The Spring at Moss Hill (7 page)

She eased the car onto Main Street. “I just had lunch with four people. I didn't tell you to find your own way to town. That's not being reclusive.”

“We are here in your little car together, that's true. Self-interest at work? Did you suck it up and go to lunch so you could find out more information about what's going on at Moss Hill this week, with Daphne arriving and me here?”

Kylie could feel her tension rising but tried not to show it. Russ Colton was a pro. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to elicit information from people. She drove past the common, sunny and green on the perfect spring day. “It would be a simple solution if I were the reclusive, eccentric artist who doesn't like the idea of dozens of people showing up in her creative space.” She kept her tone as neutral as she could manage. “If I'm the one spreading these rumors, you talk to me, reassure me, threaten to take away my crayons, and all is well. An unknown rumor-monger and potential saboteur is more worrisome. I'm not a threat to anyone.”

“You weren't messing with the fire extinguishers or something like that when I caught you at the mill this morning?”

“You didn't ‘catch' me. I just happened to be there the same time you were.”

“You ran when you saw me.”

She glanced at him. “Wouldn't you?”

He grinned. “I'd buy me a beer.”

“It was too early for beer,” she said, taking the turn onto the back road to Moss Hill.

“Are you being straightforward or combative with me?”

“Maybe both.” She tightened her grip on the wheel. “This is becoming one of those days I wish I could start over.”

“Sorry. I shouldn't badger you when you're kind enough to drive me to lunch and back.”

His tone didn't hold a single note of contrition. He wasn't sorry. He was doing his job. The apology was merely a tactical maneuver. “Why don't you just tell me how I got on your radar? Was it running when I saw you, being in the lobby in the first place—or was it lunch and these rumors?”

“Now, that's combative,” he said.

“I consider it straightforward.”

He settled back in his seat. “Here's my take. You were blindsided by the news of Daphne's class on Saturday and an investigator about to show up on your turf. You calmed down when you remembered Julius Hartley. Then you saw me, and I'm not Julius—not by a long shot—and Ruby O'Dunn invited you to lunch out of the blue. You guessed something was up and decided to find out what.” He paused. “Am I right?”

“I don't consider Moss Hill my turf.”

“I'm staying across the hall from you. I'd consider that my turf.”

Meaning she was on
his
turf. His bottom line, maybe. “I'm coming up for air after a series of tight deadlines. I only expected to stay in Knights Bridge for a few months when I moved here. Now it's been ten months, and I'm trying to be more social and meet people in town.”

“That's it, huh?”

Obviously he didn't believe her. “Maybe I knew you were jet-lagged, and I thought I'd be a good neighbor and accompany you to lunch. Welcome you to town. Make up for our bad start.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He shifted his long legs, clearly having difficulty getting comfortable. “I've been in little seats too many of the past twenty-four hours.”

“You didn't demand a first-class seat?”

“Coach is fine with me.”

Kylie glanced at the river, quiet and shallow, without any steep drops away from the dam. “I haven't seen anyone sneaking around Moss Hill, in case that was your next question,” she said. “I don't keep track of all the comings and goings. Probably not even most of them.”

“Does Mark Flanagan have enemies?” Russ asked.

She'd expected the question. “Not that I'm aware of. It's my understanding that Mark grew up in Knights Bridge. People in town know him and like him, from what I can tell. But I'm not the best one to ask, since I'm new here.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“East of here. Near Mt. Wachusetts.”

“Any enemies?”

“Me?”

“You. Yes.”

She attempted a smile despite his probing questions. “I don't get out enough to have enemies.”

“It could be an ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, ex-friend, ex-colleague.”

“I can't think of anyone in my life who would spread rumors about Moss Hill, for any reason.”

“I'm not asking you to draw a conclusion. I'm asking if you have enemies.” Russ's tone had softened, as if he'd realized he'd gotten intense. “You're the only resident at Moss Hill, and you're new in town. You seem to know more about the people here than they do about you. Why is that?”

