Carla Neggers - Cider Brook

He was a Sloan, too. Eric Sloan.

One of the firefighters was also a Sloan. Christopher.

Small towns, she thought.

Justin, she now realized, was a volunteer firefighter. After helping put out the fire, he’d returned his gear to his truck and then joined her by her boulder. Samantha had dipped a hand into the cold brook water and done what she could to wipe the soot off her face, but she doubted she’d gotten it all. The acrid fire smells wouldn’t be easy to eliminate from her skin or her clothes. She had travel wipes and fresh clothes in her backpack, assuming it had survived the fire and wasn’t too contaminated by smoke.

Telling Justin Sloan that his missing padlock was in her jacket pocket didn’t seem like a particularly wise course of action at the moment. Although he gave no indication, he had to be in high-adrenaline mode after coming upon the old mill in flames, discovering a woman was more or less trapped inside, carrying her to safety and then helping to put out the fire.

Samantha realized she was in high-adrenaline mode herself. She stood, the seat of her pants wet, and flicked an ant off her knee. Casual. As if she hadn’t picked the padlock to get into the mill and didn’t have it in her jacket.

The banter she’d overheard between the firefighters had confirmed her suspicion that her rescuer owned the old cider mill.

“Hell, Justin, this place is even more of a dump than I thought.”

“I can’t believe you spent real money on it.”

“Firetrap, Justin. Told you.”

That last had come from Christopher Sloan. Apparently he was one of two full-time firefighters in Knights Bridge. Everyone else was a volunteer.

“They’re your brothers?” Samantha asked. “Eric and Christopher?”

“My brothers. Yes.” Justin snapped two fingers of his outstretched hand. “My padlock.”

Not a man easily distracted. She tried to look as if she didn’t quite understand him. “Padlock?”

“The one you picked or broke to get into the mill.”

He lowered his hand to his side, but she could tell from his set jaw that he wasn’t giving up. She didn’t feel guilty at what she’d done, but she didn’t want to explain herself to a man who’d just carted her out of a burning building and had helped put out the fire. He didn’t look as if he’d be a willing listener on a good day. Since one of his brothers was a police officer and another was a professional firefighter—and he himself was a volunteer firefighter—she wasn’t afraid of him. He wasn’t a thug. He was just not in a great mood.

“It was a dangerous storm. Downright scary, and I’ve been in some scary storms.” She decided to change the subject. “My name’s Samantha, by the way.”

His deep blue eyes narrowed on her. “What’s your last name, Samantha?”

“Bennett,” she said, sounding more tight-lipped and reluctant than she would have liked. She hadn’t volunteered her last name on purpose. She’d told Eric Sloan, the police-officer brother, but he’d asked, leaving her no choice. She doubted the Bennett name meant anything to him, Justin or the other firefighters who’d rushed to the old cider mill, but she’d intended to get in and out of Knights Bridge without the knowledge of any of its residents.

“Are you a Sam or a Samantha?”

“Either works.”

“Mostly Sam?”

“Mostly Samantha, actually.”

“Well, Samantha, you’re damn lucky you got out of there in time.”

“No argument from me. I noticed the smoke about fifteen minutes after the storm ended. Lightning caused the fire?”

He gave a curt nod. “Looks as if it struck the roof and traveled down the side wall to the cellar. The fire started there and worked its way up the wall. We’ve had a string of severe storms this past month.” He looked at her as if she might have caused the recent bad luck with the weather. “A microburst hit the center of town a few weeks ago. It uprooted a bunch of trees and damaged some homes and businesses. No serious injuries.”

“That’s good. About the injuries, I mean.”

Samantha glanced up at the sky, graying now with dusk. It would be the kind of cool, beautiful night she’d anticipated. She’d checked the forecast on her phone on the drive from Boston, but she’d missed any reference to the force and speed with which the cold front would move into this part of New England.

Of course, it was just like a Bennett to be struck by lightning.

“What were you doing out here?” Justin asked her.

“Hiking.”

“Most people hike in Quabbin or one of the state forests. Why’d you pick here?”

“I wanted to follow Cider Brook to where it empties into Quabbin.”

“Any particular reason?”

“It seemed like a good idea this morning.” She smiled, feeling less jittery now that the fire was out. “That could be my family’s motto. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’”

Justin didn’t appear amused.

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

“Never thought about it. Where’s your car?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Someone picking you up?”

“Not today.” She gestured vaguely toward the mill and surrounding woods. “I planned to camp out here.”

He shook his head. “Not happening. Most of your gear’s wrecked, and I can’t let you inside the mill until I’m satisfied it’s safe.”

Well, that was inconvenient. Samantha considered her options. Amherst, where her uncle and cousin were spending the night, wasn’t that far—but she would have to figure out how to get herself there. If they had to make a detour to pick her up early, she would never hear the end of it. Uncle Caleb would carry on about why she hadn’t known about the storm before it hit, the odds against a lightning strike setting the mill on fire and what she was going to do now that she’d come to the attention of the locals. She could just hear him: “You never should have gone to Knights Bridge in the first place.”

But she had, and now she needed to figure out what to do. Send Justin Sloan on his way and then...what? Buy a new tent and sleeping bag? Where? What about dinner? Water? Clothes? If her things were trampled, soaked, burned up in the fire or just out of reach, she would have to start from scratch. She didn’t even have a toothbrush.

“There’s an inn down the road,” Justin said, interrupting her thoughts. “You can stay there tonight. I’ll drop you off.”

The Farm at Carriage Hill. Had to be.

It was owned by the woman who was engaged to Dylan McCaffrey, Duncan McCaffrey’s son.

Samantha carefully arranged her features so she wouldn’t look as if her rescuer had just invited her into the lion’s den. She could be hard to read herself. It just wasn’t her natural state. Her natural state was to be open, honest and straightforward, but she had to be circumspect now that a fire had put an end to her low-profile presence in Knights Bridge.

“Thank you, Justin.” She even managed a smile. “I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Not a problem.”

“I’m glad the damage to your mill wasn’t any worse. It’s a good thing you got here when you did, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” He took a half step closer to her and pointed at her jacket. “My padlock is in the inside pocket on the right. I felt it when I rescued you.”

“I didn’t need you to ‘rescue’ me.”

“Yeah. You did.” He tapped the lower left pocket where she’d tucked her grandfather’s flask. “Booze?”

“Scotch. Lagavulin. I was going to sip it under the stars.”

He gave just a hint of a smile. “I’ll bet you were.”

He went back up to the cider mill and disappeared inside.

Samantha exhaled but didn’t relax. She’d had a close call with the fierce storm and then the fire—closer than she wanted to acknowledge. It wasn’t easy to admit that if Justin Sloan hadn’t come along when he had and swept her out of the burning mill, she could have been overcome by smoke and gone up in flames.