Cider Brook

He obviously didn’t recognize her name. Justin wasn’t surprised, although he would have less explaining to do if Dylan was familiar with her. “She’s not from town.”

“So I gathered.” Dylan, known for his keen instincts about people, stood back. “What’s going on, Justin?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Your father had me out here when he was in town. I mentioned I’d seen a woman checking out the place a couple of weeks before that. I thought she was his daughter or an assistant or something, but he got quiet, asked me to describe her. He recognized her right away. He told me her name was Samantha Bennett, and she worked for him as an expert on pirates.”

“Pirates.”

“That’s right. He said she was his problem.” Justin left it there. “I never thought much about our conversation after that.”

Dylan nodded thoughtfully. “My father never liked the term treasure hunter. He loved the work, and he was serious about it. I don’t recall him mentioning pirates or a pirate expert—or this woman. Not that he would have. I wasn’t involved in his treasure hunting. Most of his unfinished projects have been taken over by colleagues. I’ve only just started sorting out the orphaned ones.”

“Maybe Samantha is in town to get in on one of them.” Justin rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the effects of fighting the fire. Hauling Samantha Bennett out of the mill hadn’t been a strain at all. She couldn’t weigh more than a few sticks of lumber. “I don’t know what she’s up to, Dylan, but maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to have her stay at Carriage Hill.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

Justin pulled at the tarp, letting loose a small pool of water from the earlier downpour. It streamed onto the ground. “When I described her to your father, it was clear she hadn’t told him she’d been out here.”

Dylan winced. “He wouldn’t like that. Trust was important to him. He worked hard to establish and maintain his reputation. He didn’t take well to anything that might threaten it.”

“Understandable.”

“That doesn’t mean he was thorough. He thought he was good at reading people. He hated taking the time to check people out, even people he hired. He relied on his gut. Usually it worked out, but maybe not in this case.” Dylan looked out at the rolling fields behind his house, dark now with the increasingly shorter days of autumn. “I didn’t know my father had come to Knights Bridge, and I’m his son. How did Samantha Bennett find out?”

“I don’t know.” Justin placed a rock on top of the tarp to hold it in place. “We only had that one conversation about her.”

“Did you recognize her today?”

“Just her name. I don’t know why I remembered it, but I did.”

“And it’s the same Samantha Bennett?”

“Doubt there are two, don’t you?”

Dylan nodded, sighing. “My father never mentioned her to me, but he wouldn’t have. Treasure hunting was his passion.” Dylan’s voice was laced with pain and loss, but he maintained his composure. “Hell, I miss him. I guess I always will.”

“I see that as a good thing,” Justin said simply.

“Yeah, me, too. Anyway, having Samantha stay at Carriage Hill gives us a chance to find out who she is and what she’s up to.”

“I doubt she knows I’m the one who told Duncan about her.”

“Just as well, maybe.”

Justin shrugged. “I’m not worried.”

“You’re not the worrying type,” Dylan said with a grin that quickly faded. “I’ll call Loretta and see if she knows anything about her.”

Justin had met Loretta Wrentham, Dylan’s longtime San Diego attorney and friend, when she’d blown in and out of Knights Bridge a few weeks ago. He’d spent less than ten minutes with her but could easily believe she would be someone Dylan would turn to about a mysterious woman from his father’s past.

“Let me know if I can do anything,” Justin said.

“Will do. Thanks for stopping by. My father and I got along, but we didn’t spend much time together his last few years. I guess we thought there would be more time than there was. He didn’t tell me everything, as you know.”

“I can go back and get Samantha if you change your mind.”

“There’s plenty of room at Carriage Hill. She must be exhausted after today.” Dylan eyed him with obvious concern. “You, too, Justin.”

“I’m good. Just need a beer and a good night’s sleep.” He started back to his truck. “Give a yell if I can do anything.”

“You saved a woman’s life today. I think that’s enough.” Dylan paused, then added, “Besides, my father was right. Samantha Bennett isn’t your problem.”

Justin got into his truck and pulled the door shut. The fire, the padlock. Pirates.

Somehow he doubted he’d heard the last of the dark-eyed woman whose butt he’d just saved.

Five

Instead of calling it a night, Justin headed back to the cider mill. He parked his truck, got out his flashlight and navigated the pitted patch of dirt that passed for a driveway. Cider Brook was quieter now that the immediate rush from the downpour had eased. He ducked under the yellow caution tape his fellow firefighters had strung up, the bitter, unmistakable smell of smoke and burnt wood still heavy in the sharply cooler air.

He pointed the beam of his flashlight at the mill door. It didn’t show any obvious damage from where he’d kicked it in earlier that afternoon.

A moth fluttered in the light and disappeared.

He’d bought the property a year ago when the town, which had seized it due to unpaid back taxes, had put it up for sale. His brothers, sister, father, mother, uncle, grandmother and everyone else who had voiced their opinions—all of them unsolicited—said he should convert the mill into a residence or, better yet, tear it down and build a new house. Then sell the property at a profit. He didn’t disagree that would be the practical thing to do. It made a hell of a lot more sense than thinking he would find pirate treasure out here.

He turned and shone his flashlight at the small millpond and spillway and across the brook to a stone wall that had once marked off farmland and now snaked into the woods. How could he sell this place?

Not that he knew what he would do with it.

He heard an owl hooting in the dark trees and turned back to the mill.

“I like the name Cider Brook. Pretty, isn’t it?”

Yeah, but it wasn’t what had drawn attractive Samantha Bennett to Knights Bridge.

Justin gritted his teeth and went into the mill. The smoke and burnt-wood smells were stronger. He shone his flashlight on the blackened wall and floor where the fire had done its damage. He hadn’t planned to stop at the mill today. He only had because of the storm’s path. He’d ridden it out in his truck. He hadn’t been in a hurry to get out here, and it was by chance he’d arrived in time to call in the fire before it devoured the mill.

And by chance he’d arrived in time to save Samantha.

She struck him as the sort who relied on miracles.

He’d just known that whoever had broken into his mill was in danger. He’d acted quickly, certain the situation was worsening and time wasn’t on his side.

It’d been a cinch to lift Samantha and carry her out to the brook. She was small but obviously fit—strong legs, flat abdomen, and she’d recovered immediately when he’d dumped her in the wet grass.

All the junk she’d stuffed in her safari jacket hadn’t seemed to get in her way.

He shifted the stream of light to the things she’d left behind. He hadn’t lied to her about her tent and sleeping bag. They were in a trampled, sodden heap. He pictured her stretched out in her sleeping bag. He had no doubt she hadn’t thought twice about being alone out here in the dark.