“No, you can’t.”
Hartley got to his feet, casually, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re tougher than you look, Phoebe O’Dunn.” He drank more of his coffee. “It’s not apparent at first. You come across like a mild-mannered redhead in a pretty little sundress and sandals, but you’re a pit bull when it comes to protecting your mother and your sisters. Who protects you?”
“We all look after each other.”
“What about Kendrick? Are you looking after him now, too?”
“I’m not discussing Noah or anything else with you.”
“Except for your mother’s goats,” Hartley said, clearly amused. “Okay. I left my thumbscrews in California.” He squinted toward the library, where two young children Phoebe recognized were running down the steps ahead of their very pregnant mother. “I wonder what their favorite books are. I was a creepy little kid, I think. I liked Edgar Allan Poe.”
“At four?”
“I was a little older. Eight, maybe.” He winked as he turned back to her. “Consider that a telling clue, Phoebe. Are you going to tell Kendrick I’m in town?”
“That assumes I’m in contact with him.”
“Yes, it does.”
She tilted her head back and eyed him. “What are you doing in Knights Bridge, Mr. Hartley?”
“Right now I’m drinking coffee and enjoying a pleasant summer afternoon.”
“Are you here because of me—because I danced with Noah?”
“You two did steal the show the other night. Noah’s friend Dylan is marrying a local girl. Olivia Frost. You know that, of course.”
Phoebe hadn’t expected that response. Was he here because of Olivia? Because she was engaged to Dylan?
“Whoa. Easy there, Phoebe. No fainting.”
“I’m not close to fainting.” She straightened her spine. “If I even think you’re here to cause trouble, I’ll notify the authorities.”
Hartley laughed. “Trouble? You have a good imagination, don’t you? I guess being surrounded by books would fire up the creative juices.” He paused, studied her again. “You and Kendrick the other night. There was some kind of connection. Some sizzle between you two.”
“We were in the land of make-believe.” Phoebe immediately regretted her comment. She couldn’t let this man get to her, couldn’t engage him—especially about Noah. “I have to finish up at work. You’ll leave my mother alone, right?”
“Sure. No problem. Relax, Phoebe.”
She didn’t respond and ducked under the low maple branch.
“Does Kendrick know it was you the other night?” Hartley called to her, his voice soft but no less cocky. “A billionaire could solve all your problems.”
Phoebe spun around at him. “I don’t have any problems I can’t solve on my own.”
Hartley grinned at her. “Sure you do. We all do. We all have dreams, too. I’ll bet even you have dreams, Phoebe O’Dunn.”
Even you.
He crushed his coffee cup in one hand, kept his eyes on her. “Noah Kendrick could make your dreams come true, don’t you think? Then there’s your sister the caterer, your twin sisters the theater majors and your eccentric mother. They all have big dreams. What about you, Phoebe? Do you have big dreams or little dreams?”
She knew she should just walk away but didn’t. “There’s no such thing as a little dream.”
“Maybe so. A small-town New England librarian and a California billionaire. Dreams don’t get bigger than that, do they?”
He was overstepping, and Phoebe saw that he knew it. She met his gaze, drew on her experience with the public and her natural reserve to keep her emotions to herself. “Why are you here, Mr. Hartley? Are you making sure we locals don’t take advantage of Noah and Dylan? Are you looking for information on them for a client? For some blackmail scheme? Is that what this is about?”
“How would you work your mother’s Nigerian Dwarf goats into blackmail?” Harley laughed, then waved a hand at her. “Easy, Phoebe. I’m harmless. Go back to your musty books.”
She didn’t know if he was trying to be funny or deliberately insulting. She took a breath and watched him walk in the opposite direction across the common, back toward the country store. “You still can’t pretend you’re interested in buying any of my mother’s goats,” she called to him.
He held up a hand without turning around, signaling acknowledgment of her statement more than acquiescence.
She headed back to the library, dialing the cell phone number Noah had given her. When he picked up on the second ring, she hardly waited for him to say hello. “He’s here,” she said. “Your guy. Julius Hartley. He’s in Knights Bridge.”
“Where are you?”
“At the library. We close early on Tuesday.”
“Wait for me there.”