That Night on Thistle Lane

by Carla Neggers

  “That’s different. Anyway, if this woman has information on my mystery man, then it could help that I’m just...you know. Me.”

  “Your average, garden-variety California billionaire,” Dylan said with some humor.

  “All right, maybe it won’t help.”

  His friend groaned suddenly. “Are you confused at all? A mystery woman, a mystery stalker, small-town loyalties...” He held up a hand before Noah could answer. “Never mind. I know you’re not confused.”

  “Do you have a short list of possibilities of who my Edwardian princess might be?”

  Dylan looked uncomfortable. “Noah...”

  “Ah. A very short list. You don’t have to tell me. I won’t compromise you with your new friends here. I like a good challenge.”

  “Then you still plan to stay?”

  Noah hadn’t changed his mind. Not even close. “It’ll be fine. Nobody knows me in Knights Bridge except Maggie and her sister.”

  “But you’re determined to find out who your princess is,” Dylan said.

  “As much as ever. I’ll just keep it to myself when I do. Relax, Dylan. Think of me as taking a few days to enjoy the bucolic surroundings.”

  “You don’t like bucolic surroundings.”

  “I do. I just don’t like mosquitoes. I’ll wear bug spray.”

  Dylan was still obviously skeptical. “You’re sure you’re not just bored?”

  “I was bored. I’m not now.”

  Olivia started up a path toward the terrace. Dylan kept his eyes on her as he continued, “Are you avoiding San Diego? It’s an adjustment, going from controlling everything to do with NAK to—”

  “Controlling nothing?” Noah gave a small smile. “No one’s going to feel sorry for me, Dylan, and I don’t feel sorry for myself. You and I are both moving on. We made our choices about how we’d take NAK public. We still have a strong interest in the company, but we wanted fresh blood. The last thing the new people need is the founders skulking around.”

  “Founder,” Dylan corrected. “Singular.”

  Noah didn’t argue with him. They’d had this argument countless times in the past four years. “We’re both pivoting to what’s next for us. I just didn’t expect you to fall for someone from a little town on the other side of the country.”

  Olivia joined them on the terrace and smiled at Noah as if she’d told him all she knew about the identity of his princess. “I love it here but you’ll be roughing it by your standards.”

  Noah returned her smile. “Like I just told Dylan. I’ll wear bug spray.”

  * * *

  On his first evening alone in Knights Bridge, Noah listened to an owl in the woods behind the house and chased a mosquito out of the kitchen. He’d have killed it if he’d had the opportunity but it followed him outside when he walked Buster.

  He had no problem killing mosquitoes.

  His assistant in San Diego had arranged for a messenger to deliver a new phone to Carriage Hill. Noah scanned his messages. Loretta Wrentham had called seven times. When he called her back, she was annoyed with him for not responding sooner but she had no news.

  He sat down at Olivia’s white-painted kitchen table. “If you don’t know anything, why did you call me seven times?”

  “Because you didn’t return my first two calls.”

  “That makes no sense, Loretta.”

  “It makes perfect sense to me. I hate being ignored.”

  “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

  “What were you doing?” she asked.

  “I didn’t have a phone.”

  A half-beat’s silence. “You didn’t have a phone? Really?”

  He heard the skepticism in her voice. “Really,” he said. “I only got your voice mails just now.”

  “Don’t you have an assistant who checks your messages?”

  “Not one who checks my private number.”

  “So are you and Dylan about to head back out here?”

  “Dylan is already en route,” Noah said.

  “Noah...” Loretta took in an audible breath. “Where are you?”

  “Knights Bridge. I’m staying at Olivia’s place. I’m dog sitting.”

  Silence on the other end of the connection.

  “I almost wish it were cool enough tonight for a fire,” Noah added. “I like Olivia’s fireplace. Fireplaces, actually. There are five or six. They all share one chimney. It’s in the center of the house.”

  “Dear God.”

  He smiled into the phone. “Have you ever been to New England, Loretta?”

  “Boston. Knights Bridge isn’t Boston.”

