“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