The Spring at Moss Hill

by Carla Neggers

  Dylan McCaffrey walked down the driveway and greeted her and Russ warmly. A good-looking former NHL defenseman, he took Kylie’s hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I can’t thank you enough. I’m glad Olivia wasn’t alone out there. She says she’d have been okay, and I’m sure she would have—but still. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad I was there at the right time,” she said.

  “We haven’t told Grace about the baby yet,” Dylan said, turning to Kylie and Russ. “She’s my grandmother, in case you didn’t realize. Word travels fast in a small town. If you could give us the rest of the day before you said anything to anyone...”

  “Of course,” Russ said without hesitation.

  Kylie nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Dylan looked relieved.

  Every fiber of her being urged Kylie to get out of here. She was coming off months of nonstop, if good, work, and she didn’t trust herself in social settings right now. She didn’t want to seem rude and standoffish. She wanted to get to know her fellow residents in Knights Bridge better. It was past time. But getting to know them under the nose of a suspicious private investigator maybe wasn’t the best option.

  Smarter to wait until Russ Colton was on his way back to California, wasn’t it?

  But Kylie found herself following the two men up the driveway.

  * * *

  An hour later, Kylie caught her breath, slowing as she hit a downhill stretch of road.

  The “grand tour” had been grand, indeed, but also unsettling in ways she couldn’t have predicted. Russ’s genuine interest in Dylan’s plans for his adventure travel business and his and Noah Kendrick’s entrepreneurial boot camp, Dylan’s love for Olivia, the possibilities of the future—they had gotten to her, made her think about her own life and what she wanted.

  She couldn’t tuck herself away at her worktable, talking to Sherlock Badger, forever.

  But she didn’t regret wandering through the spectacular house and barn with Dylan and Russ, no matter the consequences—the distractions. If she regretted anything, it was turning down Dylan’s invitation to stay for lunch. She was downright hungry.

  “Barn” was a loose term for the New England barnlike building that would serve as a base for Dylan’s new enterprises in Knights Bridge. No cows, horses or hay were involved in the place, for one thing. It was light-filled and a surprisingly contemporary space. Like Moss Hill, Mark Flanagan’s design incorporated old and new seamlessly, drawing only praise in a town that had seen little real change in its architectural landscape in decades.

  The house, set back from the barn, was equally beautiful and intriguing. Both structures blended into the landscape, looking as if they belonged there, amid the rolling fields, old stone walls and woods. The kitchen window offered a stunning view of Carriage Hill, rising up across a meadow coming to life with the warm spring weather.

  Most important, Olivia continued to recover well and wasn’t in any danger.

  Kylie couldn’t shake the image of Russ walking up the road with the big dog.

  He was one rugged man.

  She took the long way back to Moss Hill, past the nineteenth-century cider mill where Justin Sloan had met Samantha Bennett last fall when it caught fire in a severe thunderstorm. The fire and Justin and Samantha’s whirlwind romance had caused quite a stir in town, Kylie recalled. Although she was an outsider and had never expected to stay in Knights Bridge, she’d hear tidbits at the library and country store about the people in her little town.

  She came to the Sloan farm and the offices of Sloan & Sons construction. A black Lab rolled in the sunlit grass. Kylie smiled, feeling her tension ease as she paused to gaze out across the fields and hills to a sliver of the reservoir in the distance, blue, quiet, seemingly untouched by humans. She suddenly couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

  Once everyone knew about Morwenna, how would it change the life she had here?

  The wind picked up as she cut down a dirt road and came to the river. When she arrived at Moss Hill, she left her bike at the rack out front and took off her helmet, aware she had red cheeks and tangled hair.

  She didn’t see Russ or his car.

  Just as well, she thought.

  Her apartment was warm, cleaned up from last night’s dinner. She touched her cheek, almost as if she could feel the brush of Russ’s kiss. The sexual tension between them might be real, but it was also inconvenient.

