The Spring At Moss Hill

She smiled. “Not by themselves.”

“Need the rest of me, huh?” He thought he saw color in her face, but the light shifted as they continued down the road. “The shirt’s new. A gift from my brother.”

“To remind you that you’re an outsider here?”

“Trust me, I don’t need reminding.” He pointed out his window. “Was that Moss Hill back there, across from the mill? Are there hiking trails?”

“Yes, and yes. I was on one of the trails this morning.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“No dog?”

“No dog.”

“If I lived way the hell out here all by myself, I’d have a dog. In fact, I’d have two dogs. Maybe a couple of goldfish, too, although they aren’t much good in a fight.”

“Do you have a dog in Beverly Hills?”

He shook his head. “No dog, and I don’t live in Beverly Hills,” he said, leaving it at that. “How long have you lived at Moss Hill?”

“Since mid-March.”

“Before that?”

“I rented a house up the road.”

“But you’re not from Knights Bridge.”

“I moved to town last summer.” There was a slight testiness to her voice, as if she’d told him only because she knew he’d ask. “Are you from Beverly Hills?”

“Nope. Army brat. I joined the navy. I’ve been out two years.”

“Thank you for your service,” Kylie said quietly.

Russ hadn’t expected that from her. He didn’t know why. “It’s a privilege to serve,” he said. “Where did you live before Knights Bridge?”

“All over.”

Vague answer. He watched her drive, one hand on the wheel, the other on the shifter. She wasn’t tentative so much as tense. Not used to men? Not used to lunch? Didn’t like Ruby O’Dunn? He wanted answers, but he didn’t want to pepper her with too many questions. He was at her mercy. Imagine if she dumped him on the side of the road.

“Are there bears here?” he asked.

“Black bears.”

He settled back in his seat. “I’m not big on bears.”

She glanced at him as if she were trying to figure out if he was serious. But she turned, eyes on the road. “Do you know who all will be at lunch?”

“You, me, Ruby. I don’t know who else, if anyone. Why? Do you have enemies in town?”

“Just curious,” she said, and pointed to more ducks in the river.

Russ figured he had ten minutes, tops, to pull himself together before he got sucked into some small-town nonsense that had nothing to do with Daphne—or Noah Kendrick and Dylan McCaffrey. It was jet lag. Boredom. Curiosity.

His neighbor’s pretty blue eyes, her slender hands, the curve of her breasts under her purple sweater.

He hadn’t had a woman in his life in far too long.

The jet lag, boredom and curiosity made him vulnerable to doing something really stupid.

And he wasn’t paid to be stupid.

“Did I lose you?” he asked.

“Sorry. My mind wandered off.”

“You know you’re driving, right?”

“It didn’t wander off like that. I’m paying attention to the road.” She smiled at him. “No worries.”

He begged to differ, but he said nothing. If Kylie and Ruby weren’t friends, why lunch? Could be a simple question of politeness. He fought back a yawn, debating whether to watch the picturesque scenery or the attractive, intriguing driver. Finally he decided he could do both.

Six (#ulink_97a12e8a-bf44-5c08-a88a-06bc351d1988)

Smith’s was located in a 1920s house that had been converted into a restaurant, around the corner from the country store. Kylie had dined there a number of times, alone, tucked in a booth with her sketch pad. At first, she hadn’t thought much about socializing with the people of her adopted town. She was here temporarily, as an artistic retreat—to work, not to hang out with the locals. She liked people. She liked being around people. But that wasn’t why she was in Knights Bridge. When she’d moved into Moss Hill and started to consider making the town home, she’d figured friends and socializing would come in due time—when she had more head space for them and allowed herself out of the retreat mind-set.

And there was Morwenna.

Would Russ Colton want to know about Morwenna Mills? Why would he care?

Because he’s the type who cares about every detail.

Morwenna was a big detail, if not one that had any bearing on Daphne Stewart’s master class on Saturday.

Russ followed Kylie into the restaurant. Ruby O’Dunn jumped up from a long table in the back of the eatery, greeting Russ as if they were old friends. She introduced him to Mark Flanagan and his wife, Jessica, who were also at the table, joining them for lunch.

Mark smiled at Kylie. He was a tall, lean man in his thirties, an architect who specialized in older buildings. He wore a black windbreaker, a dark gray flannel shirt and jeans, his usual outfit. “Glad you could make it,” he said.

She had the distinct impression he hadn’t expected her to accept Ruby’s invitation. There’d been something imperious about the text, and Kylie had suspected declining would cause her more problems than accepting. The faint feeling she’d done something wrong lingered, even with the warm greetings. Had Russ told Ruby about their meeting at Moss Hill—how Kylie had run from him? She gave herself a mental shake. She was overthinking.

She was hungry—maybe she just needed food. Regardless, she had to settle down.

Mark returned to his seat next to his wife. Dark-haired and green-eyed, Jessica was a Frost, one of the longtime families in town. She wore jeans and a flannel shirt but also a silver Celtic-knot necklace that Kylie suspected Mark had given her. Mark and Jess had known each other forever, but they were newlyweds, married last fall at her sister’s inn in town.

“Moss Hill is great,” Russ said, sitting next to Kylie and across from Ruby. “Thanks for putting me up there.”