“I desperately need an expert in modern Chinese political history, Charlotte. That's the only reason I agreed to come up here, to the middle of nowhere, and dog-sit Brad's brood for a few weeks.”
“Bull,” came her friend's answer. “There is something bothering you. Are you having problems writing? Is your mom okay? Did Brad say something to get you to drive all the way up there?”
Her writing wasn't going as well as it usually was at this stage; she had a draft of her fifth book due to the editor in four weeks and she was behind schedule. Her mom had made no attempt to hide what she thought of Matty house-sitting for Brad. But it was the last question Charlotte asked that made Matty most uncomfortable.
Brad, her half brother, hadn't really said anything persuasive to get her to come up. Under normal circumstances, if they had been a normal family, that might not be so unusual. But she and Brad had spoken exactly three times in her life—once when she was seventeen, once at their grandmother's funeral, and once, this last time, when he'd called to ask her if she would come dog-sit for him while he was away for three weeks. He had called her two or three times in the past few years, but she hadn't answered. Why she had picked up the phone yesterday she didn't know, and why she had even entertained the idea of house- and dog-sitting for him, let alone agreed to it, she could no more explain than quantum physics.
But he had promised her an expert on modern Chinese political history—something she needed in order to finish the research for her next book. She'd tossed the request out more like a challenge than anything else when he'd asked what he could do to get her to agree to come up. Of course, Brad and his family connections knew someone. A classmate of his from Princeton, now the head of the Chinese department at one of the universities in Boston, was a friend and had a house in the Hudson Valley too. He'd be happy to make the introduction.
Matty didn't really need Brad to find an expert for her. She had enough of her own connections—especially at this point in her career—that she could have found an expert in DC herself. But he had given her a reason, if a flimsy one, to say yes. And so she had. Though she still wasn't sure why.
“Everything is fine, Charlotte. I promise. You can imagine my mom isn't too happy, but she'll get over it. And it's not like Brad is going to be there or I'll be spending any time with him. I'm just staying at his house and watching the dogs. Besides, it's kind of pretty up here, in a bucolic kind of way,” she added, taking in the view of a lush, green valley as she rounded a bend in the road. “It will be good for me to be up here, away from everything, while I finish this draft.”
Charlotte made a noise and Matty knew that, although her friend wasn't buying it, she had decided not to press the issue right now. “Just be sure to wear bug spray,” Charlotte said—her way of conceding, if only for the moment. “They have a lot of ticks up there. The kind that carry Lyme disease,” she added. “And it's supposed to be hotter up there this week than it is here, so be careful.”
Matty smiled. No doubt Charlotte had researched everything there was to know about Windsor the moment Matty had told her she was going.
“Yes, mom.”
“And call me—or your mom—every day. I don't like the idea of you staying in a country house in the middle of nowhere all by yourself.”
“But you don't mind that I stay in a city mansion in the middle of one of the most dangerous cities in the US all by myself?” Matty teased.
“You're city wise, Matty Brooks, not country wise. Besides, they had some trouble up there a few months ago, caught some serial killer. He ended up shooting himself before they could arrest him.”
Matty frowned, Brad hadn't mentioned that. Not that it changed things all that much. “People get killed in DC every day. I'm sure the serial killer was just one of those fluke things. Did he kill a lot of people?” she couldn't help but ask.
“They think about twenty-one women, but only two bodies were found in Windsor. The rest were all over the country.”
“And the small-town police force caught him,” Matty pointed out; it was an assumption, but a fair one she thought. “I'll be fine.”
“Just call me,” Charlotte issued the order before hanging up. Matty smiled, thinking of her over-protective friend. Charlotte's reasoning wasn't always logical, but the two of them had known each other practically since birth and had been looking out for each other almost as long.
Matty pulled off the Taconic, turned left, then made an immediate right, following the directions Brad had e-mailed her. Based on the road sign she saw, she was heading away from the town itself, but her half brother had assured her that, while it might feel like the roads could wind to nowhere, it was in fact the right way.
But before driving too far, she was forced to stop behind a truck and trailer waiting to make a left turn into a gas station. Noting that the station had a mini-mart—always a good thing to know—she let her eyes wander to two men who were talking out front. One wore a beige uniform of some sort and was leaning against a huge SUV that had lights on top and the head of a goofy-looking dog hanging out the window. The other man, with his hip hitched against a massive, blue diesel pickup, was clad in boots, jeans, and, despite the August heat, a long-sleeved shirt that was rolled midway up his forearms. Matty let out a little laugh; she definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore—or the city to be more precise. Maybe it was the size of the two trucks flanking the men or the fact that the man not in uniform wore clothes that were utilitarian rather than stylish, but there was no doubt in Matty's mind that the next few weeks would be very different from her urban life. She just hoped it was in a good way.
Following Brad's directions over a railroad bridge and along a road that, on a good day, could be called one and a half lanes, Matty passed farmhouse after farmhouse. It all looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting to her—too wholesome, too quaint to be real. In fact, it was so charming she actually reminded herself of the recent serial killer incident Charlotte had mentioned just to make the place seem a little less perfect. A little more accessible.
