Eighteen
The brigand Captain Farraday narrowed his black eyes. “You don’t believe in romantic love, Bess?”
His words took her by surprise. Romantic love? What did a pirate know about such a thing? Of course, what did she know, the daughter of a loveless marriage—an arrangement—her mother called her relationship with Lord Fullerton.
Lady Elizabeth thrust her chin up at Captain Farraday. “If I do or I don’t, I would never tell you.”
He grinned at her. “You don’t have to tell me. I have my answer.”
As she sputtered in protest, he withdrew from the small, hot cabin.
Samantha smiled, remembering the passage as she made toast in Justin’s galley kitchen ahead of the wedding festivities. She hadn’t changed her mind with daylight. Maybe she should have. Maybe this one time, a Bennett getting cold feet would have been a good thing.
She found a small jar of peanut butter and smeared it thickly onto her toast. She’d made coffee, enough for two, but there was no sign of Justin yet. She’d gotten up early, folded her quilt, eyed her dress, debated sneaking out with her backpack—but here she was, still in her flannel pajamas, making herself at home.
When Justin ambled out of the bathroom, freshly showered and more or less dressed, she pretended not to notice that he didn’t have his unbuttoned canvas shirt over a T-shirt this time, just his bare chest. He had on jeans and was barefoot, yawning as he shook off what she assumed were the aftereffects of his night out with the guys.
She pointed to the coffee press. “It’s still hot if you’d like some coffee.”
“Thanks.” His gaze swept over her, but she was confident she didn’t present a great temptation in her flannel pajamas. He smiled. “Hi there, Samantha.”
She felt heat rush to her face. It was as if he were deliberately reminding her of the intimacy of their situation and their kiss yesterday. It was too much, his sexy smile, the glimpses of his bare chest, the two of them having toast and coffee in the close confines of the kitchen.
She made some vague excuse about needing to get dressed and bolted with the last of her toast. When she slipped into the bathroom with her backpack and wedding clothes, she saw in the mirror that she’d missed a critical button on her pajama top. Surely Justin hadn’t noticed.
The bathroom was as outdated as the kitchen, but everything worked and a small window looked out on the woods and fields past Frost Millworks. The morning sun seemed to hit every brightly colored leaf. As she took a quick shower and got dressed, she saw no evidence of another woman but didn’t spend time looking. She was frustrated that she’d even thought of such a thing. It was that kiss and sleeping on the couch with Justin in the next room, so close—so dangerously close. She didn’t trust their attraction to each other. She chalked it up to impulsiveness and the last vestiges of the fire.
Biology. Just a question of biology.
She did what she could with her limited supply of cosmetics. Needing a bit of lipstick for an unexpected dinner was different from getting herself ready for a wedding as the guest of the best man. Listening to the conversation last night, watching Justin, she’d realized that he had no enemies in Knights Bridge. He was a guy’s guy—strong, competent, reliable, straightforward, if occasionally to the point of rudeness.
Then again, there hadn’t been any women at the campfire. Maybe the female population of Knights Bridge was where she would find he had his share of enemies.
Samantha joined him in the living room. He had changed out of his jeans and was at ease and totally stunning in his best man’s tuxedo. He wasn’t a man who got worked up about every little thing—like having a fired treasure hunter thrust upon him for the day. She realized that she was drawn to him in part because of his self-confidence and self-control. He knew who he was and what he wanted.
It wasn’t all broad shoulders and hard muscles, although there was that, too.
He pointed at her. “Some little hook thing isn’t fastened on your dress.”
“I have no idea what little hook thing—”
“Right here.”
He took her by the shoulders and turned her so that her back was to him. She could feel his rough hands on her skin as he fastened a tiny hook and eye at the top of the back zipper of her dress.
When he finished, he gave his handiwork a little pat and stood back. “All set.”
She turned to him. “Thank you.”
“Easier to unfasten those things than fasten them.”
Egad. She forced herself not to flush. “Right. I agree. I’m sure I’ll manage to unfasten it.” She almost choked. Had she said that? She rushed on before he could notice how uncomfortable she was. “I guess we’re ready, then. Are you nervous at all about serving as best man?”
He grinned at her. “Not even a little.”
