“But they’re back together now?”
“Yeah, maybe. I’m not sure exactly what their status is,” Sara said. “Whatever is going on, they haven’t married, and there’s not been an offer of an engagement ring. This is the kitchen. We had it completely redone.”
Gemma wasn’t interested in kitchens, new or otherwise. She was concerned about the local gossip and didn’t want to be part of it. “I’m not after anyone,” she said. “I’m here to do a job and that’s all.”
Sara led her to the stairs and they went up. “I think I should warn you that you’re causing a bit of a stir around town. You’ve been seen with two bachelors, Colin and Tris. This is Mike’s and my bedroom.”
Gemma looked at a big four-poster bed that was obviously an antique, as was everything else in the room. The bed was draped with the same red and blue Indienne cloth that she’d seen at Mount Vernon. “Martha Washington style?”
“As best as I could manage,” Sara said, smiling. “Out that window you can see th
e front garden.”
Gemma looked out to see what had to be an acre of concisely laid-out rectangles and squares, all edged with boxwood. Each bordered shape contained flowers, often with an ornamental tree in the center. Red tulips would fill two boxes, while yellow tulips were in another one. In the distance Gemma could see an orchard in bloom. “It’s gorgeous. And . . . and accurate,” she said, giving the garden her highest compliment. It was an accurate layout of a formal eighteenth-century garden.
“Thank you,” Sara said sincerely. “You wouldn’t know it now, but all winter long we had backhoes in here and about fifty workmen. We put in over a hundred fruit trees and six hundred shrubs. I lost count of the bulbs and annuals.”
“Don’t get her started or she’ll tell you the Latin name of every plant,” came a deep, raspy voice from the doorway.
Turning, Gemma saw a man who was instantly familiar to her. He moved like some of the athletes she’d tutored. He had a confidence about him that came from knowing he could physically handle whatever came his way.
“Hello,” Gemma said, grinning. “You must be Mike.” She held out her hand for him to shake.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he shot out his fist as though he meant to hit her in the head.
“Mike!” Sara said.
Years of training made Gemma react instinctively. After she ducked his fist, she turned sideways to him and her hands came up to protect her face.
Mike put out his left, Gemma dipped again, and she brought her right to his ribs. Of course he blocked her, as she knew he would.
Smiling, he reached out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Gemma.”
“A true pleasure,” she said.
Behind them, Sara groaned. “I can see that you two are going to be friends.”
Mike pulled a key from his pocket. It was on a ring with a pink flamingo on it. “Sara’s idea,” he said, “but the key is to my gym. You’re welcome at any time.”
“Thank you,” she said. “My side was cut and I haven’t been able to work out since I got here.”
“How’s the injury now?”
“Still red, but healed,” she said.
“Think you can do some boxing?”
“Of course,” she said. She knew that true athletes didn’t complain. If she did, invariably, someone would say, “You want some cheese with that whine?”
“We all saw the way you stood on Colin’s shoulders and got that kid.” Mike’s eyes were laughing. “At last year’s fair I did the same thing with him, except that he held on to my ankles and danced around the ring.”
“Like a trained bear,” Gemma said.
“Exactly! Come on downstairs and I’ll get you something to drink. Take any supplements?”
“Fish oil, Bio-E, Adren-All. The usual.”
“Michael,” Sara said, “should I start getting jealous of you two?”