Plain Threats

AMISH TARGET

Rebecca Fisher’s life was turned upside down when her husband was accused of murder and died in prison. Now, more than a year later, someone is reminding the Amish widow that all hasn’t been forgiven. But Rebecca isn’t about to pay for the sins of someone else’s past. So when the threats escalate and her rebellious stepson starts keeping secrets, Rebecca turns to former army ranger Jake Burke for help. She knows the Englisher is an honorable man, but being around him rattles her traditional community. Before long, Rebecca senses Jake is the only person she can trust with her safety…and with her fragile heart.

“I don’t mean to cause you any grief,” Jake said, tilting his head. There was a kindness in his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing in a man.

She blinked at him. Flo was right. He was pleasing to the eyes. Inwardly, she shook the thought away. She had no business thinking in those terms.

“I’m not looking for your friendship.” She didn’t try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. “My coming to your office the other night was misguided. I was desperate. I thought you could help me understand what’s going on with my son.” Rebecca wrung her hands. “But I suppose that’s something I have to work out with Samuel.”

The professor put his hand on the railing near hers. For the briefest of moments, she thought he was going to cover her hand with his, warming it.

She ignored the disappointment that swelled inside her when he didn’t.

ALISON STONE lives with her husband of more than twenty years and their four children in Western New York. Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race motocross. Alison loves to hear from her readers at alison@alisonstone.com. For more information please visit her website, alisonstone.com. She’s also chatty on Twitter, @Alison_Stone. Find her on Facebook at facebook.com/alisonstoneauthor.

Plain Threats

Alison Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble.

—Psalms 46:1

To my son Alex, as you embark on your senior year of high school. May you continue to be fearless and intelligent in your choices. You have the world at your feet, Buddy. I can’t wait to see what you decide to do in life. I’m so proud of you. Love you.

To my editor, Allison Lyons, who continues to believe in me. Thanks for your keen editorial input. My books are the best they can be because of you.

To my husband, Scott, and the rest of my kids, Scotty, Kelsey and Leah. Love you guys, always and forever.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

EXTRACT

Copyright

ONE

“I won’t be long.” Rebecca Fisher scooted forward on the vinyl seat in the van and raised her voice over the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of the worn wipers scraping against the windshield.

“I have another pickup.” The driver’s words were clipped, as if a return ride hadn’t been understood. He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and checked his wristwatch. “Meet you back here in thirty minutes?”

“Yah.” Gathering the folds of her skirt and her tote bag, Rebecca climbed out of the van, popped up her umbrella and slammed the van door closed. She cast one last glance at the driver, who seemed oblivious to her indecision. Not as chatty as some, the young driver was one of several employed in the heavily Amish community of Apple Creek, New York, to cart the Amish around when they didn’t want to be bothered with a horse and buggy.

Standing on the sidewalk under her black umbrella next to the brick building, Rebecca watched the red brake lights of the van as it slowed, then disappeared around the corner. She tugged on her black bonnet, trying to shut out the brisk wind and the whipping rain. It was late September, too early for snow, but the cold and rain were a hint of the winter to come in western New York.

Rebecca checked the address for Professor Jacob Burke on the slip of paper in her hand. Then she squinted at the name of the building carved into the stone above the nearest doorway. Her heart sank. It wasn’t the building she was looking for and all the buildings looked the same.

If Rebecca didn’t hurry, she might miss the professor. The college student she had talked to at the Apple Creek Diner where Rebecca worked as a waitress had assured her that Professor Burke had office hours on Monday and Wednesday from four until six-thirty.

Rebecca clutched the collar of her coat and turned down the first brick path leading between a row of buildings. Oh, so many buildings. A male college student strode toward her, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his hood pulled up against the rain and his eyes straight ahead.

“Excuse me. Do you know where...?”

The young man continued past without as much as a sideways glance.

She squeezed the handle of the umbrella tighter and looked down at the piece of paper as it flapped in the wind, the writing smeared from the rain.

“Can I help you?” An older woman stopped and gestured with her umbrella toward the young man who hadn’t bothered to stop. “Don’t take it personally, dear. The young people today walk around with those thingies—” she pointed to the side of her head “—in their ears. They don’t hear anything except whatever it is they’re listening to on their phones.”

“Oh,” Rebecca said, feeling completely out of her element on the college campus. “I’m looking for the Stevenson Building. Room 214. Professor Jacob Burke’s office.”

“The anthropology building,” the woman said, as if suddenly everything made sense. It was no secret the professor of anthropology studied the local Amish. Perhaps the woman thought Rebecca was availing herself to his research, but that was the furthest thing from her mind.

Smiling, the woman spun around and pointed across a wide courtyard with her free hand. “You’re close. It’s right over there.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca tucked the piece of paper into the tote she had draped over her arm. Drawing in a deep breath, she pulled back her shoulders and strode across the courtyard to the arched doorway of the brick building. Her pulse whooshed in her ears in competition with the drops pelting her umbrella.

Rebecca pulled open the heavy wooden door and held it for a second with her foot. After wrestling to close her umbrella, she stepped into the marble entryway. The door slammed, echoing in the cavernous space, startling her. She adjusted her wind-whipped bonnet and smoothed what little hair was visible near the crown of her head.

Dragging her fingers along the cool metal railing, she climbed the stairs and walked down the empty hallway until she found room 214. Professor Burke’s office.

Slowing her pace, she fumbled with the hook and eye on her coat, feeling the heat gathering. Finally, her trembling fingers released the hook and she slipped off her coat and draped it over her arm. Through the narrow window on the office door, she noticed a young man sitting at the desk and talking on the phone.

