, but it doesn’t involve the Diplomatic Security Service.”
“You’re under my skin, Heather. That’s not changing.”
She made a face. “That sounds like a fungus.”
He laughed and scooped her up off the workbench and set her back on the floor. “You’re a breath of fresh air. You have a good life here,” he said. “I’m not going to screw that up.”
“You can’t. I don’t care how well armed you are, my brothers would come after you if you screwed up my life.” But she couldn’t sustain her teasing and took his hand into hers. “You don’t need to worry about me, Brody. I know you’re not likely to pick a safe follow-on assignment to this last one, which obviously wasn’t safe. You like the action, and you’re good at what you do. Go where you’re needed.”
He squeezed her hand but said nothing.
“I’m not fragile. I’m not jumping ahead, either, even if it sounds like I’ve got us...” She shook her head. “Never mind. I just don’t want you to worry that I can’t handle what you do for a living.”
“It’s tough to worry about someone as relentless and open as you are.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a fact. I’ll see you soon, Heather.” He tucked a finger under her chin and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m not going to see palm trees and suddenly forget you. Be good. Stay out of the cobwebs.”
When Heather emerged from the cellar, the kitchen was empty, and Rohan was still asleep on his bed in the mudroom. She slipped outside and walked a little ways down the driveway toward the guesthouse, but she already knew Brody’s car wouldn’t be there. Still, she felt a jolt of emotion that she couldn’t identify when she saw it wasn’t. Loss? Regret? Hope? She didn’t know. She only knew that what had happened in the cellar wasn’t an end. It was a beginning.
Then again, she’d been wrong before. Once Brody crossed the Knights Bridge town line, he could have come to his senses and decided returning to his hometown had been a mistake that he need not repeat.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t leave town, go find him...
Heather shook off the thought.
She walked back to her truck and drove out to the Sloan homestead and the Sloan & Sons offices. No one was around. Beaver, once her dog and now the family dog, a mix of German shepherd and black Lab, was rolling on his back in the snow. She grabbed a homemade blueberry muffin from a plate set out on the meeting table. She sat on a folding chair. She would call about getting a new battery for her truck and do what work she could. She didn’t know what would happen with Vic’s renovations, but she didn’t need to know this afternoon. Let him get his feet under him after yesterday.
She was into her second muffin when her brother Christopher stopped by. “I thought I might find you here,” he said. “I heard Adrienne Portale and Brody Hancock left town, and that Vic Scarlatti is in a state over something but won’t say what.”
“You’re a firefighter, Chris. How do you know these things?”
He grinned. “Elly O’Dunn is home from California.”
“That explains it.”
“A couple of friends and I are going backcountry snowshoeing this afternoon. Want to join us?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got a few things I need to do here.”
“They don’t involve moping, do they?”
She made herself smile. “No moping.”
He helped himself to two muffins and headed out.
Normalcy, Heather thought.
Her life.
She made the call about her truck battery. As she hung up, Justin arrived from the McCaffrey job site. The Echo Lake gossip would have reached him, too, but he didn’t bring it up. “Why don’t you join Samantha and me for dinner tonight?”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It’s her idea.” He grinned at her. “You two can talk pirates and rogues.”
Fifteen
Vic tolerated Smith’s if he stuck to the turkey club or went for breakfast, but he knew better than to say anything since it was a Knights Bridge institution. He arrived in the morning at prime Sloan time. The uncle and three of the brothers—Justin, Eric and Adam—were at a table up front. Vic thought he’d missed Heather, but then he saw her at the counter, chatting with a waitress.
He sat on the vacant stool next to her. She gave him a bright smile. “Well, good morning, Vic. Isn’t this early for you?”
“Early isn’t the word. It’s still night by my accounts.”
He’d woken up in a dark, rotten mood but struggled not to take it out on anyone else, especially Heather. He was aware of her brothers casting him not-quite-suspicious looks. He didn’t blame them. He would do the same in their place.
Heather’s waitress friend set a mug of coffee in front of him without being asked. He supposed he looked as if he needed a jolt of caffeine. He’d had a rough night. He was ragged. But he had made some decisions, and he had a plan.
He drank some of the coffee, black. “I want you to keep going on the renovations as planned. No changes.”
Heather narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. They’ll help me sell the place if it comes to it. I bought it for a song twenty years ago and own it outright. It’ll be fine.”
“If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll resume work today.”
“It is what I want to do.”
“A twenty-four hour pause barely counts, you know.”
He smiled but said nothing. He ordered a sausage biscuit and drank more of his coffee. Behind them at the table, the uncle—Vic was fairly certain Pete was his name—got to his feet, laid a few bills next to his plate and headed out, stopping to kiss Heather on the cheek. He grunted a hello at Vic and left.
