by Unknown
And as he kissed her, he moved inside her, eliminating any chance that she would be able to entertain a coherent thought anytime soon. She pulled him deeper into her, gave herself up to the heat roaring through her, the sensations—physical, emotional, all jumbled together. She clawed at him, cried out and then couldn’t breathe, could only feel the letting go, the release...hers and his.
She collapsed against him, placing her head on his chest, and in a moment of stunning clarity—even if it was the last one of the night—she knew she was in love with this man. Hopelessly, miraculously and forever in love. Maybe it made no sense, but she didn’t care. Not now, in the milky dawn light, with Justin Sloan’s arms around her.
Twenty-Nine
In some respects, Samantha thought she could safely assume that making love would have resolved some of the tension and adrenaline left over from how she and Justin had met, but when she woke up alone in his bed, she knew nothing about him was simple or easy or ever would be.
She took a shower, got dressed and discovered his truck was gone.
Of course.
Even after two bouts of incredible lovemaking, she had energy to burn and went out into the cold, clear Knights Bridge morning and started walking to town.
Randy Frost picked her up in his truck. “Looking for breakfast?” he asked.
“Breakfast would be great,” she said as she climbed into his old truck. “What’s the word on Christopher Sloan?”
“A week recuperating and he’ll be back on the job.”
“That’s a relief.”
Randy nodded. “Yes, it is. A hell of a night. Don’t let Justin fool you. It was a near thing for him with this fire, too.”
He dropped her off at Smith’s and went on his way. The restaurant was crawling with Sloans and Knights Bridge firefighters. Justin got up from his booth with Eric, Brandon and Adam and headed to a small booth at the back, nodding to Samantha.
She slid into the booth across from him.
“Lively night,” Justin said. “I woke up hungry. I see you did, too.”
Dylan McCaffrey entered the restaurant and headed straight for their table. “I’m not staying,” he said. “I just heard from Loretta, who heard from Julius Hartley, the L.A. private investigator she knows. I thought you’d like her report.”
Samantha scooted over on her bench. “Have a seat.”
Dylan sat next to her but shook his head when their waitress brought two mugs and asked him if he wanted coffee. When she withdrew, he said, “Henrietta Hazelton arrived in Boston in early 1916 as a very wealthy young widow with a small son, Benjamin. She married a widower, also wealthy, a banker fifteen years her senior named James Magowan. He adopted Ben. He and Henrietta had no other children. He died at eighty.” Dylan paused, sitting back against the booth. “Henrietta loved to make up romantic adventures and eventually took up painting. She and Ben remained close until her death at eighty-five.”
“Zeke Hazelton did all right, but he wasn’t wealthy,” Justin said.
Samantha drank some of her coffee, just to buy herself a moment to think. “My grandfather told me that Ben often said he didn’t know the whole story about his mother. That she’d left out some parts of her past, and not everything added up. Grandpa didn’t mention Knights Bridge, or the fire. Nothing like that.”
Dylan nodded. “I’m not surprised. Henrietta kept the Hazelton name but that didn’t mean she wanted to revisit what happened here.” He rose, clearly as taken with Zeke and Henrietta as Olivia had been. “I know there’s more to this story, but that’s all Julius and Loretta have at the moment.”
“Thank you,” Samantha said. “And, please, thank them for me.”
Dylan glanced at Justin, then shifted back to her. “I hope you’ll be able to thank them yourself in person one day soon, but they were happy to help. It’s a fascinating tale.”
As Dylan left, Samantha looked across the table at Justin. “A lot going on this morning.”
“All good.”
“Randy Frost said it was a near thing for you last night.”
“My brother’s okay. The rest doesn’t matter. What are you having for breakfast? Did you even have dinner last night?”
“If I order a huge breakfast, everyone here is going to know we...”
“They know, anyway, Sam,” Justin said, amused. “It’s what we call obvious.”
