Cider Brook

by Unknown

  “It’s a little big for me.”

  “I noticed.”

  Of course he noticed. Of course he’d tell her he noticed. With a wineglass in one hand, her journal in another and the tie to her robe about to come loose, she didn’t dare move. “You might want to get back downstairs while the lasagna’s still warm.”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a knowing grin. “I might.”

  “Would you—um—mind shutting the door? My hands are full.”

  “Not a problem.”

  He kept his gaze on her as he pulled the door closed.

  Nothing more deadly, Samantha thought, than a man who knew he was sexy.

  Once she heard the door latch, she spun around, set her wine on a small table and tossed her journal onto the bed—and tripped on the hem of her robe. She pulled it off and slipped into her flannel pajamas. Probably should have stuck with them and skipped the robe altogether. There was nothing provocative, sexy or alluring about navy flannel pajamas.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her wine, sipping it as she replayed her two days in Knights Bridge in her mind.

  “They know.”

  With a shaking hand, she set her wineglass back on the table, next to a vase of fresh-cut yellow mums.

  “They know who I am.”

  Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her throat tight as she stood, stiff and hardly breathing.

  “Justin is the carpenter who told Duncan about me, and they all know.”

  She paced in her flannel pajamas. It was dark out now. Cold.

  “Hell’s bells. Now what?”

  She was in the middle of nowhere. On a dead-end road, with people who had every reason to think she’d deliberately misled them and was up to no good in their little town.

  The thunderstorm and fire explained some of her predicament, but not all. It was also the haunting painting of the cider mill, the handwritten, fanciful pages about Captain Farraday and Lady Elizabeth and the memory of Harry Bennett and Duncan McCaffrey, two men she’d loved and admired and who’d died within months of each other.

  Her own family didn’t understand her reasons for being here. How could she expect Dylan, Olivia, Justin and all of the other Sloans to understand?

  Sometimes she wasn’t sure she understood herself. Duncan was dead. How could she redeem herself with him? What difference did it make if she proved her theory about a three-hundred-year-old pirate?

  Why had an amateur painting and story buried in her grandfather’s office closet intrigued her to the point she’d had to be rescued in a fire?

  “Things can get out of control fast,” her grandfather had said when he’d told her about some of the close calls he’d had over his long, adventurous life. “You can’t anticipate everything. Sometimes you just have to play the cards you’re dealt and do your best.”

  Samantha finally sat back on her bed and picked up her wine.

  Harry Bennett had survived the harsh conditions of Antarctica, the coldest, iciest continent on earth.

  She could damn well survive Knights Bridge, Massachusetts.

  But if she could find a way to do it without being noticed, she would go out the window on her bedsheets.

  Thirteen

  Treasure-hunter Samantha Bennett in a bathrobe two sizes too big for her did nothing for Justin’s sense of calm as he downed a helping of lasagna, then drove back to the Frost sawmill. He couldn’t stop thinking about her almond-shaped eyes, the touches of gold in her dark curls, the creamy curve of exposed breast as her robe drifted dangerously close to falling open.

  She was a resourceful, plucky sort. She’d have figured out something before she found herself standing stark naked in front of him.

  It was a hell of an image for a cold autumn night.

  He noticed the office light was on at Frost Millworks and headed up there. He found Randy Frost standing at his wife’s desk, shaking his head at pictures she’d taped up on the wall. “Holland,” he said, pointing at the images of Dutch streets and sights. “That’s where Louise wants to go next. Delft, Rembrandt, canals, cheese and windmills.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Randy was a big, salt-of-the-earth man who would do anything for his wife of thirty years and their two daughters. Justin had served with him as a volunteer firefighter for over a decade and couldn’t imagine anyone more reliable or trustworthy.

  “Six months ago, Louise wouldn’t go to Northampton by herself. Now she’s got us applying for passports.” Randy pointed at a picture of thousands of tulips in waves of bright colors. “She wants us to go during tulip season so we can visit Keukenhof.”