Quelling her rising doubts about the wisdom of her decision to come here, Matty passed through what Brad called Old Windsor, a “town” that consisted of Anderson's Bar and Restaurant, a post office, and a general store. Exactly another seven-tenths of a mile down the lane, she turned left onto a dirt road. There she paused for a moment and consulted the directions for the umpteenth time. According to her half brother's e-mail, the road was shared with his neighbor and Brad's house was located at the end. An end she couldn't see from where she sat, though if she craned her neck, she could make out a weathervane and what looked like the top of a barn.
Two mailboxes were perched at the side of the road—a simple black box and, next to it, a rather more colorful one. Painted hot pink with a white roof, the second box resembled an old schoolhouse, complete with a tiny chimney. Matty assumed the pink one was the neighbor's. Brad hadn't said anything about his neighbor, but if the mailbox was anything she could go by, Matty guessed its owner was decidedly un-Brad-like and therefore someone she needed to meet.
The undeniable beauty of the place, the clean and quiet air, and the interesting mailbox all served to quash the remaining doubts Matty harbored about making the trip. In fact, as she made her way slowly up the road, she was actually beginning to think this little journey had been a good decision, albeit an out-of-character one for her. And then, as she came around a slight bend and Brad's property came into view, her heart actually fluttered a little bit. She might not care much about her half brother, or even know him well enough to know if she cared, but his home made her feel like she was stepping back into the warm embrace of history.
Continuing up the drive, Matty came alongside an enormous red barn on her right. She had no problem envisioning generations of farmers moving in and out of the structure, tending to livestock, storing hay, and doing all sorts of other things farmers did. She braked for a moment beside the building and took it in. She'd never seen a barn of th
is size before. Scratch that, she'd seen polo barns and more modern barns of this size, but she'd never seen a historical barn of such stature. And it was old—she could tell from the wood siding, which was well tended but weathered, and the slight tilt to the entire building.
Unbidden, a smile touched her lips, and what little tension was left in her since she'd agreed to come to Windsor slipped away. She eased her foot off the brake and continued up the road. Also on the right, the house was positioned so that the drive came up parallel to the entrance rather than straight on. The two-story wooden farmhouse was built on a hill with what looked like a stone foundation. It appeared that the view from the other side was of a vibrant, sweeping, green pasture that seemed, from Matty's perspective, to go on for miles.
The house itself was built in the Greek Revival style. Clean lines dominated the exterior and the big, paned windows were lined with shutters. There was enough architectural detail to provide some depth and the soft cream color, highlighted with earthy tones, made it inviting as well as stunning. There was also a freestanding garage facing the gravel parking area in front of the main house. Though built in the same style as the house, judging by the materials, it was probably the newest building on Brad's property.
But the beauty of the architecture aside, it was the gardens that made the place seem magical. Lush green fields surrounded the property, but well-tended planting beds and paths had been created, and they meandered around the land closest to the house. In those beds and along those paths were flowers of every color, style, and height that Matty could imagine. Inhaling a deep breath scented with fresh cut grass, humid air, and roses, Matty acknowledged that never in her life had she seen such spectacular gardens outside of an arboretum. Not even in her own yard.
From Brad's e-mail, she knew that the main door to the house was actually a small door that led into the kitchen—toward the left side of the house—even though a more traditional grand entry graced the center of the building. And as she pulled to a stop by this side entry, she could hear the cacophony of Brad's dogs inside. She'd been told there were five and, by the sound of it, they were a vocal five.
She stepped onto the small flagstone patio in front of the door and found the key under a pot of dahlias where Brad had said he'd leave it. She would have taken a moment to appreciate the sweet little café table and chairs set up on the patio, a perfect place for an early morning cup of coffee, if it hadn't been for the melee she heard inside. With a small laugh at the big noise, Matty opened the screen and unlocked the door. When it swung open, she was immediately accosted by noses, tails, and furry bodies.
Laughing out loud at the chaos, she managed to push her way inside to the kitchen. Not pausing to look at her surroundings just yet, she dumped her purse on a table and went down on her knees to greet the dogs. Not surprisingly, the yellow lab, Bob, was right in her face. Rufus, the Great Dane, was nosing her head while Lucy, a wiry little mutt, was springing up and down off of all four of her short, dainty legs. Roger, the Newfoundland mix, was gently sniffing Matty in curiosity, and Isis, the gorgeous Ridgeback, was standing back, assessing the situation. It was a motley crew, but she knew from Brad that all of them were rescue dogs and had come to him in various ways over the past two years.
She stayed low to the ground, petting all of them and letting them check her out until, with the exception of Lucy who seemed in a perpetual state of wiggliness, they all quieted down. Rising, Matty glanced at the water bowls lined up against one of the walls and was pleased to see they hadn't run out while waiting for her. She was about to take a closer look at the house when the dogs suddenly burst into renewed chaos and all ran to the door. The noise caught her off guard and her heart leapt into her throat. She didn't know what they were barking at but figured, with five dogs, sudden chaos was probably something she was going to have to get used to. At least she'd get some cardio workouts in without actually having to exercise.