  She sat at her worktable. She’d managed to snap a few shots of sugar maples, leafing out now that it was spring, before she’d come upon a pregnant, nauseated Olivia.

  In another minute, Kylie had the photos downloaded onto her computer. Best thing she could do now was to get back to work—hide out, basically, until after Daphne Stewart’s class. The Hollywood designer and her investigator would go back to California, and Ruby and Ava O’Dunn would go back to school.

  Then I can surface.

  In the meantime, Kylie thought, there was plenty of day left to work on Little Red Riding Hood, and she had several new ideas for the maple tree in front of the grandmother’s house.

  Fourteen

  Russ joined Dylan for coffee on the stone terrace off the Carriage Hill kitchen. Lunch had been every bit as good as it had smelled. The minestrone soup and the oatmeal bread, fresh out of the oven, had been hearty, filling and just what he needed after his unpredictable morning.

  Olivia had eaten a few bites before excusing herself. Maggie had left before lunch to run errands.

  The air had turned breezy and cool. Russ warmed his hands on his coffee mug. He grinned at Dylan. “Loretta warned me I could regret not packing a parka.”

  Dylan laughed. “Sounds like her. Knights Bridge definitely isn’t Southern California.”

  “You’re adapting if we’re having coffee out here.”

  “So I am,” he said, his satisfaction with his new life obvious as he sat across from Russ at the wood table. Dylan sat straight, looking like the successful corporate executive he was. “Loretta wants me to talk to you about security.”

  Russ nodded, grateful Dylan had spared him from having to figure out how to broach the subject. “I’m an investigator with Sawyer & Sawyer these days, but I know a bit about security.”

  “From your navy days,” Dylan added.

  “I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”

  “Knights Bridge has a low crime rate, but our new ventures will draw more people here. I don’t lie awake nights worrying about trouble, but I realize we need to be proactive. Noah does, too. We’re used to considering security when we’re in San Diego. Here...it’s a different story.”

  Russ got that. Winding roads, old mills, a covered bridge, a country store—it would be easy to get lulled into a false sense of security, even if Knights Bridge wasn’t exactly San Diego. “How do your wife and Noah’s fiancée feel about beefing up security here?”

  “Phoebe and Olivia grew up here. Knights Bridge is their hometown. They like to think nothing’s changed, but they know better. You probably noticed we installed an alarm system up the road.” Dylan smiled. “It might be the first one in Knights Bridge.”

  “What about here?” Russ asked.

  “Locks. No alarm system. Working on it, though.”

  It was a start. “Good security doesn’t have to be intrusive. There’s what you see and what you don’t see.”

  “Yeah.”

  Russ gazed at the idyllic setting. Mulched walks marked off the raised flower and herb beds, which extended to a small garden shed. He waited, sensing Dylan had more to say.

  “Phoebe’s having more trouble than Olivia adjusting to heightened security.” Dylan waved a hand. “She and Noah will work it out. He’d do anything for her.”

  As Dylan would for Olivia, Russ thought. According to Loretta and Julius, and from wh
at Russ had learned so far on his own, Olivia Frost McCaffrey and Phoebe O’Dunn were self-sufficient, independent women, no doubt as supportive of the men in their lives as they were of them.

  For no good reason Russ could think of, he wondered what kind of support system Kylie Shaw had. Who was helping her navigate her new world as Morwenna Mills? From what he’d seen, for the most part she had only herself—whether by design or not, he couldn’t guess.

  “Where are Noah and Phoebe now?” he asked.

  “Noah’s winery,” Dylan said. “They’ll be flying here for a few days soon. Phoebe’s fallen in love with California.”

  “The winery’s on the central coast, isn’t it?”

  Dylan nodded. “Noah’s folks retired up there.” He stretched out his thick legs, eyeing Russ. “Anything to these rumors about Moss Hill?”

  “Mark Flanagan and Chris Sloan don’t think so. Nothing serious, at least.”

