Eight
Samantha awoke to sun streaming through her windows. She hadn’t pulled the curtains, but she’d overslept, anyway. She bolted upright, knowing it was after eight before she checked the time on the bedside clock.
Eight thirty-four.
She had planned to be on her way by now. On her way where she didn’t exactly know, but out of The Farm at Carriage Hill, away from the herbs and the big slobbery dog and the happy engaged couple.
Late last night, exhausted but unable to sleep, she’d decided she would get an early start. She didn’t need to meet Dylan over coffee and eggs. She could stick to her plan and accomplish what she’d come to Knights Bridge to do without a face-to-face with her ex-boss’s son.
With a groan, she sank against the padded headboard. She’d ended up deep under the comforter, finally and totally dead to the world after days of digging through her grandfather’s office and then her uncle and cousin’s arrival in Boston and then yesterday. The drive west, her hike, the thunderstorm, the fire, the rescue, the irritable volunteer firefighter. Then the gracious hostess, the warm applesauce, the soup, the cake. The big dog. The goat’s milk soap.
No wonder she’d had a hard time winding down and hadn’t fallen asleep until well after midnight. Hearing what she took to be Dylan McCaffrey’s voice out in the hall hadn’t helped.
Justin Sloan had to have known she would be more like a house guest at The Farm at Carriage Hill than an inn guest. She supposed he and Olivia both had tried to warn her, and she’d just been too shaken and rattled for it to sink in that her hosts lived here.
She stood up, the braided rug warm under her bare feet. Without warning, her mind flashed to the hiss and near-roar of the fire in the dark, claustrophobic cider mill.
She could feel Justin lifting her as she’d gasped for air. She could smell his shirt, his skin....
“Gad,” she said under her breath.
She’d dreamed about him, and now that she was awake she was going to keep thinking about him?
She shook her head. “I need coffee.”
Despite traipsing through the woods, her tense escape from the fire and her dreams, the stiffness and achiness she’d felt last night had eased and she wasn’t particularly sore this morning. She ducked into the pretty bathroom, her reflection in the mirror not as deadly as yesterday when she’d arrived.
She took another shower, getting any residual smoke smell off her, and quickly got dressed. She unloaded her backpack on the floor and went through every item for smoke damage. She would figure out what she needed to replace and stop at the country store in town. She wanted to go back to the cider mill this morning. It and the village were both within relatively easy walking distance of Carriage Hill.
She stared at the contents of her backpack on the floor with a feeling of dread.
She got down on her knees and went through every item again.
No journal.
She hadn’t thought about it until now. It was always with her. It must have been displaced in the mad dash from the fire.
She stood straight, her heartbeat quickening as she considered the possibilities. Had it burned up in the fire? Had it fallen out of her pack after Justin had rescued her?
Had one of the other firefighters found it? His cop brother?
Was it still in the mill? Would someone stop there this morning and find it?
She had no memory of the small cloth-bound journal beyond slipping it into her backpack yesterday morning before she left Boston. She was positive she’d had it with her when she’d shoved her pack into the backseat with Isaac.
Maybe she’d dropped it in her grandfather’s Mercedes.
She texted her uncle and asked.
He responded immediately. No journal.
Check under the seats. Please.
She paced, waiting for his next text. Not in the car. Burned?
I don’t know.
Uh-oh.
Yeah, no kidding. How’s Amherst?
The ghost of Harry Bennett haunts the ivy-covered buildings.
Only her uncle would take the time to type such a text. Samantha typed a quick response. No doubt. Good luck.
You, too, Sam.
Marginally calmer, she headed downstairs, arriving to an empty kitchen. A cool draft drew her into the mudroom and out to the stone terrace, where Olivia sat at a round wood table having coffee and toast. She smiled cheerfully. “Well, good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Great, thanks.” Samantha pushed aside her panic over her missing journal and pulled out a chair in the sun, taking a seat. “It’s a lovely day.”
“It is, isn’t it? I’m not letting a single reasonably warm, sunny morning go to waste. It’ll be snowing before we know it. Dylan played ice hockey for years, but he’s never done a real New England winter. Should be interesting.” Olivia rose, grabbing her breakfast plate but leaving her coffee mug. She wore jeans and an oversize, paint-spattered white shirt, her dark hair pulled back loosely, her casual attire a reminder that Carriage Hill was also her home. “We’re having our wedding here on Christmas Eve.”
“Do you hope it snows?”
