The Spring at Moss Hill

by Carla Neggers

  Ruby laughed, sniffling back more tears.

  “Mark’s rented this place,” Jess said eventually. “The new tenant’s moving in next weekend.”

  “Who?” Kylie asked, startled.

  “I didn’t get around to asking.”

  “Tell us about Beverly Hills, Kylie,” Ruby said. “I heard Russ Colton took you to dinner on Rodeo Drive.”

  “Daphne told you?”

  “You bet.”

  “It must be fun now to integrate Kylie and Morwenna,” Olivia said.

  “Did you buy something wonderful for yourself on Rodeo Drive?” Jess asked. “I bought an Hermes scarf when Mark and I went to Paris last year. It’s so expensive I’m almost afraid to wear it.”

  “I window-shopped,” Kylie said.

  “With Russ?” Ruby asked. “Seriously?”

  Kylie pictured Russ as they’d lingered at a jewelry display, his arm around her as she’d raised her eyebrows at over-the-top rings and necklaces worthy of Daphne Stewart. Then she’d realized his gaze had zeroed in on engagement rings. Even now, she could feel the leap her heart had taken, the sense that anything was possible when they were together.

  “Do people see themselves in your badgers?” Maggie asked.

  “My father says the badger vet is better-looking than he is,” Kylie said. “I’ll be working on a new Badger installment soon. Right now I’m tackling Beauty and the Beast. I’m adjusting to integrating Morwenna into my public, day-to-day life. It hasn’t been as challenging as I thought it might be.”

  Olivia nibbled on a piece of cheese. “What are your plans now? Do you think you’ll stay in Knights Bridge?”

  “I love it here, but...” Kylie smiled. “We’ll see.”

  The women all seemed to guess a man was involved in her decision-making process, and probably who that man was.

  But they didn’t ask.

  They all pitched in to clean up, and Ruby promised she would be there for any of them if they needed a good cry. “Which I hope you never will,” she added.

  “Especially not over a Sloan,” Maggie said with a long-suffering shake of her head and a spark in her eyes.

  Samantha concurred. “I love that hardheaded Justin, I have to say.”

  “Can’t wait for that wedding,” Maggie said. “Brandon’s home plotting a camping trip with our boys and Clare Morgan’s son. I have declined to join them. I hate sleeping in a tent.”

  “You and Chris will both be fine,” Phoebe, the quietest of the women, said. “You are fine, Ruby.”

  After everyone left, Kylie returned to her apartment. She had a new request for an appearance as Morwenna, this one at a reading festival in southwest Florida next spring. Her agent was thrilled when Kylie had told her she would be doing more public events to meet young readers, parents, guardians, librarians and teachers. She just needed to budget the time.

  But her work was here, in Knights Bridge, she thought, looking out at the river.

  This was where she would create more Badger stories, and whatever came next.

  She’d only had a few sips of wine across the hall and took her glass onto her balcony. Wine alone didn’t hold the charm it once had. She observed this fact with an aching loneliness and a stubborn sense of hope that wasn’t as odd a mix as she might have thought when she’d moved into Moss Hill.

  She missed Russ, but he wouldn’t leave her dangling—and she wouldn’t let him. He was honorable in his own way, and she was tenacious in hers. Half her success as an illustrator she attributed to pure doggedness, a refusal to give up even when the work was hard-to-impossible, the financial rewards were meager and uncertain and any appreciation was damn near nonexistent.

  Loving the work helped, just as now loving Russ helped.

  The warming spring weather only made her miss Russ more. Did he ride a bike? Kylie realized she didn’t know. Probably. He could do anything physical.

  And right there went her powers of concentration.

  She left her wineglass on the balcony—she’d only taken a few sips of a nice pinot noir, purchased at the country store but not on sale—and went back inside. She grabbed a dark green crayon. She smiled. She had her beast now.

  * * *

  In the morning, she rode her bike to the house past the covered bridge, with its sprawling maple tree in the front yard fully leafed out, with wild columbine and chives blossoming along the stone wall and a rooster weathervane pointing west with the steady breeze.

  She could see a dog asleep in the shade, and she could hear children laughing—and she could smell the first strawberries of the season, tart-sweet and ready for whipped cream and shortcake.

  All in her imagination, she knew. A scene for the Badgers of Middle Branch, perhaps.

  The youngest Badger adored strawberries.

  Kylie eased off her bike and sat on the stone wall, looking across the quiet road to the river. She could do California. Really, she could. If Russ was there, if he wanted her in his life—to build a life together—she could do Beverly Hills, San Diego, a houseboat in a Dutch canal, a loft in Paris, a condo in Chicago...anywhere. Her career was portable. She could fly to visit her parents and sister. With her parents retiring and Lila graduating soon, who knew where they’d end up, anyway?

  Everything and anything seemed possible, not because of money or determination but because of love. Crazy as it might be, she felt it was true, and she believed it.

  Falling in love not only could happen to her, it had happened.

  She’d opened herself up to it, invited it into her life, said yes to it—to all the risks, the uncertainties and the possibilities that came with it. But it wasn’t just about how she felt. It was what she wanted to do. She was restless, twitchy, frustrated with inaction. What kind of doing would loving Russ involve?