“You’re all a bunch of know-it-alls,” she said, and, ignoring Justin’s grin, ordered fresh-squeezed orange juice, whole-grain pancakes with real maple syrup and local bacon, cooked crisp.
Her orange juice arrived at the same time as a text from her uncle. We’re at the family farm. Our second cousin has done a great job with the place. Says Ben and Pop visited several times over the years. Ben always said his mother insisted she was descended from pirates.
She texted him back. Farraday?
No names. Hell, Sam. Pirates.
She handed her phone to Justin and sat back, drinking her juice and remembering her talks with her grandfather in his last days. “I’m positive that Grandpa never mentioned the painting or the story,” she said. “I’d remember.”
“His friend Ben could have dropped them off before he died but never told your grandfather what they were all about.” Justin shrugged but was clearly interested, despite last night’s fire. “Ben might have been torn about digging into his mother’s past.”
Samantha nodded. “I can see him being ambivalent. Wanting to know her true story, but afraid he couldn’t take it—that it was sad beyond words.”
Justin leaned forward. “My guess is your grandfather decided you were meant to be the one to figure out Henrietta’s story. You were relentless enough to follow the leads wherever they took you.”
Here, she thought. To Knights Bridge. “Grandpa must have met Henrietta. Maybe my father and Uncle Caleb did, too. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Grandpa’s first expeditions were funded with pirate treasure?”
Justin winked at her. “Par for the course with your family, if you ask me.”
Her breakfast arrived—the pancakes and little pitcher of syrup steaming, the bacon with a smoky, maple smell. Samantha grabbed her fork, ready to dive in, when the waitress returned with a little bowl of plain yogurt and granola and set it in front of Justin. “Yogurt, Justin? Really? After last night—”
“I don’t want too much in my stomach. I’m going back to bed after breakfast.” He pointed his spoon at her. “You eat up, though.”
“You’re going back to bed?”
“Mmm. Long night. Didn’t sleep much. I’ll see Chris this afternoon after he’s caught up on his sleep.”
“I could eat a few bites of these pancakes and get the rest to go.”
“We could share them for a late lunch.”
Samantha raised her eyes to him. “You know every one of your brothers and firefighter friends is watching us right now, don’t you?”
He grinned. “Get used to it.”
A warmth spread through her, and she smiled at him. “I already am.”
Thirty
“You do have your ways, Julius,” Loretta said, sitting on a cushioned lounge chair beside her pool. No New England autumn foliage, but there was bougainvillea, her pots of miniature roses, her avocado tree, warm sunshine, and it was home. Julius had driven down from Hollywood and met her at the airport.
He was next to her on a matching chair. She knew she looked as if she’d done an emotional whirlwind trip to the East Coast, and he looked great. Rested, dressed in his damn country-club clothes. “Finding out the basics about Henrietta was a snap once I had names and dates. That’s the hard part. Piecing together the rest of her story will be tough. Maybe impossible.”
“The money, you mean.”
“Either she robbed a bank or dug up pirate treasure.”
He wasn’t kidding, either. Loretta stared out at her glimmering pool. “There’s something about that town, I swear. Grace Webster’s secret love affair with the jewel thief—”
“Your Duncan’s birth parents.”
Her Duncan. She swallowed. “Then there’s Daphne Stewart’s story. Debbie Henderson. Abused, frightened, dreaming of a new life. And now we have Henrietta Hazelton, rebuilding her life after an unbearable tragedy.”
Julius set his iced tea glass on the table next to him. “It’s every town if we only stop long enough to find out.”
“Do you think this Benjamin Farraday was Henrietta’s ancestor?”
“It’s what she believed. No question in my mind. Wherever her money came from, it helped her to shut the door on her life in Knights Bridge. She had to, in order to go on—to create a new life with her son.”
“I can see Ben and Harry getting together as old men,” Loretta said with a smile. “Smoking cigars, drinking Scotch, talking about Antarctica and skirting the rest. The father who died saving you and your mother. The mother who somehow slipped out of town with a fortune.”
