“Lead on,” he said, moving to follow and letting his eyes wander up and down the back of her. Trim, he thought. She was built, that was for sure, but more than that, she had a body that he recognized from his ex-wife and her friends: cared-for. This woman had spent a lot of time in gyms. There wasn’t much of her skin showing, but he was willing to bet that cream-laden massages were part of her life. Or had been, he thought.
He was quiet as he watched her and listened while she gave him a tour of her garden. She knew a lot about plants. She talked about trailing blackberries versus erect bl
ackberries, then the two kinds of raspberries. “And they all have to be pruned differently,” she said, smiling up at him.
If he’d just heard her and not seen her, he would have thought she was a farm wife. But what farm wife makes a meal worthy of a four-star restaurant? He knew good home cooks, but that usually meant chicken-fried steak, or catfish and hush puppies. He didn’t know home cooks who mixed pigeon livers and pickled grapes.
She was showing him the pond and talking about koi fish that hibernated over the winter, and how she’d have to put nets around the pond to keep out the raccoons.
On the far side of the house, she talked about gooseberries and currants, neither of which Matt had ever eaten.
And the more she talked, the more he was puzzled by her. Sometimes she pronounced words oddly. She said “extra-ordinary” instead of “extraordinary” the way an American did. And she said “dale-yuhs” rather than using the American pronunciation of dahlias.
“You learned all this in Kentucky?” he asked softly as he followed her past the barn and into the wooded area beside the house. “Did you grow up on a farm?”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t. Just suburbia. Look at this. Isn’t it lovely?”
She was looking at the old fire pit set in the clearing in the woods, and he was aware that yet again she’d not answered his question.
Turning, he looked at the pit and smiled. “My brother and I nearly set the woods on fire here one night.”
“Tell me,” she said.
“Nothing to tell. Just stupid kid stuff. Rick and I gathered some fallen wood, doused it with lighter fluid, then threw a couple of lit matches onto it. It exploded.” He shook his head in memory. “It’s a wonder we weren’t killed. If it hadn’t started raining, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“Your parents must have been angry.”
“My mom never knew about it. She worked long hours, so we were on our own a lot.” He paused, waiting for her to ask the question that everyone did, but when she asked nothing, he continued. “My father walked out when I was five and Rick was three.”
“I’m sorry,” Bailey said, looking up at him, but he had turned his face away so she couldn’t see his expression.
“It was a long time ago. So what about your parents?”
She turned back toward the path. “My father died when I was fourteen, and my mother died last year, but I have a sister.”
“In Kentucky?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and her curt reply told him that he wasn’t to ask any more questions.
Matt didn’t let her tone bother him. “So if you didn’t grow up on a farm, where did you learn so much about plants, especially food plants?”
Turning back to look at him, she opened her mouth to speak, then gave a great sigh. “Does everyone in this town ask such personal questions?”
“Oh, yes,” Matt said cheerfully. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business. There isn’t a child in this town who doesn’t know everything there is to know about me.”
Bailey laughed. “You mean about the bimbo you married?” she asked.
“That’s Patsy’s version. She met Cassandra once and was snubbed. Patsy’s revenge has been to tell people that I married a brainless beauty.”
“And was she?”
Matt gave her a one-sided smile. “She lost me, didn’t she? She couldn’t have been too smart.”
Bailey cocked her head to one side. “And a personal question not answered,” she said.
“Touché,” he said, smiling. “Now, how about that peach cobbler? I’ve worked up an appetite.”
“You’d better watch it, or you’ll get fat,” she said.