by Unknown
Lady Elizabeth appreciated the simple pleasures of a good cup of tea. Captain Farraday seemed to have no idea what that meant to her. She didn’t tell him that it reminded her of home, of soft scents and sweet memories. She wouldn’t tell him.
Better, she thought, that the man with her fate in his hands not know everything about her.
Samantha understood that sentiment. She folded the pages and tucked them back into the pouch, sliding it into her pack on the bench next to her. When she looked up, she saw that Justin had arrived. What were the odds? He was laughing with two men she recognized from the fire. Her throat tightened with an uncomfortable mix of guilt, attraction and lingering jitters. She hadn’t counted on meeting local people—meeting Duncan’s son.
Liking them.
The two men eased away, and Justin walked straight to her booth and sat across from her without waiting to be invited. “I heard you were still wandering around town,” he said.
“Your brother Eric told you?”
“He keeps an eye on the goings-on in town.”
The cop brother. And she was a “goings-on.” Great. She picked up her sturdy coffee mug, tried to look casual. “Are you surprised to find me having coffee and a sandwich after I was run out of town?”
“You weren’t run out of town. Obviously, since you’re still here.”
She pointed at his menu. “I ordered the turkey club. What else is good here?”
“Not the chef’s salad. It’s the worst. Everything else is fine.” He leaned back, clearly amused. “Feeling claustrophobic?”
“It’s a lovely place. I feel...” She sipped her coffee, set the mug back on the table and smiled at him. “Watched.”
“I wonder why we’d watch you, don’t you, Sam Bennett?”
“I just spent over an hour in the library doing dull, tedious research.”
“Into what?”
She decided to tell him. “The Hazeltons.”
His eyes held hers just for a split-second longer than was comfortable. “Why?”
“Curiosity. I doubt they have anything to do with Captain Farraday, but a lot of what I do is dry and uninteresting, even if it involves pirates and missing treasure.”
“Why pirates?”
The waitress returned and took Justin’s order. He went with iced tea and grilled chicken on a green salad, which made Samantha feel marginally guilty about her club sandwich and fries—but he hadn’t walked to town with a loaded backpack.
He rested his arm across the back of the bench, looking casual, at home. Of course, he was at home. She was the stranger. He tapped the table with his free hand. “Pirates, Sam. Why pirates?”
“I became enthralled with them when I was a kid on my parents’ research-and-salvage ship. I was often alone. Pirates were good company.”
“During the summer?”
She shook her head. “I was privately tutored until I started high school.”
“What did you do for friends?”
“I hung out with members of the crew and their families. My parents’ friends and colleagues at various stops. It was a different upbringing but not as isolated as it sounds.”
“And high school?”
“Boston. My grandfather lived there. I spent a lot of time with him. But he wasn’t always there. He was active into his nineties.”
“Was he interested in pirates, too?”
“He was interested in everything.”
Justin lowered his arm and sat up straight. “You have an interesting life. Why hire on with Duncan McCaffrey and become a treasure hunter?”
“It just happened. My grandfather and I...” She picked up her coffee again, covering for an unexpected wave of emotion. “He died a few months before I came out here and you saw me. I often kept him company. He’s the one who introduced me to Benjamin Farraday. Grandpa was such a presence—so resilient, so full of life. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Justin said.
His simple words and obvious sincerity caught her by surprise. “Thank you. He had a good, long life. I’ve spent most of the past two years—since Duncan fired me—going through Grandpa’s things.”
“Your curating, archiving and research.”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
The waitress returned with the turkey club and a heap of fries. Samantha noticed Justin’s eyebrows go up. She picked up a fry and motioned at her plate with it. “Help yourself. I could eat every one of these fries, but I’m not going to.”
“It’s real bacon on the club,” he said.
“So I see.”
He snatched a fry. “What was the fate of your Captain Farraday?”
“We don’t know for sure. I’d like to find out what happened to him. I have my own ideas. He wasn’t captured and executed, but there’s no question he was guilty of piracy.”
Justin popped the fry into his mouth. “Did he look like Johnny Depp?”
Samantha sighed. “There are no likenesses of Captain Farraday that I’m aware of. Popular culture through the centuries has painted a different portrait of what pirates were like than what current scholarship would suggest was actually the case.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t care, do you?”
“I’m interested but, no, I don’t care.”
His salad arrived. It looked good, but not as tempting as her meal. Their waitress also brought his iced tea and questioned him about the upcoming wedding, the rehearsal that evening, whether Mark and Jess were really, finally, ready to tie the knot. Justin responded without any of the curtness or suspicion that Samantha had been getting from him.
“Is she a cousin?” she asked when the woman withdrew.
“Millie? No. She’s not a cousin, but her son worked for us through college.” He picked up his fork and looked across the table at her. “Did you think if you could prove Farraday was in this area, it would somehow absolve you for what happened between you and Duncan at the end of his life?”
Samantha squirted ketchup onto the edge of her plate, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe. I don’t know. I guess I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t out of line in wondering if Duncan had come here because of Captain Farraday.”
“That matters to you.”
“Yes.”
“But Duncan didn’t come here because of a pirate.”