  “Not even close.” But he didn’t mind that, he realized. At least for now. In another few days, it might make all the difference in the world. “Dylan and Olivia will be arriving in San Diego soon. Don’t let him get involved in this thing. He needs to show Olivia around town, take her to the zoo. Stuff like that.”

  “You’re a romantic at heart,” Loretta said.

  Noah laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  “Are you sure it’s wise to stay out there by yourself? You have a higher profile right now with NAK going public. You need to take your safety seriously. You’ve had corporate security training and you know fencing and karate, but if this guy’s actually stalking you—”

  “I’m not worried, Loretta. I don’t want you to worry, either. Let’s just identify this man and figure out what he wants.”

  “That high-IQ mind of yours is working the problem. I can feel it all the way out here on the other side of the continent.”

  “The problem has gotten a bit more complicated since we last talked.”

  She sighed. “Of course it has. Tell me.”

  Noah explained about his princess and the note Olivia had handed him. “I’m positive my princess overheard our guy and wrote that note but I can’t prove it.”

  “She doesn’t know who you are and you don’t know who she is,” Loretta said.

  “But Olivia and her friend Maggie know both—who I am and who she is.”

  “I get it, I get it. You want to find this woman and your stalker, and you think staying in Knights Bridge will help. How, I don’t know, but you’re the genius. What are you doing tonight, since it’s too warm for a fire?”

  “I’m listening to an owl right now.”

  Muttering, Loretta disconnected.

  Noah got up from the table and stepped past a slumbering Buster onto the terrace, the early-evening air still and warm, fragrant with flowers and herbs. He looked out at the stone walls, fields and hills silhouetted against the darkening summer sky. He’d never been to this part of Massachusetts during his college days. On breaks, he’d gravitated to the beaches or gone home to Los Angeles. Not ever—not once—had he considered that Dylan might end up in a small New England town. He’d discovered that he had roots in the Swift River Valley—a grandmother he’d never known, a woman now in her nineties who’d given up his father at birth.

  Hence Duncan McCaffrey’s purchase of the house up the road and Dylan’s presence in Knights Bridge.

  As much as Dylan appreciated the answers he’d discovered last spring, Noah knew they weren’t why his friend was still here. Dylan was in Knights Bridge because of Olivia Frost. If she fell in love with San Diego and wanted to live there part-time, he would do that. He had the freedom to make whatever came next for him work for her, too.

  The Farm at Carriage Hill was charming and sophisticated, and Olivia had every reason to be proud of what she’d accomplished in such a short time. It wasn’t a traditional bed-and-breakfast that took in the odd overnight guest, and there were no events scheduled during his stay. Maggie O’Dunn would stop by during the day but for the most part Noah would have the place to himself.

  Well, he and Buster would.

  Olivia had lined up several painting projects in case he got bored.

  She had a sense of humor. Noah did a lot of things but he didn’t paint.

  He headed upstairs to choose a be
droom for his New England sojourn. Only one, a small bedroom overlooking the side yard, didn’t involve antique lace.

  That was the one he chose.

  Eight

  Phoebe took the call from Maggie in her back garden. They’d planned to head over to Carriage Hill and deal with Olivia’s basil—make a nice Sunday afternoon of it—but Maggie couldn’t. “Ava and Ruby got their wires crossed and neither one will be around today,” Maggie said. “Mom needs help with the goats, although, of course, she insists she doesn’t. The boys and I will go over there and do what we can.”

  “Nineteen goats are too many for her,” Phoebe said.

  “One goat is too many,” Maggie added in exasperation, then sighed. “I know she loves the goats. She’s never asked for any of us to help take care of them, but you know she’d never manage without us.”

  Phoebe didn’t disagree. “Getting into goat’s milk soaps could make a difference.”

  “She says she’s looking into selling a few of the goats. She knows she has to. We don’t need nineteen, even if the soaps do well.”

  “Let me know if I can do anything to help,” Phoebe said.

