“Before. No, after. No, I mean . . . ” She looked at him. “Do you have any idea what I could do to support myself—besides starting a canning factory, that is? I have no training of any kind, no education to speak of, and I’m sure I’d never be good at working for anyone. I’ve had too many years of independence. Any ideas?”
“I think that whatever you do should have something to do with food. Ever thought of writing cookbooks?”
“Now there’s an idea,” she said. “How long has it been since you’ve been inside a bookstore? There are thousands of cookbooks out there. I need something to do on a regular basis.”
Matt stood up from the computer, put his hands on Bailey’s shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “You have recently been widowed after a long-term marriage. Give yourself some time. You need to heal a bit first, then you can make big decisions about what to do with your life.”
His words made sense to her, and for a moment she had to work hard not to lean her head against his shoulder and let him hold her. “I guess you’re right.”
“You know what I thought we’d do today?”
Some part of her thought she should protest that “we,” but she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to spend the day alone. She didn’t want to stay in the ugly house by herself and look up at every sound and think it was Jimmie coming home. “What?” she asked, and her mind filled with what he could possibly suggest. Something romantic? Sexy?
“Buy a lawn mower.” Matt looked puzzled when Bailey laughed. “You don’t think you need a lawn mower?”
“Of course I do. It’s just that—” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Never mind. How about breakfast, then we go buy a lawn mower?”
“Sounds good to me,” Matt said as he turned back to look at the computer screen.
At the head of the stairs, Bailey paused to look back at him. He was a nice man, she thought. He was a good man, kind and thoughtful. And he was easy to live with. Smiling, she went downstairs and pulled out a bag of buckwheat flour to start making pancakes.
“May I help you?” the salesman asked. He was young and dressed in a white shirt and khaki trousers, looking as though he meant to make manager by the time he was twenty-five.
“I want a push mower,” Bailey said at the same moment that Matt said, “We want a riding mower.”
“There isn’t enough lawn to justify a riding mower,” Bailey said quickly, looking at Matt.
“It’s the repetition that makes a riding mower needed,” he said patiently. “And there’s some heavy cutting that needs to be done in the back.”
“Then get a weed whacker with a saw attachment,” Bailey shot at him. She hadn’t spent years around professional gardeners and learned nothing.
“You need a whacker too, but—”
“Too?! How much do you plan on cutting?”
“The farm is ten acres, and—”
“And half of it is trees!”
“Excuse me,” the clerk said loudly, interrupting them. “Could I suggest a lighter riding mower?”
Both Bailey and Matt glared at him.
The young man put up his hands in front of his face as though to ward off blows. “I would never get between a husband and a wife. If you two need help, call me—or a divorce lawyer,” he added as he walked off.
Looking at each other, Bailey and Matt began to laugh.
“Okay, sorry,” Matt said. “It’s your farm, so you decide.”
He was so nice that he was making her feel guilty. “It’s not that I don’t want a riding mower, it’s just that I can’t afford one.”
“How about if I buy it?”
Bailey stiffened. “I don’t want you buying things for me. I was supported by a man before, and that’s my problem now.”
“How about this?” Matt asked. “Why don’t you hire me to do the work, and I’ll use my own equipment?”
“How much do you charge?” she said quickly.