She believed him. “Once you’ve fought a fire or two hundred, it probably takes a lot to get you worked up. Nervous, I mean.” She coughed, covering for her awkwardness. Normally she wasn’t someone who tripped over her words—or who worried that much if she did. “I’m not the nervous type, either, but I can still pack up my stuff and hit the road, finish my hike along Cider Brook.”
“Your call. You won’t know many people at the wedding, and the circumstances are unusual.”
“If you think I should back out—”
“Didn’t say that.”
He hadn’t, she realized. “It would be rude not to go at this point, and I want to go. Thank you. It’s a great day for your friends.”
“Mark says he thinks of it as Jess’s day. He wants to make it the wedding she’s always dreamed of.”
“That’s sweet. He seems like a great guy.”
“Yeah.” Justin shrugged. “He’s Mark.” He nodded to the door. “You go first. Might want to take extra care in those shoes.”
Samantha did as he suggested, her shoes slipping slightly in the heels as she edged down the steep stairs. She glanced back at him, walking smoothly behind her, no hint he was uncomfortable in his tux. She almost slipped but righted herself as she came to the outside door.
A few minutes later, she was next to Justin in his truck, about to attend a Knights Bridge wedding—and the first-ever wedding at the charming Farm at Carriage Hill.
* * *
The wedding ceremony was short and perfect, taking place among gathered guests on the side lawn in the shade of an old maple tree, its leaves just beginning to turn a vibrant red-orange. Samantha could hardly take her eyes off the best man. As the ceremony ended, she had a moment of pure fantasy, picturing herself at her own garden wedding, with the man of her dreams.
Then Justin’s gaze leveled on her, and he gave her a knowing grin. Blood rushed to her cheeks as if he could read her mind—which she was beginning to think he actually could. She bolted for the back garden. He would have to pose for pictures with the wedding party. That would buy her time to get her bearings.
Dylan eased in next to her with Buster on a leash. She smiled at them. “It was a beautiful wedding. Thank you for having me here.”
“Glad you said yes.” He nodded to a cluster of mostly spent light maroon coneflowers. “Coneflowers are also known as echinacea, did you know?”
“I did, actually. Just don’t ask me to identify all the different kinds of mint.”
“Olivia wrote to me on a Carriage Hill note card she designed. It was the first time I’d heard of her or Knights Bridge. I thought the chives were clover.”
Samantha laughed, relaxing slightly. “Totally understandable, I would think.” She glanced back toward the side lawn, where Justin was laughing with Mark and Jess, who looked stunning in her simple white wedding gown. Justin looked so at ease, so drop-dead handsome. She loved her borrowed dress, but she’d noticed another moth hole. She put that thought aside and smiled at Dylan. “Soon it’ll be your turn for a Carriage Hill wedding.”
“It won’t be outdoors, that’s for sure.” He didn’t show any hint of trepidation or second thoughts. “Mark and Jess are going out to California for their honeymoon. Noah and Phoebe are meeting them for dinner in San Diego.”
“Phoebe is Maggie’s librarian sister who discovered dresses sewn decades ago by a woman from Knights Bridge who went to Hollywood and became an Oscar-winning costume designer.” Samantha took an exaggerated breath. “Did I get that right?”
Dylan smiled. “Exactly right. She and Noah are returning to Knights Bridge soon, but she’s resigned as librarian. They’d have flown out here special for the wedding, but Mark and Jess talked them out of it. They want Noah and Phoebe to have this time.”
“Will they make their home here in town?”
“Here and about seven other places, knowing Noah.”
Samantha didn’t know if Dylan was serious. “Your father liked Noah so much. He wanted him to find someone.” She immediately regretted her words. “But you know that.”
“My father and I didn’t see as much of each other as we’d have liked.” He paused as Buster flopped down at his feet. He reached down and patted the big dog. “We thought there was plenty of time, but there wasn’t.”
Dylan’s simple statement conveyed a depth of emotion and loss that reminded Samantha that Duncan hadn’t been just a spirited treasure hunter and adventurer to him but a father, if an elusive father. “I’m sorry—”
“You didn’t say anything wrong, Samantha. I’m glad the weeks you worked with him were good ones for both of you. He only let you go because he hadn’t asked enough questions about your background. I checked the records. You didn’t lie to him.”
“Deliberate omissions can be as damaging as lies.”
“And you deliberately omitted a few things?”
