Echo Lake

by Carla Neggers

  Twenty-Three

  Greg was smoking a cigar in front of a roaring campfire he’d built after clearing a spot on the lakeshore below the guesthouse. “It’s easier to do a campfire in summer, I’ll give you that, but life doesn’t get any better than this, Brody.” He stared out at the starlit lake. “I guess I could be here with a beautiful woman. That would be better.”

  Brody sat on a log Greg had unearthed somewhere. “No doubt.”

  “I’ve spent so much time in hot climates the past few years. I love this. It could be about seventy degrees warmer, though.” He glanced at Brody. “We did good work this past week. Mopping up. And today. Saving a retired ambassador from himself.”

  “Vic’s getting his life in order.”

  Greg tossed his cigar into the snow. “Time I got mine straightened out.”

  “Ever a process with you,” Brody said with a smile.

  But his friend was thoughtful, the light from the flames flickering on his face as he stared at the fire. “The job didn’t destroy my marriage. The job exposed what was wrong with my marriage. It won’t be that way with you and Heather.”

  “You’re jumping ahead of the facts, Greg.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He spoke with the absolute certainty that was typical of him. Brody knew better than to argue. “What’s next for you, then?”

  “I’m going out to Minnesota to see the kids. Then I land in Washington for a few weeks to get ready for a new assignment. Probably won’t be to a four-season resort.” He picked up a stone and threw it into the snow on the lake. “When’s this thing thaw?”

  “Spring. Doesn’t mean it’s safe to ice-skate on it.”

  “I’ve never gone ice-skating. I never want to go ice-skating.” He settled back on his log. “I’m glad it wasn’t Vic on duty as ambassador two months ago. Don’t let his mild manner fool you. He’d have had my head for screwing up.”

  “You did nothing wrong.”

  “Yeah, I did. I just didn’t do a lot wrong. A lot wrong, and we’d both be dead.”

  That summed it up. “We can’t know everything ahead of time.”

  “These bastards didn’t know the consulate we were securing was unoccupied. We got lucky when you think about it. We got them before they could stage another attack.”

  “The next would have been worse,” Brody said.

  “Yep. These were some major sons of bitches we stopped.”

  With the help of authorities in three separate countries, Brody thought. It had been a complicated mission, one, fortunately, with a good outcome.

  He dug at a soft spot in the sand with the heel of his boot. “You’re the best there is, Greg. Hands down.”

  “I learned I’m not a superhero a long time ago. You saved my ass that day, Brody.”

  “Damn right I did.”

  Greg grinned. “What about you? You taking the promotion to London? That’s what this side trip to DC was about?”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “A year in London—maybe two years—and then you can see what else you’re good for. Maybe me, too. I’ve had my finger on the self-destruct button for the last year at least. You’re not going to be me, Brody.”

  “Hell, I hope not. I’d look terrible as a redhead.”

  “Damn straight. Good luck with plucky Heather. A lot she can do in London. Don’t push her away because you don’t think she’ll be happy there. Don’t underestimate her.”

  “Greg.”

  He paid no attention. “And, damn, Brody, don’t corner her. She’ll chew your leg off, and if she doesn’t, her brothers will.”

  Brody sighed. “Take care of yourself. I’m going to need a best man.”

  “Preferably one who isn’t six feet under. No worries there. I’m having my ashes scattered.” The gallows humor evaporated. “I wouldn’t miss your wedding, Brody, even if it’s in this godforsaken speck of a town.”

  “When the time comes.”

  “It’s already here. You and plucky Heather could do a destination wedding, you know. Nassau. Disney. Myrtle Beach. Laura and I got married in Jackson Hole. The marriage didn’t last, but it was a hell of a wedding.”

  * * *

  Vic was half-asleep in his chair when Brody entered the living room. He started to back out, but Vic stirred. “Where’s Agent Rawlings?”

  “Packing. He’s leaving at first light.”

  “There’s no saving his marriage, is there?”