Julius gave a heavy sigh. “Life, huh?”
“Ben would have had a happy life if Zeke had lived and there’d been no money. The cider mill, the general store, the winding roads and the people.” Loretta realized her eyes were misting. She sucked in a breath. “Damn jet lag. Messes with my emotional equilibrium.”
“Your what? Never mind.” Julius got to his feet and took her hand. “Loretta, I have something to say to you.”
She rose, frowning. “You’re not moving East, are you?”
He laughed, but his eyes were intense, serious. “I’m not moving East, but I would if that’s where you are. I’m crazy about you, Loretta.”
“Or just crazy.”
He swept both her hands into his and drew her toward him. “Marry me.”
Her heart jumped. “Julius—”
“You’ll like my daughters. They’re Hollywood lawyers. One works for a studio, one for an agency. We get along great. No strife there. They want me to be happy, and I want them to be happy.” He kissed her on the cheek and whispered into her ear, “Think about it, okay? I know marriage is a big step for you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Loretta stood back, gaping at this man she loved. How had it happened? How had her life changed so much in such a short time? She laughed suddenly, a little maniacally. Julius looked taken aback, but she grabbed his hand and held it tight. “I don’t need to think. I don’t need time. I’ve been thinking about this since the day I thought I might have to call the police on you.” She smiled at him, her heart racing. “Yes. Yes, Julius Hartley, I’ll marry you.”
He had a ring. A beautiful diamond. “I’d have gone down on one knee, but I was afraid you might kick me into the pool.” He smiled at her, slipping the ring on her finger. “We’re going to have a good time, Loretta.”
She eyed the ring on her finger, the diamond glittering in the sunlight, and she kissed him. “I feel like a kid. I love you to pieces, Julius. You know you’ll have to go back to Knights Bridge for Dylan’s wedding.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably for Daphne, too.”
Loretta looked around at her quiet, pretty backyard. “I’m open to change in my life, but this is home for me, Julius.”
“I know, kid. I can do my job from down here.” He slipped an arm around her. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“We’re going to be a couple of fun old people.”
“In thirty years. We have lots of time.”
Thirty-One
Samantha saw her family off to Scotland and London. She would be seeing them again soon. They were all certain there was more to be unearthed about Harry Bennett and Benjamin Hazelton Magowan, who, it seemed, had included his best friend in his will. Only Harry had never done anything about it.
Isaac wanted to help Samantha with her research when he was at Amherst. His father was thinking about teaching there for a year, maybe longer. Her parents didn’t plan to be in Scotland forever.
Her father pulled her aside at the airport, while his nephews and nieces unloaded the trunk of their grandfather’s old Mercedes. “Are you staying in Boston?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I’m going back to Knights Bridge.”
“Will you be staying at the Sloan cabin again?”
She thought of Justin and smiled. “Maybe.” Her father groaned, and she grinned at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” He kissed her on the cheek. “You always did want a guy who could fix things.”
She hugged everyone goodbye and headed off before airport security started to get antsy. She drove through the tunnel and pointed the big car west. No need to stop back at her grandfather’s house. She was prepared for Knights Bridge this time. More or less, anyway. Backpack in the trunk, water bottle up front with her, her grandmother’s recipe for apple pie.
No tent, though. If she needed a tent...well, then, she wouldn’t be staying long at all.
* * *
In less than two hours, Samantha pulled into Carriage Hill. More leaves had turned, glowing orange, red and yellow in the afternoon sunlight. As she walked past the pots of yellow-and-white mums, she could hear laughter from the kitchen.
Maggie opened the door, still laughing. “Samantha! Welcome. Come on in. We’re making applesauce.”
The kitchen was warm with the smell of cooking apples, steam rising from two large pots on the stove. Empty canning jars were lined up on the butcher-block island. Olivia and Dylan were at the sink, paring knives in hand, colanders filled with apples on the counter next to them.
