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“Me?” He grinned. “No. Not wobbly.”
“You’ve had experience with fires, but this one was on your land.”
“Doesn’t change anything.”
A dark-haired woman was arranging pots of yellow-and-white mums on the steps to a one-story ell off the main part of the house. Olivia Frost, presumably. Samantha turned to Justin. “Am I expected?”
“I didn’t have a chance to call ahead. It’ll be fine.”
She didn’t move as he headed to the stone walk. He’d left the door open. She could hear Olivia as she approached Justin, dusting off her palms on her baggy cargo pants. “Dad just called about the fire. He says it was a lightning strike. Yikes, Justin. You’re all right?”
“Yep. Fine.”
“The storm must have gone right over the mill. It wasn’t that bad here. Dad says a woman was camping there—”
“Samantha Bennett,” Justin said. “She needs a place to stay tonight.”
“Of course. We have loads of room.”
He motioned to the truck. “Hop out, Sam. Come meet Olivia.”
Samantha could think of a hundred other places she would rather be. She wished she’d at least found refuge somewhere else besides Justin Sloan’s cider mill. The chicken coop at the farmhouse upstream would have done nicely.
She stepped out of the truck, misjudged the distance and felt her knees buckle under her. Even as she steadied herself, Justin was there, one hand on her elbow. “I guess you’re wobbly after all. No shame in it.”
“I’m not that used to trucks is all.”
He lowered his hand. “I’m not surprised.”
Olivia stepped forward with a smile and introduced herself. “My father was at the fire. He’s a volunteer firefighter. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”
“Thanks,” Samantha said. “It’s been quite an afternoon.”
“You must be beat. We’d love to have you stay with us.”
“If you’re sure it’s not too short notice—”
“I’m positive,” Olivia said graciously. “Did Justin explain that Carriage Hill isn’t a regular inn? We’re just getting started with destination events. Showers, weddings, meetings—that sort of thing, mostly on weekends. My friend Maggie and I are having a blast so far.”
Samantha stood back. “You mean you don’t take in overnight guests? I can find a place to pitch my tent. Really. I don’t mind.”
“Your tent didn’t make it out of the fire,” Justin said.
She frowned at him. “It burned?”
“I told you most of your gear was wrecked.”
Olivia shot him a disapproving look, apparently not appreciating his bluntness.
He shrugged. “Your tent and sleeping bag were trampled and soaked. They’re easily replaced.”
“Is there some place in town I could buy new ones?” Samantha asked.
“The Swift River Country Store on the town common,” Olivia said. “We call it Hazelton’s—they were the original owners. It’s got everything. They must have tents.”
“Then I could pop over there,” Samantha said.
Justin shook his head. “They’re closed.” When Olivia glared at him again, he softened his expression and added, “You’ll like Carriage Hill. Maggie and Olivia are even making their own goat’s milk soap these days.” He glanced at Olivia as if to say “Better?”
She ignored him and shifted back to Samantha with an encouraging smile. “We do take in overnight guests, of course, and we’d be happy to have you stay with us. Welcome.”
“I love goat’s milk soap,” Samantha said. “I appreciate this very much. Thank you, Olivia. I’m still a bit rattled, but a quiet night will help.”
With a slightly muddy hand, Olivia pointed at the door to the ell. “The kitchen’s through there. I’ll be right in. Help yourself to whatever strikes your fancy. Maggie and I made applesauce this afternoon. No sugar added. The apples are perfect on their own.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Samantha said, feeling less tense. “Thank you again.”
Justin headed to his truck, grabbed her backpack and brought it to her. “I can bring it up to your room if you’d like.”
“Got it, thanks.” She took the pack from him and slung it over one shoulder. Picturing him in her guest room at Carriage Hill wasn’t helping her heart rate at all. She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. Ah, hell. She wasn’t the blushing type. She forced a quick smile. “Thank you for all your help today. I hope the fire won’t set back your plans for the mill.”
“It won’t.” He glanced at Olivia as if expecting her to scowl at him for being so abrupt, then shifted back to Samantha and added, less bluntly, “I have more dreams than actual plans. I’ll adjust. Glad you weren’t hurt today.”
“Same here. That you weren’t hurt, I mean.”
He grinned. “I appreciate that.”
She couldn’t get inside fast enough but turned to Olivia. “I look forward to that applesauce,” she said, then headed up the steps past the mums and through a blue-painted door into a cozy kitchen.
