“Wait for me there.”
* * *
Phoebe headed up to the attic and into the hidden room, hot and stuffy even with the cooler, drier air. It’d be another ten minutes before Noah would get there from Carriage Hill. She opened the corner door, light streaming in from the window, no sign of Julius Hartley on the common. Did his reasons for following Noah east have anything to do with Knights Bridge? With Olivia or Dylan, or their upcoming marriage? Phoebe couldn’t even guess. Noah and Dylan lived in such a different world than the one she knew.
Whatever he wanted, she hoped Hartley was on his way back to San Diego.
She certainly didn’t need him skulking around town ahead of the fashion show.
She would have to decide soon about using any of the dresses created by her mystery seamstress, exposing this room to town scrutiny.
She heard footsteps on the worn attic floor and assumed it was Vera, who was staying late to sort a new box of donated clothing for the fashion show. She’d been happily pulling out silk scarves when Phoebe had ventured up to the attic. “I’ll be right out,” she called, quickly shutting the corner door by the window. She hadn’t told Vera yet about the hidden room.
“It’s me, Phoebe. Noah.”
Oh, damn.
He was just outside the door that the free-standing closets had concealed. She’d pulled them away and left the hidden door—now not-so-hidden door—partly open. He had to have noticed. Not that he realized she was hiding anything. Which she wasn’t, not really. She was just taking her time before she revealed her discovery.
She was suddenly sweating, her heart racing, as if the mysteries of her unknown seamstress somehow revealed deep, dark secrets of her own—as if Noah would be able to see through her defenses.
Except she didn’t have any deep, dark secrets.
“Phoebe,” he said, his voice very near now. “Are you—”
“I’m right here.” She opened the door wide, not surprised to find Noah standing there. She smiled, feeling ridiculously nervous, even self-conscious. “You’re not a ghost.”
“No, I’m not a ghost.”
“What did you do, drive a hundred miles an hour to get here this fast?”
“I was almost to town when you called. The library’s closed but your assistant let me in. Can I come in?”
She nodded. “Of course. It’s hot in here. I was just about to leave.”
Noah stepped into the tiny room. Since she’d closed off the window by shutting the corner door, the room was almost dark. She switched on an old lamp she’d dragged in from another part of the attic. It didn’t offer much light as he glanced at the shelves and baskets of fabric and sewing supplies, the trunks and garment bags, the dresses she’d pulled out and left draped on a chair.
“I didn’t expect this in a library attic,” he said. “The dresses you and Olivia and your sister wore to the masquerade came from here?”
“This room’s something of a mystery,” Phoebe said, keeping her tone neutral. “I didn’t realize it existed until a few weeks ago. I haven’t told anyone else about it. I stumbled on it when I was chasing marbles.”
“Something for a librarian to do. Chase marbles.”
His tone held a hint of humor, but she could see his focus and suspected he was trying to keep himself from pushing too hard, jumping on her for immediate answers about her encounter with Julius Hartley.
She ran a finger along the edge of the old sewing table. “It’s as if whoever created this room just stepped out, but I’m guessing it’s been decades. I want to know who she was. Is, maybe. Someone in town, someone who left town?”
“Any clues?”
“Not many. She studied French and was clearly fascinated with Hollywood, and she could do anything with a needle and thread. She must have made her own patterns for most of these dresses.”
“You found your Edwardian gown here?”
Phoebe stood back from the table. “It’s one of the first ones I came across. I had it and the dresses Olivia and Maggie wore cleaned—”
“But you didn’t tell them about this room.”
“Right. I will, though.” She waved a hand. “You’re not here about an old sewing room, and it’s not why I called you.”
“You said Julius Hartley is here in town.”
“I saw him at the country store. He took a coffee out to the common and I talked to him there.”
Noah steadied his gaze on her, his eyes a deep navy in the dim light. “What did you two talk about?”
His stillness, his control struck her as incredibly sexy, but she kept her reaction to herself and repeated her conversation with Hartley. She left out only his comments about dreams.