“I hope there’s snow on the ground. I wouldn’t want a blizzard to keep people from traveling. What can I get you for breakfast? We have almost anything you can think of, including wild blueberries for pancakes.”
“I’d be happy to make my own breakfast—”
Olivia held up a hand, silencing her. “I wouldn’t dream of it. We’re still getting up to speed, but the larder is full, so to speak. So, what do you think? Cereal, muffins, toast, yogurt, fresh fruit, eggs—”
“Yogurt with fruit and toast would be fabulous. Thank you.”
“Done. I’ll bring it out to you.” Olivia grinned, heading to the mudroom door. “This is so much fun.”
When Olivia disappeared into the kitchen, Samantha breathed in the crisp air, hoping it would help settle her down. She wanted to enjoy her surroundings. If her journal was in the cider mill, she would find it before anyone else did. If it had burned up...well, then, it had burned up. If Justin or any of the other firefighters had found it, surely they would return it unread. They were professionals.
Who was she kidding? They would read at least enough to realize she was in their little town because of a long-dead pirate.
Buster rolled onto his back in front of a bench at the edge of the terrace. The yard was a mix of lawn and raised beds of herbs and flowers, with mulched paths that led to a garden shed and a stone wall and shade trees along the edge of a rolling field. A small hill rose across the field. Carriage Hill, presumably.
Samantha imagined a Christmas Eve wedding with freshly fallen snow, lights, a soft winter-blue sky. It would be beautiful. Then again, this place would be beautiful anytime of year—including now, with the autumn-tinged leaves, colorful mums and New England asters. She thought she could smell mint on the light breeze.
“My friend Maggie will be here soon,” Olivia said as she returned to the terrace with a breakfast tray. “We’re getting ready for my sister’s wedding here this weekend.”
Samantha sat up straight. “This weekend? Today is Thursday. You look so calm.”
“It’s not a huge wedding, and Maggie’s doing most of the heavy lifting, since the bride is my sister and I’ll be participating in the ceremony. Maggie’s unflappable. I’m more like the old saying about the duck—calm on the surface, paddling like crazy underneath.” Olivia laughed as she set the tray on the table. “But I’m calmer than I used to be, and it’ll all work out. Jess—that’s my sister—and Mark, her fiancé, are both from town, and the weather looks good for Saturday.”
“A New England fall wedding. It’ll be wonderful.”
Olivia unloaded a plate of whole-grain toast and small bowls of plain yogurt, fresh-cut fruit—apples, plums, peaches—and butter and jams. A coffee press, mug and cream pitcher came next, then the silverware and napkin.
“This is perfect,” Samantha said with a smile. “Thank you so much.”
“If you think of anything else you need, just let me know.”
“You’ll join me for coffee?”
“Happily.” Olivia sank into a chair, looking relaxed. “Maggie and I have a full day ahead of us.”
“I imagine so.” Samantha poured coffee, breathing in its strong smell. “Is your sister nervous about the wedding?”
“She says she’s too busy to worry. She works at my family’s mill in town. Mark is a local architect. Mark Flanagan. He did the plans for the house and barn Dylan’s building up the road.” She paused, then added with a smile, “The house and barn Dylan and I are building. Sometimes I still have to remind myself.”
“You two will live there when the house is finished?”
“Yes. We have so many plans.” Olivia took a quick breath, as if to keep a rush of anxiety at bay. “It’s been quite a year. A good one, but it’s come with a lot of changes.”
Buster stirred, and Samantha heard men’s voices in the kitchen. She resisted the temptation to jump up and run and instead buttered toast and spooned out yogurt and fruit. Then the back door opened, and Justin Sloan and another man walked out onto the terrace. Olivia got up and introduced Dylan, her fiancé. Not that it was necessary, given his resemblance to his father.
“Good to meet you, Samantha,” he said. “Sorry your first day in Knights Bridge wasn’t the best.”
She chose her words carefully. “It’s a beautiful day today. I can’t thank you and Olivia enough.”
“Not a problem. Glad to have you.”
Justin pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “You don’t look any worse for wear this morning.” There was just the slightest edge of suspicion in his voice. “What are your plans for the day?”
Samantha ate some of her fruit and yogurt and got her bearings before she responded. “I thought I’d resume my hike. I’m not positive yet.”
Buster rubbed against Dylan’s knee. He patted the big dog. “Take your time. There’s no rush on our account.”
“You’ve got a wedding to put on.”
