That Night on Thistle Lane

by Carla Neggers

  There was so much she could do.

  She saw possibilities where before she had only seen the path she was on.

  Before Noah.

  “It’ll take me two seconds to pack,” she said, already heading out of the kitchen.

  She didn’t know what she threw in her suitcase. If she forgot anything, there were stores in San Diego. And maybe I won’t need clothes, she thought with a jolt. She blamed her scare with the storm, her mad dash up to the attic with her nephews. She still ached from her cuts, but at least she hadn’t required stitches and didn’t have a concussion.

  In other words, she could fly. She could see the sights in San Diego.

  Make love to Noah.

  She let out a breath. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

  On the drive to the small airport barely twenty miles from Knights Bridge, Olivia gripped the steering wheel, her eyes on the road as she spoke. “If things don’t work out with you and Noah, you and I will still be friends. You know that, right, Phoebe? It won’t change anything between us.”

  “But Dylan—”

  “It’s the same for him and Noah. They’ve been friends for almost as long as we have. We’re all grownups now, Phoebe. You know? We’ll figure it out. You and Noah need the space to be whatever you’re meant to be to each other.”

  “I appreciate that, Olivia,” Phoebe said. “You and Noah seem to get along well.”

  “Noah is—he’s just Noah. Not everyone gets him.”

  “Women?”

  “I don’t know much about his past relationships.” Olivia smiled. “Except that they’re past.”

  “I’ve never been to San Diego,” Phoebe said half under her breath.

  “You won’t be intimidated by Noah’s life there. You’re not the type. Just because you’re quiet and kind doesn’t mean you’re a pushover. You’d never have managed Knights Bridge Free Public Library if you were a pushover.”

  Phoebe laughed. “That’s for sure.”

  Olivia slowed for a curve. “That’s what Noah sees, you know. He believes in you.”

  They arrived at the airport.

  Noah’s plane hadn’t taken off yet.

  Phoebe had a strong suspicion that Dylan had given his friend advance warning. The pilot greeted her by name and escorted her to the private jet himself.

  Noah was there, fresh out of the shower, in a clean black shirt and dark jeans. He looked every inch the billionaire he was. He had champagne waiting, and when she sat next to him on a leather seat, Phoebe knew there was nowhere else on the planet she’d rather be.

  * * *

  Brandon slept on the couch at Maggie’s “gingerbread” house off Knights Bridge common. It hadn’t sustained any damage, but he said he wanted to be close to the boys their first night after their scare. Maggie didn’t mind. It made sense, she told herself. Tyler and Aidan needed both parents.

  Brandon had an early start at work. He hadn’t even stayed for coffee.

  It was almost as if he hadn’t been there.

  The second night, however, was a different story.

  His folks took the boys for the night. Christopher had promised he’d show his nephews some basic search-and-rescue techniques. Tyler and Aidan were so excited, Maggie couldn’t say no, although she was reluctant to be apart from them. Never in her life had she had such a scare as when she’d arrived at the library after the storm.

  She still wasn’t over it, she thought as she crossed the yard to Grace Webster’s old house—the one Dylan’s father had bought and then left to him, a simple act that, ultimately, had changed all their lives.

  The heat of two days ago eased with the storm; it was downright chilly. Maggie had promised her in-laws that she’d drop off a jug of corn chowder for Brandon. She and her mother and younger sisters had made up tons with fresh corn from the garden.

  He stood by an open fire in front of his tent. “It’s still warm,” she said, handing the chowder to him.

  “Thanks, Maggie.”

  She heard something in his voice but couldn’t figure out what it was. He had a blanket spread out on the grass between his tent and the crackling fire. She appreciated the warmth of the flames.

  “Sit with me a minute?” he asked her.

  She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  She sat cross-legged on the blanket. He sat next to her, his legs stretched out, the light from the flames flickering on his face. He smiled at her. “Nice night. I don’t miss the heat.”

