Echo Lake Read online

  “It is,” Heather said, walking past him through the open doorway into the kitchen. “I bought it at the country store in town. I figured Rohan needed a bed.”

  “Does Vic plan to keep him?”

  “He says absolutely not.”

  She sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. She was stiffer than she wanted to admit after her adventure, but at least she was warming up fast. She pulled off her ankle boots. Both socks were wet, but her left one was sopping. Another of her out-into-the-cold sins was her choice of thin cotton socks. She peeled them off and stuffed them in her boots. She’d figure out what to do about them later, when she didn’t have Brody for an audience.

  He grabbed Rohan’s water bowl and filled it at the deep porcelain kitchen sink, one of the granddaughter’s additions. He brought the bowl to Rohan and set it close to his bed. The puppy stirred. At first he was too lethargic to care about anything except yawning, but he managed to get onto all fours and lap at the water.

  “You should have some water, too,” Brody said as he rejoined Heather in the kitchen. “It’s easy to get dehydrated in this dry cold and not realize it.”

  “Water would be nice.”

  Before she could stand, he had a cupboard open and a glass in hand. He filled it with water and set it on the table in front of her. “Drink up.”

  “You remind me of my brothers. They never look cold, either. You don’t even have a red nose. I do, don’t I?”

  “You were out in the cold longer than I was.”

  “A diplomatic answer. My brothers won’t go easy on me for almost freezing to death while chasing a puppy.”

  “What would they have had you do?”

  “Not take chances. Wear wool socks, at least.” She smiled suddenly. “But all’s well that ends well, right?”

  “And you don’t have to tell your brothers.”

  “True, but it’s too good a story not to tell. I wish I’d spotted your footprints instead of Rohan’s, though. I’d have let you do the rescuing.”

  Brody unbuttoned his jacket but didn’t take it off. He had on a dark sweater over his taut abdomen. Heather was accustomed to fit guys, and he was obviously and decidedly fit. She averted her gaze and drank her water. She was noticing too much about this man. Maybe dehydration and adrenaline had put her senses on overdrive.

  “Do you have dry clothes here?” he asked.

  “Why would I?” She snapped up straight, almost knocking her water glass off the table. “Wait. You don’t think—” She gulped in a breath. “I’m almost forty years younger than Vic. No. Absolutely not.”

  Brody grinned, his dark eyes sparking with humor. “That’s not what I was thinking. I was just wondering if you kept a change of clothes here given your work. You and Vic Scarlatti? Damn, that’s funny. Seriously funny.”

  “What do you mean, seriously funny? You say that as if I’m not...” She stopped herself, abandoning that train of thought in the nick of time. “Never mind.”

  “As if you’re not attractive, you mean? That’s not what I’m saying.” He paused, warmth replacing the humor in his eyes now. “Trust me.”

  Heather jumped to her feet, baffled by why she was blurting out things she had no business blurting out. She’d never been good at policing what she said, but she didn’t know this man—never mind that he seemed familiar. A trick of her imagination, no doubt.

  “Right. Well.” She took a quick breath. “Main point is, I’ll be fine in these clothes. Obviously, I didn’t show up here dressed for a puppy rescue. I’m from Knights Bridge— I live in the village a few miles from here.”

  “Have you always lived in town?”

  “Except for college, but I went to UMass Amherst. That’s not far.”

  “No wanderlust?”

  “Lots of wanderlust. I have all sorts of places I want to go and things I want to do, but Knights Bridge is home.” Heather didn’t understand why he was asking her such questions. Brody didn’t seem the type to make idle conversation. “Where’s home for you?”

  “Wherever I take a shower in the morning.” He looked out the window above the sink at the snowy driveway and backyard. “Vic always said he planned to retire in cute little Knights Bridge.”

  “Have you known him for a long time?”

  “As you pointed out, Vic’s a lot older than I am.”

