“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 Brody 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