  “Me, either, although I’ll probably regret saying that in January.” She fidgeted, uncrossed her legs. “I shouldn’t stay long. I have things to do at home.”

  “At least stay until the stars are out.”

  She went still, narrowed her eyes on him. That was it, she thought. That knowing tone. That Sloan smugness. “I’ve been set up, haven’t I?”

  He leaned toward her. “You didn’t stand a chance. All of us Sloans united to get you out here tonight.”

  “My sisters weren’t involved, were they?”

  “Do you see them here with pitchforks?” Brandon asked wryly.

  “It’s not that they’re against you. They’re just with me.”

  His gaze softened. “So am I, Maggie.”

  She looked away from him and saw a star twinkling brightly in the darkening night sky. “Brandon...” She didn’t go on. What else was there to say?

  “If you want to leave, Maggie—”

  “I don’t.”

  The words were out before she’d realized she’d said them and that it really was what she wanted. Brandon edged closer to her, and she sank against him, felt his arm settle around her. It was so quiet, just an owl hooting across the field toward Carriage Hill and Quabbin.

  “Ah, Maggie,” Brandon said. “Maggie, Maggie.”

  “We’re not kids anymore, are we?”

  “Maybe not, but we have years of fun left in us.” He kissed her on the top of her head. “Decades.”

  As they watched the stars come out, he talked to her about the work he was doing with his family, and he asked her about her catering business and what was up with her and Olivia at Carriage Hill. They talked about adventure travel and treasure hunts left over from Dylan’s father.

  The night turned dark, stars glittering overhead. Maggie watched the fire die down, just glowing coals now. At least she’d had the sense to wear jeans and a sweatshirt given the cool temperature. The mosquitoes left them alone.

  Finally she said, “I was so afraid of wanting to be back in Knights Bridge—wanting to raise Aidan and Tyler here—that I ended up blaming you. I had to come home because we were on the skids. It was an excuse.” She picked at a loose thread on the blanket, then looked up at him. “It was a bad excuse, and it hurt you and the boys. And me.”

  “I’d talked you into thinking it’d be a sign of failure to come back here, and that I didn’t want to.”

  She grunted. “You didn’t want to, Brandon. I’ve been listening to you say you couldn’t wait to get out of Knights Bridge and then that you never wanted to go back for years.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He shrugged. “But things change.”

  Maggie sat up straight, shocked. “You want to be here?”

  “Pretty much.” He grinned that easy Sloan grin. “My family’s been waiting to hear me say that since I was just out of diapers. Maggie, I don’t care if you needed someone to blame for wanting to come back here for the boys—for yourself. I can take it.”

  “I was so afraid of being impractical and impulsive. Starting my own business, buying a fixer-upper.” She pushed hair out of her face. “Oh, Brandon. I’ve been such an idiot.”

  “No, you haven’t. I shut down. I told myself you and the boys would be better off on your own.”

  “You were wrong,” she said, more forcefully than she’d intended. “I know you’ve been through a rough period and you’re being responsible, but I don’t want you to give up your dreams. Not for my sake.”

  “When I lost my job, I
felt like my dreams were what got us into trouble, and I dug a hole deeper for you and the boys.” He touched a finger to her chin. “There’s a lot of history between us, Maggie. When I lost my job, I felt like a failure. I felt like everything I’d told you for years about what I was going to do, how we were going to live, was just a lot of BS.”

  “We were teenagers, Brandon. I wasn’t going to hold you to what you said when you were seventeen.”

  “Or twenty-five? Thirty? And there you were, still filled with such dreams yourself. I felt like mine had only caused trouble for you and the boys, dug us a deeper hole. I put myself and my pride before you.”

  “You put words in my mouth, especially about money.”

  “They were what I was telling myself.”

  “I didn’t know what to do. You’ve always been there for me, Brandon. Then you weren’t. Or you were, but you didn’t believe that you were. I never saw you as a screwup. You always had such hope and optimism. I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until they weren’t there.”

  “We went through a hard year.”

