Cider Brook

“Me?” He grinned. “No. Not wobbly.”

“You’ve had experience with fires, but this one was on your land.”

“Doesn’t change anything.”

A dark-haired woman was arranging pots of yellow-and-white mums on the steps to a one-story ell off the main part of the house. Olivia Frost, presumably. Samantha turned to Justin. “Am I expected?”

“I didn’t have a chance to call ahead. It’ll be fine.”

She didn’t move as he headed to the stone walk. He’d left the door open. She could hear Olivia as she approached Justin, dusting off her palms on her baggy cargo pants. “Dad just called about the fire. He says it was a lightning strike. Yikes, Justin. You’re all right?”

“Yep. Fine.”

“The storm must have gone right over the mill. It wasn’t that bad here. Dad says a woman was camping there—”

“Samantha Bennett,” Justin said. “She needs a place to stay tonight.”

“Of course. We have loads of room.”

He motioned to the truck. “Hop out, Sam. Come meet Olivia.”

Samantha could think of a hundred other places she would rather be. She wished she’d at least found refuge somewhere else besides Justin Sloan’s cider mill. The chicken coop at the farmhouse upstream would have done nicely.

She stepped out of the truck, misjudged the distance and felt her knees buckle under her. Even as she steadied herself, Justin was there, one hand on her elbow. “I guess you’re wobbly after all. No shame in it.”

“I’m not that used to trucks is all.”

He lowered his hand. “I’m not surprised.”

Olivia stepped forward with a smile and introduced herself. “My father was at the fire. He’s a volunteer firefighter. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”

“Thanks,” Samantha said. “It’s been quite an afternoon.”

“You must be beat. We’d love to have you stay with us.”

“If you’re sure it’s not too short notice—”

“I’m positive,” Olivia said graciously. “Did Justin explain that Carriage Hill isn’t a regular inn? We’re just getting started with destination events. Showers, weddings, meetings—that sort of thing, mostly on weekends. My friend Maggie and I are having a blast so far.”

Samantha stood back. “You mean you don’t take in overnight guests? I can find a place to pitch my tent. Really. I don’t mind.”

“Your tent didn’t make it out of the fire,” Justin said.

She frowned at him. “It burned?”

“I told you most of your gear was wrecked.”

Olivia shot him a disapproving look, apparently not appreciating his bluntness.

He shrugged. “Your tent and sleeping bag were trampled and soaked. They’re easily replaced.”

“Is there some place in town I could buy new ones?” Samantha asked.

“The Swift River Country Store on the town common,” Olivia said. “We call it Hazelton’s—they were the original owners. It’s got everything. They must have tents.”

“Then I could pop over there,” Samantha said.

Justin shook his head. “They’re closed.” When Olivia glared at him again, he softened his expression and added, “You’ll like Carriage Hill. Maggie and Olivia are even making their own goat’s milk soap these days.” He glanced at Olivia as if to say “Better?”

She ignored him and shifted back to Samantha with an encouraging smile. “We do take in overnight guests, of course, and we’d be happy to have you stay with us. Welcome.”

“I love goat’s milk soap,” Samantha said. “I appreciate this very much. Thank you, Olivia. I’m still a bit rattled, but a quiet night will help.”

With a slightly muddy hand, Olivia pointed at the door to the ell. “The kitchen’s through there. I’ll be right in. Help yourself to whatever strikes your fancy. Maggie and I made applesauce this afternoon. No sugar added. The apples are perfect on their own.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Samantha said, feeling less tense. “Thank you again.”

Justin headed to his truck, grabbed her backpack and brought it to her. “I can bring it up to your room if you’d like.”

“Got it, thanks.” She took the pack from him and slung it over one shoulder. Picturing him in her guest room at Carriage Hill wasn’t helping her heart rate at all. She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. Ah, hell. She wasn’t the blushing type. She forced a quick smile. “Thank you for all your help today. I hope the fire won’t set back your plans for the mill.”

“It won’t.” He glanced at Olivia as if expecting her to scowl at him for being so abrupt, then shifted back to Samantha and added, less bluntly, “I have more dreams than actual plans. I’ll adjust. Glad you weren’t hurt today.”

“Same here. That you weren’t hurt, I mean.”

He grinned. “I appreciate that.”

She couldn’t get inside fast enough but turned to Olivia. “I look forward to that applesauce,” she said, then headed up the steps past the mums and through a blue-painted door into a cozy kitchen.

A white mixing bowl of applesauce was in the middle of a butcher-block island. She set her backpack on the floor by the door and went over to the island, felt the sides of the bowl and realized the applesauce was still warm. As she found a small bowl and spoon, a big dog wandered out from the adjoining mudroom and yawned at her. He was mostly German shepherd, she guessed.

She heaped applesauce into her bowl and sat with it at a white-painted table. The dog flopped down at her feet. She patted him, wondering at how her day had started in the cluttered office of Harry Bennett and now was ending in a warm, inviting kitchen on the edge of the Quabbin Reservoir, in a little town that time seemed to have forgotten.

She still smelled like the fire at the cider mill, though.

Maybe a bath with the goat’s milk soap would help.

Four

Justin knew he was in trouble with Olivia, but it wasn’t unexpected. She’d been giving him a hard time ever since she and her little friend Maggie O’Dunn had caught him and a couple of his brothers raising hell out by Frost Millworks when they were teenagers. Now Maggie was married to his younger brother Brandon, and Olivia was engaged to a California multimillionaire.

And he’d just dumped a problem on her doorstep.

Samantha Bennett. Treasure hunter, expert on pirates and a woman who had an uneasy relationship with the truth. What was it Duncan McCaffrey had told him?

“Samantha Bennett isn’t your problem, Justin. She’s my problem.”

Justin watched as Olivia picked up a yellow mum in a clay pot and glared at him. “I know you’ve had a rough day with the fire at the mill, but could you be any more brusque?”