  “Oh, we’ll manage. The boys are still young enough to think mucking out the stalls is fun. Enjoy your quiet afternoon. We’ll make the pesto later this week.”

  “I have all the ingredients. I can head over to Olivia’s and see how much I can get done on my own this afternoon.”

  Her younger sister took in a sharp breath. “Phoebe...”

  “It’ll be okay, Maggie. I can follow a recipe. If I screw up the pesto, there’ll be more basil.”

  “What about Buster?”

  “He and I get along just fine.”

  Maggie started to say something else, but Phoebe assured her she’d manage the basil on her own and got off the phone, eager to be on her way on what was turning into a hot, humid afternoon. Perfect for making pesto, she thought as she went back inside.

  Not that she’d ever made pesto.

  Given the heat, she pinned up her hair and changed into shorts, a sleeveless linen top and flip-flops.

  Fifteen minutes later, she parked at Carriage Hill, grabbed her canvas bag of pesto-making ingredients and headed up the stone walk to the kitchen ell. Maggie would have been by early to see to Buster, and Phoebe expected to have to use the extra key Olivia kept hidden behind a gutter. Instead she found the main door to the kitchen open and Buster nosing the screen door.

  “Hey, Buster, did Maggie forget to lock up?” Phoebe pulled open the door and stepped past the big, rambunctious dog into the country kitchen. Buster went from nosing the screen to nosing her as she set the bag on the counter. “Easy. You remember me. I’m Phoebe. Olivia’s friend.”

  “I do remember you.”

  Phoebe jumped, startled at the sound of a man’s voice, coming from the adjoining living room.

  Noah Kendrick appeared in the doorway. “Phoebe O’Dunn, the slug-hunter,” he said with an enigmatic smile. “Hello, Phoebe.”

  She subtly breathed out in relief. “Noah—hi. I didn’t realize anyone was here. I thought Dylan and Olivia were on their way to San Diego.”

  “They are. I stayed behind.”

  “But you’ll be joining them?”

  “Eventually,” he said.

  He wore a black T-shirt over dark jeans, and as he entered the kitchen Phoebe saw he was barefoot. He didn’t make a sound, his movements smooth, controlled. She’d noticed that about him during their brief meeting yesterday. She could see him glued to a computer but at the same time she could see him—what? Doing yoga, maybe. She did yoga herself, at least sort of, and always felt more physically in control, poised, after a session.

  Buster followed Noah to the white porcelain sink and plopped down at his feet.

  “Buster seems to like you,” Phoebe said.

  “I’m the man with the food. I think he misses Olivia. Maybe Dylan, too.”

  “You’re taking care of Buster?”

  He leaned back against the sink. “You seem surprised.”

  No kidding. “I guess I am. Olivia didn’t mention you’d be staying.”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

  Phoebe wondered what had prompted it but shook off her questions. “I’m here to make pesto.” She pointed toward the mudroom and the back door out to the terrace and gardens. “With the basil. For Olivia.”

  “Ah. Yes. Before it goes to seed.”

  “My sister Maggie was supposed to join me but she got called away.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  Help? Phoebe didn’t know why she was so flustered, then realized she had every reason to be, with a house-sitting, dog-sitting Noah Kendrick a few yards from her. He had to be used to a different lifestyle than what he’d find in Knights Bridge. He also had to be used to having more to do—or at least other things to do—than what Carriage Hill offered.

  She unloaded her canvas bag. “I brought pine nuts, garlic, parmesan and olive oil. I think that’s all I need.” She didn’t want him hanging around, watching her, bored, and quickly tried to think of something he could do. “Olivia said she has a mortar and pestle. Do you think you could find them?”

  “A mortar and pestle,” Noah said, his tone unreadable.

  “They should be in a cupboard. You know what they are?”

  “Mmm.”

  He hadn’t moved but she was intensely aware of his scrutiny as she set the bottle of virgin olive oil she’d brought on the counter. “I’ve never actually made pesto but Maggie emailed me a recipe. I assume you’ve never...” She stopped herself, rephrased. “Have you ever made pesto?”

  He smiled that smile again. “I haven’t.”