“A natural consequence of being new here. I want to get to know people now that I have more free time. Everyone is busy with their lives and the people they already know.”

“And you're reclusive,” he said.

“Busy, not reclusive.”

“Hair-splitting.”

Fair point, she thought. “Focusing on me is a waste of your time, but feel free. I'm sure Ruby's taking idle talk to an extreme conclusion.”

“Could be,” Russ said. “Who is Christopher Sloan?”

The abrupt shift in subject caught her by surprise, but she welcomed it, could feel her grip on the steering wheel ease. “He's one of two full-time, professional firefighters in town,” she said. “The Sloans are another local family. They own a construction company. There are a bunch of them. Christopher's older brother Brandon is married to Ruby's sister Maggie.”

“The Sloans worked on Moss Hill?”

“Some. I don't know details. Christopher and Ruby...” Kylie didn't finish.

“He and Ruby what? They're an item?”

“I don't know for sure. You know what it's like when you're the newcomer in a small town.”

“I don't, actually.”

“People sometimes say things in your earshot they might not say if they knew you from when you were in kindergarten.”

“So, you've heard talk about Ruby and this firefighter.”

“There are sparks between them.”

“Sparks, Kylie?”

She heard the amusement in his voice and instantly felt heat rise in her cheeks. She resisted glancing over at him, but was aware of how close he was in the tight quarters of her small car. “You know what I mean,” she said finally.

“I'm not much on noticing sparks, I guess. Let's just say my friends don't come to me for romantic advice, at least not more than once. I ask them if they want to stay in or get out of the relationship. Only two options.”

“You're a black-and-white thinker.”

“When things are black-and-white. What about you? Do your friends come to you for romantic advice?”

He'd set her up, she saw now. “It depends on the friend. And I don't tend to be a black-and-white thinker. I was up for the sunrise this morning. Did you see it on your flight? So many colors. Then they all melted into the blue sky...” She slowed for a curve. “Let's say that's the kind of thinker I am.”

“Is that what we call a blue-sky thinker?”

“Or the sunrise thinker, maybe.”

He looked out his window. “I didn't see the sunrise. I don't sleep much on planes, but I was reading. Julius Hartley gave me a copy of
The Three Musketeers.
He said I would understand Knights Bridge better if I read it.”

“One for all and all for one, or a lot of sword fights?”

“I was hoping for a scantily clad damsel in distress.”

Kylie laughed as she turned into the Moss Hill parking lot. “No luck there. Still too cold. Your Hawaiian shirt with the palm trees suggests you like your warm weather.”

“As I said, my brother gave me the shirt. He binge-watched
Magnum, PI
over the winter.”

“He lives in Los Angeles?”

“He does.”

“Does he know Daphne Stewart?”

“They're friends. I met Daphne and Julius through Marty. That's how I ended up at Sawyer & Sawyer.”

Without trying, Kylie thought of a dozen questions she wanted to ask him about his life in California, his work, his past, his brother—where they'd grown up, what he'd done in the navy, why he'd become an investigator, what Daphne Stewart was like. But she didn't ask any of them and instead turned off the engine and got out of the car.

Russ met her on the breezeway, stretching his lower back. “Thanks for the ride into town.”

“You're welcome. Thanks for lunch. There's a parking garage under the residential building, in case no one mentioned it. If you need anything while you're here, feel free to knock on my door again.”

“I won't disturb you?”

She smiled. “Oh, you'll disturb me, but I won't mind.”

“I'm going to take a look around the place.”

“I won't call 911 if I see you, then. If you see anything suspicious, by the way, there's decent cell service here. You should be able to call 911.”

He stared at her a moment, then broke into a slow, thoroughly sexy grin. “I'll keep that in mind, Kylie. Working the rest of the day? Should I worry if I see the lights on at 3:00 a.m.?”

“If you do, it'll be because I got up early, not because I stayed up late.”