  She smiled at the thoughts that popped into her head. Kissing, stroking, hugging.

  Making love.

  Talking over glasses of wine, making dinner, picking apples in the fall, taking off for a drive in the country without a map or GPS...

  She could think of a thousand ways to love Russ Colton.

  She jumped up from the stone wall and looked back at the house, but this time she realized the For Sale sign wasn’t up anymore.

  Her heart sank. Someone had made an offer on the house? Already?

  She fought the tightness in her throat, forcing herself to swallow and take a deep breath. Hadn’t she just been picturing herself on a houseboat in Amsterdam?

  But it felt like an omen, and she ran across the yard, through a small field and into the woods, leaving her bike behind at the house that never would be hers. She ducked between two white pines onto a trail. Whether it was the wind or tears, her eyes were watery and her cheeks wet when she arrived at her spring on Moss Hill.

  Twenty-Eight

  Russ wasn’t surprised when he found Kylie at her spring. The undergrowth had come to life even more since his last visit. He crouched on a flat rock next to greenery poking up along the small spring pool and the stream. “That’s skunk cabbage,” she said. “I don’t know if you have that in California.”

  “I don’t, either. Not up on my things-that-grow-by-a-stream plants.”

  “Any plants?”

  “Julius took me through his plants on his deck. I learned enough to know which ones to water when. Good-looking plants, but I have a ways to go before I’m a gardener.” He sat down on the rock. “But I’m game. I can see myself growing vegetables.”

  “I could live in California,” she said.

  “You wouldn’t have your spring or your renovated hat factory.”

  “I’d find something else. I’m not set in my ways.”

  “But Knights Bridge is home for you.”

  “Yes, it is, at least in a c
ertain way. I’m not Christopher Sloan. His job and his family are here, and he grew up here. I’ve created a few fantasies about living here, but that’s all they are.” She stared at the spring water. “I can live somewhere else, if I have a reason.”

  “I’d be happy wherever you are,” he said simply.

  She smiled. “And I’d be happy wherever you are. That’s what’s happened since I spotted you that Sunday morning at Moss Hill. I want to be with you.”

  “Why don’t you show me the way to the house you rented upriver?”

  “I was just there. I left my bike, so I have to go back, anyway. The For Sale sign is down...” She licked her lips, obviously struggling to control her emotions. “One of those paths not taken.”

  “I’d hoped I’d get to you before you went out there. Kylie, I’ve been in touch with the art professor who owns the house. I got her to take down the For Sale sign. I think I should tour the place before we make an offer, in case it’s too cute for a studly guy like me.”

  She gasped. “Russ...”

  “Kylie, Kylie.” He paused, brushing stray hairs off her face, noticing they were damp with tears. “Show me the way.”

  “You worked out something with Noah and Dylan,” she said as she led Russ through the woods.

  “Tentatively. They know I won’t do this work if it upsets your life. There are other clients, other jobs.”

  “What about Sawyer & Sawyer?”

  “I just have to keep the paperwork up to date, and they can remain a client.”

  “That will make Daphne happy.”

  “She’s in Hawaii with friends. When she gets back, Ruby O’Dunn will be there for her internship. I only know this through Marty. Daphne’s been unusually quiet.”

  “The class is behind her, she’s off the hook with the theater—she’s calm now.”

  “Either that or she’s biding her time until she presents Julius and me with her next drama.”

  They followed a gently sloping trail into the last of the woods, then crossed a green field with pops of little yellow flowers—Russ had no idea what they were—and finally came to the house.

  Russ slipped his hand into Kylie’s. She squinted up at him. “It’s not far from Boston, and the college towns of Amherst and Northampton are a short drive.”

  “Convenient.” He reached into his pocket. “I have a key.”

  “Also convenient.”

  They went inside and through the rooms on the first floor. She showed him the spot in the bay window where she’d worked, living here alone, from July to March. Had she ever imagined a man here with her? Him? An ex-navy investigator, a guy who knew more about California spiders than he did New England wildflowers?

  They mounted the stairs to the second floor. The house was charming and surprisingly modern, with room to expand, but as much as he fell in love with it, seeing Kylie there made it perfect.

  “I’m guessing this was your room when you lived here,” he said, entering a small bedroom at the front of the house. It had wide-board floors, white-painted walls and double windows, sparkling in the midday sun.

  Kylie followed him into the room. “What gives it away?”

  “It looks out on the river.” He stood at the window. “I can see you here, in this spot, on a cold winter night. But that’s in the past. Right now I see a tire swing, snowball fights, raking leaves...” He turned to her. “A life here with you.”

  “I can see you painting walls and woodwork whatever colors I want. And just so you know, I tend to escort spiders to safety instead of stomping on them or getting out the spider spray.”

  “There are exceptions?”

  “When one is running up my leg while I’m working.”

  “Ah.”

  “I love my work. I love to create stories and illustrations about my badgers, for young readers. You come to life helping people and keeping them safe, figuring out what went wrong when things don’t work out. You don’t dwell on the past, but you don’t deny its influence on you. And you love your brother, Marty, more than anyone in the world—” She stopped herself. “What would Marty say right now?”