  Brody shook his head and sat on a chair by the fire. He noticed Rohan was asleep at Vic’s feet. He’d passed Adrienne in the kitchen, deep into researching Kendrick Winery, looking happier.

  “I’ve never been in love,” Vic said.

  Brody almost shot to his feet. Not what he wanted to talk about. “I’ll go now—”

  “No, sit. Stay.”

  “You sound like you’re talking to Rohan.”

  Vic gave a ragged grin. “Good. I need to learn. Heather’s with her family. That’s as it should be, with Greg here. She knows that.”

  “Vic...”

  “I’ve done a great deal of thinking the past twenty-four hours. Too much thinking, perhaps.” He picked up a wineglass, partially filled with a light red. “I’ve had passions, Brody, but I’ve never experienced the kind of love that is meant to last a lifetime. The kind of love you commit yourself to nurturing. The kind of love that seeps into your soul and becomes a part of who you are. I’ve dedicated myself to my work, but other people are just as dedicated and have that kind of love. You see it here in Knights Bridge. It’s all around you.”

  “You did take the pain meds,” Brody said.

  “Bastard. I’m reflecting, contemplating the nature of romantic love.” He waved a hand, wincing in obvious pain. “Don’t worry. I won’t break anything.”

  “There was never true love between you and Adrienne’s mother?”

  “That was passion. A flame that burned bright and then was gone. I knew from the start that Sophia and I weren’t true love. There was never any doubt. That’s not you and Heather. You’re not fooling yourself about her, Brody.”

  He shook his head. “We’re not talking about me, Vic.”

  “Oh, yes, but we are. We are, indeed.”

  Brody got to his feet. “I promised Greg I’d play a game of Risk with him before he heads out in the morning. He’s never played Risk. Should be interesting. He hates the guest room there, by the way. He says it has squirrels.”

  “Red squirrels, probably,” Vic said, matter-of-fact. He drank some of his wine, set the glass back on the table and stood, grimacing, going slightly gray. He rallied and straightened. “I’ll be up early. Tell Agent Rawlings I’ll take him to breakfast on his way out of town. You, too, Brody.”

  “You’ll be up to it?”

  “Absolutely.” He grinned, the light catching a bruise near his left ear. “We can have a little bet as to how many Sloans we’ll run into at the diner.”

  Brody made no comment. When he went back through the kitchen, Adrienne had shut her notebooks. “I’m going to walk Rohan,” she said. “Vic won’t be up to it for a bit. Thank you for everything today, Brody.”

  “No problem.”

  “It’s not so bad being back in Knights Bridge, is it?”

  He didn’t want to have a deep conversation with her any more than he’d wanted one with Greg or with Vic. “Not so bad at all,” he said, trying not to sound curt.

  “It’s home. It’s just not necessarily where you belong.” Adrienne smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Vic invited you and Greg to breakfast in town, didn’t he?”

  “We’ll be here at six.”

  “I think he meant eight.”

  Brody pulled open the back door. “It’s Greg Rawlin
gs we’re dealing with.”

  Adrienne laughed. “Six it is, then.”

  Twenty-Four

  Heather ran into Brody, Vic, Adrienne and Greg Rawlings on their way into Smith’s as she was leaving with a breakfast sandwich. A night of tossing and turning had launched her out of bed earlier than usual, but just as well. She had work to do. She was meeting her father and brothers at the Sloan & Sons offices before heading up to Echo Lake. However tempting, lingering over pancakes and bacon with friends wasn’t an option this morning.

  Seeing Brody with Greg Rawlings had crystallized as nothing else could that Knights Bridge wasn’t Brody’s world.

  Two hours later, she was back in Vic’s cellar when Greg thumped down the stairs and joined her. “You’re a woman who loves her work. You’d have to, given some of the places you crawl around.”

  “This isn’t as bad as some. I thought you’d be off by now.”

