Cider Brook

“He’s a carpenter. One of the Sloans of Sloan & Sons. They’re based up on Cider Brook above the mill. They’re doing the construction on the house and barn Dylan and I are building up the road.”

Samantha almost jumped out of her chair. Justin Sloan was a carpenter? She forced herself to contain her reaction. He wasn’t the only carpenter in town, obviously, and he hadn’t shown any sign he recognized her. A different carpenter—even a different Sloan—could have spotted her two years ago, described her to Duncan and ended up ruining everything for her.

Olivia watched her with obvious concern. Samantha pulled herself together. “How many Sloan sons are there?” she asked.

“Five.”

“I met three of them this afternoon. Justin, Eric and Christopher.”

“Eric is the eldest, then Justin, Brandon, Adam and Christopher. There’s also a sister, Heather, the youngest. She was born after the company was already named.”

“Five older brothers?”

“Yes, but don’t pity her. She can hold her own with anyone, including her brothers. Justin, Brandon, Adam and Heather all work full-time for Sloan & Sons. Brandon is also getting involved in adventure travel with Dylan. He’s married to my friend Maggie. They just moved back here from Boston.”

“Long story?”

Olivia laughed. “There are no short stories in Knights Bridge, I swear. The Sloans are a big family. Knights Bridge wouldn’t be Knights Bridge without them. What about you?”

“I’m an only child.” Samantha decided not to try to explain her family further.

Olivia got two pottery bowls out of a cupboard and set them on the butcher-block island. “It’s potato-leek soup. All right with you?”

“Perfect. Thank you, but please don’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We have one restaurant in town and a couple more out by the highway, but you’re tired. If soup’s all right—”

“Soup is perfect. It smells wonderful.”

“It’s my own recipe. We also have apple cake.” She pointed at an iced cake under glass on a pedestal on the counter. “I’ve already had a taste. It’s outrageously fantastic. Maggie dropped it off before the storm. She and her sons picked the apples themselves. She’s a caterer, but it’s her grandmother’s recipe.”

Samantha felt herself relaxing in Olivia’s easy company. “How could I resist an invitation like that?”

Olivia smiled. “You’re not meant to.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing. Just relax. Maggie slipped a few handfuls of herbs in the soup. Parsley, thyme and chives, I think. We’re still harvesting herbs from the gardens out back. I’m lucky the house came with such well-established landscaping. Anyway, we’ve been drying herbs, freezing herbs, trying out new recipes with herbs. It’s fun.” Olivia brought the two bowls to the table. “We’re even trying our hand at our own herbal essential oils.”

“I’m lucky if I can tell parsley from basil,” Samantha said as she breathed in the fragrant steam rising from the soup.

Olivia went to the counter and opened a drawer, producing silverware and bright yellow cloth napkins. “I know what you mean. I’ve gotten better at it. Just to add to the fun, there’s more than one kind of parsley and basil.” She placed the silverware and napkins on the table and sat across from Samantha. “I’ve no doubt Dylan’s life would go on quite happily if he never heard me say ‘herb’ again.”

Buster wandered over from the mudroom and squeezed under the table. Samantha placed her napkin on her lap and lifted her spoon, and tried to concentrate on the smell of the soup instead of the memory of the fire.

“You’re done in, aren’t you?” Olivia set her own spoon down. “You don’t have to sit here, Samantha. Why don’t you finish your supper in your room?”

“I’m more tired than I expected.”

“I can make some chamomile tea and bring it up—with a piece of cake, of course. If I’d just survived a fire and could only eat one thing, it’d be Maggie’s apple cake.”

Samantha ate some of her soup. She had to rein in her emotions. Second-guessing her every move and every decision wouldn’t get her anywhere. “I can’t thank you enough, Olivia. I know I’m here on very short notice.”

“No notice, but that’s Justin for you. Everyone in Knights Bridge knows the easiest way to get along with him is just to do what he wants. It’s like that with all the Sloans. Even Heather.” Olivia smiled. “But we love them all.”

Samantha hoped her own dealings with the Sloans had ended that afternoon. She wanted to know more about the cider mill, but she would figure out a way to get information without involving its present owner.

“Knights Bridge seems like a great town,” she said.

“I love it,” Olivia said without hesitation. “I lived in Boston for a while, but I always wanted to come back home to Knights Bridge. Dylan still has a house in San Diego. Coronado, actually. We were just out there. It’s gorgeous.”

“Will you two divide your time between here and San Diego?”

“We’ll see. I’m trying not to launch myself too far into the future.”

Samantha stood up from the table, her legs steadier under her than she would have guessed they would be. The soup and conversation had helped. She hadn’t touched the bread. As good as it looked, her mind was now on cake and snuggling under the comforter in her pretty room upstairs.

Waiting until morning to meet Dylan McCaffrey seemed like a smart idea, too.

“You definitely look beat,” Olivia said, easing to her feet. “I’ll get you your cake.”

She went to the counter, lifting the glass lid off the round, double-layer cake, just the tiniest sliver already cut out of it. She grabbed a knife from a rack and cut a generous slice of the cake, setting it on a small plate.

Samantha stifled a yawn. “I guess I am falling over.”

“Please, go on up to your room and relax.”

“Tea, cake and a warm bed do sound great right now.”

“I’ll make tea and bring it up with the cake.” Olivia raised a hand, stifling any protest from Samantha. “I’m happy to do it. You’ve had a tough day. Relax and make yourself at home.”

Samantha was tempted to tell Olivia about her connection to Dylan’s father. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t been forthcoming, either. She was too rattled to trust herself to be able to explain properly. She didn’t want to end up causing more problems than she solved.

Best to head up to her room, keep to herself and call it a night.

* * *

After her cake and tea, Samantha changed into her flannel pajamas—which didn’t smell that smoky—and sat cross-legged on her bed under the comforter, her back against an array of fluffy pillows.

She breathed deeply, listening to an owl outside her window.

It was such a tranquil spot.

She knew how to settle in to new places. A ship sailing the Caribbean Sea, a friend’s apartment in Paris, her aunt and uncle’s house in the Cotswolds, her grandfather’s house in Boston and apartment in London. She had no home base of her own, but she’d always liked being able to pick up and leave a place without a lot of fuss. Her grandfather had enough possessions to keep her mind off anything she might want to buy for herself. She couldn’t figure out what he’d wanted even with a tenth of what she’d sorted through so far.

The owl went quiet. She couldn’t hear anything now, not a passing car, not even a breeze. She couldn’t see Duncan ever making his home in Knights Bridge. He’d seemed more suited to Los Angeles, where she’d first met him—after she’d heard about his interest in Knights Bridge and she’d ventured out here.

She lifted her documents pouch off the bedside table and opened it, pulling out the copy of the tri-folded, yellowed handwritten pages she’d found in her grandfather’s office closet. The original was still safe at his Boston house. As painstaking and tedious as it could be at times, Samantha had to admit that going through his cluttered house and apartment had brought her closer to him. She knew him better in some ways now than she ever had in his long life.