  “Gardens?”

  “Yep. Gardens.” Randy seemed to pull himself out of his thoughts. “Two weddings in three months and then the Netherlands.”

  “You can drink Dutch beer.”

  Randy grinned at him. “I like how you think. There’s a lot going on, but it’s all good.”

  “All set for Jess’s wedding?”

  “I just do as I’m told. Louise and I both like Mark. He’s already like a member of the family. Took him and Jess a while to figure out what we’ve all known for years.”

  “They’re a good pair,” Justin said.

  “Yeah, they are. We like Dylan, too, but he’s different from what we’re used to.”

  “He’s rich, you mean.”

  Randy sighed. “There’s rich and then there’s Dylan and Noah.”

  Justin couldn’t argue with that. “They keep things interesting around here.”

  “No complaints.” Randy switched off the desk lamp and walked past Justin out into the showroom. A single overhead light was on above the front door. “How’s the cider mill?”

  “Minor damage. Nothing I can’t fix over a couple of weekends.”

  “A wonder that place didn’t burn down years ago. There was a time I thought you and your brothers would set it on fire horsing around out there.”

  Justin grinned. “Brandon, Adam and me, maybe. Eric and Christopher? Never.”

  “I don’t know how you made it past thirty without being arrested.”

  Randy switched off the light, and they headed outside, Justin continuing on to the old sawmill while the older man went home to his wife. With the rehearsal for Jess and Mark’s wedding tomorrow and the service on Saturday, Randy Frost had good reason to be pensive, to need a little time to himself.

  When Justin reached the sawmill apartment, he took off his work boots and sat on the couch. Growing up together, he and Mark had often joked about which one of them would get married first. Which one would marry a girl from Knights Bridge. Mark hadn’t lived in town his whole life. But he’d come back. It was where he wanted to be. What he and Jess had together was the real thing. It wasn’t perfect—it had taken work to get to this late-September wedding of theirs—but it was right.

  Unlike Justin and the Worcester architect Mark had introduced him to last year.

  They’d worked out for a while. Then she’d gotten a job in Atlanta and assumed he would follow her. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t interested. She didn’t get it that his life was in Knights Bridge. He was in Knights Bridge.

  She’d never have slipped into town in search of pirate treasure. She’d never have picked a padlock, or even come close to getting caught out in the woods in a fierce thunderstorm. She’d thought Justin’s service as a firefighter “quaint.” They weren’t a good fit. But although Samantha was much more his type, pursuing his attraction to Harry Bennett’s granddaughter was another mistake. A different kind of mistake.

  Justin checked Netflix and found the special on Antarctica that mentioned Harry Bennett and his expedition there fifty years ago, well before Samantha was even born.

  “The South Pole. Hell.”

  Harry came onto the screen, with the same energy and dark eyes as his granddaughter up in her room at Carriage Hill. Justin watched for a few minutes before he switched off the television. He got out his gold coin. Was it part of Captain Farrad
ay’s treasure? Was there more gold buried out at the cider mill?

  It didn’t matter, Justin told himself. He returned the coin to its box. He saw no point in telling Samantha about it.

  Let Harry Bennett’s granddaughter give up on Knights Bridge and go on her way.

  * * *

  Justin got an early start in the morning. Fog had settled in the dips and low areas but would burn off with the rising sun and warmer temperatures. He had a long list of things he had to do before quitting work at noon to get ready for the wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner that evening.

  When he reached the construction site, he received a text from Mark. Nervous as hell.

  Justin called him, and they chatted for a few minutes. He knew part of a best man’s job was reassuring the groom, even one as solid as Mark Flanagan, that a case of nerves before his wedding was normal.

  Mark asked about Samantha. “I hear she’s feisty and pretty, Justin.”

  The man was looking for distractions. Justin obliged—to a degree—and told his friend about the fire but didn’t get into the rest of it. Pirates. Being a Bennett. Getting on the wrong side of Duncan McCaffrey. That all was for Dylan to sort out.