A white mixing bowl of applesauce was in the middle of a butcher-block island. She set her backpack on the floor by the door and went over to the island, felt the sides of the bowl and realized the applesauce was still warm. As she found a small bowl and spoon, a big dog wandered out from the adjoining mudroom and yawned at her. He was mostly German shepherd, she guessed.
She heaped applesauce into her bowl and sat with it at a white-painted table. The dog flopped down at her feet. She patted him, wondering at how her day had started in the cluttered office of Harry Bennett and now was ending in a warm, inviting kitchen on the edge of the Quabbin Reservoir, in a little town that time seemed to have forgotten.
She still smelled like the fire at the cider mill, though.
Maybe a bath with the goat’s milk soap would help.
Four
Justin knew he was in trouble with Olivia, but it wasn’t unexpected. She’d been giving him a hard time ever since she and her little friend Maggie O’Dunn had caught him and a couple of his brothers raising hell out by Frost Millworks when they were teenagers. Now Maggie was married to his younger brother Brandon, and Olivia was engaged to a California multimillionaire.
And he’d just dumped a problem on her doorstep.
Samantha Bennett. Treasure hunter, expert on pirates and a woman who had an uneasy relationship with the truth. What was it Duncan McCaffrey had told him?
“Samantha Bennett isn’t your problem, Justin. She’s my problem.”
Justin watched as Olivia picked up a yellow mum in a clay pot and glared at him. “I know you’ve had a rough day with the fire at the mill, but could you be any more brusque?”
He winked at her. “Yeah, probably.”
She tucked the pot under one arm. “Samantha needs a little time to get her feet back under her. You did the right thing bringing her here.”
He suspected Samantha already had her feet back under her, but he made no comment.
“What was she doing out at the mill?” Olivia asked.
“She says she’d been following Cider Brook and ducked into the mill when the storm hit. We didn’t get into details.”
Olivia tilted her head back, frowning at him. “Justin, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.”
“Sounds as if you arrived at the mill just in time.”
“I stopped by after the storm. I knew it’d gone right through there, and I wanted to check for damage. Figured at most I’d run into a fallen tree.”
“Instead the place was on fire.” Olivia let out a breath. “Really scary, Justin. Was Samantha trapped inside?”
“Overcome with smoke. She was right by the door. Rescue was a piece of cake.”
“That’s what you always say.”
Probably so, he thought. He’d learned a long time ago that if he dwelled on the dangers and the might-have-beens of his life, he’d never do anything. He trusted his training, preparation and experience. Beyond that—not much he could do. Which wasn’t to say that discovering a semiconscious woman overcome by deadly smoke in his old cider mill hadn’t taken a toll.
He appreciated the cool breeze in the wake of the storm. It helped clear his head. He wanted to talk to Dylan about Samantha Bennett.
He realized Olivia was eyeing him with concern. He preferred her scowls to outright worry, but she said, amiably, “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Justin.”
“I’m good. Dylan’s up the road?”
She nodded. “He rode out the storm in his car. As I said, it wasn’t that bad here.”
“Olivia,” Justin said, “if you’re not sure it’s okay for Samantha to stay here—”
“I’m sure. I imagine she’s still in shock. She might not be able to grasp how close she came to real harm.” Olivia took in an audible breath. She’d had close calls of her own and was palpably tense, as if she were picturing Samantha collapsing in the burning mill. She seemed to give herself a mental shake. “I’ll keep that in mind tonight.”
“Dylan will be here, right? He’s not going out of town?”
“He’ll be here.” Olivia smiled and leaned toward him. “You’re free to go, Justin. Your good deed for the day is done.”
She’d always thought it about killed him to be nice. He pointed at the mum in her arm. “I like the yellow.” He grinned. “Autumnal.”
“You’d say that no matter what color it was.”
He laughed. “Probably. See you around, Liv. Call if you need me.”
He returned to his truck, aware she was still frowning at him. As he got in and started the engine, she set the yellow mum off to one side at the base of the kitchen steps. He doubted arranging flowers was foremost on her mind. She had good instincts. She’d sense he hadn’t told her everything he knew about her guest.
Justin’s grip tightened on the wheel. Was Samantha helping herself to applesauce in Olivia’s kitchen?
Thinking about taking a crowbar to the walls in search of pirate treasure?