  “Maybe, but I’m stronger because of it. I’d never lived on my own. I’m not saying I needed to, but it worked out.”

  “I know it did. I can see it in you. The confidence.” He shifted, his eyes lost in the shadows. “I never wanted you to trim your dreams to make me look good. I’m not that kind of guy. In fact, I think that kind of guy’s a jerk.”

  She smiled, even as she wanted to cry. “I don’t want you to give up on your dreams. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “I haven’t. This adventure travel gig’s right up my alley.” He leaned back on his outstretched arms. “We’ll see what happens. I know now that the only dream that matters is being with you and the boys.”

  “I know,” Maggie said, up on her knees now, at eye level with him as she touched his dark hair. “Deep down, I’ve always known.”

  He flicked a mosquito off her shoulder. “The bugs have found us.”

  “What do you say we could go into your tent now?”

  “I thought you hated camping.”

  “It’s not the camping part I’m thinking about.”

  “We worry about Phoebe,” he said, “but it’s Noah we should worry about. The guy has no idea what he’s in for getting involved with an O’Dunn.”

  Twenty-Three

  Phoebe was alone in a room dedicated to Noah’s collection of antique swords. The lighting and climate controls were set to protect the contents of the room. It was at the back of the house, on the second floor above the pool. She’d already dipped her feet into its warm, silky water. Noah had watched her from the patio. She’d smiled at him, mumbled something about the Southern California sun and her freckles. He’d smiled back and said nothing.

  He was letting her get acquainted with his world, she thought as she leaned in close and studied the ornate handle—or whatever it was called—of another sword, an eighteenth-century French rapier.

  “Note the shape of the blade,” he said, coming into the small room. “It’s specifically designed for thrusting.”

  She stood straight. “Thrusting as in...”

  “Just what it sounds like.” He pointed at another sword next to it. “This blade has a double edge. It’s a bit longer. It can be used for thrusting but it can also slash.”

  “It’s a fascinating subject.”

  “There are a lot of technical terms but it’s not as complicated as it might seem,” He nodded to the sharp tip of the first rapier. “One touch in the right place is all it takes to kill one’s opponent.”

  “Are you a thruster or a slasher, or is that too simplistic?” She smiled. “I’m sure I have a lot to learn.”

  His eyes held hers. “I’d like to teach you.”

  Phoebe tried to ignore a flutter in the pit of her stomach as she moved to another display. “You have quite a collection here. One antique sword led to another antique sword?”

  “It was something to do on quiet nights after work,” he said. “What do you do?”

  “Lately I’ve been fixing up my house.”

  “You have your family and friends, too.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I have a small family and a few good friends. I know and like a lot of people, mostly from work, fencing, karate.”

  “Hollywood,” Phoebe added.

  He shrugged. “Some.” He walked over to her. “This one is nineteenth-century Persian. Eventually I’ll donate most of this collection to charity, to help young martial art athletes.”

  “You’ll still fence and do karate.”

  It wasn’t really a question but he nodded.

  “And NAK?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Phoebe pretended to study the ornate sword but was intensely aware of his presence. They were alone, unlikely to be interrupted. They’d flown overnight. Now...she had to consider where she’d sleep.

  She cleared her throat. “Olivia and I were talking on the way to the airport. I mentioned that I’ve been reading about intensive seminars in entrepreneurship. New entrepreneurs spend a long weekend or even two or three months immersed in how to set up their own company. She said you and Dylan would be naturals. You could use the adventure travel barn for classes. People could stay at Carriage Hill. It’s a thought, anyway.”

  Noah was so close now she could almost feel his breath. “It’s a good thought,” he said. “It would give me another reason to be in Knights Bridge.”

  She shifted her attention back to the sword but couldn’t focus on the details. She saw Noah in Knights Bridge. Saw him in winter, skating with her on the little homemade outdoor rink on the common. Saw him careening down a snow-covered hill in a toboggan with her and her nephews.

  It all felt so right when just a short time ago she couldn’t have pictured him in her small town at all.