“No,” Samantha said. “He came to find out who he was.”
Justin started on his salad. “That made you feel like an even bigger heel, didn’t it? Then he dies. You go into hiding, sorting out your grandfather’s closets and drawers. Find anything interesting? The skeleton of a mastodon or an old pirate hat or something?”
She smiled. “Nothing like that.”
“Think you’re going to find buried treasure out here?”
“That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
“Not an answer. I’m not fooled, Sam. You’re sophisticated—”
“And you’re just a simple country boy?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Just a simple country boy.”
It didn’t bother him at all.
She didn’t want to lie, but she saw no point in telling him the rest now—about the painting of the cider mill or the fictionalized account of Farraday’s adventures.
He watched her a moment, then drank some of his iced tea. “It’s been two years. Why come to Knights Bridge now? Is it because you realized Dylan was in town?”
“Partly. I’m not sure there is a logical reason for my coming here now.”
“It’s emotional?”
“Emotional and intuitive.”
He leaned over the table. “That means you don’t want to tell me the real reason.” When she started to protest, he held up a hand. “I’m just telling you what I believe. I’m not trying to put you on the defensive.”
“Thank you. Just because I don’t answer a question doesn’t necessarily mean I have anything to hide.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t, ei
ther. Anyway, Maggie and Olivia instructed me to be nice. They also want me to invite you to the wedding tomorrow.”
“The wedding—Justin—”
“They think that I as the best man should have a guest. Doesn’t matter that my entire family will be there. They say it’s not the same.”
“It isn’t,” Samantha said.
He gave her an easy grin. “Good. That means you’ll be there.”
“That’s not what it means. I...” She picked up a triangle of her sandwich, then set it down again. “Who says I’m even going to be in Knights Bridge tomorrow?”
“That’s what I told Maggie and Olivia. They said you’ll be here. Woman’s instinct or something.”
“If there’s a woman’s instinct, I don’t have it.”
“But you’re not going anywhere, are you?”
She tried to ignore his knowing tone. “I can’t stay at Carriage Hill with a wedding there tomorrow. And why would I go as your guest? You’ve accused me of being a liar and a thief.”
“I never said you were a thief. You did break into my mill, though. Now that I know you’re Harry Bennett’s granddaughter, I’m not surprised you can pick a lock.”
“My uncle taught me. And you still haven’t answered the question.”
His deep blue eyes sparked with amusement. “You’ll go to the wedding with me because I’m irresistible.”
She shook her head. “I’ll consider it because it’s decent of Maggie and Olivia to think of me, and it’s more than I deserve after misleading them about my reasons for being here.”
“That, too. We bonded when I rescued you, Sam. Just one of those things.”
He took a sip of his drink, set the glass down on the table. She noticed a scar on his right hand, calluses on his fingers, and wished she hadn’t—but he seemed oblivious to her discomfort, her intense awareness of him.
“Do you own a dress?” he asked.
“A closetful.” Samantha smiled. “That might be an exaggeration, and I don’t have one with me.”
“I don’t know why Duncan ever believed you. You’re a terrible liar. Come on. I’ve got the afternoon off to get ready for the rehearsal tonight. We’ll find you a dress.”
Her eyebrows rose.
He grinned and winked at her. “I’m a man of many resources.”
Sixteen
Samantha drove with Justin out to Frost Millworks, a private company that produced quality custom millwork for homes and businesses. He led her into a sunlit meeting room with tall windows overlooking another brook, stone-and-earth dam and millpond. The old sawmill had been converted into an apartment and storage space. It was bigger than Justin’s cider mill but not by much.
He motioned to a long table piled with old clothes sorted into stacks—dresses, pants, jackets, shirts, sweaters, accessories. “Help yourself.”
Samantha stared at him. “Seriously?”
“There’s bound to be something here. Louise Frost collected clothes leftover from a vintage fashion show at the library a few weeks ago. She’s figuring out what to do with them. She says some of them are in great shape.”
“A vintage fashion show.” Samantha smiled, although she still wasn’t convinced she would find anything that would both fit and be suitable for a wedding. “What a great idea for a fund-raiser. Did you attend?”
“I don’t remember. If I did, I’ve blocked it.”
“Ah. I see. A tough Sloan can’t be going to fashion shows.”
He winked at her. “You’re catching on. Brandon went, but he’s married to Maggie. She was modeling a gown. He had no choice.”
“What about your other brothers and your sister?”
“They probably don’t remember if they were there, either.”
“Which means you all went.”
He nodded to the overflowing table. “You’ll find something.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” she said.
She fingered an old brown tweed woman’s jacket, the fabric soft and worn. Had it come from someone from town? She wasn’t at all certain she wasn’t out of her mind for being here—or why, exactly, she’d been invited to the wedding. Had Dylan had a hand in it? Were they all just trying to keep tabs on her, find out what was up with her and her interest in Benjamin Farraday? She wouldn’t blame them if they were.
She reminded herself that her predicament was entirely self-inflicted, and she had options—including getting out of town.
“I don’t have suitable shoes for a wedding,” she said.
