Cora Sloan smiled suddenly at her only daughter. “I’ve always wanted to see London,” she said. “It’s on Louise Frost’s bucket list, too, although I hate that term. Bucket list. It makes me think about dying instead of living.”
Evelyn tilted her head, eyeing Heather. “Why London?” she asked.
“Just a thought.”
She shook her head. “It’s more than a thought, Heather.”
Heather shrugged. “Brody’s DSS colleague mentioned London this morning. Greg Rawlings.”
“I hear he was shot,” her grandmother said, cutting in.
Heather ignored her mother’s grimace. “That’s right, Gran. I don’t know any details, but Brody was with him.”
“Are he and Brody being assigned to London now?” her mother asked.
“I know Greg isn’t.” Heather let it go at that and picked up a green calico square. “Didn’t I have a baby dress in this fabric?”
Her mother smiled. “Toddler sundress. My mother made it for you. I keep everything.”
Adam and Christopher came in through the front porch, two dogs trailing behind them. “Smells good in here,” Chris said, kissing the two older women on the cheek. “What’s with the quilt? You aren’t having another baby, are you, Mom?”
“Very funny,” she said. “Dinner will be ready soon. We’re eating in the kitchen.”
Adam shrugged off his jacket. “Heather didn’t cook, did she?”
“I brought dessert,” she said. “It’s great. You’ll see. I can’t stay.”
“Why not?” Chris asked.
“She has a date with that handsome FBI agent who use to live in town,” Gran said.
Heather zipped up her vest. “Brody’s a Diplomatic Security Service agent, Gran.”
“Same thing.”
Eric made a face as he came into the dining room from the kitchen. “No, it isn’t, Gran.”
She scowled. “You’d argue with a fence post, Eric Sloan.”
He shook his head. “I’m not arguing with you. I’m telling you.”
Adam and Chris stood back, clearly enjoying the exchange. Their grandmother put her hands on her hips. “Is an FBI agent a federal agent?”
Eric sighed. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Is a Diplomatic Security agent a federal agent?”
“Gran.”
“There,” she said. “Same thing.”
“They’re not the same thing,” Eric said, not backing down any more than she was.
Chris grinned at Heather. “You have the right idea getting out of here. Now these two will be arguing through dinner.”
Eric, as the eldest, held a special place in their grandmother’s heart, and she loved nothing better than to argue with him, regardless of who was right or wrong. He turned to Heather. “Gran’s right, and you’re going on a date with Brody?”
“It’s just dinner and a movie.” She was already on her way back through the kitchen. “I have to go. See you all later.”
She passed Justin and Brandon in the driveway and saw their father coming up from the offices but managed to get into her truck without explaining her evening plans to them. As she came to the bottom of the driveway, she saw Samantha walking up from the Sloan family cabin on the pond across a sloping field. She had moved into the cabin in October to research New England pirates—and to be close to Justin.
When Heather arrived on Thistle Lane, she dashed inside and changed into a burgundy wool skirt, a charcoal-colored cashmere sweater she’d inherited from Maggie when her sister-in-law had decided it made her look “like a corpse” and boots. She dug out earrings and her good watch. She put on makeup, although not a lot, and fluffed up her hair as she stood back from the bathroom mirror.
“Not bad, Heather Sloan,” she said, smiling at her reflection.
She could have made a case for wearing jeans, but she didn’t often have reason to dress up, especially in winter. And a date with Brody—why not put on a skirt?
She went out onto the porch as he drove up in his old BMW. He got out and came around the front of the car. She was aware of him watching her as she ran down the sanded steps, managing not to slip.
He opened the passenger door for her. She saw that he, too, had dressed for the occasion in a dark sportcoat, dark shirt and dark trousers. “A normal date,” she said with a smile.
He returned her smile. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
He shut the door and in a moment slid in next to her in the warm car.
They made it to South Main Street before Christopher texted her, a group message to all six siblings.
A couple of quarts of raspberries and a pint of whipping cream aren’t dessert.
Another text came almost simultaneously from Justin.
Dessert is pie.
Then Adam.
Cake.
And Brandon.
A DIY dessert, Heather?
She grinned and texted them back.
I washed the raspberries for you.
Brody glanced at her as he circled past the skating rink. “What’s up?”
“My brothers are harassing me.”
He smiled. “Nothing out of the ordinary, then.”
She typed one last message to her siblings.
Going offline now.
But she didn’t get her phone turned off before Eric texted her.
Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, little sister.
She typed, I surely won’t, and then switched off her phone as Brody took the winding road that led out of Knights Bridge to the main highway. “I’m taking a position in London,” he said.
Heather nodded. “I heard. It’s a promotion. Congratulations.”
He kept his hands on the wheel and his gaze steady on the dark road. “Vic told you?”
She shook her head.
Brody sighed. “Greg.”