When she finished, she picked up a sequined dress she’d draped on a rickety metal chair. “You’re sure you don’t know Hartley or anything about why he’s following you?” she asked, folding the dress, a design of peach silk crepe, sequins and fringe.
“I’m sure,” Noah said.
He’d remember, Phoebe thought. That was how his mind worked. “What could he want with my mother? He’s not interested in buying goats. I don’t want that man in her life at all.”
“I’ll make sure he stays away from her. Where does she live?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, Noah, but I’ll see to my mother. She’s off work now. She’ll be at home. I think she was planning to can tomatoes tonight.”
“Hartley’s my problem, Phoebe.”
“And my mother’s mine,” Phoebe said with a smile, then set the folded dress on the sewing table.
“Any idea how Hartley knew she keeps goats?”
“Not specifically, no, but it’s not a secret. If he asked around town, someone would have told him.”
“Olivia and your sister Maggie are getting into goat’s milk soaps. That might explain his interest in your mother.” Noah touched the fringe on the folded dress. “The workmanship is impressive.”
“It is, isn’t it? It’s so precise. Whoever worked up here paid attention to every detail. Maybe it wasn’t right to wear the dresses to the masquerade. I’d assumed we’d use some of the more fun and interesting outfits in here for the fashion show.”
“That makes sense.”
“When I came up here just now...” Phoebe glanced around the small room. “It felt as if I was intruding into someone’s private life. Someone’s hidden life.”
Noah turned from the sewing table. “If no one was supposed to find this room, then why leave everything behind? Why create it in the first place?”
“I should get Olivia up here when she’s back home. She collects vintage linens. Maybe she can help. And Ava and Ruby know more about Hollywood-related fashions than I do. I recognized the dresses Maggie and Olivia wore, but who wouldn’t?”
“They’re in good condition.”
“They were stored properly. The fabrics have faded and yellowed over the years, but almost everything’s in remarkably decent shape.” Phoebe noticed that Noah’s eyes were half closed as he watched her, and she forced a small laugh. “Did I lose you at ‘vintage’?”
“You haven’t lost me at all.”
She believed him. She took in a breath. “Who knows, maybe this room’s the work of our resident ghost. Some people believe the library really is haunted.”
“By a handsome sea captain?”
“You never know.”
“I don’t see you sneaking up here to talk to ghosts.”
“Not even a sea captain?” She angled him a smile, ignored the sudden rush of emotion, of pure awareness at being alone with him in such a confined space, in the heat, the stillness and quiet of the hot summer afternoon. “A swashbuckler, maybe?”
He touched a finger to a long strand of her curls and tucked them behind her ear, where there was no chance they’d stay put. “I’m sorry Hartley showed up in your town, Phoebe. He got under your skin. I won’t let him hurt you or your family.”
“You’re more intuitive than y
ou like to let on, I think.” She realized he hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t tucked her hair behind her ear just because it was driving him crazy. “You like people to think you’re just a math genius who got lucky, but there’s more to your success than that. You’re always in control, aren’t you?”
“Not always,” he said, then let his finger drift down to her cheek as if to give added meaning to his words.
Phoebe licked her lips, cleared her throat. “I’ve read several books and magazine articles on entrepreneurial thinking. You’re a natural entrepreneur. You’re young—I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up as a serial entrepreneur who is energized by starting new businesses, and helping other people start new businesses.” She suddenly felt the bodice of her sundress sticking to her breasts. What was she saying? Just stop. Be quiet. “Anyway. That’s neither here nor there.”
He smiled. “I like it that you’re trying to figure me out. Most people just give up.”
“You’re a good listener,” she said, realizing she wasn’t embarrassed at rattling on about entrepreneurship. “I could talk to you all night.” She winced at her own words, embarrassed now. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
“You can talk to me anytime, Phoebe.”
She was used to talking to people in her work and around town, but not like this—not with romantic undertones, with sexual undertones, and not to a man like Noah. Not to the best friend of her friend’s fiancé. Phoebe couldn’t deny she was attracted to him. She couldn’t even pretend she wasn’t. She just knew it didn’t mean anything, and she wouldn’t do anything to make things awkward between him and Dylan.