  “The Sloans are a hard-driving lot in a tough business. They’re fair-minded and solid, but they’re bound to annoy a few people from time to time, and they often have to make difficult decisions. They did with their work for me. Mark comes across as more easygoing than your average Sloan, but he’s dedicated and exacting. I don’t know much about the construction of Moss Hill. Here, though...” Dylan shrugged. “I can’t remember any particular altercations. A few accidents, a near heart attack. That sort of thing.”

  “Kylie Shaw?”

  Dylan didn’t seem surprised by mention of her name. “I don’t know Kylie at all. No help there. You don’t think she’s responsible for this talk, do you?”

  Russ shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “There’s worrisome talk and there’s just talk. Which is this?”

  “I’d be speculating.”

  “All right. Fair enough.” Dylan set his coffee mug on the table. “We should talk more.”

  A broad-shouldered, dark-haired man who could only be a Sloan came out through the mudroom. Dylan introduced him as Brandon Sloan, Maggie’s husband and a carpenter with his family construction firm. He was also working with Dylan on adventure travel.

  “I just saw Olivia,” Brandon said. “She says she’ll be out soon, and you should plan to grab your shovel, Dylan, because she wants to spread the last of the bark mulch.”

  “Lucky me,” Dylan said. “A year ago I didn’t know what bark mulch was.”

  Brandon grinned. “I guess she’s feeling better.”

  The conversation turned to plans for the initial adventure travel outings. It was just getting off the ground, and Russ gathered they were still working out any kinks, figuring out what the opportunities and obstacles were. Carriage Hill would provide lodging and meals for local adventure-travel outings but mostly for the entrepreneurial boot camp.

  “Maggie’s stretched too thin, with catering, this place and the goat’s milk soaps, and Olivia—” Brandon shrugged. “She loves keeping her hand in, but she can’t do everything, either. They’re planning to hire a professional innkeeper. They could use the help.”

  “No doubt,” Russ said. “What kind of adventure travel do you have in mind?”

  “It doesn’t have to be physically daring or demanding,” Dylan said. “We’ll see how it develops. We’re planning a trip to Newfoundland in August.”

  “Newfoundland is beautiful,” Russ said.

  The two men looked surprised. “You’ve been to Newfoundland?” Brandon asked.

  Russ smiled. “Whales, icebergs and stunning scenery.”

  “Perfect,” Dylan said.

  “Before I forget,” Brandon said, “Maggie says you’re invited to dinner at her mother’s place tonight. Six o’clock. Call if you need directions.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Maggie says Kylie’s welcome, too.”

  Russ nodded. “I’ll let her know.”

  “Great.”

  Brandon got to work, and Olivia came out, her color back. Dylan stood. Time to fetch his shovel.

  Russ brought his coffee mug into the kitchen. He was struck by the contrast with the kitchen at Julius Hartley’s house in Hollywood Hills. He hadn’t been here a full three days, and this little town and its people had wormed their way into his system.

  He drove back to Moss Hill. Mark’s offices were bustling. A dozen cars were in the parking lot, including Kylie’s Mini. But her bike wasn’t on the rack.

  Russ sat on a bench on the breezeway to wait for her.

  She cruised into the parking lot ten minutes later. He noticed she almost lost her footing on her bike when she saw him. Instead, she jumped off, removed her helmet and gave him a pleasant smile, as if she’d planned what to do if she came back from her bike ride and found him sitting there.

  “I thought I was done with bike rides today,” she said, “but I got a firmer idea for my wolf. Thanks to Buster, of course.”

  “How does that relate to a bike ride?”

  “I needed to let him simmer.”

  “Ah.” Russ got to his feet. “We’re invited to dinner at the O’Dunns tonight.”

  “We? Meaning—”

  “The two of us. We can take my car this time. Yours really is little.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Color rose in her cheeks and something else in her eyes—desire, he thought. Pure and simple. He couldn’t say what was in his eyes. Desire probably was a good start.

  “I was planning to work the rest of the day. I can see Little Red Riding Hood now. It’s not bits and pieces in my mind anymore. Being out at Carriage Hill this morning helped.”