“He thought I knew.”
“No, he didn’t. He meddled. No damn secrets in this town.”
“He’s not even from here.”
“It’s in the air. He breathed it in.” Brody shook his head and laughed. “He’s the best. You know that, right? He’s impossible, but he’s the best.”
“There was never any question in my mind,” Heather said.
“I’ll be in DC for a few weeks of training and prep if I take the job. Greg will be in DC, too.”
“You’ll take it, Brody. You want to take it. I can tell by the tone of your voice.”
He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable in the shadows. “You can, can you?”
“Am I wrong?”
“I’m not one of your brothers.”
She smiled. “This is true. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong, does it?”
“We’ll see.” He patted her knee. “No talk of work the rest of the night, okay? And no talk of your brothers, Vic Scarlatti, Greg Rawlings, wine...”
“Rohan?”
The spark in his eyes was visible even in the darkness. “We can always talk about your puppy rescue. Greg says you’re plucky.”
“Yes. He told me that, too.”
“It’s how he talks. You’ll get used to it.”
Heather warned herself not to read too much into Brody’s words and the casual—even natural—assumption that she would be a part of his life after he left Knights Bridge. She sat back in her seat, looking out at the familiar landscape of her life on the edge of the Quabbin Reservoir. It had turned into a cold, clear evening. There was talk of more snow on the way. Would Brody leave before then?
She shook off the thought. Maybe what he needed tonight was a normal evening before he took the promotion to London and resumed his life as DSS Agent Hancock. He might be a federal agent all the time, but h
e was on home leave.
Maybe tonight he needed to think he wouldn’t leave Knights Bridge, never to return.
Maybe that was what she needed, too. A normal evening with a man she was falling in love with and yet didn’t really know. Fantasizing about London was fun, but this, she thought, was real.
“Greg says we’re easy,” she said.
“He’s right. We are. It’s everything else that’s tough.”
“Only if we look at it that way.” But she settled again into her warm seat. “Now. On to important things. Do you think two quarts of washed fresh raspberries and a pint of cream qualify as dessert?”
Brody’s soft laughter reassured her, and made her smile as they turned onto the main highway, a normal couple off on a normal date. At least for tonight.
Twenty-Five
There was a line at the theater, and Brody suggested they skip the movie, never mind that he’d known the minute Heather had run up to his car that he wouldn’t be able to sit through a movie. She hadn’t hesitated, and they ended up back on Thistle Lane. They started out in the front room with glasses of wine and talk of interior design and his prep for London, picking up on the threads of their dinner conversation, but three or four sips and that was that. He had Heather in his arms and up the stairs to her bedroom.
He flung her discarded work clothes off the bed, and then he proceeded to get her out of her night-on-the-town outfit. It wasn’t as much fun as removing her crazy Glinda dress, but the end result was just as good.
Better, even, he thought later, as he lay awake, unusually pensive, his arm around her as she slept next to him. Mixed with the passion and urgency—the intoxicating taste and feel of her—was a surge of emotion he couldn’t describe and didn’t want to go near.
“Let me ask you this,” Greg had said as he’d left Knights Bridge earlier that day. “What are you going to know six months from now that you don’t know today?”
In the milky moonlight, Brody noticed Heather’s dark lashes against her winter-pale skin. She opened her eyes, as if she’d known, even in her sleep, that he was awake, watching her. Her smile caught him off guard. Then her hand, sliding down his middle.
“I can’t sleep, either,” she whispered.
“You were just asleep.”
“I was pretending.”
“Getting your second wind?”
“More like my third or fourth wind,” she said, easing on top of him, her hair hanging loosely in front of her as she looked down at him.
He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her and then drew her down onto him, thrusting deep into her. She was ready, more than ready. “I believe you about not being asleep,” he said, the last words either of them uttered for a very long time.
* * *
In the morning, Brody saw Heather off to breakfast at Smith’s. He didn’t join her. She needed time with her family and friends, and he needed solitude.
She seemed to understand.
He drove out to Echo Lake and found Vic outside with Rohan. “No leash,” Vic said. “He’d pull on it, and I’d scream in pain. We don’t want that.”
Brody smiled. “No, we don’t.”
“It’s back to winter this morning, isn’t it? I’m glad it wasn’t this cold when I had my little brush with hypothermia. Adrienne’s sleeping in.” He glanced back at the house. “We were up late drinking wine and telling stories. She wants to meet my sister and her husband and their two kids.”
“That’s good, Vic. I’m glad to hear it.”
His old friend’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t just come from breakfast in town, did you, Brody? You’ve been out all night?”
Rohan nudged Vic’s leg, giving Brody his opening to change the subject. “I’m going to take a walk out to my land.”