  It wasn’t a direct answer. Few of his answers were, Heather realized. “Vic’s owned this place for twenty years, but I don’t know him that well. I don’t think anyone in town does. He’s spent most of his career abroad. I guess you already know that, though.”

  Brody turned from the window but made no comment. She noticed he wasn’t winded from their hike up from the brook. Definitely a man in great shape. Vic would have been gasping for air if he’d traipsed through the snow.

  “Any plans while you’re in town?” she asked, finally shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, bonfires, hot cocoa.”

  “Sleeping late.”

  Not a picture she needed in her head right now. “I hope you enjoy your stay. There’s also ice-skating on the town common, if you’re interested. Do you skate?”

  “Badly,” he said.

  “Me, too. I was out skating with a couple of my brothers last weekend. I’m hopeless. I have the bruises on my butt to prove it.”

  Brody’s expression was unreadable. “No proof required.”

  “I can’t believe I just said that. It’s having five brothers. I never think...” Just stop right there, she told herself, then smiled. “I’ll start today. Thinking. I have a few things to do before I head home. Thank you for your help with Rohan.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Brody!” Vic Scarlatti clapped his hands together as he entered the kitchen from the hall. “Good to see you, my friend. Sorry I didn’t stay up to greet you last night, but I’m to bed with the chickens these days. Everything was in order in the guesthouse?”

  “Perfect order. Good to see you.”

  Vic was sixty-two, his hair thick and gray, his angular face tanned and lined. He was wiry and quick-witted, his mix of hardheadedness and can-do optimism no doubt suited to his decades as a career diplomat. “Did you rescue Rohan?”

  “Heather did.”

  Vic turned to her. “Good for you. Thank you. I’m glad you and Brody met. I didn’t think to tell you about him. Can you believe he’s a DSS agent?”

  Heather drew a blank. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Diplomatic Security Service. Short answer, he protects idiots like me.” Vic smiled. “Our Brody. Can you believe it?”

  She tried not to look dumbfounded. Our Brody?

  Brody said nothing, but she thought she saw a distinct hardening of his jaw, as if he were steeling himself against some inevitable revelation.

  Vic was still smiling, obviously unaware of his guest’s tension. “I’ve been trying to get Brody back here for years. His feud with the Sloan boys didn’t help.”

  “There’s no feud.” Brody’s tone was even, without any hint of emotion. “There was a fight, but it was a long time ago.”

  A fight? A long time ago? Heather’s head was spinning. She could feel her brow furrowing with her confusion, and her heartbeat quickened with what could only be called dread. What were Vic and Brody talking about? What was she missing?

  “The fight involved pumpkins, as I recall,” Vic said lightly, addressing Heather. “Brody wasn’t arrested. He got out of town before the situation escalated further.”

  “Always a good thing,” Brody said, still with that even, unemotional tone.

  Vic sighed. “Honestly, though. Pumpkins. I swear, only in Knights Bridge. But look at our Brod
y now. He’s one hell of a kick-ass federal agent.”

  “Vic,” Brody said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  “Wait. Our Brody? A fight with my brothers?” Heather turned to Brody, feeling some of the warmth drain out of her. “Exactly who are you?”

  “There you go, Brody,” Vic said, clearly amused. “Heather doesn’t remember you. Maybe her brothers won’t remember you, either.”

  “I’m not that lucky.” He took a half step toward her, the faintest glint of humor in his dark eyes. “It’s okay, Heather. I remember you. Wild hair, braces, cute little dimples and a serious crush on me.” He winked. “Guess the crush didn’t last, huh?”

  “Wait.” Heather realized she wasn’t breathing. “You’re that Brody? Brody Hancock?”

  “The same.”

  He grinned as he nodded a farewell to Vic and left through the back door.

  Vic let out a long breath. “Brody is one intense man. He always has been. You really don’t remember him?”

  Heather grimaced. “I do now.”