  “You create visual narratives with your work.”

  She smiled. “Exactly.”

  He winked at her. “I saw that on your website.” Her Kylie Shaw website, he thought. “What do you say? Shall I knock on your door at five-thirty?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “See you then.”

  And she bolted, yanking open the door to the residential building and disappearing, as if she wanted to get away from him before she could change her mind about dinner.

  Russ saw he had a text from Marty. We’re out of Chambord. I’m afraid to tell Daphne.

  She’ll live.

  How’s KB?

  I’m off to look at the ducks on the river.

  Let me know if you need me to spring you.

  Russ laughed. This place was Marty’s idea of hell. A small town, a quiet river, a renovated hat factory and ducks.

  He headed around back to the dam. He took a few photos and texted them to Marty. He’d have to be sure to take some pictures of the O’Dunn goats at dinner tonight.

  His big brother in Hollywood would appreciate goats.

  Fifteen

  Kylie brought her bottle of expensive champagne to dinner. It was all she could think of in a pinch. Elly O’Dunn appraised the label with a low whistle. She was in her fifties, with graying red hair, freckles and a casual manner—Kylie could see why people told her things. A widow for ten years, Elly had managed to hang on to the house she’d built with her husband on the other side of town, out toward Echo Lake. Kylie had ridden her bike to the lake last fall, taking in the colorful foliage.

  “This is the good stuff,” Elly said. “What are we celebrating?”

  Figuring out her plans for Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t enough. “Moss Hill’s opening and how well it’s going,” Kylie said. “First apartment rented, first event—worth celebrating.”

  “Works for me. I’ll fetch glasses.”

  Elly went inside. She’d set up a buffet-style dinner on a table on the screened back porch, a cozy, comfortable spot with mismatched chairs and flowerpots lined up on the floor, ready for planting. Russ had gone out to investigate a large vegetable garden tilled and partially planted for the season. He’d mana
ged to produce a bunch of daffodils for Elly, probably from the country store since Kylie couldn’t fathom him picking them, never mind where he’d have found any available for picking. He was a man of surprises.

  Ruby joined him, pointing toward pens where her mother’s dozen-plus Nigerian Dwarf goats pranced. When her husband had been killed in a tragic wood-cutting accident ten years ago, Elly had started raising goats to help her cope with her grief. Phoebe had told Kylie the story at the library last summer, before Noah Kendrick had arrived in town and swept her off her feet, pretty much literally.

  Mark and Jess Flanagan arrived for dinner, and finally Christopher Sloan. Russ and Ruby came in from the garden, and Elly handed out glasses and poured the champagne. “Courtesy of our Kylie,” she said cheerfully.

  The toast to Moss Hill seemed to go over well. Kylie relaxed slightly, aware of Russ watching her as she sat in a comfortable chair by the screen. It was a cool evening, but the air felt good after the long winter. The porch was just enough shelter to keep it from being too cold to stay outside, and Elly had brought out a stack of blankets. Kylie imagined snuggling up under one with Russ. She was so shocked at the turn her mind had taken she almost shot out of the chair and excused herself—but he was her ride back to Moss Hill.

  Mark stayed on his feet, his champagne in one hand. “Whoever the crank is who made the comments about Moss Hill, it’s got a clean bill of health. The rumors will sort themselves out.”

  Chris Sloan nodded. “Ruby insisted I check out the place. I hope it helped.”

  She bristled. “I didn’t insist.”

  “All that matters right now is Moss Hill is set for Saturday,” Jess Flanagan said mildly.

  Chris helped himself to a beer out of a cooler. He’d downed the champagne in a couple of quick swallows. “There seems to be a lot of drama around Daphne Stewart.”

  “She’s that kind of personality,” Ruby said, instantly combative.

  “No crime in that,” Chris said.

  Ruby crossed her arms tightly on her chest, her cheeks visibly flushed even from where Kylie was sitting. Chris looked as if he had no idea what he’d said wrong and would rather be anywhere else.