  Or herself in San Diego, with him, and yet here she was.

  “Phoebe.” He stood next to her and took her hands, kissed her lightly on the lips. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the upstairs.”

  He explained that the house was new. He’d only moved in six months ago. It wasn’t massive, certainly not as massive as he could afford. He’d hired a decorator because he hadn’t had the time or the inclination to figure out what to do with each room, never mind what furnishings to use. He’d been satisfied with the results, but Phoebe realized that he didn’t care that much about the specifics—things like whether a refrigerator was stainless-steel or avocado-green. He’d wanted comfort, soothing colors, space where he could move, relax, think and entertain.

  “Not that I entertain that much,” he said as they came to the master bedroom. “You’re the first person I’ve had in here except for the decorators. I gave Olivia the grand tour when she was here with Dylan but we skipped this room.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Phoebe said, trying to ignore the catch in her throat. The room was all grayed neutrals and sleek lines. She walked to the windows that looked out at the bay. “The view is breathtaking.”

  “That’s San Diego for you.”

  He sat on the king-size bed. It was simply made up, the sheets pulled back, white-cased pillows piled at the headboard. Phoebe felt a tingle of awareness as she looked at him. He leaned back on one arm, his eyes a deeper blue than the sky and ocean outside the windows. A nighttime blue. A blue as intense and enigmatic as he was.

  There were several guestrooms. She had only to pick one. He’d told her so in that steady manner he had. But as he watched her from his bed, she knew what his preference was.

  She walked over to him and sat next to him, not quite touching. “Noah, there’s something you need to know about me.”

  “I want to know everything about you.”

  She turned to him, placing one knee on the bed. “Everyone thinks I’ve given up on love and romance. I thought I had, too.” She realized she felt comfortable talking to him, and the tension went out of her. She smiled. “Then I found Daphne Stewart’s sew
ing room in the library attic, and I started to see that I hadn’t given up. I argued with myself.”

  “You didn’t want to expose yourself to being hurt again,” he said. “Or expose your family to your pain.”

  “And I didn’t want things to change. I liked my life.” She put her hand on his upper arm. “I’ve been torn ever since I saw those dresses, felt the presence—the dreams and hopes—of the woman who created them. They connected with me on the deepest level. I didn’t see that at first.”

  “Sneaking into the ball in your Edwardian gown was part of the war with yourself,” he said, brushing a curl off her face. “I think I saw that. It’s part of why I noticed you.” He smiled, letting his hand drift along the line of her jaw. “Also because you were so damn beautiful.”

  She laughed. “It was the black wig.”

  His eyes sparked with amusement, and something else. Awareness, she thought. Desire. He leaned closer to her. “It wasn’t the black wig,” he said softly. “Trust me.”

  “I do trust you. The moment you swept me onto that ballroom dance floor, I knew I could trust you.”

  “Sure that’s not just jet lag talking?”

  She smiled. “Very sure.”

  “I love you, Phoebe. I don’t know if I’ve ever known what love could be until I spotted you in your princess dress. It got even better when I ran into you hunting slugs, making pesto, warding off a chilly morning in an old sweater at the library.”

  “I’m not what you’re used to—”

  “I love you, Phoebe. Not some idea of you.”

  His hand eased over her shoulder. She had on a sleeveless top, could feel the warmth of his skin on hers.

  “Daphne has invited us to lunch at her home in Hollywood Hills,” Noah said. “Julius Hartley and Loretta will join us. That’s on Thursday. Then I thought we could drive up the coast to my winery. When do you have to be back at work?”

  “Whenever I want.” She placed her hand on his, on her shoulder. “If I want to go back. My future’s wide open, too.”

  They were lost then. She could see it in his eyes, feel it as he withdrew his hand from hers and skimmed it down her bare arm. He was so close to her. So impossibly sexy. She reeled with a desire that was scarily intense and unrelenting. It made her feel vulnerable and open, as if she couldn’t hide anything from Noah even if she wanted to—even if she tried.