  Mark seemed satisfied. “How long will she be sticking around town?”

  “No idea, but it won’t be forever.”

  Justin hung up and got things organized for the day. Within an hour, the crew started to arrive with coffees and breakfast sandwiches. Maggie sent apple-walnut muffins with Brandon. Justin tried one. It was still warm from the oven. Only Maggie. Brandon swore she baked in her sleep.

  “Isn’t that Samantha?” Brandon asked, pointing down the driveway.

  Indeed it was. She had on her safari jacket with her backpack on her shoulders, her new tent and sleeping bag strapped to the top and bottom.

  Brandon gave a low whistle. “She’s hoofing it. Must be in good shape.”

  And in a hurry. Justin took his muffin with him and walked down to her. Sunlight was sparkling through the fog now, and it was already warming up. “Hey, there,” he said.

  She gave a curt wave. “Good morning.”

  “Where you off to?”

  She didn’t slacken her pace. “Not sure yet.”

  “You’re moving awfully fast for someone who isn’t sure where she’s going.” He eased in next to her. “Need a ride?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Still mad about your journal?”

  She gave a tight shake of her head. “No. It’s fine.”

  “Samantha.” Justin resisted the urge to touch her arm. “You okay?”

  She slowed slightly and seemed to make an effort to smile. “I had an epiphany this morning. I should have rented a car. It’s not as if I can hop on a subway out here.”

  “Just now figuring that out?”

  She adjusted her pack. “I think it took walking from Carriage Hill with this new tent and sleeping bag to convince me. I’ve logged a fair number of miles since I arrived in Knights Bridge. Anyway. I’m in good shape. All’s well.”

  “Is someone with a car meeting you?”

  “Eventually. I’m...” She sucked in a breath, looking away from him, across the road to the woods. “I appreciate all that you, Dylan and Olivia have done for me. Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m not a liar,” she said, almost to herself.

  Justin settled back on his heels. “Not a good one, anyway.”

  She frowned at him in obvious surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that a good liar would just lie and wouldn’t bother parsing her words the way you do.”

  “When did I parse my words?”

  “When you talked about my padlock, for starters.”

  “I didn’t—” She stopped, as if she were trying to keep herself from saying anything else. If so, it didn’t work. “It was an awkward situation. I hadn’t expected to end up in a fire. Then staying with Dylan and Olivia. My missing journal.”

  “Awkward,” Justin said, not sure why he was so amused.

  Samantha nodded. “That’s right.”

  His brother Adam slowed as he passed them in his truck, frowning at Justin, who waved him on. Of all his brothers, Adam least appreciated his people skills. At least once a day, he would say, “You know you can be a bastard, right, Justin?” With a big Adam Sloan grin, naturally.

  “Another brother?” Samantha asked.

  “Adam. He’s a mason, one of the best in southern New England.”

  “Adam. Got it. He’s between Brandon and Christopher. I think I’ve seen all your brothers now. What about the two older men?” She motioned up the driveway. “Your father and—what, an uncle?”

  “Uncle Pete. He’s a pain in the ass but he can do anything. He’s retiring soon.”

  “Is your sister here?”

  “Back at the office.”

  “And you all get along?”

  “Most days. I irritate Adam a lot, but neither of us holds a grudge. My father pays no attention. My mother is just happy she never had to make bail for any of us.” He was watching Samantha, saw that she wasn’t as stiff and abrupt—but she wasn’t calm, either. More like she was trying to fake it. “Do you want to get whatever’s bothering you off your chest, Sam? Trust me. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, not, he thought, because she was tentative but because she was pushing back a range of emotions, none of which she liked. Finally she looked at him, her dark eyes squinting against the bright morning sun behind him. “How much do you know—or think you know—about me?”

  So that was it. He grinned and leaned closer to her. “Not nearly enough.”