“Olivia and Maggie have already thought of that,” Justin said. “They told me that between them and their sisters, they would find a pair that fits and will go with whatever dress you choose.”
“This is very decent of you all, but—”
He shook his head. “No ‘buts.’” His expression softened, maybe for the first time since they’d met two days ago. “Just enjoy yourself, Sam. You’ve had a rough week.”
“My own fault—except for the lightning. I didn’t cause that.”
He tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. “No one’s trying to pull a fast one on you. If we didn’t want you there tomorrow, we wouldn’t have invited you.” He smiled, stepping back. “We sure as hell wouldn’t turn you loose in our vintage clothes department.”
She laughed, but only for a moment as she stood straight, basically at a loss. “Thank you, Justin.”
“You can try on stuff in here. No one will bother you, but there’s a restroom down the hall if you prefer. I’ll be down at the sawmill.”
“That’s where you live?”
“There’s an apartment upstairs. I’m renovating it in exchange for rent.” He headed to the door, glanced back at her. “Have fun.”
After he left, shutting the door behind him, Samantha dug through a stack of old skirts. She remembered playing “dress up” with her mother’s clothes on a stormy day at sea, pretending she was a princess. It was easy to do with her mother’s flowing, elegant clothes. Even aboard a research-and-salvage ship, Francesca Bennett had made sure she had a proper wardrobe.
The Knights Bridge vintage clothes ranged from fun and different to stolid and traditional. Any truly ratty pieces must have been culled already, as well as any real “finds.” Samantha ran across everything from hippie bell-bottoms to ladylike hats and dumpy pleated skirts. Her favorite was a Pat Nixon wool coat, but unless the temperature dropped even more, it wasn’t suitable for tomorrow’s wedding.
A pile of cool-weather dresses yielded a timeless, caramel-colored lightweight wool shift. If it fit and didn’t have too many moth holes, it would be perfect. She pulled the blinds on the windows and tried it on. Except for one tiny moth hole in the hem, it was in great shape, and the fit was fine—just a little tight around the hips.
All she needed now was a pair of shoes.
She raised the blinds and headed out with the dress hooked over one arm.
“You must be Samantha.” A middle-aged woman with auburn-dyed hair poked her head out of a small office. “I’m Louise, Olivia and Jess’s mom. Come. I have shoes for you.”
Samantha entered the office. “Thank you.”
“Our pleasure. We’re all having fun outfitting you.” Louise, in a navy fleece vest over a turtleneck, jeans and rubber boots, pointed at a half-dozen shoe boxes stacked on her cluttered rolltop oak desk. “I think the top pair will work. I hope they’re the right size.”
Samantha lifted the box off the stack. Louise—or someone—had taped pictures of Holland to every available space on the desk and wall. “Planning a trip to the Netherlands?”
“Randy and I are going this spring. He’s my husband. He was at the fire the other day. Have you ever been to Holland?”
“Not in several years, but, yes, I have. I love Dutch bread and cheese.” Samantha smiled as she pulled a neutral-colored pump out of the box. “And the museums, of course.”
“I want to see Rembrandt’s Night Watch at the Rijksmuseum and take a canal tour of Amsterdam. We�
��ll get out into the Dutch countryside, too. We’re going during tulip season.” She paused, her breathing shallow, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve never flown overseas.”
“It’ll be an adventure,” Samantha said.
Louise touched her fingertips to a picture of a Dutch canal. “That’s right, it will be. Both my girls’ weddings will be behind us. Spring will be a good time for Randy and me to get away.” She seemed calmer as she turned to Samantha. “We were out in California a couple of months ago. We did the Pacific Coast Highway from Los Angeles up to San Francisco.”
“That sounds very romantic,” Samantha said, slipping off one of her trail shoes.
“It was like a second honeymoon. Such beautiful country. Dylan is from Southern California.”
Samantha nodded. “I knew his father.”
“Oh, right. Liv told me.”
Louise sounded matter-of-fact, as if nothing she’d learned from her daughter troubled her. Samantha didn’t pursue the subject. She peeled off her wool sock and tried on the pump. It was a bit loose in the heel, a common problem for her with shoes, but otherwise fit perfectly.
“What do you think?” Louise asked her.
“They’ll work great. Thank you so much. I’ll return the shoes tomorrow after the wedding.”
“You can just leave them at Liv’s place. I’ll get them back to Heather—Heather Sloan. Justin’s sister.”
“I haven’t met her yet,” Samantha said. “Are you sure I won’t be the skunk at the wedding?”
Louise didn’t hesitate. “The more the merrier, and we’re all delighted that Justin won’t be on his own.”
“We’re not—this isn’t—” Samantha stopped herself with an inward groan. She placed the shoe back with its mate, popped on the cover and tucked the shoe box under one arm. “Thank you again.”
But Louise Frost wasn’t finished. “It’s not that Justin needs help getting a date. I don’t mean that. He’s just...” She waved a hand, obviously feeling awkward despite having been the one who brought up Justin Sloan’s love life. “He’ll settle down one of these days.”
Samantha wasn’t going there. “It should be a beautiful weekend for a wedding.” She thanked Louise again and nodded at the Holland pictures. “I hope you have a great trip.”
