Cider Brook. Carla NeggersЧитать онлайн книгу.
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?”
He obviously didn’t recognize her name. Justin wasn’t surprised, although he would have less explaining to do if Dylan was familiar with her. “She’s not from town.”
“So I gathered.” Dylan, known for his keen instincts about people, stood back. “What’s going on, Justin?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Your father had me out here when he was in town. I mentioned I’d seen a woman checking out the place a couple of weeks before that. I thought she was his daughter or an assistant or something, but he got quiet, asked me to describe her. He recognized her right away. He told me her name was Samantha Bennett, and she worked for him as an expert on pirates.”
“Pirates.”
“That’s right. He said she was his problem.” Justin left it there. “I never thought much about our conversation after that.”
Dylan nodded thoughtfully. “My father never liked the term treasure hunter. He loved the work, and he was serious about it. I don’t recall him mentioning pirates or a pirate expert—or this woman. Not that he would have. I wasn’t involved in his treasure hunting. Most of his unfinished projects have been taken over by colleagues. I’ve only just started sorting out the orphaned ones.”
“Maybe Samantha is in town to get in on one of them.” Justin rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the effects of fighting the fire. Hauling Samantha Bennett out of the mill hadn’t been a strain at all. She couldn’t weigh more than a few sticks of lumber. “I don’t know what she’s up to, Dylan, but maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to have her stay at Carriage Hill.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”
Justin pulled at the tarp, letting loose a small pool of water from the earlier downpour. It streamed onto the ground. “When I described her to your father, it was clear she hadn’t told him she’d been out here.”
Dylan winced. “He wouldn’t like that. Trust was important to him. He worked hard to establish and maintain his reputation. He didn’t take well to anything that might threaten it.”
“Understandable.”
“That doesn’t mean he was thorough. He thought he was good at reading people. He hated taking the time to check people out, even people he hired. He relied on his gut. Usually it worked out, but maybe not in this case.” Dylan looked out at the rolling fields behind his house, dark now with the increasingly shorter days of autumn. “I didn’t know my father had come to Knights Bridge, and I’m his son. How did Samantha Bennett find out?”
“I don’t know.” Justin placed a rock on top of the tarp to hold it in place. “We only had that one conversation about her.”
“Did you recognize her today?”
“Just her name. I don’t know why I remembered it, but I did.”
“And it’s the same Samantha Bennett?”
“Doubt there are two, don’t you?”
Dylan nodded, sighing. “My father never mentioned her to me, but he wouldn’t have. Treasure hunting was his passion.” Dylan’s voice was laced with pain and loss, but he maintained his composure. “Hell, I miss him. I guess I always will.”
“I see that as a good thing,” Justin said simply.
“Yeah, me, too. Anyway, having Samantha stay at Carriage Hill gives us a chance to find out who she is and what she’s up to.”
“I doubt she knows I’m the one who told Duncan about her.”
“Just as well, maybe.”
Justin shrugged. “I’m not worried.”
“You’re not the worrying type,” Dylan said with a grin that quickly faded. “I’ll call Loretta and see if she knows anything about her.”
Justin had met Loretta Wrentham, Dylan’s longtime San Diego attorney and friend, when she’d blown in and out of Knights Bridge a few weeks ago. He’d spent less than ten minutes with her but could easily believe she would be someone Dylan would turn to about a mysterious woman from his father’s past.
“Let me know if I can do anything,” Justin said.
“Will do. Thanks for stopping by. My father and I got along, but we didn’t spend much time together his last few years. I guess we thought there would be more time than there was. He didn’t tell me everything, as you know.”
“I can go back and get Samantha if you change your mind.”
“There’s plenty of room at Carriage Hill. She must be exhausted after today.” Dylan eyed him with obvious concern. “You, too, Justin.”
“I’m good. Just need a beer and a good night’s sleep.” He started back to his truck. “Give a yell if I can do anything.”
“You saved a woman’s life today. I think that’s enough.” Dylan paused, then added, “Besides, my father was right. Samantha Bennett isn’t your problem.”
Justin got into his truck and pulled the door shut. The fire, the padlock. Pirates.
Somehow he doubted he’d heard the last of the dark-eyed woman whose butt he’d just saved.
Five
Instead of calling it a night, Justin headed back to the cider mill. He parked his truck, got out his flashlight and navigated the pitted patch of dirt that passed for a driveway. Cider Brook was quieter now that the immediate rush from the downpour had eased. He ducked under the yellow caution tape his fellow firefighters had strung up, the bitter, unmistakable smell of smoke and burnt wood still heavy in the sharply cooler air.
He pointed the beam of his flashlight at the mill door. It didn’t show any obvious damage from where he’d kicked it in earlier that afternoon.
A moth fluttered in the light and disappeared.
He’d bought the property a year ago when the town, which had seized it due to unpaid back taxes, had put it up for sale. His brothers, sister, father, mother, uncle, grandmother and everyone else who had voiced their opinions—all of them unsolicited—said he should convert the mill into a residence or, better yet, tear it down and build a new house. Then sell the property at a profit. He didn’t disagree that would be the practical thing to do. It made a hell of a lot more sense than thinking he would find pirate treasure out here.
He turned and shone his flashlight at the small millpond and spillway and across the brook to a stone wall that had once marked off farmland and now snaked into the woods. How could he sell this place?
Not that he knew what he would do with it.
He heard an owl hooting in the dark trees and turned back to the mill.
“I like the name Cider Brook. Pretty, isn’t it?”