“Just that I’d followed him out here. I honestly didn’t think to tell him about my family.”
“But it complicated things when he found out,” Dylan said.
She nodded. “I wanted so much to work with him. Coming out here that one day in March was innocent enough—at least to me—but I knew it wouldn’t look good. So I didn’t mention it.”
“You hadn’t counted on Justin,” Dylan said.
“I had not.” She plucked a spent coneflower blossom and cupped it in her palm. “It’s hard to believe the flowers are almost all gone.” She tossed the blossom over the stone wall toward the adjoining field and added, half to herself, “I won’t be staying long.”
“Justin won’t be able to get away for a while.”
“That’s fine. I can scoot off on my own.”
“In those shoes?”
She made a face. “I almost forgot I don’t have a car, and I left my backpack at Justin’s apartment.” She caught herself, but too late. “He offered me his couch last night. It was cold—”
“I’m not keeping up on sleeping arrangements,” Dylan said with a small smile.
She wished she’d started walking to Maine to meet Caleb and Isaac, or to Amherst to call upon her grandfather’s ghost to knock some sense into her. Clear her mind of the insidious, irresistible charms of Justin Sloan and his friends and little Knights Bridge.
She bent down, flicked a bit of mulch off the toe of her shoe and stood up again. “They’re great shoes, but they aren’t suited to trekking.”
“So you’re still at Justin’s mercy,” Dylan said with an enigmatic smile.
Time to change the subject. “Buster did great today, too. What a nice dog.”
“He has his moments. Olivia’s been a good influence on him. I don’t know that I have, and Maggie’s boys—those two love to get him excited.” Dylan looked out toward Carriage Hill, then shifted back to Samantha. “I talked to Loretta Wrentham. Do you know who she is?”
“Your attorney.” Samantha started to say more, then decided to leave it at that. It wasn’t up to her to bring up Duncan’s short-lived romantic relationship with his son’s California lawyer. If Dylan knew, he knew. If he didn’t—she wasn’t telling him. “What did she have to say?”
“That my father told her you had nerve. He meant it as a compliment.”
“Was that before or after he decided to fire me?”
“After.”
After. Samantha felt a wave of regret and grief and fought back an urge to leap over the stone wall and run—get away from Dylan, Justin, the wedding. She could run through the fields of wildflowers, hike up Carriage Hill and look out at the valley where her pirate might have ventured three hundred years ago. Remind herself what she’d come to Knights Bridge to do.
“Your father was a remarkable man,” she said quietly.
“He wasn’t perfect.”
“Who is? I liked him a lot, Dylan. Everyone on his team did.”
“Did he remind you of your grandfather?”
“What? My grandfather—” Samantha stood straight, his question catching her by surprise—a reminder that this was a man who’d navigated launching a successful high-tech entertainment company and taking it public. She got her bearings, then responded. “In some ways, yes, your father did remind me of my grandfather.”
“They died within a year of each other.”
“Grandpa was much older. In his nineties. And he knew the end was near. Your father—”
“He didn’t see the end coming. Just as well, maybe.”
“He said you have good instincts about people and that was what Noah needed, why you two worked so well together.”
Dylan smiled, his intensity easing. “Also helps that I can fight and Noah can’t.”
“I could take that as a warning, you know.”
“You could.”
He ran his fingers over some kind of mint that had the far corner of the raised bed to itself, bringing out the distinctive scent. “Loretta’s known Noah and me for years, but she didn’t meet my father until shortly before his death. It was around the same time you started working for him.”
“Before Portugal but after Knights Bridge.”
“That’s right.”
Samantha understood that he was indicating to her that he knew about Loretta Wrentham’s affair with his father. It hadn’t been a secret among his staff in Portugal, but Duncan hadn’t broadcast it, either. He’d just clearly been very taken with her.
“Your father loved his work, but it was often more tedious than most people realize,” she said carefully. “A lot of dead ends, false leads, digging into dry facts that might mean something and might not. I don’t think he expected to fall in love with Knights Bridge.”
“Loretta was here for the first time a few weeks ago.” Dylan gave a small laugh. “She thinks I’m having a winter wedding just to torture her, but she’ll be here. She’ll just have to buy herself some boots and mittens.”
“She sounds like a character. But she’s worried about me being here, isn’t she?”
“It’s okay if she is. That’s her job.”