  “So did I. I decided to burn off breakfast snowshoeing with Brody. He’s a tyrant on snowshoes. It’s that New England upbringing, but he says he never had snowshoes as a kid.” Greg ducked under a low beam. “I want to see this place when it’s finished.”

  “I’m sure Vic would love to have you back.”

  Greg grinned. “You’re an optimist as well as plucky.”

  “You know plucky isn’t my favorite word, right?”

  “Cuts too close to the truth. Like when I’m called an unforgiving SOB.”

  Heather set her clipboard on the old workbench. “I don’t imagine you’re even remotely unforgiving.”

  “Maybe, but I never forget.” His gaze turned serious. “I don’t know if Vic or Brody told you, but my marriage recently ended. We both tried as hard as we could, but it didn’t work out. We finally realized marriage shouldn’t be that hard. You shouldn’t wake up in the morning thinking I’ve got to fix this, this and this, and then for sure we’ll be happy. It starts to feel like one of those New Year’s resolutions you think you ought to want to happen but deep down, you don’t.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry it’s been a painful time for you both.”

  “Thanks. We do our best not to take it out on the kids.” He grimaced, swiping at a cobweb to the right side of his head. “I don’t usually go on like this, but I’ve had time on my hands the past couple months. All that thinking...” His grimace turned into an outright pained look. “It’s good I’m going back to work full-time.”

  “Will you and Brody be assigned to the same place?”

  He shook his head. “Not this time. Look, I’m not one to meddle, but—you know how I just said my wife and I tried hard? You and Brody don’t have to try at all. You two are easy. You’ve got to figure out logistics—his work, your work, that sort of thing—but that’s nothing compared to figuring out whether you’re meant to be together.”

  “That’s very sweet, Greg. Thank you.”

  He scratched the side of his mouth. “Sweet.” Another grimace. “Even in the good days, my wife never thought I was sweet. Whatever. Adrienne says you’re interested in interior design. Ever think about looking up design schools in London?”

  “London? Why—”

  “Idle question.”

  Nothing, Heather knew, was idle in Greg’s world. “Is Brody heading to London next?”

  “If he is, it would be a promotion.” Greg gave a mock shudder. “I’m not big on small, closed-in spaces. Don’t you get claustrophobic down here?”

  “No, but wait until you see it after we’re done. You won’t even think about being underground. We’re not converting it into a fully finished cellar, but it’ll be clean, well lit, modern—”

  “And it’ll have a hundred bottles of good wine and a state-of-the-art sauna. Vic went on about them over breakfast. I think you should get lifetime rights to both for all you’ve put up with from him.” Greg leaned toward her and kissed her on the cheek. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Heather. Stay well.” He stood straight. “You and Brody are easy. Keep that in mind, and don’t make it hard.”

  She didn’t know quite what to say. “I’ll remember that. Safe travels, Greg.”

  He was halfway up the cellar stairs when she heard him repeat that she and Brody were easy together. She picked up her clipboard, not at all convinced that Greg Rawlings had sufficient perspective to recognize easy when he saw it. Given how difficult his life had been lately, anything short of bullets and divorce probably did seem easy.

  When she reached the mudroom, she noticed Vic in the kitchen, dutifully trying to teach Rohan to sit. She didn’t interrupt them.

  She met Brody on the back steps with an armload of cordwood. “I hated hauling wood as a kid,” he said.

  “Do you like it now?”

  “It feels normal.” He paused and turned to her. “Suppose you put aside The Scarlet Pimpernel tonight and we go to dinner and a movie. Think you could do that?”

  Heather smiled. “I think I could do that. I finished The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  “He got the girl, right?”

  “In a way, he always had her.”

  She didn’t breathe again until she was in her truck, starting the engine.

  Easy.

  Right.

  She and Brody were easy as pie together.

