“My apologies. Now, move along.”
She left with a smile in her heart. He was a kind man, and she enjoyed spending time with him.
When she got down to the gate, she was thankful he’d opened it for her so she didn’t have to squeeze through it again like some kind of criminal.
Chapter Thirty-One
WHEN NATALIEreturned from the grocery store, she dialed the number Paul had written on the paper, and the gates opened. As she drove up the hill, she noticed a tiny chapel. It was just beyond where she’d seen the horse in the pasture and no bigger than a one-room schoolhouse. Maybe it was just a facade too.
She pulled her truck right up to the front door.
Paul and Junior stood waiting in front of the house. One of the puppies played at their feet, the other still harassing that poor duck.
“I was able to get everything on your list.”
“Excellent. I have a little wagon. It makes it so much easier to get things inside.”
“Great.” She spotted it next to the scooter. “I’ll grab it.” She rolled the little green wagon over to the car and filled it with the grocery bags. Thank goodness she’d opted for the heavy paper bags instead of a million of those plastic ones. She’d never understood why people liked those so much.
One of the pups climbed right into the wagon. “Oh my gosh, aren’t you about the cutest thing ever?” She lifted him out and put him on the ground. “Run along.”
“You’re a dog person, aren’t you?”
“I’ve never had one. Always wanted one, but as a kid my parents didn’t let me and then as a nurse I was just gone too much. But yes, I’d say I’m a dog person. I love them.”
“Me too,” he said. “They are quite good company, and entertaining, as you can see.”
“Yes.” She pulled the wagon full of groceries and followed him inside. “I have a couple questions.”
“I thought you might.”
“I saw a ladies’ hat when I came in. Are you here alone?”
“A ladies’…?” A sly grin spread across his face. “The hat by the door?”
“A white one.”
“That’s not a ladies’ hat,” he said. “It’s my beekeeping attire.”
She laughed. “I guess I know how rumors get started in a small town.”
“Yes. Assumptions just like that one.” He clicked his fingers. “Any other questions?”
“What about the little church on the hill? Is that on your property?”
“Yes. I had that built when my beautiful Patrice died. She’s buried on the hill. As is my daughter.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll show you to the kitchen.”
She wondered if it was like a movie set too, but thought it would be disrespectful to ask, so she withheld comment.
She was glad she’d kept that thought to herself, because there wasn’t anything makeshift or superficial about the rest of the house, from what she could see.
Fine art hung in the halls like a gallery. The floors weresmooth stone in beautiful blues and grays, and when he opened the door to the kitchen and flipped on the lights, she couldn’t hide her surprise. “Wow. This is beautiful.”
“Should be. Straight out of a magazine.”