“Yep.” Justin stepped over a raised bed onto their mulched path. “We can handle you. Can’t we, Dylan?”
Dylan laughed. “I have a feeling you can handle Samantha all by yourself. And vice versa.” He got Buster to his feet. “I’ll see if Olivia and Maggie need my help. Maggie said to leave everything to her, but Olivia won’t be able to resist. Pictures done, I take it?”
“The ones I had to be in are done. They’re doing a few more with Jess and Mark. Mark’s getting sick of smiling, but he’ll get through it.” Justin turned to Samantha, his tie, she noticed, already loosened. “Why don’t I introduce you to some folks?”
She wasn’t at all sure she answered before he swept her off to the terrace, where several elderly women had gathered at the table. “Ladies,” Justin said, “this is Samantha Bennett, the pirate hunter I told you about. Sam, meet Grace Webster, Audrey Frost and Evelyn Sloan. Grace is Dylan’s grandmother and a retired teacher. Audrey is Jess and Olivia’s grandmother and a retired bookkeeper at the school. Evelyn is my grandmother and never worked a day in her life.” He grinned at her. “Right, Gran?”
She seemed to be the youngest of the three women, if not by much, and looked at Samantha, a spark of amusement in her aged eyes. “I ran the nursery school that expelled Justin at four. He was incorrigible. He still is.”
Samantha had no idea if Evelyn was telling the truth but she laughed. Justin pulled out a chair for her, and she sat. He remained on his feet, loosening his tie even more. As they nibbled on hors d’oeuvres in the early-autumn shade, the elderly women chatted with an ease and familiarity born of having known each other for decades. They all knew about the fire at the cider mill and Justin’s heroics, which he waved off when they mentioned them.
Grace helped herself to a stuffed mushroom. “I understand that you knew Duncan McCaffrey. He was quite a character, wasn’t he? He was my son, you know.”
“I didn’t know that when I worked with him, but I can see him in you.” Samantha hesitated, then added, “I only knew him for a short time.”
Grace, in her early nineties but alert, was clearly on top of her game. “I know you two had a falling-out.” Her eyes softened. “Tell me about him.”
Samantha glanced at Justin, but he wasn’t coming to her rescue this time. He touched her shoulder and lowered his mouth to her ear. “They’re a curious lot. Have fun. I’ll get you a drink and get you out of here before they decide to fingerprint you.”
He disappeared through the mudroom into the kitchen. Samantha smiled at the trio of women. “Duncan was an adventurer at heart, but he was serious about his work and his reputation. He liked to dig into a mystery that intrigued him, whether it was a painting missing for centuries or pillaged Portuguese gold.”
“And you?” Grace asked, her gray eyes—so like her son’s—narrowed on Samantha.
She kept her tone even. “I’m serious about my work, too.”
“And your reputation?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Evelyn Sloan leaned forward and snatched a cracker with cheese from the tray in the middle of the table. Nothing about her reminded Samantha of Justin, except perhaps her frankness. “Were you looking for treasure at Justin’s cider mill?”
“I was getting out of the storm,” she said, careful, diplomatic.
“What would you have done if Justin hadn’t pulled you out of the fire?”
Samantha decided not to get into her assessment of the danger she was in, since the three women would no doubt agree with whatever the firefighters and police officer on the scene had told them. She grabbed a small square of cheese. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m very grateful for Justin’s help.”
“I would be, too,” Audrey Frost said half under her breath.
Samantha held back a laugh. “Because he arrived when he did, he was able to get the fire department out there in time to save the mill.”
“It wouldn’t have been a great loss if you ask me,” his grandmother said.
Grace settled back in her chair. “You and your family have some experience getting yourself out of tight quarters, don’t you, Samantha?”
Fortunately, Justin returned with a tray of iced tea. Samantha seized the moment. She took a glass of tea—complete with mint sprigs and a slice of lemon—and got to her feet, mumbling niceties and retreating as fast as she could without being rude. She had no particular destination in mind, just away from the scrutiny of the three older women and, especially, her own discomfort.
Her fourth day in Knights Bridge, and the locals had her thoroughly discombobulated.
And they knew it. Especially Justin.