  * * *

  The Sloan farmhouse kitchen was filled with the smells of roasting chicken and simmering mulled cider. Heather put two quarts of raspberries and a pint of heavy cream from a local dairy into the refrigerator and followed the sound of voices into the dining room. Her mother and paternal grandmother were discussing the next steps in a small quilt they were piecing on the table. In her late fifties, Cora Sloan had graying dark hair and lively blue eyes, with a spirit to match. She loved cooking, gardening, sewing, working at the Sloan & Sons offices and—most of all—spending time with her six grown children and two grandsons, all of whom lived within a few miles of the family homestead. She’d lost her own mother years ago and was close to her mother-in-law, Evelyn Sloan, an energetic, white-haired widow in her early eighties, well-known in Knights Bridge for the nursery school she’d run for decades.

  Heather had never gone more than two weeks without seeing them.

  Her mother looked up from a stack of bright fabric cut into small hexagons. “How was work?”

  “Exciting. We’re finally getting started clearing out Vic’s attic and cellar.”

  “So I heard. That’s a milestone.

  “Where will Ambassador Scarlatti live during renovations?” her mother asked. “Not in the house, I hope. It’s difficult to have someone underfoot with such a massive renovation.”

  “He’ll be moving into the guesthouse once we start tearing apart the house,” Heather said. “He’s decided to move to Knights Bridge full-time.”

  Her mother frowned. “When will Brody be leaving? I don’t see him and Vic Scarlatti as roommates.”

  “I don’t know how long Brody will be staying in town.” Ignoring an incisive look from her grandmother, Heather instead pointed at the in-progress quilt. “That’s a baby quilt, isn’t it? Who’s having a baby?”

  “No one we know of,” her grandmother said. “Yet.”

  Heather laughed. “We have had quite a number of new romances in town lately. Who knows, though, maybe Brandon and Maggie will have a third baby now that they’re back together.”

  Her mother moved from her stack of hexagons and picked up a pair of scissors, inherited from her own mother, who’d died a few years ago. “The boys would like that.” She lifted her gaze to Heather. “What about Brody Hancock? Do you know if he has a woman in his life?”

  Heather fingered a twelve-inch square of solid yellow cotton. She enjoyed sewing, and was better at it than cooking. Normally, she would have offered to help with the quilt, but she knew she wouldn’t, not t
onight. “Brody and I are actually going out tonight,” she said, keeping her tone matter-of fact. “Dinner and a movie. I’m not sure where. It won’t be in town, that much I know, since Knights Bridge doesn’t have a theater.”

  “That sounds like a date,” her grandmother said, her deep blue Sloan eyes as alert as ever.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Heather didn’t elaborate and decided to change the subject. “Overseeing Vic’s renovations has convinced me that I really do want to pursue interior design. I’m looking seriously into my options.”

  Her grandmother perked up. “What a great idea. You’ve always had a good eye for color, Heather. I remember when you helped me pick out interior paint colors for my house last year. They’re perfect.”

  “That’s interior decorating, Gran. I love that, too, but I’m more drawn to interior design. It can involve interior decorating, but interior design focuses on the function and livability of the space itself.”

  “I see,” her grandmother said. “Would an interior designer have made sure my kitchen wasn’t too small for an island?”

  Heather smiled. Gran’s kitchen island had been bugging her since her son—Heather’s father—had installed it three years ago, at her insistence. “That’s one thing, yes.”

  “You’ll have to go back to school,” her mother said.

  “I’ve been investigating schools on and off for a while. There are good schools all over the place.” Heather took a breath, trying to appear casual despite how much her head was spinning with dreams and possibilities. “I’m even looking into London.”

  Her mother put down her scissors. “London? You’ve been talking to Samantha?”

  Heather decided not to mention her conversation with Greg Rawlings that morning in Vic’s cellar. His nonchalant certainty that she and Brody were meant for each other still had her rattled. Just because Greg was certain didn’t mean he was right.

  Her mother picked up her scissors again. She had the studied I’m-not-going-to-interfere look that Heather had seen multiple times—last fall when Samantha Bennett had burst into town, and before that when Brandon and Maggie had repaired their broken marriage. All six Sloan siblings had experienced their mother’s self-control when it came to interfering in their romantic lives.