That Night on Thistle Lane. Carla Neggers

the town with him, at his expense. Deep down, though, he’s still the high school geek who was better at math than most of his teachers. I wasn’t, in case you were wondering.”

      “In other words,” Noah said, his eyes on Olivia, “I have a low threshold of trust where women are concerned.” He sat back, wishing now he’d waited longer to have his pancakes. “I also get dumped a lot.”

      “Because you don’t like being used,” Dylan said. “Maybe you flipped the switch of one of your actress’s crazy uncles, or someone is seizing the moment to see what they can get off you. We can speculate all morning. It won’t get us anywhere.”

      “And it’s not a problem until it’s a problem,” Noah said.

      “This man hasn’t made direct contact with you?”

      “Not yet, no.”

      “Maybe he sent you one of the emails you didn’t want to read this morning.”

      “I’m not worried, Dylan,” Noah said truthfully. “If he wanted to physically harm me, he’s had several chances.”

      “He could know you’re a master fencer and a brown belt in karate.”

      “I hope he does.”

      “What if he’s looking up dirt on you so that he can harm NAK?” Olivia asked. “What if he wants to harm you—your reputation?”

      “Let him try. I have no skeletons in the closet.” Noah gave her a slight smile. “I’m not that interesting, Olivia. More than likely this man is just angling for money.”

      Dylan eyed Noah. “Any chance there’s a connection to me?”

      “I have no reason to think so, or that there’s a connection to Knights Bridge.”

      “Knights Bridge?” Olivia sat forward. “Why would there be a connection to Knights Bridge?”

      Noah regretted his offhand comment and tried to reassure her. “I’m sure there isn’t one.” He decided to change the subject. “Unless my princess is hiding there. Are you positive you two didn’t recognize her? She had quite arresting eyes. Almost turquoise. They reminded me of your friend Maggie’s eyes but the color was deeper.”

      Olivia reached suddenly for the cream pitcher. “Really? I wonder who she could be.”

      She greeted the waiter a little too cheerfully when he arrived 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 down under the table, his big black-and-brown head on Noah’s feet. “What’s his name again?”

      “Buster,” Olivia said, placing the tray on the table. “He adopted me when I first moved back here.”

      Dylan followed her onto the terrace, carrying two glasses of iced tea. He set one in front of Noah. “Maybe you should get a dog, Noah.”

      He eased his foot out from under the dog’s head. “Does Buster have a brother?”

      “I hope not,” Dylan said with a mock shudder.

      Olivia grinned at him. “I thought you and Buster had bonded.”

      “We have, but one Buster is enough.” He winked at her as he handed her the second glass of tea and sat across from Noah. “All the world needs.”

      Buster gave a deep, satisfied sigh from under the table. The dog was visibly calmer than when Noah had met him in April. A few months in Olivia’s care no doubt had helped. Buster had clearly endeared himself to Dylan, despite an inauspicious meeting.

      Now here they all were—Olivia Frost, Dylan McCaffrey and Buster.

      Noah smiled at what a great family they made. He’d never seen Dylan happier, and Olivia was fast becoming a friend herself. Noah helped himself to a chicken salad sandwich. It had some kind of herb in it. Fresh tarragon, he thought. If his princess was in Knights Bridge, was she into herbs, too?

      “Who’ll be minding Buster while you two are in San Diego?” he asked casually.

      “Maggie will be in every day,”