“Deep down Uncle Pete is a sweetheart,” Heather said.
“How deep down?” She laughed, but Vic could see her heart wasn’t quite in it. “Heather...” He lowered his voice. “I never should have called Brody. I’m sorry if he hurt you.”
“He didn’t hurt me, Vic.”
“You’re half in love with him, aren’t you?”
She turned on her stool, almost facing him. “It doesn’t matter one way or another, does it? He’s gone, and I have a job to do for you. I’m looking forward to it. All is well. I promise.”
“You don’t have to convince me. Love is a great thing, but it doesn’t happen for everyone—and it rarely happens at a convenient time. You and Brody would be a disaster for each other. I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
“Disaster is a little strong, don’t you think?”
“No, actually I don’t. I know what Brody’s life as a DSS agent is like, and I know what your life here in Knights Bridge is like. Your lives are, in a word, incompatible.”
The pain in her eyes took him by surprise. It wasn’t a reflection of his own pain, any kind of projectio
n on his part. “I know, Vic,” she said quietly. “I do.”
He went still, instantly hating himself. This wasn’t some esoteric conversation over coffee early on a January morning. This was real. This was a young woman who had fallen head over heels for a man she knew would never fit into her life in Knights Bridge. As she picked up her mug, Vic saw the strain in her face. She’d obviously had a bad night herself.
He was so mad at himself he could have thrown his mug through a window. He glanced at her brothers and swore Justin was about to get to his feet, perhaps to throw him through a window.
“My apologies, Heather. I had no right to say that.”
“It’s okay.” She seemed relieved when the waitress returned with her breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. “Brody’s your friend. You steered him into a career he obviously loves. A lot of people in town thought he’d come to a bad end. He’s done well. He has time to add some romance to his life.”
“So do you,” Vic said. “But I’m the last person you should trust on matters of the heart. I should get my own life in order before I comment on anyone else’s.”
“Did you come to breakfast just to tell me you’ve decided to go ahead with the renovations?”
“Not just. I’m leaving for New York today. I’ll be there a few days, at least. Elly O’Dunn has agreed to keep Rohan while I’m gone, but if you could look after the house now that Adrienne...” He faltered, just saying her name. “Since you’ll be up there.”
“Of course I’ll look after the place.”
“There’s not much to do beyond calling me if it burns down.”
He thought he saw a flicker of a smile as his sausage biscuit arrived. He took it with him, waving at the Sloan brothers as he paid for his biscuit and coffee and headed out. He didn’t know the Sloans well. The truth was, he didn’t know anyone in Knights Bridge well. He had people in from time to time to do odd jobs, and he had someone plow and take care of the yard, someone clean, someone bring cordwood and stack it. In twenty years, he’d never been to a single town event, not even the Memorial Day parade or a school bake sale. He knew Elly O’Dunn the best of anyone but only because she was his closest neighbor and was willing to do things for him.
Things needed to change, he thought as he stepped outside, noting that at least the damn sun was up now.
He climbed into his car and opened up his biscuit. It was as close to perfection as a biscuit could be. Who was he to look down his nose at this place?
Things didn’t need to change. He needed to change.
He finished his sausage biscuit on his way back to Echo Lake. Adrienne had left her list of selections for his wine cellar on the dining room table, returned the rest of the photos to their box and lined up five wines in the built-in cupboard, each with her notes about its qualities.
Her goodbye to him, he realized.
He was already packed. He dragged his suitcase out to his car. As he put it in the trunk, he could see a peek of the snow-covered lake, glowing pink in the early-morning sun. Who was he kidding? He loved this place. A few dull cocktail parties in New York would get him back to himself and appreciating his chosen retirement lifestyle.
And Sophia was in New York, and she’d invited him to lunch at her favorite French bistro.
* * *
Sophia Cross Portale was older but as beautiful as the day Vic had met her in Paris thirty years ago. She was already seated at a table for two when he arrived at the cozy bistro she’d chosen. They exchanged a sterile kiss, and he sat across from her at a little round table by a window.
“I ordered a bottle of wine,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“I figured I’d go for a bottle after the last twenty-four hours. We polished off a few bottles of wine when we were together in Paris, didn’t we, Vic?”
He tried to smile, to appear as cool and unshaken as she was. “More than a few.”
“It was a good time. It was my first hint that Richard and I weren’t going to work out, but I chalked our fling up to— I don’t know. My last gasp of single life. I told myself that it didn’t mean anything. I loved Richard and while I liked you a lot, I knew you were no more interested in marrying me than I was in marrying you.”
Vic sat back as a waiter poured sparkling water.
“I’m sorry if that sounds unfeeling,” Sophia added.