  “That you’re crazy if you think I love him the way I love you.”

  She laughed, those translucent cheeks of hers turning a pretty shade of pink, telling him what she was thinking. “Well, that.”

  “He’d say it’s good,” Russ said, pulling her to him. “All good.”

  “I think you planned this,” Kylie said.

  “I think I did.”

  He swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed, made with linens she’d left behind. She draped her arms over his shoulders, and he could smell her hair, feel the mud on her pants from her jaunt to her spring. He lowered her to the bed, kissing her, wanting to take his time with her, but the taste of her, the feel of her under him, ignited him. She responded in kind, tackling his shirt, his pants, with hands shaking with desire. His hands weren’t any steadier as he dispatched with her clothes, casting them to the floor. He coursed his palms up her hips, over her breasts, and paused, his eyes locking with hers in the sunshine. Her skin was smooth and hot, and he felt her shift her position under him, so that he was almost inside her.

  But not yet, he thought. Not yet.

  His mouth descended to her breasts, and he heard her sharp intake of air and knew she was lost to the same sensations pouring through him. He ached for her, wanted her. As he tasted her, drew more sharp breaths from her, and moans of pleasure, the reality of this moment, making love to this woman, exceeded any fantasies he’d had since she’d bolted from him at Moss Hill.

  When he entered her, she was wet, ready, clawing at him for more, to thrust deeper, harder. He took his time, until he felt her rising to him, matching his rhythm, quaking under him. Her fingers dug into his back, and he plunged into her with such force he was afraid he’d hurt her...but that was his last thought.

  She held him inside her, whispered, “Don’t stop,” and he quickened his pace, finally exploding, crying out for her as he let go, loving her. There was nowhere he’d rather be than where he was, making love to Kylie on a warm spring day.

  * * *

  They left Kylie’s bike at the house and walked back to Moss Hill together. She was spent and yet energized—the result, she knew, of being with Russ. He showed her a text that had come in from Marty. How’s it going? Did you give Kylie the glass slipper?

  Russ grinned. “Marty and the metaphors.”

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  “Yes. Leave it at that.”

  When they arrived at Moss Hill, they walked out to the dam, flowing steadily onto the rocks below. She saw ducklings now with the pair of ducks. Russ grinned, and she knew he saw them, too. But he turned to her, took her in his arms. “I love you, Kylie, and I want to make a home and a life with you here in Knights Bridge.”

  “Russ...” She tried to hold back tears. “I love you. I think I started loving you when I first heard your name at the Swift River Country Store. I swear Sherlock knew before I did.”

  “No doubt in my mind.” Russ laughed, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve seen my life, Kylie. I’m no prince. I don’t have a castle, servants or a crown. What I have—what I can promise to you now and forever—is my love.”

  “That’s all that matters.” She smiled, draping her arms over his shoulders. “I can draw the rest.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from KEEPER’S REACH by Carla Neggers.

  Author’s Note

  One of my favorite walks growing up was to a woodland spring much like the one Kylie discovers. I hadn’t been there in ages until researching The Spring at Moss Hill. I love to spend time at our family homestead on the western edge of the Quabbin reservoir and protected wilderness. I had no trouble im
agining Kylie taking a creative retreat in that beautiful area.

  As always, I have many people to thank, starting with my editor, Nicole Brebner, and my team at MIRA Books, and my agent, Jodi Reamer at Writers House. My son, Zack Jewell, a designer, was a huge help in understanding Kylie’s visual mind, as well as the technical aspects of her work.

  Most of all, I want to thank my mother, who fell and broke her hip while I was writing The Spring at Moss Hill. Her courage and resilience are an inspiration. She taught clothing and quilting and can do anything with a needle and thread and a bit of fabric.

  I don’t have a stuffed badger on my desk lamp, but I have an Irish painting of poppies that helps me keep perspective and makes me smile.

  If you’re new to my Swift River Valley world, the series starts with Secrets of the Lost Summer, Olivia and Dylan’s story, and Grace Webster’s story. You can find a short video on my website, with photos of the four lost Quabbin towns and the reservoir as it is today. While you’re on my website, you can sign up for my monthly e-newsletter! I’m also on Facebook and Twitter. I love to hear from readers.

  Thank you, and happy reading!

  Carla

  www.carlaneggers.com

  “Neggers captures readers’ attention with her usual flair and brilliance and gives us a romance, a mystery and a lesson in history.”

  —RT Book Reviews, Top Pick, on Secrets of the Lost Summer

  If you loved The Spring at Moss Hill, be sure to read the complete Swift River Valley series by New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers:

  Secrets of the Lost Summer

  That Night on Thistle Lane

  Cider Brook

  Echo Lake

  A Knights Bridge Christmas

  Christmas at Carriage Hill

  “Neggers does the near impossible: she brings a small-town, family-loving heroine and a footloose hero together in an engaging romance that has its fair share of surprises.”

  —Library Journal on Echo Lake

  Collect them all!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!