Justin was there, too, leaning in the mudroom doorway. His truck wasn’t out front. He must have walked down from the construction site. Samantha noticed bits of sawdust on his clothes—the uniform black canvas shirt, dark T-shirt, jeans, scuffed boots. A few days away, she thought, and nothing had changed.
“I wanted to say hi,” she said. “My family’s on their flight. I figured I would stop out at the cider mill before—” She stopped there. She didn’t know what to say. Before what? Before she went back to Boston?
But she didn’t want to go back. She wanted to stay here.
Justin eased into the kitchen. “I’ll go out there with you.” He nodded to his friends. “It’s a good year for apples. Let me know if you need more.”
He walked out to the old Mercedes with her and got into the passenger seat. She smiled at him. “Good that I have a car this time, don’t you think?”
“You probably don’t want to take it onto the mill’s driveway.”
“You’re right, I don’t.”
Samantha had no trouble navigating the back roads out to the cider mill. She parked under a large oak tree as gray squirrels chased each other along a branch. She got out of the car, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets at the unexpected cold.
Justin started down the driveway toward the cider mill. “You never thought your Captain Farraday would lead you here, did you, Sam?”
“In some ways, he seems as elusive as ever.”
They walked down to the clearing. A dozen bright-colored leaves floated in the millpond, and clear, coppery water flowed over the dam. The acrid fire smells had dissipated, the exterior of the little nineteenth-century mill showing no visible signs of damage. Samantha could see it now as Henrietta had seen it, painted a vibrant red, churning apples into cider, a part of the fabric of the community of Knights Bridge and of her life with Zeke.
“Come on,” Justin said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
They went inside. He’d pulled the dirty, cracked plastic off the windows. The sun streamed in, and she saw that he’d cleaned up from the fire. He wouldn’t be one to waste time.
A gold coin was on the worn sill of a front window, leaning against the glass.
“What’s this?” she asked.
He picked it up. “You tell me.”
“It looks like an eighteenth-century Spanish coin, but that doesn’t mean it is. Where did you get it?”
“I found it one night when the guys and I were out he
re horsing around. I kept it. Figured I’d do something with it one of these days.” He took her hand, opened her fingers and placed the coin in her palm. “I did some digging out here and checked town records. The mill’s built on an old cellar hole. It’s likely to belong to one of the earliest houses in the area.”
“The hermit your grandmother told me about.”
“Your pirate.”
Samantha rubbed her thumb along the markings in the coin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what you were up to.”
“You knew all along my interest in Cider Brook had to do with pirates.”
“Let’s just say I doubted Duncan McCaffrey’s pirate expert had come here to follow Cider Brook into Quabbin. I figured you’d left out a few things.” He nodded at the coin in her hand. “Can you tell if the coin is part of Farraday’s lost treasure?
“Maybe. The Hazeltons built the mill. Did Henrietta’s family own the land before them?”
“Just the few acres around the mill. Her father sold them to the Hazeltons in 1872. His name was Smith, by the way. Benjamin Smith.” Justin was silent a moment before he continued, “There’s a story that after Zeke died, Henrietta would take little Ben out here and spend hours and hours on their own. People were worried she would take her own life. Then she and her son quietly left town.”
“She found Benjamin Farraday’s lost treasure, or at least some of it—what he hadn’t sold to support himself or for bribes to secure his freedom.”
Justin looked out toward the brook. “If the hermit was your pirate, he could have decided he liked his simple life here.”
“He was wanted by the crown by then.”
“Unloading a lot of ill-gotten gold and whatnot would only draw unwanted attention to himself. Better to keep the bulk of his treasure buried than to risk a hanging.”
“Then Benjamin Farraday never went back to Boston and bought a new ship,” Samantha said. “That was a ruse on his part to throw off authorities and to keep anyone from looking for him out here.”
Justin settled his gaze on her. “There’s no pirate shipwreck for you to find, then.”