His gaze held her for longer than she found comfortable. “I might take a walk later, or settle in and have a beer on the balcony—assuming it's warm enough.”

“Evenings still can get cool this time of year, but that can be nice, too. I had wine on my balcony during a snowstorm after I first moved in here in March. It was magical.”

Russ raised his eyebrows. “We need to work on your idea of magical.”

Kylie felt heat rise in her face. “Well, enjoy the rest of the day.”

“I will, thanks. Knock on my door if you think of anything else that could help unravel what's going on with these rumors.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a card, handing it to her. “Or call or text.”

“Sure thing.”

Kylie took the card and slipped it into her pocket, eager to get back to her worktable.

Time to disappear.

She waited for Russ to go into the main building before she headed inside, her pace picking up the closer she got to her apartment and a locked door between her and her temporary neighbor. She wasn't afraid of him. She just didn't want him prying into her life.

And it was tough to be neutral about him. He was physical, intelligent and always on alert. No question about that.

Also, sexy.

No question about that, either.

Kylie dove into her apartment, breathing deeply as the door shut behind her. Her reaction to him wasn't going to get her anywhere but into deep trouble.

Time to calm down and get to work.

* * *

She made tea. She sharpened pencils. She cleaned erasers. She sorted crayons, dusted her scanner, changed the batteries in her wireless keyboard and checked three times to see if the ducks had returned to the river, but they hadn't.

Finally, Kylie approached her worktable as if it held classified information.

Imagine the field day Russ Colton would have if he knew about Morwenna Mills.

She frowned at Sherlock Badger. “Where were you today at lunch when I needed you?”

A little stuffed badger wouldn't have helped her case with a real investigator.

She didn't sit. She stared out at the river, concentrating on the shadows and the green of the fields rising up across from Moss Hill. But her mind didn't clear. It was cluttered with images of lunch, Ruby's fears, Mark's firm denials of problems at Moss Hill, Jess's quiet concern and Russ—questioning, suspicious and thoroughly confident.

And so damn sexy. The dark blue eyes, the tawny hair, the broad shoulders, the easy smile.

None of that was helping, either.

Kylie had to adjust her thinking, since she'd expected Julius Hartley, the investigator who'd escorted Daphne Stewart to Knights Bridge last summer. He was a good-looking man, but in his fifties and clearly out of his element in the small, rural town. Russ was closer to her age and struck her as a man who made a point of not being out of his element anywhere.

She picked a random blue crayon out of a basket on her worktable. Some days she thought she should have a studio separate from her home. She could go to work like “normal people,” as her sister would say, then insist she'd been joking. But ever since Kylie had entered art school, friends, family, professors and strangers had cautioned her about the chronic uncertainties of being a freelance illustrator, especially of children's books. Even working illustrators with longtime careers had cautioned her.

By and large, people meant well. They didn't want to see her broke or hurt by rejection and the unpredictable nature of her chosen profession.

That was fine. She didn't want to see herself broke or hurt either.

From the time she was a little girl scribbling on her bedroom walls, she'd envisioned herself taking a pseudonym, but she'd started her career working under her own name. Now Morwenna Mills was her public face—the author and illustrator who had created the Badger family, newcomers to a little town not unlike Knights Bridge.

Kylie had never written her own children's book. She'd recognized that being both writer and illustrator might not work out and hadn't shown her project to anyone until it was finished. It could have gone right into the trash heap, but it hadn't. Her agent had loved the writing and the illustrations, and so had publishers.

Taking a pseudonym hadn't been required, but it had made sense. At first, she'd continued to take on work as Kylie Shaw. Now she only worked as Morwenna.

For better or worse, she thought, picturing the California investigator across the hall. Had he already guessed she was hiding something?

She could swear him to secrecy and tell him about Morwenna.

But why tell him if she hadn't told her parents and sister and her closest friends? Why open that can of worms? Why take the chance? She was deep into her series of fairy tales. It didn't have the same pressures as her recent Badger deadlines, but she was absorbed in the work.