She wasn’t sorry, he knew. She was just stating the facts. “It doesn’t.”
“We never talked about Paris after you found out about Richard.”
“It seemed wrong to bring it up,” he said.
“I appreciated your discretion. I didn’t at first. You’d run from me at a dinner or cocktail party, and I’d think you hated me—that I’d done some terrible thing in succumbing to human temptations and frailties. I wasn’t married to Richard yet when you and I were together. When we did get married, I tried to make our marriage work. He did, too. It seems like ancient history now.”
Vic glanced down at the handwritten menu. His sausage biscuit seemed ages ago, part of another life. “Time marches along,” he said quietly.
“Yes, it does. When I got pregnant...” Sophia fingered her water glass. “I knew the baby was yours.”
He raised his gaze to her. “You never had any doubt?”
“I never had any reason for doubt,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“I see.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“Do you hate me, Vic?”
“I don’t hate you, no. I hate myself. I should have done better by you.”
“It was my decision not to tell you and Richard, and then not to tell Adrienne. I thought it was the right choice for everyone.” She waited as their server poured their wine, leaving the bottle. As he retreated, she picked up her glass. “But it was my choice to make. You do see that, don’t you, Vic?”
“I’m not here to second-guess you, Sophia. You were in a tough position.”
“Women have been in worse positions than I was, then or now. I had a husband, a career, a good income. I might not be the mother Adrienne wishes she had, but I did the best I could. I’m a grown-up, Vic. I was then, and I am now. I made choices.”
“We all do.”
“I’m not a monster.”
“No, you’re not. Sophia...”
She drank some of her wine, again avoiding his gaze as she set her glass down. “I wish Adrienne had left well enough alone, but once she figured out Richard couldn’t be her biological father, she was determined to scratch that particular itch. She didn’t tell me at first she was house-sitting for you in Knights Bridge. I thought she was staying with friends in New York.”
“You refused to tell her I was her father.”
“I believed—I believe—it wasn’t the right thing to do, to tell her.”
“What about telling me?”
“I thought I was doing you a favor by not telling you.”
She set her glass down, the color in her cheeks deepening, reminding him of Adrienne. Their daughter. Contrary to her belief otherwise, Sophia was a woman of strong feelings, but she liked to pretend she was above strong emotion—that it was a weakness. She detested emotion in others. Vic remembered her telling him in Paris that she wasn’t going to be one of those “weepy women.” He hadn’t known what she was talking about then. He hadn’t cared, either. He’d been too keen on keeping her in his bed for as long as he could. Looking at her now, he could see that Sophia Cross Portale was simply afraid of herself. Maybe it had taken being in Knights Bridge—seeing Adrienne, Heather, Brody—to recognize what was so obvious to him now.
“It’s good to see you, Vic,” she said. “I’m not going to interfere with whatever you and Adrienne decide to do. Your relationship is for you two to sort out.”
And that wa
s that. They ordered lunch. She told him about her life and work. “I’m nowhere near retiring,” she said not once, or even twice, but three times. She was in a five-year relationship with a corporate executive she described as “handsome, stable and reliable.” She got along with his grown sons.
She asked him nothing about his own life, but he didn’t mind. What was there to say? He hugged her goodbye, noting that she was still lithe and fit, but he had no reaction to her. She went back to her hotel. Vic watched her march down the street. He shook his head, marveling at how he could have had a child with this woman, and started walking in the opposite direction. He didn’t stop for hours. It was one of those good, long New York walks that he often did when he was there for any length of time. They cleared his head. He’d let problems simmer, and when he came back to them, he could see them in a new light. Not personal problems—diplomatic problems. He’d paid no attention to personal problems. Really, he hadn’t thought he had any.
He returned to his apartment, which he’d had for longer than his place in Knights Bridge. When he’d found it, he thought he lacked for nothing because his building had an elevator and a doorman. He’d lived in so many different places in his life. New York had always been his anchor, but Knights Bridge—how could he explain it? His little town that time forgot was his soul. It was always there, solid, beautiful and home in a way no other place was.
He wanted Adrienne to know she would always be welcome in Knights Bridge. He wanted to have a presence in her life, but only if it was what she wanted. Now, though, he wondered if he would ever see her again—if, having learned he had a daughter, he would have to learn to do without her.
Sixteen
Greg Rawlings lay sprawled on a sofa that was so big it made even him look small. He was a muscular man with dark red hair—what was left of it—and the kind of piercing eyes that scared the hell out of people. He didn’t have to say a word. Brody had met him during his first weeks on the job. Greg was already something of a legend then, but the past few months had taken a toll.
He sat up, yawning. “Pizza, beer and a TV remote. Life doesn’t get better, Brody.” He patted his abdomen. “Still have my six-pack abs, though.”
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