  Vic eyed her a moment then peered into the mudroom at Rohan, sound asleep in his bed. “He looks as if he’s had his adventure for the day. I searched high and low for him in the garage and on the porches. I hate to think what could have happened to the little miscreant if you hadn’t found him. Not that it’s his fault he scooted off.”

  “Do you have any idea how he got out?”

  He didn’t answer at once, his gaze still on the sleeping puppy. Finally, he shook his head. “No idea. I turned my back and off he went. Not used to puppies, I guess.” He smiled at Heather, his infectious warmth again in place. “Thank you, Heather. Rescuing puppies is above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “Glad to do it, Vic.”

  “And Brody?”

  She wondered if Vic could tell being around his house guest—finding out he was Brody Hancock from Knights Bridge—was doing things to her insides. “I managed without him, but I’m sure he’d have been helpful if he’d been needed.”

  “He’s a good man to have on your side.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Heather...” Vic inhaled, clearly ill at ease. He picked a stray thread off his sweater and flicked it into the sink. “Brody hasn’t stepped foot in Knights Bridge since the summer after he graduated high school. He was an angry, troubled teenager then.”

  Sexy, too, Heather thought. But she’d been in middle school, and if anything, he was even sexier now.

  She noticed that her scarf had fallen onto the floor and scooped it up. It, too, was wet. She slung it over her coat. “How long has Brody been a DSS agent?”

  “At least ten years. He was recruited his senior year in college.”

  “You had something to do with that?”

  “Only to answer his questions. He got in on his own merits. He’s good, too. Damn good. It’s a tough job.”

  “I’m sure,” Heather said, no doubt in her mind.

  “Did you fall in the brook before or after he came to your rescue?”

  “I didn’t fall in the brook, and he didn’t rescue me.”

  Vic laughed. “That’s what I figured you’d say.” He motioned toward the front of the house. “Why don’t you go and warm up by the fire? You’re done in, Heather. Relax before you head home. Get your bearings.”

  “Thank you,” she said, realizing she still was barefoot, with wet boots, wet socks and wet pants. She smiled at Vic. “Warming up by the fire sounds nice.”

  Two

  Heather splayed her fingers, still a bit red from her Rohan rescue, in front of the orange flames roaring behind a black screen in the massive stone fireplace, one of the many distinct original features of the century-old house. She wriggled her toes as she stood on the hearth. Her brother Adam, a stonemason, would be taking a look at the chimneys and fireplaces, as well as the outside stonework, all part of the renovations.

  That was where her mind should be, she told herself. Not on a DSS agent who’d left Knights Bridge under a cloud more than a decade ago.

  “You should dry your socks in front of the fire,” Adrienne Portale said as she entered the living room, carrying two bottles of wine. She set them on a side table. “Vic wouldn’t mind. He’d think he was roughing it out here. It would appeal to his romantic idea of being a gentleman farmer.”

  Heather laughed. “There’s nothing romantic about my wet socks.”

  Adrienne sank onto an overstuffed chair. She had thick, dark curls that hung past her shoulders and a pretty, heart-shaped face that complemented her hourglass figure and preference for dressing in black. She wore faded black jeans and a black-beaded tunic she’d found, to her delight, in a wardrobe in the first-floor guest suite where she was staying.

  She tucked her feet up under her. “I invested in wool socks my first week here. They have a decent selection at the country store in town. I grew up in San Francisco. It can get chilly there but not like this. I never knew there were so many different kinds of wool socks. Why don’t I grab a pair for you before you go? In fact, you can have them. I was terrified I’d run out and bought far more than I need.” She grinned, settling back in the big chair. “That’s a better idea than drying your socks by the fire, don’t you think?”

  “I do, yes, thank you.” Not, Heather thought, that she had any plans of drying her socks by the fire.

  Adrienne fingered the label on one of the wine bottles. “Wine, wool and a hot fire. The perfect Knights Bridge winter evening. Add a wandering puppy and a rugged federal agent, and I have no complaints.” She sat forward. “He is rugged, isn’t he? Vic’s DSS agent guest? I haven’t met him yet.”