“It’s under control,” Olivia said. “You’re welcome to stay.”
Samantha thanked them as she got to her feet, feeling like a total liar. When he’d fired her, Duncan hadn’t been mad so much as disappointed—harder to take in many ways than outright anger. “I can’t have you work for me, Samantha, but I wish you the best as you get on with your life.”
Dylan slipped an arm around his fiancée. It was easy to see why he’d fallen for Olivia. She was kind, generous and creative. She’d obviously had her struggles. Without knowing any details, Samantha sensed that Olivia’s return to her hometown had come with obstacles and a story, if one with a happy ending—The Farm at Carriage Hill and a Christmas wedding to Dylan McCaffrey.
Samantha stared down at her breakfast on the table. Her throat tightened with emotion. She didn’t belong at Carriage Hill, inserting herself into these people’s lives. “Thank you all so much for helping me out. The fire affected me more than I realized.” She was aware of Justin watching her, head tilted back, deep blue eyes narrowed with a certain skepticism. She couldn’t let him get to her. Couldn’t be distracted by wanting to convince him that she wasn’t up to no good. “I’ll grab my things and be on my way.”
Before anyone could respond, she bolted into the mudroom and through the kitchen, not stopping until she was back in her room. She shut the door behind her, leaned against it and caught her breath. Her head was spinning. She couldn’t blame smoke inhalation. She wasn’t experiencing any aftereffects from her close call with the fire. Physically, she was fine.
She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, trying to quiet her heart rate.
Meeting Dylan had thrust her back to the difficult days when his father had taken her under his wing and then died believing she was a liar and a spy.
Then there was Justin. Her taciturn rescuer.
She gave an inward groan. She wasn’t practically gasping for air because she’d been in the company of a McCaffrey, or even because of her missing journal. It was Justin and his suspicious deep blue eyes, his hard jaw and abrupt manner. She wished Olivia’s father had been the one to rescue her. At least then she’d have been able to keep a clear head.
She exhaled, standing up straight. “Damn.”
Of all times not to let herself be swayed by a good-looking man, regardless of what he thought of her. She glanced around the sunlit room. If only she could stay here all day. Read. Take a hot bath. Look out at the view of the forest with its changing fall colors.
Hide. Avoid.
That wouldn’t help her situation any more than running away would.
Dylan and Olivia seemed like decent people. Olivia’s sister was getting married here on Saturday.
They didn’t need someone stirring up the past.
Samantha stuffed her things into her backpack, made up the bed and scoured the bedroom and bathroom for anything she might have dropped—especially anything that could give away her history with Duncan McCaffrey. With a deep breath, she slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed downstairs.
She would find her journal. Then she would figure out what was next. Once she was on her own, at least she’d be able to think.
* * *
Samantha expected to find Olivia in the kitchen and perhaps her friend Maggie, and hoped to say thank you, make her goodbyes and be on her way. Instead she found Justin there, alone, leaning against the sink, his powerful arms crossed on his chest as he watched her grind to a halt on the other side of the butcher-block island.
“In a hurry, Sam?” he asked.
“Not really, no, but I am getting a later start than I wanted.” She glanced into the mudroom but saw no sign of Olivia or Dylan, or even Buster. She tightened her hold on the strap of her backpack. “It got quiet all of a sudden.”
As far as she could see, Justin didn’t move a muscle. “Dylan and Olivia went up the road to meet with their architect.”
“Mark Flanagan. The almost-brother-in-law.”
His eyes leveled on her. “You’re getting to know the players.”
She felt a rush of awareness that she couldn’t explain. Had to be the aftereffects of yesterday. She tried to keep any hint of her physical reaction to him from showing in her voice or manner. “Olivia and I chatted over breakfast. It’s a beautiful morning. I’m looking forward to a good walk.”
“Are you planning to finish following Cider Brook into Quabbin?”
“I’d like to try. I thought I’d start where I left off at the cider mill. I can collect my stuff at the same time.”
“No point. It’s ruined. I’ll toss it when I clean up.”
“I don’t mind—”
“The mill’s taped off until I go through it and decide it’s safe.”
The man did have a cut-to-the-chase way about him. Samantha debated what to say next. Normally she was one to plunge in and think and talk at the same time, but Justin’s directness combined with her missing journal had her rattled.
“I still want to go back there,” she said, firm but not argumentative.
He stood straight, lowering his arms to his side. “Why?”