“We should go,” she said. “Do you have any idea what Julius Hartley wants with you? I imagine you have your share of troublemakers in your life. Is he one of them?”
“He could be. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” Noah traced a fingertip across her jaw, into her hair. “I should have guessed you have red hair.”
“Because of my freckles? I used Ava and Ruby’s pancake theatrical makeup to cover them, but dancing with you took its toll. You put me through my paces on that dance floor.”
He threaded his fingers through her hair. “Not because of your freckles. Because of the color of your eyes.”
Phoebe could hardly breathe. It was as if being in the hidden room had returned them to the fantasy of the masquerade, to the intensity of their attraction to each other—as swashbuckler and Edwardian princess.
“Phoebe.” His voice was just above a whisper. “I’m sorry Hartley interrupted us on Friday. I’m sorry he’s in your town now. That I brought him here. You all don’t have to worry about me.” He curved his palm over her bare shoulder as he gave her one of his enigmatic smiles. “I can take care of myself.”
“You don’t have a real sword with you, do you?”
She was kidding, but he was amused. “Only at home in San Diego.”
“My guess is you don’t do much by half measures.”
He smoothed his hand down her upper arm. “Hold that thought.”
When Olivia had first told her about Noah, Phoebe hadn’t considered that he’d be this sexy, irresistible to the point that she was tingling, even burning. “I think meeting me as an Edwardian princess colored your ideas about me.”
“Nope. Meeting you hunting slugs in your scarf and shorts did.”
She gave a small laugh. “Are you making fun of me and my hometown, Noah?”
“Never.”
“Personally, I think you’re just bored.”
“Anything but bored, Phoebe.”
He slipped his arm around her waist. She didn’t protest, didn’t pull back. It was as if they were dancing again. Their musty surroundings and the hot, still attic and the Hollywood dresses, the reality of their circumstances, didn’t matter. She could almost hear the laughter of Friday night, the clinking of glasses, the music. She leaned into him more than she had then, in front of hundreds of people. He was all taut, lean muscle. That would be a surprise to most people, no doubt.
“I’m glad we danced,” she whispered. “It made the night special. Memorable.”
He said her name again, then his mouth found hers, his lips grazing hers in the lightest of kisses. Yet it had her reeling, aching. He was so controlled, so deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing. She put a palm on his arm, felt the hard muscle. In every way, he wasn’t a man to underestimate.
“Something happened between us when we danced,” he said, kissing her again. “It’s not going away.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He looked into her eyes with an intensity she’d never experienced. “It’ll be okay, Princess Phoebe. I promise.”
“You’re more of a real swashbuckler than I am a real princess.”
“I don’t think so.” He stood straight, glanced around the small room. “Maybe this room was meant for you to discover.”
“A custodian could have dusted and vacuumed in here and not realized no one knew about it. Anyway, I need to get out to my mother’s and make sure Hartley didn’t stop in, after all. She’d probably talk him into buying a goat. It’d serve him right.” Phoebe inhaled, realized she was about to hyperventilate. “I live just down Thistle Lane. I’ll run and get my car. Did you walk?”
“I have Olivia’s car. Come on. I’ll drive you out to your mother’s place.”
Thirteen
Noah figured he could be Errol Flynn and it wouldn’t make a difference to Phoebe O’Dunn.
He could be a real-life Zorro.
A real-life musketeer.
He could be worth a trillion and she wouldn’t be intimidated.
He wondered if she knew that about herself.
Elly O’Dunn lived a few miles out of the village center, on a winding dirt road that, according to a sign, led to a state forest. Somehow Noah didn’t need Phoebe to point out that the mailbox topped with bluebirds marked her mother’s driveway. He turned into it, pulling up behind a dark brown house nestled among shade trees, stone walls, gardens and a large yard that needed mowing. As he got out of the car, he noticed a couple of small, rough-wood outbuildings, a fenced-off pen, open fields and surrounding woods, still and green in the afternoon summer sun.
