Cider Brook

“I hope there’s snow on the ground. I wouldn’t want a blizzard to keep people from traveling. What can I get you for breakfast? We have almost anything you can think of, including wild blueberries for pancakes.”

“I’d be happy to make my own breakfast—”

Olivia held up a hand, silencing her. “I wouldn’t dream of it. We’re still getting up to speed, but the larder is full, so to speak. So, what do you think? Cereal, muffins, toast, yogurt, fresh fruit, eggs—”

“Yogurt with fruit and toast would be fabulous. Thank you.”

“Done. I’ll bring it out to you.” Olivia grinned, heading to the mudroom door. “This is so much fun.”

When Olivia disappeared into the kitchen, Samantha breathed in the crisp air, hoping it would help settle her down. She wanted to enjoy her surroundings. If her journal was in the cider mill, she would find it before anyone else did. If it had burned up...well, then, it had burned up. If Justin or any of the other firefighters had found it, surely they would return it unread. They were professionals.

Who was she kidding? They would read at least enough to realize she was in their little town because of a long-dead pirate.

Buster rolled onto his back in front of a bench at the edge of the terrace. The yard was a mix of lawn and raised beds of herbs and flowers, with mulched paths that led to a garden shed and a stone wall and shade trees along the edge of a rolling field. A small hill rose across the field. Carriage Hill, presumably.

Samantha imagined a Christmas Eve wedding with freshly fallen snow, lights, a soft winter-blue sky. It would be beautiful. Then again, this place would be beautiful anytime of year—including now, with the autumn-tinged leaves, colorful mums and New England asters. She thought she could smell mint on the light breeze.

“My friend Maggie will be here soon,” Olivia said as she returned to the terrace with a breakfast tray. “We’re getting ready for my sister’s wedding here this weekend.”

Samantha sat up straight. “This weekend? Today is Thursday. You look so calm.”

“It’s not a huge wedding, and Maggie’s doing most of the heavy lifting, since the bride is my sister and I’ll be participating in the ceremony. Maggie’s unflappable. I’m more like the old saying about the duck—calm on the surface, paddling like crazy underneath.” Olivia laughed as she set the tray on the table. “But I’m calmer than I used to be, and it’ll all work out. Jess—that’s my sister—and Mark, her fiancé, are both from town, and the weather looks good for Saturday.”

“A New England fall wedding. It’ll be wonderful.”

Olivia unloaded a plate of whole-grain toast and small bowls of plain yogurt, fresh-cut fruit—apples, plums, peaches—and butter and jams. A coffee press, mug and cream pitcher came next, then the silverware and napkin.

“This is perfect,” Samantha said with a smile. “Thank you so much.”

“If you think of anything else you need, just let me know.”

“You’ll join me for coffee?”

“Happily.” Olivia sank into a chair, looking relaxed. “Maggie and I have a full day ahead of us.”

“I imagine so.” Samantha poured coffee, breathing in its strong smell. “Is your sister nervous about the wedding?”

“She says she’s too busy to worry. She works at my family’s mill in town. Mark is a local architect. Mark Flanagan. He did the plans for the house and barn Dylan’s building up the road.” She paused, then added with a smile, “The house and barn Dylan and I are building. Sometimes I still have to remind myself.”

“You two will live there when the house is finished?”

“Yes. We have so many plans.” Olivia took a quick breath, as if to keep a rush of anxiety at bay. “It’s been quite a year. A good one, but it’s come with a lot of changes.”

Buster stirred, and Samantha heard men’s voices in the kitchen. She resisted the temptation to jump up and run and instead buttered toast and spooned out yogurt and fruit. Then the back door opened, and Justin Sloan and another man walked out onto the terrace. Olivia got up and introduced Dylan, her fiancé. Not that it was necessary, given his resemblance to his father.

“Good to meet you, Samantha,” he said. “Sorry your first day in Knights Bridge wasn’t the best.”

She chose her words carefully. “It’s a beautiful day today. I can’t thank you and Olivia enough.”

“Not a problem. Glad to have you.”

Justin pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “You don’t look any worse for wear this morning.” There was just the slightest edge of suspicion in his voice. “What are your plans for the day?”

Samantha ate some of her fruit and yogurt and got her bearings before she responded. “I thought I’d resume my hike. I’m not positive yet.”

Buster rubbed against Dylan’s knee. He patted the big dog. “Take your time. There’s no rush on our account.”

“You’ve got a wedding to put on.”

“It’s under control,” Olivia said. “You’re welcome to stay.”

Samantha thanked them as she got to her feet, feeling like a total liar. When he’d fired her, Duncan hadn’t been mad so much as disappointed—harder to take in many ways than outright anger. “I can’t have you work for me, Samantha, but I wish you the best as you get on with your life.”

Dylan slipped an arm around his fiancée. It was easy to see why he’d fallen for Olivia. She was kind, generous and creative. She’d obviously had her struggles. Without knowing any details, Samantha sensed that Olivia’s return to her hometown had come with obstacles and a story, if one with a happy ending—The Farm at Carriage Hill and a Christmas wedding to Dylan McCaffrey.

Samantha stared down at her breakfast on the table. Her throat tightened with emotion. She didn’t belong at Carriage Hill, inserting herself into these people’s lives. “Thank you all so much for helping me out. The fire affected me more than I realized.” She was aware of Justin watching her, head tilted back, deep blue eyes narrowed with a certain skepticism. She couldn’t let him get to her. Couldn’t be distracted by wanting to convince him that she wasn’t up to no good. “I’ll grab my things and be on my way.”

Before anyone could respond, she bolted into the mudroom and through the kitchen, not stopping until she was back in her room. She shut the door behind her, leaned against it and caught her breath. Her head was spinning. She couldn’t blame smoke inhalation. She wasn’t experiencing any aftereffects from her close call with the fire. Physically, she was fine.

She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, trying to quiet her heart rate.

Meeting Dylan had thrust her back to the difficult days when his father had taken her under his wing and then died believing she was a liar and a spy.

Then there was Justin. Her taciturn rescuer.

She gave an inward groan. She wasn’t practically gasping for air because she’d been in the company of a McCaffrey, or even because of her missing journal. It was Justin and his suspicious deep blue eyes, his hard jaw and abrupt manner. She wished Olivia’s father had been the one to rescue her. At least then she’d have been able to keep a clear head.

She exhaled, standing up straight. “Damn.”

Of all times not to let herself be swayed by a good-looking man, regardless of what he thought of her. She glanced around the sunlit room. If only she could stay here all day. Read. Take a hot bath. Look out at the view of the forest with its changing fall colors.

Hide. Avoid.

That wouldn’t help her situation any more than running away would.

Dylan and Olivia seemed like decent people. Olivia’s sister was getting married here on Saturday.

They didn’t need someone stirring up the past.

Samantha stuffed her things into her backpack, made up the bed and scoured the bedroom and bathroom for anything she might have dropped—especially anything that could give away her history with Duncan McCaffrey. With a deep breath, she slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed downstairs.

She would find her journal. Then she would figure out what was next. Once she was on her own, at least she’d be able to think.

* * *

Samantha expected to find Olivia in the kitchen and perhaps her friend Maggie, and hoped to say thank you, make her goodbyes and be on her way. Instead she found Justin there, alone, leaning against the sink, his powerful arms crossed on his chest as he watched her grind to a halt on the other side of the butcher-block island.

“In a hurry, Sam?” he asked.