  Heather balled up her hands, warmer now, but kept them in front of the fire. “I was focused on rescuing Rohan.”

  “Mmm, and it would take a whole lot of ruggedness for you to notice with those brothers of yours. I can’t imagine life with one brother, never mind five brothers.” Adrienne gave an exaggerated shudder. “And to be the youngest. Yikes.”

  “It’s normal to me.”

  “Of course it is. Thank heaven that little devil Rohan survived his ordeal. I hoped I’d find him asleep under a bed. It was decent of Vic to take him in, but he doesn’t know much about puppies. Neither do I. They say crate training is the way to go, but maybe Rohan’s past that.”

  “No one’s put up notices in town about a missing puppy that I know of,” Heather said, sitting on a chair on the other side of the hearth from Adrienne. “My guess is someone from out of town drove out here and dumped him like a bag of garbage.”

  “It’s disgusting.” Adrienne waved a hand. “But we won’t think about that now. He’s safe here, even if we’re having a bit of a learning curve on how to take care of him. Three days, though, and he’s already got Vic rolled.”

  “How long will you be staying this time?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on Vic. He won’t need me to house-sit if he’s going to be here full-time. He says I can stay whether or not he’s here, but I don’t want to get in his way.” She stood, grabbing a poker from a rack and pulling back the screen. “I thought I’d get nervous being out here by myself, but it’s been great. I’m getting a lot of work done.”

  Heather smiled, warm again, less achy. “And now you’ve got Vic interested in installing a wine cellar.”

  Adrienne stirred the fire. “He’ll love it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Vic said, joining them. “I can picture myself up here at ninety, opening a good Bordeaux and watching the snow.”

  “Will you be alone?” Adrienne asked.

  “More important, will I be alive?”

  He chuckled, taking a log from a small stack on the hearth. Adrienne pulled back the screen a bit farther, allowing him to pl
ace the log on the fire. She adjusted its position with her poker. “That’s not funny, Vic,” she said.

  “Gallows humor. When you’re my age, you’ll understand.”

  “You won’t be ninety for another thirty years,” Heather said.

  “Gad, that long?” He stepped back from the fire. “What kind of wine are we having tonight?”

  Adrienne returned the poker to the rack. “I thought we could try something from Noah Kendrick’s winery.”

  “Kendrick,” Vic said. “Rich guy. High-tech entertainment company in Southern California. He’s engaged to the Knights Bridge librarian.”

  “Former librarian,” Heather amended. “She resigned a couple of months ago.”

  “Phoebe O’Dunn. Her mother lives up the road. Elly. Raises goats. I asked her if she knows who Rohan belongs to, but she said she doesn’t. She was on her way to San Diego to visit Phoebe and Noah.” Vic settled onto a sofa facing the fire. “See? I’m not that out of touch with the locals.”

  “I’ve met Elly,” Adrienne said. “She’s a widow. Did you buy this place before her husband died?”

  Vic nodded. “Patrick. He was a great guy. Sad he left behind a wife and four daughters. Life isn’t fair sometimes. I’ve survived a number of close calls during my time in the Foreign Service, and here I am, alone and unscathed.”

  “I’ll fetch wineglasses.” Adrienne started for the adjoining dining room. “I don’t think I’ve met any of Elly’s daughters. I suppose I could have run into them in the village and not realized it. Elly says they all have red hair.”

  “They do,” Heather said with a laugh. “Maggie O’Dunn is my sister-in-law. She’s married to my brother Brandon. She’s the second eldest of the four O’Dunn sisters, after Phoebe. She’s a caterer, and she’s making artisan soaps using milk from her mother’s goats. She and Brandon have two little boys.”

  “I thought they lived in Boston,” Vic said.

  “They did for a while.” Heather didn’t want to get into the details of Maggie and Brandon’s near-divorce last year. Not that she knew many of the details. “Now they’re back in town.”