“I had nightmares last night.” True, as far as it went. “It would help to see the mill on such a nice, sunny morning. I don’t have to go inside.” Assuming she found her missing journal out by the brook. If not, she would have to go inside the mill. She wanted that journal back—she needed to know what had happened to it, even if it meant asking Justin for his help. But she wasn’t there yet. “I won’t stay long.”
“I have some stops I need to make. I’ll give you a ride over there.”
Not what she had in mind. “Really, I don’t mind walking—”
“That’s good.” He pointed at her backpack. “Want me to carry that for you?”
“I’ll manage. I hiked with more yesterday.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Are you always this abrupt?”
His sexy look caught her off guard. “Not always.”
He went out the front door, obviously expecting her to follow him. Samantha could feel his padlock in her jacket pocket, but she’d slipped the documents pouch and her grandfather’s flask into her backpack. She’d meant to return the lock, but Justin’s manner had her second-guessing herself. Now she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Keep acting as if she didn’t have it, maybe.
She supposed she should appreciate his offer of a ride, but it felt off, too. It wasn’t just a grudging offer, and it wasn’t impromptu—because he was heading out on errands, anyway. He had waited for her in the kitchen. Keeping an eye on her? Suspicious of her?
If she didn’t accept his offer of a ride out to the mill and kept arguing and finding excuses, she would look as if she had something to hide.
Which, of course, she did.
She would also come across as ungrateful and rude, although she wasn’t sure Justin would even notice.
There was also nothing to stop him from driving out to the cider mill and waiting for her while she walked away.
Hoisting her backpack onto one shoulder, she headed outside. Justin had left the passenger door to his truck open and was behind the wheel. Presumptuous, but Samantha realized she had little choice at this point and continued out the stone walk. A few red leaves had fallen from a nearby tree and lay scattered on the lush grass. Chickadees swooped from pine branches. She wished she could relax and enjoy the gorgeous day, but meeting Dylan and now the prospect of driving to the cider mill with Justin had her feeling unusually self-conscious. She didn’t like skirting the truth and wasn’t one to waffle, but she needed to find her journal and regroup.
She had good reasons for being in Knights Bridge.
She slid her backpack onto the floor in front of the passenger seat and climbed in, grimacing when the first thing she noticed was Justin’s right thigh. Not good. “This is a beautiful place,” she said, pulling her door shut. “It was a good idea for me to stay here last night. Thanks for your help with that.”
He started the engine. “Sure thing.”
“Olivia couldn’t have been nicer. She wouldn’t take any payment from me.”
“That’s Olivia for you.” He pulled out onto the narrow road.
“You two grew up together?”
“More or less. I’m a few years older.”
“You’ve always lived in Knights Bridge?”
“Yep.”
The stiff movements, the abrupt manner. He definitely didn’t trust her. Samantha decided she would be smart to keep her mouth shut and head out on her own again as soon as possible. She had a lot on her mind, and one wrong word—one slipup—and Justin would be all over her. It wasn’t just his mood, she realized now. He was like that. Alert, observant and not one to suffer fools gladly.
Or liars.
Except she hadn’t lied. Not to him, anyway. Not really.
And not really to Duncan, either, even if he hadn’t seen it that way.
A Sloan & Sons van and several trucks were in the driveway at the McCaffrey construction site up the road. A trio of men stood at one of the trucks with to-go cups—coffee, undoubtedly—and were going over what appeared to be a set of blueprints spread out on the hood.
“Would you be with those guys now if you weren’t carting me around?” Samantha asked.
“Probably.”
“You’d have waited to do your errands. You’re just doing them now because of me.” She decided to match his bluntness. “Were you elected to keep an eye on me?”
He glanced at her. “Self-appointed.”
His response took her by surprise. He was as much as admitting he was suspicious of her. “So, you didn’t offer to drive me to the mill just to be nice. Okay, I get it, but there’s no need for me to inconvenience you. I can walk from here. I like to walk.”
“I mind you walking.” He didn’t ease off the gas pedal. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll end up tripping and falling into the millpond.”
“So what if I do? It’s not deep.”
“I was trying to be funny. You’re not laughing?” He drove with one hand loosely on the wheel. “If we’re going to spend the next couple of hours together, we might as well laugh, right?”
Samantha shook her head. “We’re not spending the next couple of hours together. We’re spending the next ten minutes together.” Her heart was pounding now. “You’re dropping me off at the cider mill and then going about your business.”
He slowed for a curve on the narrow road. “I’m not leaving you alone out there.”
