LITMIR.BIZ

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      “He’s a good man to have on your side.”

      “No doubt.”

      “Heather...” Vic inhaled, clearly ill at ease. He picked a stray thread off his sweater and flicked it into the sink. “Brody hasn’t stepped foot in Knights Bridge since the summer after he graduated high school. He was an angry, troubled teenager then.”

      Sexy, too, Heather thought. But she’d been in middle school, and if anything, he was even sexier now.

      She noticed that her scarf had fallen onto the floor and scooped it up. It, too, was wet. She slung it over her coat. “How long has Brody been a DSS agent?”

      “At least ten years. He was recruited his senior year in college.”

      “You had something to do with that?”

      “Only to answer his questions. He got in on his own merits. He’s good, too. Damn good. It’s a tough job.”

      “I’m sure,” Heather said, no doubt in her mind.

      “Did you fall in the brook before or after he came to your rescue?”

      “I didn’t fall in the brook, and he didn’t rescue me.”

      Vic laughed. “That’s what I figured you’d say.” He motioned toward the front of the house. “Why don’t you go and warm up by the fire? You’re done in, Heather. Relax before you head home. Get your bearings.”

      “Thank you,” she said, realizing she still was barefoot, with wet boots, wet socks and wet pants. She smiled at Vic. “Warming up by the fire sounds nice.”

Two

      Heather splayed her fingers, still a bit red from her Rohan rescue, in front of the orange flames roaring behind a black screen in the massive stone fireplace, one of the many distinct original features of the century-old house. She wriggled her toes as she stood on the hearth. Her brother Adam, a stonemason, would be taking a look at the chimneys and fireplaces, as well as the outside stonework, all part of the renovations.

      That was where her mind should be, she told herself. Not on a DSS agent who’d left Knights Bridge under a cloud more than a decade ago.

      “You should dry your socks in front of the fire,” Adrienne Portale said as she entered the living room, carrying two bottles of wine. She set them on a side table. “Vic wouldn’t mind. He’d think he was roughing it out here. It would appeal to his romantic idea of being a gentleman farmer.”

      Heather laughed. “There’s nothing romantic about my wet socks.”

      Adrienne sank onto an overstuffed chair. She had thick, dark curls that hung past her shoulders and a pretty, heart-shaped face that complemented her hourglass figure and preference for dressing in black. She wore faded black jeans and a black-beaded tunic she’d found, to her delight, in a wardrobe in the first-floor guest suite where she was staying.

      She tucked her feet up under her. “I invested in wool socks my first week here. They have a decent selection at the country store in town. I grew up in San Francisco. It can get chilly there but not like this. I never knew there were so many different kinds of wool socks. Why don’t I grab a pair for you before you go? In fact, you can have them. I was terrified I’d run out and bought far more than I need.” She grinned, settling back in the big chair. “That’s a better idea than drying your socks by the fire, don’t you think?”

      “I do, yes, thank you.” Not, Heather thought, that she had any plans of drying her socks by the fire.

      Adrienne fingered the label on one of the wine bottles. “Wine, wool and a hot fire. The perfect Knights Bridge winter evening. Add a wandering puppy and a rugged federal agent, and I have no complaints.” She sat forward. “He is rugged, isn’t he? Vic’s DSS agent guest? I haven’t met him yet.”

      Heather balled up her hands, warmer now, but kept them in front of the fire. “I was focused on rescuing Rohan.”

      “Mmm, and it would take a whole lot of ruggedness for you to notice with those brothers of yours. I can’t imagine life with one brother, never mind five brothers.” Adrienne gave an exaggerated shudder. “And to be the youngest. Yikes.”

      “It’s normal to me.”

      “Of course it is. Thank heaven that little devil Rohan survived his ordeal. I hoped I’d find him asleep under a bed. It was decent of Vic to take him in, but he doesn’t know much about puppies. Neither do I. They say crate training is the way to go, but maybe Rohan’s past that.”

      “No one’s put up notices in town about a missing puppy that I know of,” Heather said, sitting on a chair on the other side of the hearth from Adrienne. “My guess is someone from out of town drove out here and dumped him like a bag of garbage.”

      “It’s disgusting.” Adrienne waved a hand. “But we won’t think about that now. He’s safe here, even if we’re having a bit of a learning curve on how to take care of him. Three days, though, and he’s already got Vic rolled.”

      “How long will you be staying this time?”

      “I don’t know. I guess it depends on Vic. He won’t need me to house-sit if he’s going to be here full-time. He says I can stay whether or not he’s here, but I don’t want to get in his way.” She stood, grabbing a poker from a rack and pulling back the screen. “I thought I’d get nervous being out here by myself, but it’s been great. I’m getting a lot of work done.”

      Heather smiled, warm again, less achy. “And now you’ve got Vic interested in installing a wine cellar.”

      Adrienne stirred the fire. “He’ll love it.”

      “I’m sure I will,” Vic said, joining them. “I can picture myself up here at ninety, opening a good Bordeaux and watching the snow.”

      “Will you be alone?” Adrienne asked.

      “More important, will I be alive?”

      He chuckled, taking a log from a small stack on the hearth. Adrienne pulled back the screen a bit farther, allowing him to place the log on the fire. She adjusted its position with her poker. “That’s not funny, Vic,” she said.

      “Gallows humor. When you’re my age, you’ll understand.”

      “You won’t be ninety for another thirty years,” Heather said.

      “Gad, that long?” He stepped back from the fire. “What kind of wine are we having tonight?”

      Adrienne returned the poker to the rack. “I thought we could try something from Noah Kendrick’s winery.”

      “Kendrick,” Vic said. “Rich guy. High-tech entertainment company in Southern California. He’s engaged to the Knights Bridge librarian.”

      “Former librarian,” Heather amended. “She resigned a couple of months ago.”

      “Phoebe O’Dunn. Her mother lives up the road. Elly. Raises goats. I asked her if she knows who Rohan belongs to, but she said she doesn’t. She was on her way to San Diego to visit Phoebe and Noah.” Vic settled onto a sofa facing the fire. “See? I’m not that out of touch with the locals.”

      “I’ve met Elly,” Adrienne said. “She’s a widow. Did you buy this place before her husband died?”

      Vic nodded. “Patrick. He was a great guy. Sad he left behind a wife and four daughters. Life isn’t fair sometimes. I’ve survived a number of close calls during my time in the Foreign Service, and here I am, alone and unscathed.”

      “I’ll fetch wineglasses.” Adrienne started for the adjoining dining room. “I don’t think I’ve met any of Elly’s daughters. I suppose I could have run into them in the village and not realized it. Elly says they all have red hair.”

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