  “It doesn’t look hard.”

  Why was her heart beating so rapidly? Just because he was even richer than Dylan didn’t mean she had to get crazy. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at her, his air of self-control and calm. Those eyes. That smile. She hadn’t noticed them yesterday the way she did now, perhaps because she’d been preoccupied with getting the transcript of the conversation she’d overheard to Dylan, so that he could get it to her swashbuckler. She’d planned to ask Maggie how that had gone when they were making pesto. She hadn’t thought to ask her on the phone.

  Phoebe cleared her throat. “How did your first night in Knights Bridge go?”

  “Quiet,” Noah said. “Just Buster, an owl and me.”

  The twitch of a smile, that spark of humor in his deep blue eyes—Phoebe felt a rush of heat that she couldn’t define or understand. She blamed Friday night. Sneaking past her sister and friends into the masquerade, dancing with a stranger and overhearing an alarming conversation from another stranger had kicked her adrenaline into high gear. Even venturing up to the hidden room in the library attic had taken a toll on her normally calm, sensible nature. If she hadn’t found that room, she realized, she’d never have gone to the masquerade.

  She turned to Noah with a pleasant smile, the sort that she often used when she was at a loss at the library. “How long will you be here?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ll see.”

  “I don’t want to disturb you. I can pick the basil and then make the pesto back at my house.” She gestured vaguely with one hand. “I live in the village.”

  “You won’t be disturbing me,” he said. “It’s not as if I have a lot to do.”

  A bored high-tech billionaire. Just what she needed. “So you think pesto-making has possibilities?”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m happy to help.”

  “Great,” Phoebe said, half meaning it, half not. “Why don’t you look for that mortar and pestle while I start on the basil?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He seemed genuinely willing to help, but Phoebe wondered how long his interest would last before he got restless. If staying behind at Carriage Hill really was a spur-of-the-moment decision, then he wouldn’t have any of his regular amusements and diversi
ons with him. She supposed he could be working on a new business project. Something that required some quiet time to think.

  She couldn’t get out of the kitchen fast enough. She didn’t even know why. Noah hadn’t made any sarcastic remarks. He hadn’t been condescending in any way toward her. He just put her on edge. She hated to think it had to do with his financial status. She wasn’t the type to judge people by their net worth.

  Not that she’d met many billionaires, she thought as she made her way through Olivia’s backyard to the garden shed. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t money. It was...

  “I just don’t know,” she said to herself, grabbing small clippers off a hook. Her swashbuckler Friday night and now Noah Kendrick Sunday afternoon. Maybe she was the one who was bored and restless.

  She ducked out of the shed and up the path to the basil patch.

  Noah and Buster wandered out to the terrace. “I found the mortar and pestle,” Noah said.

  “Excellent. We’re in business.”

  Given past experience, Phoebe expected Buster to barrel to her and tear into the basil, but he stretched, yawned and lay down in a shady spot by the bench.

  “Good dog,” Noah said, obviously as surprised as Phoebe was. “It must be Olivia’s influence, or perhaps the heat. I haven’t had him long enough to have an influence. How’s the basil?”

  “It smells wonderful.”

  He stepped off the terrace into the grass. He was still barefoot. Phoebe noticed the muscles in his bare arms and, under his T-shirt, his shoulders. He was lean but clearly strong, far more fit than she’d have expected. His eyes settled on her and he smiled without saying a word, as if he knew she’d been appraising him.

  With a flush that had nothing to do with the summer heat, she snipped a healthy hunk of basil and realized she hadn’t brought anything to put it in. As she considered what she could use, Noah leaned over and took the basil from her. “I’ll get a colander,” he said, then headed back to the terrace and into the kitchen.

  Phoebe took a breath, hoping to calm her racing heart. Maybe she should have rescheduled the pesto-making, after all.

  Noah returned with a colander. She laid more fresh-picked basil in it and thanked him. If he stayed this close to her, it was going to be a long afternoon. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “If you want to take Buster for a walk in the woods, feel free.”