She didn’t realize he was behind her until she arrived at the lawn behind the older section of the center-chimney house, where tables were set up for the wedding lunch. Her throat tightened at the white cloths, silver, clear vases of hydrangeas, tinted burgundy with the arrival of autumn, and small, prettily bundled favors.
Justin looked at ease, but he would be comfortable here. These were people he had known his entire life. She was the outsider—the stranger.
Samantha spun around at him, almost spilling her iced tea. “Loretta Wrentham and Dylan don’t think I had anything to do with Duncan’s death, do they?”
“Whoa. I was thinking you were about to comment on lunch.”
She should have. She wanted to have a normal conversation about the wedding, the lunch, the gorgeous day. But it wasn’t possible. She was the treasure hunter Duncan McCaffrey had fired. The stranger with the weird family. The woman who’d be dead but for one of their own.
Better not to pretend she could fit in.
She tried not to sound defensive as she continued. “It never occurred to me that Duncan was having heart troubles. I never saw any signs of a problem. I wouldn’t. I’m not a doctor. When he fired me, he wasn’t screaming or upset—he’d let people go before. He’d been a businessman. It wasn’t anything new. He wasn’t happy about it, but there was no acrimony.” She knew she was talking too fast—talking more to herself than to the man next to her. “I’m sorry. I should leave.”
“Not before lunch.” Justin caught a sprig of mint as it was about to fall off the edge of her iced tea glass. He tossed it into the grass. He was calm, as if nothing about her rush of emotion got to him. He gave her one of his sexy winks. “It’d look like I said something asinine and ran you off. You don’t want that, do you? Leaving me to explain myself.”
Samantha sighed. “You’re not worried about explaining yourself.”
“Would you buy a little worried?”
“No.”
He grinned. “See why I keep wanting to kiss you?”
“It’s weddings,” she said. “They addle people’s brains.”
“Maybe it’s you.” He placed a hand on her waist, as if she were his real guest for the day instead of one more or less foisted upon him. “All that talk of pirates.”
She let herself sink into his hand, imagined it skimming over her hips. Not good. She stood straight, drank some of her tea. “I think you’re just keeping an eye on me in case I lead you to buried treasure.”
He flicked a fly away from her shoulder. “What if it’s the other way around and you’re the one keeping an eye on me?”
“Why would I think you could lead me to buried treasure?”
“The cider mill has something to do with your Captain Farraday and his missing treasure, doesn’t it?”
“As I told you, tales of buried pirate treasure are mostly discredited.”
“What about treasure aboard sunken pirate ships?”
“That’s different,” she admitted. “But it’s complicated, and not a subject for a wedding reception—”
“It’s okay, Sam. Relax. Throttle back for a bit and enjoy the day.” His deep blue eyes held hers, unreadable, but he smiled. “Lunch smells good, doesn’t it?”
She hadn’t noticed, but now she did, appreciating the mix of scents emanating from inside the house. Butter, apples, cinnamon, warm bread. “It does smell good, yes, definitely.”
She wanted to let herself be distracted, to forget her reasons for being in Knights Bridge and the suspicion—the understandable suspicion—she was under by the people around her.
She returned his smile. “I think it’s time for champagne, don’t you?”
He drew her a little closer to him. “Or maybe some of that Scotch in your grandfather’s flask,” he said, then winked and headed back to his best man’s duties.
It was a few moments before she got her breath back.
* * *
Samantha stayed for lunch but left before the cake was cut. Everything was perfect. The food, the company, the setting, the weather. Justin. Watching him with his friends and family, she saw there was more to the taciturn man who’d rescued her than she’d realized.
The best thing she could do for him—and for herself—was to accept that she didn’t belong here and go about her business. “I have to go,” she whispered to him as she rose from their table. “Thank you. It’s been a wonderful day.”
He didn’t stop her. He had more best man duties, and maybe he wouldn’t have, anyway. She slipped around the side of the house to the cars and trucks parked out front for the wedding, hoping to hitch a ride with a departing guest.
But no one was leaving, not yet.
“Well, damn. What now?”
No choice. None. She had to get herself back to Justin’s sawmill apartment, fetch her backpack and figure out where to sleep tonight. Not on his couch.
Not in his bed, either.
Weddings, she thought. They absolutely did addle people’s brains.
She sucked in a breath, called on the intrepid spirit of her grandfather and headed up Carriage Hill Road in her vintage dress and borrowed shoes.