Echo Lake

“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.