Excerpt from Echo Lake by Carla Neggers

She came to a shallow, rocky brook that emptied into the lake but now was mostly frozen. Water trick­led and swirled in a few spots among the snow and ice where the current was stronger.

“Rohan,” Heather called softly, not wanting to star­tle him by yelling. “Where are you, buddy?”

She heard panting then a whimper. She eased closer to the edge of the brook and peered upstream. Her heart jumped when she saw a golden ball of fur—little Rohan, struggling to climb out from the midst of the water, snow, ice and rocks.

“Oh, Rohan. You are in a mess, aren’t you?”

Trees crowded the bank, and it was steeper up where Rohan was stuck. Getting to him wasn’t going to be easy. Staying close to the brook, she grabbed hold of saplings and branches, using them to help her keep her balance in the difficult conditions.

Once she was parallel to Rohan, he let out an eager, full-fledged bark.

He must have frolicked his way out here, got stuck in the ice and snow and had run out of steam. He was, after all, only a puppy. Heather could see there was no way he could get out of his predicament with just a bit of encouragement from her. She would have to grab him—preferably without ending up trapped in the cold brook herself.

“Easy, Rohan,” she said, holding on to a thin tree and reaching with her free hand to the shivering puppy. “Let’s get you warm and safe, okay?”

She stretched, her fingertips within inches of him, but she slipped in the snow. She couldn’t regain her footing and went down on one knee, planting her free hand in the snow to keep herself from falling in the brook. She felt cold water flowing into her left boot and up her lower leg but bit back a yell lest she panic Rohan. She finally righted herself, losing her glove in the process.

She didn’t hesitate. She scooped up the puppy and moved quickly, launching past the tree she was using for balance then sinking against another one. She an­chored her feet in the snow to prevent her and Rohan from skidding back into the brook.

She cuddled the furry dog against her. She could feel his little heart racing. “I’ve got you,” she whis­pered, her own heart thumping madly. “I’ve got you.”

She wanted to sit in the snow and catch her breath, but she knew that wasn’t wise. Her shivering was a warning she was in danger of hypothermia. It would be a cold, wet trek back to Vic’s house, so she had to get on with it and keep moving.

As she stood straight, she thought she smelled wood smoke—from a fireplace or a woodstove, per­haps. How was that possible? She was too far from the main house. It had to be her imagination or her natural optimism at work.

She heard the snap of a twig and looked up through the trees behind her, away from the brook. A man she didn’t recognize stepped comfortably down to her and Rohan. He wore a black suede jacket and solid boots but no hat or gloves.

He scanned her from head to toe before he spoke. “Nice job with the puppy rescue.”

“You watched?”

“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t want to startle you.”

Heather felt Rohan stir in her arms, but he didn’t bark. Probably too tired. “Ready to come to my rescue if I fell in, were you?”

“You did fall in,” he said, pointing to her wet lower left leg.

“Not all the way in.”

“You’d be a popsicle if you fell all the way in. I was on my way to rescue the little guy myself. I’m staying at Vic’s guesthouse. I got in late last night. My name’s Brody, by the way.”

“Heather Sloan,” she said. “Good to meet you.”

Except she felt as if she should know him. Did know him.

He narrowed his eyes—dark, flecked with gold—on her. He had short-cropped dark hair, a square jaw, a cleft chin. She shook off the idea that he was famil­iar somehow. She didn’t know anyone who would be a guest of Vic Scarlatti.

He stepped past her and picked up her fallen glove out of the snow. She took in his broad shoulders and his dark canvas pants covering muscular thighs. He looked strong and incredibly fit. Another diplomat? Somehow Heather didn’t think so.

He stood straight and tucked her glove into her jacket pocket. “It’s filled with snow. It’s not going to keep you warm. I can take the pup if you’d like. Give you a chance to pull yourself together.”

“I’m fine, thanks, and I can handle Rohan.”

“Rohan?” Brody stroked the soft fur behind the puppy’s ear. “He doesn’t look much like a rider of Rohan at the moment, does he?”

Heather agreed the Tolkien-inspired name was in­congruently regal for such a rambunctious, cute-as-the-devil puppy. He was getting heavy in her arms, but she noticed his heart rate had settled down.

“He’s not my puppy,” she said. “I just helped look for him.”

“Vic Scarlatti has a puppy?” Brody grinned as if the prospect both amused and surprised him. “I guess retirement will do that even to a guy like Vic.”

“He’s a stray. Rohan, I mean. Vic found him wan­dering around alone out here a few days ago and took him in.”

“Well, good for Vic.”

“Another guest named him Rohan. Adrienne Por­tale. Are you two friends?”

“Nope. Don’t know her.”

Rohan snuggled deeper into Heather’s arms. “I should get back. It’s cold even for January.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

She sucked in a breath. When it came right down to it, she had no idea who this man was. “Thanks, but I can manage.”

“Mind if I walk with you as far as the guesthouse?”

“How do you know Vic?”

“We go back a ways.”

A vague answer. “You’re a lot younger than he is.”

“Yes, I am.”

Heather hesitated. “I should let Vic know that Rohan is safe.”

“I already texted him that a dark-haired woman in a brown coat had just rescued a puppy from the brook.”

“That was efficient.”

“He hasn’t responded. I also told him you could use some dry clothes.” Brody nodded up through the woods toward the main house. “Shall we?”

Heather could feel Rohan settling into her arms. He wasn’t a light puppy. She needed to get moving if she was going to carry him all the way back to the house.

She took a step up the hill. “I guess if you’re one of Vic’s friends, it’s safe to go off with you. You’re not going to bonk me on the head and dump me in the guesthouse cellar. It doesn’t have a cellar, for one thing.”

“That’s a dramatic imagination you have there.”

“It’s not drama. It’s being practical. I’m very prac­tical.”

“Do you say everything you think?”

“No. Do you?”

His gaze slid over her. He smiled. “No.”

Despite the frigid temperature, she felt heat in her cheeks. Maybe she should think before she spoke. She adjusted Rohan in her arms again as she took another step up the hill. “I’m also good at taking care of my­self.”

“Come on. You pushed hard through the snow, and you’re frozen. Let me take Rohan.”

Heather didn’t protest when Brody scooped up the half-asleep puppy. She tried not to shiver or let her teeth chatter, but with the cold weather and her partial dip in the icy brook, she had to admit she was frozen. “I didn’t expect Rohan to end up down here by the lake.”

“He bolted past the guesthouse. I saw him out the window but couldn’t get out fast enough to grab him before he hit the brook. You’re okay to walk, aren’t you?”

“Yep. No problem.”

“Didn’t think it would be. Tough as nails, right?”

“Just used to New England winters.”

“Sure thing.”

There was something in his tone Heather couldn’t quite place. Familiarity? Sarcasm? Amusement? A mix of all three? She couldn’t deny she was madly curious about him, but maybe he just had funny ideas about Knights Bridge and the people who lived there.

She resisted asking him the four thousand questions she had. She needed to get Rohan back to Vic’s. With her wet pants and case of the shivers, she ought to get dry and warm herself

She was happy to let Brody lead the way back to Vic’s house, thus allowing her to step in his footprints instead of in virgin snow. It was much less tiring, and the snow didn’t seem to faze him.

“How do you like Knights Bridge so far?”

He glanced back at her. “Do you really want to ask me that right 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?”

Copyright © 2015 by Carla Neggers