“Why not?”
“I told you. It’s not safe.”
That wasn’t the reason. She knew it wasn’t. “The mill already caught fire. That’s not going to happen again, and you said yourself the damage is minimal.” She sat back in her seat but didn’t relax. “The odds are with me. I’ll be fine.”
“Is that how you live your life? Calculating the odds?”
“Actually, I don’t often take the time to calculate the odds at all. I usually just plunge in headfirst and hope for the best.”
“Is that what you did yesterday?”
“I planned my hike, maybe not down to every possible scenario, but I had everything I needed—”
“Including Scotch.”
“Exactly.” She kept her tone light despite her self-consciousness. He had her rattled. She suspected he knew it, too. “I admit the thunderstorm caught me by surprise, but I managed. I took quick, decisive action.”
“Quick, decisive action, huh? Was that before or after you broke into the mill?”
She ignored his sardonic tone. “Both. Not that I broke in. Technically.”
“Right.” He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “Breaking into the mill kept you from getting struck by lightning. What was your ‘quick, decisive action’ once you were inside?”
“Dropping low and making for the door when I smelled smoke. If I’d stayed by the wall where the fire came up from the cellar, we could both be dead now.”
Justin glanced at her, his deep blue gaze going right through her. “You want me to thank you for saving my life?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t, either. I’m not reckless. I knew what I was doing when I rescued you.”
“That word again. Rescue.”
“Tough for you to admit when you’re in a mess, isn’t it, Sam?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Did you know the mill was there?”
“How would I have?”
“Lots of ways, I imagine, and that doesn’t answer the question.”
She knew it didn’t, but she had no intention of getting into what she did or didn’t know about his cider mill. “I wasn’t surprised to run into an old mill on a winding New England brook.”
“Uh-huh.”
Justin turned onto the dirt road out to the mill. He had a sure manner and not a hint of self-doubt—a plus in the fire but disconcerting now. Samantha sighed. “You can be uncompromising, can’t you? Hard on other people—hard on yourself.”
“Calling me a bastard, Sam?”
She smiled. “I don’t know you well enough to call you a bastard.”
“Ha.”
“Maybe having five siblings taught you not to beat around the bush.”
He slowed as the truck bounced over a series of deep ruts. “You’re just not used to having someone see through you. You’ve parsed nearly every word you’ve said about yesterday. You don’t want to tell me what you’re up to out here, but you don’t want to outright lie, either.” He glanced sideways at her, his expression unreadable. “Am I right?”
Samantha pretended he had no effect on her. “You’re the second eldest, right? So that’s three younger brothers and one younger sister. They must have gotten into your stuff a lot. You had to figure out who did what. Protect your space.”
“We’re not talking about my siblings.”
“Ah. So it’s not a two-way street. You get to analyze me, but I don’t get to analyze you.” She kept any note of irritation out of her tone. “Got it.”
“I’m not analyzing you. I’m telling you what’s what.”
“You and Dylan seem to get along. He strikes me as intuitive about people but not as blunt as you are.”
Justin’s hands tightened visibly on the steering wheel, but he said nothing.
Duncan, Samantha remembered, had been smart, imaginative, daring and scrupulous. After he’d fired her, she’d buried herself digging out her grandfather’s London office, still feeling terrible about how her first and only non-Bennett job had ended. She would sort through a box or a drawer and plot how to fix things with Duncan. Then had come word of his sudden death.
She became aware that Justin was eyeing her as he came to a stop at the cider mill. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and realized she must have turned red, thinking about the past—about those awful weeks two years ago. She unfastened her seat belt, anxious to get out of the truck and away from her driver’s scrutiny.
He turned off the engine. “You haven’t said if I’m right about you.”
“Of course I haven’t told you everything about me. We don’t know each other.” She pushed open the door and looked over at him. “I didn’t think I’d see you again once you left yesterday.”
He winked at her. “Maybe that explains your nightmares.”
“I had nightmares about the fire. I didn’t have nightmares about never seeing you again. You know, you’ve accused me of breaking into your mill and basically of lying to you. Why would I want to see you again?” She held up a hand. “Don’t answer.”
“Don’t need to, anyway. You already know the answer.”
Cocky as well as taciturn. She changed the subject. “What would you have done if I’d insisted on walking out here?”
“Made my stops and met you here.”
“Lucky me.”
“Yeah, Sam.” He smiled, real amusement in his deep blue eyes. “Lucky you.”