When she opened the screen door to let the animals out, all but Isis went tearing down the driveway. In the quiet of their absence, Matty could hear what had set them off. The telltale sound of a diesel pickup truck. And judging by the increasing volume, it was headed up the drive in her direction.
Frowning to herself, Matty walked out onto the patio as the truck she'd seen at the gas station on her drive in pulled into a small parking area by the barn. The dogs surrounded the driver's door and, when the lanky man in the long-sleeved shirt and jeans stepped out, the barking stopped—even if the body wags continued. She had no idea who he was, but at least it looked like the dogs knew him, and judging by the way the man rubbed heads, scratched ears, and patted shoulders, he knew the dogs.
Matty stepped from the shadows and into view. The man's head came up and in that instant she experienced something she never had before. The moment slowed and everything around her faded into a dull presence. She recognized the sound of birds and sensed a breeze against her bare throat, but she didn't really hear or feel them. Everything inside her, for one brief moment, stilled and focused only on this man in front of her—on his eyes that were locked on hers.
And then Isis pressed her cold nose to Matty's bare thigh and the world fell back into place.
With a little shake of her head, she moved off the patio; the man straightened away from the dogs as she walked toward him. She'd already noticed his form, but hadn't realized how tall he was—two or three inches over six feet, if she had to guess. She'd place him in his early- to mid-thirties and, given his wiry build, which she thought suited a man, she'd bet he had been a very skinny kid. But it was his eyes that caught and held her attention, eyes that didn't stray from hers as she made her way toward his truck. They weren't an unusual shade or anything like that, but they were a rich, dark—very dark—brown that matched his hair almost exactly. Hair that was a little longer than was fashionable, at least in the city, and that curled over the tops of his ears.
“I'm Dr. Dashiell Kent, Brad's vet. I'm here about the cows,” he said, holding out his hand. Matty took it in hers and immediately noticed not just the rough texture but the dry heat of his palm.
“Hi I'm—wait, did you just say cows?” she repeated, dropping his hand and looking around. She hadn't seen any on her drive up and Brad had most definitely not mentioned any cows.
He inclined his head. “Yes, six of them. Brad probably put them in the barn.”
Her stomach dropped. Dogs she could handle, but cows?
“Is Brad here?” Dr. Kent asked, moving to the back of his pickup. He let the tailgate down and began pulling out supplies of some sort.
Matty shook her head. “No. I'm Matty Brooks. I'm Brad's half sister. The more honest and forthcoming half, obviously. He asked me to dog-sit for him but sure as hell didn't say anything about cows.” It dawned on her that she didn't know this man from Adam and perhaps she should watch her language. He didn't look like a prude, in fact, if the vibes she was picking up from him were anything to go on, he was probably about as non-prudish as she was, but still.
He smiled as he reached for a wicked-looking needle. “Well the good news is, especially this time of year, the cows are easy to take care of. I just need to give them a vaccination, and then I'll turn them out into the pasture. They don't need to be fed since the grass is good, but you may want to keep an eye on their water. It will refill automatically, but in this heat it's always good to check it occasionally to make sure the refill mechanism hasn't broken.”
His words were meant to be comforting but somehow they weren't—what if something happened to one of the cows? She would never be able to tell if one was sick or hurt unless it was actually hobbling on three legs—or dead.
“Wait,” she said as his words sunk in. “You said the good news is the cows are easy to take care of. Does that mean there's bad news, Dr. Kent?”
“Call me Dash,” he answered. “I don't know if I'd call it bad news, but I'd guess if he didn't tell you about the cows, he probably also didn't tell you about the cats, rabbits
, and chickens,” he continued.
Matty stared at the man for a long moment, waiting for him to laugh and say something like “gotcha!” But he didn't.
“That son of a bitch,” she muttered then cast a look at Dash to make sure she hadn't offended him.
He laughed even as he continued prepping his shots. “I've heard worse, believe me. Brad really didn't tell you about the other animals? That's not like him,” he continued, not waiting for her reply, “he's pretty meticulous about their care.”
Matty shook her head. Mostly in dismay.
“And he didn't leave you any directions or instructions or anything?”
Matty started to shake her head again then stopped. “Actually, I just arrived a few minutes before you did. He might have left something for me, but I haven't had a chance to take a look.”
Dash held up a second mean-looking needle and tapped the container of liquid with a free finger. “Why don't you go inside and see if he left anything for you. I'll take care of the cows, let them out, then stop by. If he didn't leave anything for you, we can walk through what you'll need to do. If he did leave something, have a look and if you have any questions we can go over them.”
It seemed wrong to leave him to handle six cows on his own, but as he filled a bucket with water from some tank on his truck and then arranged his supplies in a tidy box, he looked like a man who knew what he was doing.
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