“My mother’s and my sister Ava’s cars are here,” Phoebe said. “I don’t see any other cars. Maybe Hartley changed his mind.”
Noah recognized sunflowers standing tall in the late-day sun. A lot of sunflowers, he thought as Phoebe joined him on a flagstone walk.
She squinted at the flower and vegetable gardens. “It’s quite a bit for Mom to take care of on her own but she loves it.”
“Does she have help?”
“Ava and Ruby have been here this summer, and now Maggie lives in town. We all do what we can to help.”
He smiled. “I hope you like sunflowers.”
“And goats,” Phoebe added with a laugh.
“Are the goats much work?”
“A ton, at least by my standards. They have to be milked twice a day, for starters. Mom never cared about having them earn their keep, but the artisan goat’s milk soaps Maggie and Olivia are trying out could at least help with expenses.”
“Do you have any pets?” Noah asked as he followed Phoebe toward the screened-in back porch.
She shook her head. “Not a one. I get my pet fix here. Mom has two cats and the laziest dog on the planet, too. She’s probably lying in the sun somewhere. My mother’s dog, not my mother.” Phoebe laughed again, visibly more relaxed. “Do you have pets?”
“No pets.” He heard wind chimes tinkling on the porch in the slight breeze. “It’s a lovely spot, Phoebe.”
“My parents built the house together. It’s got its quirks but it’s warm in winter and the roof doesn’t leak.”
A young woman with purple-black hair emerged from the six-foot-tall sunflowers. She carried a basket on one arm and waved as she stepped over a low wood-and-chicken-wire fence. “I swear I never want to see another tomato, but I say the same thin
g at this time every year.” She smiled at Noah. “You must be Noah Kendrick. Hi, I’m Ruby O’Dunn, Phoebe’s sister.”
Noah returned her smile. Her natural hair color, he guessed, was a shade of red. She wore a tank top, a long black skirt and sandals, and her basket was filled with fat, ripe tomatoes. “Nice to meet you, Ruby.”
“My sister Ava’s in the kitchen. We’re canning tomatoes. Mom’s convinced we’ll finish tonight but not a chance.” Ruby set her basket on a porch step and stood up straight, frowning at Phoebe. “You look awfully serious. What’s up?”
“Did a man name Julius Hartley show up here?”
“No. Why? Do you know him? Who is he?”
“I ran into him in town,” Phoebe said. “We need to talk about him.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” Ruby was obviously intrigued but scooped up her basket again. “I’ll be in the kitchen dealing with these babies. They’re only the beginning.” She grinned at Noah. “A friend of mine from New York was up here earlier this summer and said we reminded her of the Weasleys in Harry Potter. Red hair and cozy madhouse.”
Phoebe laughed. “If only we were wizards, too.”
“No kidding. Then Ava and I could wave our magic wands and these tomatoes would be canned and in the cupboard in a flash. See you guys later. Noah, nice meeting you.”
As Phoebe led him across the lawn, past the fenced-in gardens, he thought Ruby’s New York friend might have a point. The O’Dunn place was ramshackle and homey, radiating a chaotic warmth and good cheer that he suspected was more accidental than intentional.
They came to a small barn with an attached pen, miniature goats prancing in the grass. “They’re Nigerian Dwarf goats,” Phoebe said. “Cute, aren’t they?”
Noah had never considered goats cute. In fact, he’d never considered goats at all.
A woman came out of the shed, shutting the door behind her. Elly O’Dunn, he assumed. She was younger than he’d expected, barely in her fifties, with wild graying light red hair and warm blue eyes. “Phoebe! I didn’t know you were here. I was just tidying up the stalls before we start tackling the tomatoes.”
Phoebe introduced Noah to her mother, whose bubbly energy was a sharp contrast to her eldest daughter’s quieter nature. “Mom, has a man named Julius Hartley been in touch with you?”
That Night on Thistle Lane Page 16