Free That Night on Thistle Lane by Carla Neggers Page B

with her and Dylan’s breakfasts. Noah glanced at Dylan and saw that he noticed her reaction, too.
    The description of his dance partner had obviously struck a nerve with Olivia.
    Noah smiled. His princess might not be so lost, after all.
    *
    Knights Bridge was even prettier than Noah remembered from his visit in early April. Having leaves on the trees helped. He sat up front with Dylan while Olivia pointed out various landmarks from the backseat. She explained that the building of the Quabbin Reservoir and the subsequent flooding of much of the Swift River Valley had changed the development of the town, putting it off the beaten track and giving it a “time has stopped here” feel that was, both Olivia and Dylan again insisted, deceptive.
    Maybe so, Noah thought, but that didn’t mean he wanted to do more than float in and out again. He had a chartered jet scheduled to meet him at a nearby private airport that evening.
    Of course, his princess could change everything. He’d hang out for a day or two in Knights Bridge and brave mosquitoes and its one restaurant if there was a chance he’d find out more about her.
    Dylan turned onto a back road that wound toward Quabbin, his ease with the twists and turns suggesting a familiarity that reminded Noah that his best friend was, without a doubt, moving on from NAK. Less certain was whether he and Olivia planned to keep a home in San Diego. Noah would. Four New England winters during his years at MIT were enough for him.
    Not that he had any reason to move to Knights Bridge or anywhere else in New England.
    The Farm at Carriage Hill was located in a picturesque mix of meadows, woods and stone walls. Its hand-painted sign, decorated with a cluster of chives, worked with the 1803 house with its cream-colored clapboards and rich blue front door. As he followed Olivia through her kitchen out to the stone terrace, Noah could see that she was turning her vision for her historic house into a reality. Even subtle changes were infused with her sense of color and design, and her love for her hometown. According to Dylan, she’d always planned on returning to Knights Bridge to open her own version of a bed-and-breakfast, even if her departure from Boston hadn’t been entirely on her terms.
    “Dylan and I will make lunch,” she said. “You can wait out here and familiarize yourself with New England herbs and flowers.”
    “You’re assuming I want to know New England herbs and flowers.”
    She laughed. “Yes, I am.”
    She went back inside, and Noah sat at the round table and observed the backyard. It really was attractive. Small-town life suited Olivia. He hadn’t known her when she lived in Boston and worked at a prestigious design studio, but he knew from Dylan that she’d lost a major client in an underhanded way to a friend whose career Olivia had helped revive. The experience had served as a catalyst for her to transform her life.
    One could only move forward from where one was standing, Noah thought as he stretched out his legs and tried to relax. Pretending otherwise was a fast way into trouble. He knew from hard experience that where he was standing at any given moment wasn’t always where he wanted to be, or should be. That was just life. Not everything was under his control. Mistakes, incompetence, good intentions, bad intentions, good luck, bad luck, human nature—lots of things beyond his control played a role.
    Of course, a lot under his control played a role in determining where he was, too. His own screwups, his own limitations, his own lack of vision and purpose.
    Were they what had this mystery man on his tail?
    Noah sank back in his chair, appreciating the quiet surroundings. Olivia certainly did have a knack with flowers and herbs. She came through the back door with a tray of sandwiches, her big, ugly dog trailing behind her.
    He looked up at her as the dog, a German shepherd with a healthy mix of black Lab and probably several other breeds, promptly flopped