The Spring At Moss Hill

New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers returns to charming Swift River Valley, where spring is the time for fresh starts and new beginnings...

Kylie Shaw has found a home and a quiet place to work as an illustrator of children’s books in little Knights Bridge, Massachusetts. No one seems to know her here—and she likes it that way. She carefully guards her privacy in the refurbished nineteenth-century hat factory where she has a loft. And then California private investigator Russ Colton moves in.

Russ is in Knights Bridge to keep his client and friend, eccentric Hollywood costume designer Daphne Stewart, out of trouble. Keeping tabs on Daphne while she considers starting a small children’s theater in town doesn’t seem like a tough job until he runs into Kylie. Her opposition to converting part of the old hat factory into a theater is a challenge. But his bigger challenge is getting Kylie to let loose a little...like the adventurous characters she depicts in her work.

Kylie and Russ have more in common than they or anyone else would ever expect. They’re both looking for a place to belong, and if they’re able to let go of past mistakes and learn to trust again, they might just find what they need in Knights Bridge...and each other.

Praise for Carla Neggers’ New York Times bestselling Swift River Valley novels

“Appealing protagonists, good neighbors, small-town Christmas traditions, and Neggers’s own recipes make for a fine romance.”

—Publishers Weekly on A Knights Bridge Christmas

“A heady mix of romance, mystery and genuine Quabbin history packaged in an enchanting holiday tale.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Knights Bridge Christmas

“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

“Her people, places and things are colorfully and expertly rendered in this compelling work of fiction.”

—RT Book Reviews on Cider Brook

“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

“Only a writer as gifted as Carla Neggers could use so few words to convey so much action and emotional depth.”

—Sandra Brown

“[Neggers] forces her characters to confront issues of humanity, integrity and the multifaceted aspects of love without slowing the ever-quickening pace.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Spring at Moss Hill

Carla Neggers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my mother,

who taught me and so many others how to sew

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Author’s Note

Extract

Copyright

One

“What do you think a private investigator would want me to stock in his fridge and pantry?”

The provocative question came from Ruby O’Dunn, up front by the cash register at the Swift River Country Store, a fixture in Knights Bridge, Massachusetts, for at least a century. Ruby was speaking to Christopher Sloan, a local firefighter. Kylie Shaw, out of sight in the wine section, had spotted them coming into the store. Now she wished she’d been paying closer attention to their conversation. Private investigator? What private investigator?

“He’s from Beverly Hills,” Chris said. “I’d start with that.”

“He works for a Beverly Hills law firm. I don’t know if he’s actually from Beverly Hills.”

“Close enough.”

“It’d almost be easier if we were having him stay with my mother. She’s got a fully stocked kitchen.”

“She also has goats.”

“Don’t get me started. I cleaned out their stalls this morning. It’s bedlam at her place. Even staying there a few days would be a lot to ask. Moss Hill is a much better choice.”

Kylie held tight to a bottle of expensive champagne.

Moss Hill?

Moss Hill was a former nineteenth-century hat factory that had undergone extensive renovations and opened in March, with offices, meeting space and residences. She’d moved into one of its four loft-style apartments five weeks ago. So far, she was the only tenant. She accepted that the other three apartments wouldn’t stay empty, but she hadn’t ever—not once—imagined a private investigator moving in, even temporarily.

She missed what Chris said in response to Ruby. Ruby went on about wild mushrooms, artisan cheese and artichokes, but Chris finally told her to focus on basics. “Put a six-pack in the fridge,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

Ruby muttered something Kylie couldn’t make out, and Chris left, apparently with a six-pack of his own.

Kylie placed the champagne in her basket. She’d promised herself she would take time to celebrate once the daffodils were in bloom, and they were definitely in bloom. The last time she’d come up for air and tried to celebrate had been in August. She’d ended up at a Red Sox game with a negative, burned-out carpenter who complained for seven innings. She’d been relieved when the game didn’t go into extra innings and had told him she’d had a call from her sister, a veterinary student at Tufts, to get out of going back to Knights Bridge with him. Before that, she’d split a bottle of wine with a condescending sculptor in Paris, celebrating her first children’s book as both author and illustrator. These little children’s drawings you do are sweet, Kylie, but... He’d shrugged, leaving her to imagine the rest of what he was pretending to be too polite to say. She couldn’t make a living as an illustrator, they weren’t real art, they weren’t any good, anyone could do it. It had been that kind of but.