now?”
“Seventeen degrees, snow, ice, a golden retriever puppy on the loose?” Heather grinned at him. “What’s not to like?”
“Oh, yeah, Heather Sloan.” Just the faintest of smiles. “What’s not to like?”
* * *
Vic Scarlatti bought his house on Echo Lake twenty years ago, when he was a rising star in the US diplomatic corps, and had done virtually nothing to it since. That suited Heather. The previous owner, the granddaughter of the Boston financier who’d built the house, had updated the plumbing, wiring and heat about ten years before the property went on the market upon her death. It was classic Arts and Crafts, oriented to take in the best views of its long-neglected garden and the lake.
Brody showed no sign of appreciating the house’s charms and potential as he set Rohan on his puppy bed in the small, cluttered mudroom off the kitchen. The little golden retriever immediately gave a deep sigh and rolled onto his side, dozing.
“The bed looks new,” Brody said.
“It is,” Heather said, walking past him through the open doorway into the kitchen. “I bought it at the country store in town. I figured Rohan needed a bed.”
“Does Vic plan to keep him?”
“He says absolutely not.”
She sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. She was stiffer than she wanted to admit after her adventure, but at least she was warming up fast. She pulled off her ankle boots. Both socks were wet, but her left one was sopping. Another of her out-into-the-cold sins was her choice of thin cotton socks. She peeled them off and stuffed them in her boots. She’d figure out what to do about them later, when she didn’t have Brody for an audience.
He grabbed Rohan’s water bowl and filled it at the deep porcelain kitchen sink, one of the granddaughter’s additions. He brought the bowl to Rohan and set it close to his bed. The puppy stirred. At first he was too lethargic to care about anything except yawning, but he managed to get onto all fours and lap at the water.
“You should have some water, too,” Brody said as he rejoined Heather in the kitchen. “It’s easy to get dehydrated in this dry cold and not realize it.”
“Water would be nice.”
Before she could stand, he had a cupboard open and a glass in hand. He filled it with water and set it on the table in front of her. “Drink up.”
“You remind me of my brothers. They never look cold, either. You don’t even have a red nose. I do, don’t I?”
“You were out in the cold longer than I was.”
“A diplomatic answer. My brothers won’t go easy on me for almost freezing to death while chasing a puppy.”
“What would they have had you do?”
“Not take chances. Wear wool socks, at least.” She smiled suddenly. “But all’s well that ends well, right?”
“And you don’t have to tell your brothers.”
“True, but it’s too good a story not to tell. I wish I’d spotted your footprints instead of Rohan’s, though. I’d have let you do the rescuing.”
Brody unbuttoned his jacket but didn’t take it off. He had on a dark sweater over his taut abdomen. Heather was accustomed to fit guys, and he was obviously and decidedly fit. She averted her gaze and drank her water. She was noticing too much about this man. Maybe dehydration and adrenaline had put her senses on overdrive.
“Do you have dry clothes here?” he asked.
“Why would I?” She snapped up straight, almost knocking her water glass off the table. “Wait. You don’t think—” She gulped in a breath. “I’m almost forty years younger than Vic. No. Absolutely not.”
Brody grinned, his dark eyes sparking with humor. “That’s not what I was thinking. I was just wondering if you kept a change of clothes here given your work. You and Vic Scarlatti? Damn, that’s funny. Seriously funny.”
“What do you mean, seriously funny? You say that as if I’m not...” She stopped herself, abandoning that train of thought in the nick of time. “Never mind.”
“As if you’re not attractive, you mean? That’s not what I’m saying.” He paused, warmth replacing the humor in his eyes now. “Trust me.”
Heather jumped to her feet, baffled by why she was blurting out things she had no business blurting out. She’d never been good at policing what she said, but she didn’t know this man—never mind that he seemed familiar. A trick of her imagination, no doubt.
“Right. Well.” She took a quick breath. “Main point is, I’ll be fine in these clothes. Obviously, I didn’t show up here dressed for a puppy rescue. I’m from Knights Bridge— I live in the village a few miles from here.”
“Have you always lived in town?”
“Except for college, but I went to UMass Amherst. That’s not far.”
“No wanderlust?”
“Lots of wanderlust. I have all sorts of places I want to go and things I want to do, but Knights Bridge is home.” Heather didn’t understand why he was asking her such questions. Brody didn’t seem the type to make idle conversation. “Where’s home for you?”
“Wherever I take a shower in the morning.” He looked out the window above the sink at the snowy driveway and backyard. “Vic always said he planned to retire in cute little Knights Bridge.”
“Have you known him for a long time?”
“As you pointed out, Vic’s a lot older than I am.”
It wasn’t a direct answer. Few of his answers were, Heather realized. “Vic’s owned this place for twenty years, but I don’t know him that well. I don’t think anyone in town does. He’s spent most of his career abroad. I guess you already know that, though.”
Brody turned from the window but made no comment. She noticed he wasn’t winded from their hike up from the brook. Definitely a man in great shape. Vic would have been gasping for air if he’d traipsed through the snow.
“Any plans while you’re in town?” she asked, finally shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of a chair.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, bonfires, hot cocoa.”
“Sleeping late.”
Not a picture she needed in her head right now. “I hope you enjoy your stay. There’s also ice-skating on the town common, if you’re interested. Do you skate?”
“Badly,” he said.
“Me, too. I was out skating with a couple of my brothers last weekend. I’m hopeless. I have the bruises on my butt to prove it.”
Brody’s expression was unreadable. “No proof
