That Night on Thistle Lane Read Online Free PDF Page A

It was even sunny. By the time they reached the trailhead at Pinkham Notch, it would be in the seventies. He’d peeled off his jacket on the descent and continued in his special moisture-wicking Patagonia T-shirt and hiking pants. Dylan, who was built like a bull, was in Carhartt. Noah was fair and lean, more one for sessions in the gym or dojo than treks in the wilderness. Dylan had decided a few days in the White Mountains would be good for Noah.
    Same with the masquerade ball tonight.
    Good for him.
    Noah had gone along. Why not? It wasn’t as if he had a whole lot else to do. Not like even just a couple of months ago. A year, two years, ten years ago, he’d navigated a hectic schedule that would have flattened most people he knew. So had Dylan.
    “You couldn’t sign me up for a simple black-tie ball,” Noah said, sitting up straight on the New England granite. “No. No way. My best friend since first grade has to sign me up for a masquerade. I have to wear a costume.”
    “More or less. It’s not like Halloween.” Dylan was clearly unmoved by Noah’s complaints. “All in the name of fun and a good cause.”
    “Right.” Noah drank some water from his water bottle, relieved that he didn’t see any mosquitoes. “I’ve agreed to dress up in whatever swashbuckler outfit you’ve managed to find for me, but I’m skipping the long-haired wig and funny beard.”
    “Just not the sword,” Dylan said.
    Noah grinned. “Never the sword.”
    “A reenactment musketeer rapier is waiting for you in Boston. No one needs to know it’s you behind the black mask. I understand you don’t want your photo turning up on some gossip website asking if the most eligible bachelor in San Diego has lost his mind.”
    “Dylan, why do I have the feeling you aren’t taking my concerns seriously?”
    “Because I’m not. You’d have even more women flocking to you if they could see you in your swordfighting duds.”
    Swordfighting duds. Noah shook his head. Expecting Dylan to appreciate proper fencing terminology was a waste of time. No doubt he felt the same when it came to Noah and the nuances of hockey.
    “The costume has a cape, too,” Dylan added.
    “There’s no hope for you, my friend.”
    Dylan shrugged as he drank some of his own water.
    “You used to be the most eligible bachelor in San Diego,” Noah said.
    “Best-looking. You were always more eligible. You just have a habit of choosing the wrong women.”
    Noah tucked his water bottle into the side mesh pocket on his pack and got to his feet, lifting the pack onto one shoulder. “What wrong women?”
    “Hollywood babes for starters,” Dylan said, standing with his pack.
    “Only recently. I haven’t been the same since I got dumped by that computation engineer my senior year at MIT. She was brilliant, cute—”
    “Not that cute. I remember her.” Dylan jumped onto the trail. He didn’t seem to consider that he might slip and hit his head, twist an ankle or fall off the damn mountain. Of course, he landed lightly on his feet. “She wasn’t as cute as your latest actress.”
    “Her show just got canceled, and she’s not cute. She’s gorgeous.”
    “Smart?”
    “Yes, I guess so. We didn’t get that far before we went our separate ways.”
    “Not many people are smart compared to you. It’s a relative term.”
    Also one Noah seldom considered, but he had learned through hard experience that not everyone thought the way he did. And what did he know about relationships? His latest “relationship,” with the cute/gorgeous actress of the canceled Sunday-night show, had lasted three weeks and ended that spring. He’d known from the start it wasn’t an until-death-do-us-part match, but he’d thought it would last at least through the summer.
    He was the one who had ended it. Just had to be done. Expensive dinners, gifts and such were one thing. Manipulating him to bankroll a movie she could star in was another.
    “It’s good you had this time to