Looking for a place to hide his padlock?
In the immediate aftermath of the fire, bringing her to Carriage Hill had made sense. Now he wondered if he should have left her to her own devices. But that hadn’t been a viable option. One, because of who she was. Two, because she’d had a scare and shouldn’t be on her own out in the woods.
But mostly because of who she was.
She was younger and more attractive than he would have guessed from the one glimpse he’d had of her two and a half years ago. He hadn’t recognized her when he grabbed her out of the mill and plunked her down by the brook, her face smudged with grime and just pale enough that he had no doubt the fire had affected her. She had golden-brown curls that framed angular features, dark, almond-shaped eyes and a full mouth. She’d struck him as a curious mix of unflappable and vulnerable.
Then again, who wouldn’t look a touch vulnerable after escaping a fire?
But that was before he’d learned her name.
He’d been tempted to rifle through her backpack when he’d retrieved it from the mill, but he had a feeling most of the interesting stuff was in her jacket. She was the type to grab any incriminating evidence at the first smell of smoke.
Maybe he should have driven her to Amherst or Boston—away from Knights Bridge.
Or just loaned her a damn tent.
* * *
It was almost dark when he pulled into the gravel driveway just up the road from The Farm at Carriage Hill and parked behind Dylan McCaffrey’s Audi sedan. A new house and barn were going up on the site where Grace Webster, a retired teacher now in her nineties, had lived for more than seventy years. Dylan’s father had bought the property from Grace but hadn’t told his only son. Dylan had found out this past spring, when Olivia had contacted him about the mess in his yard. Before that, he’d never even heard of Knights Bridge.
Justin knew Grace, but she’d been long retired when he was in school. She’d moved to Knights Bridge as a teenager with her father and grandmother. After they’d died, she stayed on in their simple house and taught high-school Latin and English. She never married and had just moved into an assisted living facility in town when Duncan, a respected treasure hunter, had shown up and bought her crumbling old house.
Duncan had died a few months later while on an expedition in Portugal, without revealing the reasons for his interest in Knights Bridge. Dylan had figured out the truth on his own. His father hadn’t come to the little Massachusetts town for treasure but to investigate a long-dead British jewel thief and the young woman he’d met while on the run more than seventy years ago. Grace Webster and Philip Rankin were star-crossed lovers and Duncan’s birth parents.
Philip, a Royal Air Force flyer, had been killed early in World War II and never returned to Grace. She’d secretly delivered their baby boy—Duncan—who’d been adopted by a Boston couple. Grace had never held her son and had never seen him again, until he’d ventured to Knights Bridge seventy years later.
It was a hell of a story that had taken Justin and everyone else in Knights Bridge by surprise, but it had changed Dylan’s life. He had fallen for Olivia Frost and was making a home in Knights Bridge, launching the adventure travel business his father had dreamed they would start together one day.
Not one to let the grass grow under him, Dylan had hired a local architect, drawn up plans for a house and barn that could be used for the business and enlisted Sloan & Sons to do the construction. Justin—one of the sons—was in charge of the project. The foundations were in, and he anticipated finishing basic exterior work before cold weather set in. The original house hadn’t been worth saving. Grace had often said she had considered tearing it down and wasn’t at all sad to see it go, although she’d been pleased when Dylan had put aside bits and pieces to incorporate into the new house.
Olivia was involved in every decision about the construction, particularly those having to do with color. Dylan, she maintained, would default to “cappuccino” if she didn’t step in. Justin had never pictured her with a Southern California businessman and former hockey player worth upward of a hundred million, but no question she and Dylan were right together—a good thing since they were planning a Christmas wedding at Carriage Hill.
As Justin got out of his truck, he noticed the air had cooled even more in the time it had taken for the short drive. The unseasonable humidity had gone with the line of thunderstorms that had moved through. He walked up the driveway to a stack of two-by-fours that had been delivered just before the storm. Dylan was adjusting a blue tarp over the lumber. He wore a sweater, jeans and boots, looking like any other guy in Knights Bridge—except he wasn’t like any other guy in Knights Bridge.
Dylan stood straight. “I just talked to Olivia. She told me about the fire. She said you dropped off the woman you rescued. Damn, Justin. Hell of a day’s work.”
“It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“I imagine this woman thinks otherwise.”
Justin wasn’t too sure about that. “Her name’s Samantha Bennett.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Someone I should know?”
