Carla Neggers - Echo Lake

“Slim to none.”

“That’s what I think, too. Come on. I have a car. I’ll give you a ride home. You can leave your truck here tonight and figure out what to do in the morning.”

“You haven’t had too much wine?”

He seemed amused. “No, ma’am. I haven’t had a drop of wine yet.”

“Sorry. It was rude of me to ask.” Why couldn’t she control her mouth around him? “I only had a few sips because I knew I had to drive. If you’re a federal agent on duty day and night, you have to watch yourself, right? You can’t be getting drunk.”

“Again this habit of saying whatever is on your mind. You can walk with me to get my car or wait here.”

“I’ll go with you. I don’t want to stand still in this cold.” She shut her truck door. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

He set off down the driveway toward the guesthouse, setting a brisk pace as Heather caught up with him.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be working for Sloan & Sons,” he said. “It got its name before you were born, didn’t it?”

Heather nodded. “My parents had given up on having a girl and figured one or more of the boys would end up working in the family business. No harm done if they didn’t.”

“Do all your brothers work there?”

“Three of them. Justin, Brandon and Adam. Eric’s a police officer, and Christopher’s a firefighter. Justin’s a volunteer firefighter, too.” Heather shoved her hands into her coat pockets. She was already cold from her failed attempts to start her truck. “Do you remember the order? Eric, Justin, Brandon, Adam, Christopher, me.”

“Big family,” Brody said, his tone neutral. “No guy in your life?”

“You know, you have no room to talk when it comes to saying whatever’s on one’s mind.”

“So that means no guy. Having five older brothers—particularly your five older brothers—must make having a relationship a challenge.”

“You mean do my brothers vet potential guys in my life? It doesn’t work like that, but I can hold my own with them. I’m good at taking care of myself—as you saw earlier today, I might remind you.”

“Here we go again. You did great except for falling in the brook and getting hypothermia.”

“I accomplished my mission while minimizing the risks. I did fine without you.”

“You did better with me.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Not funny, Agent Hancock.”

He shrugged. “True, though.”

They came to his car, which she hadn’t noticed earlier. It wasn’t a rental. It was an old BMW two-door with New York plates. “You’re from New York?”

“It’s where the car’s registered.”

“That’s not what I asked, is it?”

He didn’t respond. He wasn’t pretending he hadn’t heard her, she decided. He was flat-out ignoring her. She wondered if it was a polite way of getting across that he was a federal agent who had no intention of telling her much about himself. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe his background was secret.

It wasn’t a thought she liked having running around in her mind as she got into the BMW next to him.

“Are you armed?”

“Armed?”

“You know. With a gun.”

He started the car. “Heather, I’m just a guy visiting an old friend. Where in town do you live?”

“Thistle Lane. Do you remember it?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“It’s in the village, off the common. The town library is on the corner.”

“Quaint little Knights Bridge.”

“Phoebe O’Dunn owns the house. You remember her, don’t you?”

“The eldest of the O’Dunn sisters. They were our closest neighbors when we lived out on the lake.”

“Everyone in town expects Phoebe and Noah will be announcing their engagement soon. I think they’ll keep the house even after they’re married. It’s in good shape. I’m drawing up plans for a new kitchen and bathroom.” Heather wasn’t sure why she was telling Brody all this, but he didn’t seem uninterested. “It’s fun. I’ve discovered I have a passion for interior design.”

“Often helps to know your passions,” he said.

She wasn’t sure what he meant but decided not to pursue the subject since it involved the word passion. She’d blundered on that score enough for one day.

As they reached the end of Vic’s driveway and turned onto the winding road into the village, she noticed that the winter conditions and the absence of streetlights didn’t seem to bother Brody in the least. He drove with a confidence that Heather realized she should have expected.

“Phoebe’s house is the last one on the right,” she said when she pointed out Thistle Lane. “It was also built in 1912. It must have been a good year in Knights Bridge, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t know Knights Bridge had any good years.”

“That, Agent Hancock, is a negative attitude.”

He smiled at her. “Practical.” He pulled in front of the little house. “If you need a ride up to Vic’s in the morning, give me a buzz, and I’ll come fetch you.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“Yes, you do. I got yours from Vic and texted you.”

“Efficient.”

He sat back. “Don’t forget to bring jumper cables.”

“I won’t.” She started to open her door but angled him a look. “What did you do to annoy my brothers?”

“There’s what I did and there’s what they thought I did.”

“Bet the two overlap.”

“It’s all in the past.”

“Bigger fish to fry now, huh? Nothing’s wrong, is there?”

“Wrong as in what? An abandoned golden retriever running off into the woods?”

“Wrong as in a federal agent turning up in Knights Bridge.”

“Good night, Heather.”

“Wrong as in Brody Hancock turning up in Knights Bridge after all this time.”

“Do you ever quit?”

“Can you arrest me for asking questions?”

“Thinking about that.”

“You’d tell me if I was in any danger, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you today, and you told me to go to hell.” He leaned closer to her. “Go, Heather. Have a nice dinner and relax.”

“You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“Good night, Heather.”

That was two good-nights. Time to be on her way. She got out of the car and made her way up the walk, which she’d shoveled herself after the last storm. Her brother Adam had plowed the driveway. She’d thrown fresh sand on the walk and the driveway before leaving that morning, never imagining she would rescue a puppy, slip into a brook and run into Brody Hancock, formerly of Knights Bridge, Massachusetts.

He waited until she was on the small porch and had the front door open before he turned around and headed back down Thistle Lane. Heather didn’t know why the prospect of him watching her made her feel so self-conscious, but it did.

Probably shouldn’t have mentioned the ice-skating bruises on her butt.

She ran inside and turned up the thermostat in the short hall between the front room and kitchen. No point keeping the place toasty warm when she wasn’t there. Not that she kept it toasty warm when she was there. Most evenings she watched television under a quilt and then went to bed.

Alone.

She’d hoped moving into town from the apartment above the Sloan & Sons offices in her parents’ converted barn would help her social life. Specifically, her romantic life. It wasn’t just being on top of her parents and her brothers all the time that discouraged “suitors,” as her grandmother called them. It was also that with such a big family, she had a built-in social network. They all lived in Knights Bridge. One of them was bound to be available to hang out. She had friends, too, but she decided to stay in for the evening.