  She snapped up straight. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “I worked for Duncan McCaffrey for a little while two years ago. Which I know you know but I want to tell you myself. You’re the carpenter who told him about me?”

  “I told him I saw a pretty brown-haired woman out here in the snow. No hat, no gloves, driving a car that appeared to be rented.”

  “I learned the hard way that driving my grandfather’s old Mercedes draws attention. Duncan recognized me from your description?”

  “Instantly. He said your name was Samantha Bennett and you were his problem.”

  Pain flickered across her face. She breathed in through her nose, then said, “He was a good man. The best. I’m sorry I disappointed him, but that’s—” She faltered, tears in her eyes as she cleared her throat and continued, “It’s something I have to live with. He was right. I’m not your problem.”

  “Sam—”

  “I should go.” She flicked a tear out of the corner of her eye with a fingertip, obviously attempting to rally. “You have work to do, and you have a wedding tomorrow.”

  Not the time to push her, Justin decided. “All right.”

  “I’ll be stopping at the library. You can tell your spies so they won’t get all excited thinking I’m up to something.”

  “What’s at the library?”

  “Books.” She flashed him a smile. “Sorry. I have some research I want to do.”

  “About the couple in the photos at Hazelton’s?”

  She looked surprised. “How do you know—”

  “Those spies of mine,” he said. “Maggie and Olivia told me last night.”

  Her smile was gone now. “I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you from the start. That’s why you didn’t return my journal right away, isn’t it?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “You recognized my name. Duncan told you, and you remembered.” Without waiting for an answer, she sucked in a breath. “Serves me right.”

  She spun around and headed down the road at a fast, determined clip.

  Justin let her go. He wondered if her research into the old photographs would lead her to his gold coin, but he didn’t know how that was possible.

  Maybe I should just tell h
er.

  He shook off the thought. What was wrong with him? Let Samantha Bennett run out of steam and go back to Boston or London or wherever.

  But she was a lot like her grandfather, and old Harry Bennett hadn’t been one to give up. Frostbite, hypothermia and the prospect of dying at the ends of the earth hadn’t stopped him. His granddaughter might be upset and mortified, but she wouldn’t leave Knights Bridge until she’d finished what she’d come to accomplish.

  Justin was relieved when she rounded a bend and was out of sight. Damned if she didn’t have him hot, uncomfortable and distracted.

  He got back to work. Dylan was at the trailer. “I came up through the field,” he said. “I didn’t want to run into Samantha and make things worse for her.”

  “She’s on her way to the library.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Yeah. It didn’t go well.”

  Dylan didn’t look surprised. “She left Olivia and me a note apologizing for omitting details about who she is and why she’s here.”

  “That’s what she did with your father,” Justin said. “Omitted details.”

  “She wrote in her note that she thought it was a good idea at the time and never meant to cause any problems for anyone.”

  “What do you think?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I think she doesn’t give up easily. You?”

  “I think she doesn’t give up at all.”

  “No wonder my father liked her.”

  Justin opened the trailer door but didn’t go inside. “Did your father ever mention this pirate of hers? Captain Farraday?”

  Dylan shook his head. “He was getting into pirate shipwrecks but never mentioned any pirates in particular. The idea that one could have buried treasure in Knights Bridge or even in this region is far-fetched, isn’t it?” He looked at the skeleton of the house he was building on land once owned by his grandmother, a woman who’d fallen in love with a British jewel thief as her town was being swept out of existence. “Then again, given my family history, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Fourteen

  Loretta sat with a pot of coffee on a small garden terrace off the den of Julius’s home in the hills above Santa Monica Boulevard. It had multiple patios and terraces, a natural given that it was built into a hillside with expensive houses above and below and stunning treetop views. In fact, she sort of felt as if she was in a tree house. The interior had high beamed ceilings, a fireplace, skylights, hardwood floors and white cabinets. She loved white cabinets. Julius had told her he hadn’t picked them out. They’d come when he’d bought the house after his divorce five years ago. His ex-wife and daughters lived nearby.