“You don’t want company,” Vic said, making it a statement. He bent down and patted Rohan. “You’re a man of action, Agent Hancock. That means you’re at your best when you know your own mind and trust your instincts. It also means that sometimes you need to check those same instincts and pause to take a good, hard look at what’s going on in your mind.”
Brody tried to come up with a response but gave up. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“Which makes my point.”
“Right. I’ll make coffee at the guesthouse and see you later.”
Vic nodded. “Enjoy your walk.”
“You’re not looking as beat-up and haunted. That’s good, but give a yell or text or call if you need me.”
“And I’ll be by the fire if you need me.”
Brody didn’t bother with coffee. He put on a hat and gloves along with his coat and walked out to his property—the place where he’d grown up. He stepped onto the ice at the edge of the lake. The snow was packed down now, with no new storms and the recent rise in daytime temperatures. No light, fluffy snow for the swirling wind to catch and blow around in the clear morning air. That would change. It was still February. A lot of winter left in Knights Bridge.
The truth was, he’d had a great childhood out here. He had become accustomed to telling himself it was Knights Bridge that had gotten to him, driven him to troublemaking, but it wasn’t that simple. Nor was it his parents, easygoing, unambitious, not sure what to do with an action-oriented son who didn’t want a life fishing and basking in the sun. They’d never tried to stop him from doing anything he wanted to do.
He and he alone had launched those troublemaking days. He’d been restless and uncertain about who he was and what his future held, and he’d taken it out on the people around him.
He could feel that same restlessness and uncertainty now.
He edged farther out onto the lake. If the ice gave way, he’d get wet, but the water wasn’t deep here. He’d done this so often as a boy—pushing his luck, daring himself to see how far he could go. Several times, the ice had cracked under him, but he’d always gotten back to shore in time. And he’d never ventured too far out onto the lake, to where he’d have been in real danger if he’d gone through the ice.
In those days, it would have been Randy Frost who’d have had to rescue him, at least, and not any of the Sloan brothers.
The truth was, there would have been no one to rescue him, because there would have been no one to call for help. He’d never done this maneuver with his parents present. As lackadaisical as they could be, they would have told him to get the hell off the ice if there was any chance it wasn’t frozen solid.
He smiled to himself, remembering. He’d been a natural at risk assessment and mitigation even then, and he’d had solid instincts based on knowledge and experience.
Of course, he hadn’t known that. He’d thought he was a pain in the ass.
“And you were, Agent Hancock,” he said to himself. “Damn, you sure were.”
He scooped up a handful of snow, formed it into a ball and tossed it as far as he could out across the lake.
He didn’t wait to see where his snowball landed. He turned around and walked back to shore. He was still restless, but he was no longer uncertain.
It wasn’t uncertainty about how he felt that had brought him out here. He was in love with Heather Sloan. It was uncertainty about what to do about being in love with her.
Now he knew.
When he got back to the road, he had a text from Greg.
Minnesota is even colder than KB but the kids are happy here. See you in DC?
Brody didn’t hesitate.
Yes.
Your hometown girl?
I’ll let you know.
I already know but I’ll let you find out on your own.
Typical Greg.
Brody went to the guesthouse, made coffee, showered, shaved and got dressed.
He had time. Some, at least. A few more date nights. Help
Vic move into the guesthouse. Talk Heather into trying on the Cleopatra dress.
Make sure in his own mind that she was as certain as he was.
Brody smiled.
Sounded like a plan to him.
* * *
Ten days later, Brody got in his old BMW and drove into Knights Bridge, past the common and out to the Sloan farmhouse and the offices of Sloan & Sons.
Jack Sloan was alone in the office. “I’d like to speak with you, if you have a minute,” Brody said.
“Yeah. Walk with me.”
The father of six put on his jacket and led Brody outside, past bare shade trees and sleeping dogs, down the driveway and onto the back road.
“I walk three miles minimum every day,” Jack said. “Only thing that stops me is freezing rain. I don’t need one of my own kids pulling my ass out of a snowbank.” He paused, looked at Brody. “That includes Heather.”
“Are we walking three miles?”
The older man grinned. “No. Just making conversation. What do they call it? Small talk? I’m guessing you’re not good at small talk, Brody.”
“Probably right about that.”
“You look like you want to call me sir. Don’t. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m in love with your daughter.”
“Well, well. I’ve been getting reports to that effect. Are you asking my blessing?”
“Yes. I love Heather, and I want to marry her.”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you? Isn’t this all a little fast?”
“Yes, but it’s right.” Brody slowed his pace. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“So will she. That’s the word, anyway. She doesn’t talk to me about anything but hammers and nails.”
“Jack...sir...do I have your blessing?”
“This is old-fashioned as hell. Kind of fun, isn’t it?”
“Not the word I’d use.”
Jack laughed. “I bet the hell it’s not.”
“Does this mean I have your blessing to marry your daughter?”
Echo Lake Page 27
