Noah thought that was a compliment, or at least a neutral observation, but he couldn’t be sure and therefore said nothing.
Buster put his head on Brandon’s lap. Brandon scratched behind the big dog’s ears as he looked out at Olivia’s garden. “How much do you know about Phoebe?”
“She’s the director and sole full-time employee of the Knights Bridge library.” Noah started to add that she could dance but reconsidered and said instead, “She’s the eldest of four sisters. Phoebe, Maggie, Ava and Ruby.”
“Their mother is Elly. Elly O’Dunn. She’s still around.” Brandon patted Buster, then motioned for him to lie down on the terrace, which, miraculously, he did. “Their father died when Phoebe was a junior in college. Maggie had just started her freshman year. The twins were still in school here in town. His death was sudden. An accident. He was trimming branches on a white pine and cut corners with safety. He fell and that was that. Broke his neck.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Noah said. “It must have been a terrible shock.”
“Patrick O’Dunn was a good guy but I don’t think he ever figured he’d live a long life. He worked in forestry. He knew how to trim a tree. He made a mistake he shouldn’t have made. I’m not saying he meant to die that day.” Brandon drank more of his beer. “It’s all history now, anyway.”
“Was Phoebe close to her father?”
“They all were. He left Elly and the girls more or less penniless. Elly’s managed to keep things together but I don’t know that her daughters always see it that way, Phoebe especially. She likes to think of herself as the sensible O’Dunn.”
“You’ve known them all a long time,” Noah said.
Brandon nodded thoughtfully, then grinned. “As far back as I can remember, I’ve been arguing with one O’Dunn or another. Maggie and I have been together forever.” He sighed, serious now. “Were together forever, I guess I should say now.”
“What happened between you? Do you mind if I ask?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’ll hear different stories around town. I was the dreamer she wanted but all my dreams went to hell. That’s the short version.” He held up his beer bottle. “Now I’m having a beer with you instead of going home with my wife and sons.”
“You’re protective of all of them,” Noah said, not certain Brandon Sloan would appreciate the observations of an outsider. “Maggie, Phoebe, their twin sisters. Their mother.”
“I guess I am. Just don’t tell any one of them. I don’t have anything against you or Dylan, Noah. In fact, so far, I like you both. Dylan’s given my family work and therefore me work, and I’m happy to pitch a tent at his place. I hear talk about both of you—you two are getting into venture capital, he’s dabbling in adventure travel, finishing up some of his father’s treasure hunts.”
“Those things are true.”
Brandon shrugged. “Some people thought his interest in Olivia would fizzle once he got used to the idea that his father had come here looking for his birth mother as well as a fortune in missing jewels. I can see that’s not going to happen.”
“He and Olivia love each other,” Noah said simply.
“They do. I saw that for myself Friday night. You and Phoebe…” Brandon grimaced as if he were questioning whether he should have begun his next thought that way. “Phoebe’s the sweetest person in Knights Bridge. She has a true heart of gold. Everyone here is protective of her.”
“Point taken,” Noah said. “I gather there’s no man in her life?”
Brandon looked straight at Noah and said, “No. There’s no man in her life.”
Noah wondered at the certainty in Brandon’s tone. Also the finality. He wasn’t saying anymore. Noah appreciated the history between the people in this little town, and he understood that he wasn’t part of it.
He knew when he was the outsider.
Brandon finished his beer and headed back to his tent.
Noah hooked a leash on Buster and let the big dog lead the way down the road, in the opposite direction of Dylan’s place—Grace Webster’s former home. He tried to picture the road before Quabbin, when it wound into a picturesque valley populated with small New England towns. Now Dana, Greenwich, Enfield and Prescott were gone.
He and Buster came to a yellow-painted gate that marked the border of the Quabbin watershed. The old road continued on the other side of the gate, eventually leading into the water’s edge, as if the lost towns still were there.
“Sorry, Buster,” Noah said. “No dogs allowed. We have to turn around.”