Rebecca turned and looked down the hallway; a trail of water had dripped from her umbrella. If she lost her nerve now and left, she’d have to stand in the rain for close to thirty minutes waiting for the driver.

You’ve come this far.

When Rebecca finally turned the handle and stepped into the narrow entryway, the young man was watching her with a curious expression, something Rebecca would never get used to. Sometimes she wished she never had to leave the farm. She missed the quiet life she’d led before her deceased husband’s actions had drawn her into the limelight.

Now most every day she had to venture away from the solitude of farm life to work at the diner, where she often felt like a character in a play, expected to act out a role when the tourists stopped in for a meal. Some even had the nerve to talk really loud to her, as if she were deaf.

However, the end of summer had meant the departure of the bulk of the tourists and their curious gazes. They had been replaced primarily by less generous college students; vacationers tended to leave her an extra dollar or two at the diner after they had tasted her shoofly pie. Money she could ill afford to lose now that she was a single mother.

“Hello?” the dark haired young man said, his lilting voice making it more a question than a genuine greeting.

Rebecca worked her bottom lip. “I’m looking for Professor Burke.”

The boy at the desk, who couldn’t be much older than her Samuel, turned toward the open door a few feet away. “Is Professor Burke expecting you?”

Under her bonnet her scalp tingled. She had obviously made a misstep. She should have found a way to reach the professor before showing up unannounced.

“I...um...” She smoothed her hand across the coat draped over her arm. The umbrella bounced against her leg when she took a step backward.

“Hello, I’m Professor Burke.” A tall, clean-shaven man appeared in the doorway, an inquisitive smile in his warm brown eyes.

Rebecca took a confident step forward but kept her hands securely wrapped around the coat she was carrying, her tote and umbrella clasped underneath. “I’m Rebecca Fisher. I’m Samuel Fisher’s mem...” She let her voice trail off, hoping he’d acknowledge that he knew Samuel before she went on much longer.

Professor Burke’s eyebrows raised and his eyes darkened. “Yes, I know Samuel well. Is something wrong?”

Rebecca felt the young man’s eyes on them. “Perhaps we can talk in private?”

“Of course.” Professor Burke held out his arm, gesturing to his inner office. When she hesitated, the professor entered his office first and sat behind the large desk.

Rebecca followed him and sat at one of two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. She would have felt claustrophobic in the small space if it hadn’t been for the large windows overlooking the courtyard.

The young man appeared in the doorway. “I finished collating the test papers. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to blow this joint.” His gaze traveled the length of her. Rebecca dropped her umbrella, then she bent over to snap it up, happy for the distraction.

“Thanks, Tommy. Have a good night.”

“Night.”

The door to the main hallway clicked shut. Rebecca shifted in her seat, relieved to not have an audience. “I’m sorry to bother you this late, but I’m worried about my son. Actually, he was my husband’s son, but I claim him as my own.” She was telling this man information he already knew.

Professor Burke threaded his fingers and rested his elbows on the desk. She felt as if he was studying her like a farmer inspects a calf before making his bid at the auction.

“I’m very curious why you’ve come to me, Mrs. Fisher.”

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

* * *

“Nowhere else to go?” Jake stood, then walked around to Mrs. Fisher’s side of the desk. When he sat next to the young Amish woman, she angled her knees away from him, creating as much distance between them as possible. He looked down and stifled a smile.

“I need to talk to you about Samuel.” Mrs. Fisher placed her tote and umbrella on the floor and folded her coat over them. She straightened her back and hiked her chin in a gesture that seemed forced. “I may come across as—” she seemed to be searching for the right word “—backwoods to you, but I know you spend time researching the Amish and you know a lot of the youngie. You knew Elmer King. And you know my son.”

Jake’s heartbeat slowed as he remembered Elmer, the outgoing young Amish boy who had died in a car wreck over the summer. The image on the front page of the small-town paper of Elmer King’s old red Chevy Camaro wrapped around a tree and his straw hat on the pavement said far more than a tidy quote the journalist had tried to elicit from the professor who studied the Amish. Jake was suspicious that some opportunist had placed the straw hat there for added effect.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Jake tried to shake the image, but his stomach pitched at his guilt for not having known how to help the boy. Elmer had been one of the youth he had gotten to know over the past three years as a professor at Genwego State. Jake felt strongly that his missteps had led to Elmer racing off in a rage that fateful night.

Dragging a hand across his hair, Jake let out a long sigh, buying time to formulate his thoughts. “Yes, I knew Elmer. What does this have to do with your son?”

“Samuel and Elmer were friends. My son is not the same young man he was before Elmer’s death.”

“Samuel’s had a rough go of it.”

Rebecca nodded slowly and wrung her hands in her lap, seemingly growing more agitated. When she didn’t seem as though she was going to speak, Jake asked, “How can I help you?”

She gave him a measured stare before dropping her gaze to her hands clutched in her lap. “Professor Burke, I’m worried about Samuel.”

Jake rested his elbow on the armrest. He waited for her to continue. As a researcher, he often went into the Amish community and performed a delicate balancing act between developing authentic friendships and fostering relationships in the name of research. It was unusual for an Amish person to stroll into his office, never mind a young Amish woman.

“You’ve become friends with Samuel and his gang, yah?” The Amish referred to the groups of somewhat like-minded young adults who hung around together as gangs. The term lacked the negative connotation that it held in the English world.

“Yes, I’ve gotten to know your son.”

“Is he...” Again, she seemed to be searching for the right word. “Is he okay?”

He studied her face. Myriad emotions played on her features.

“He seems to be okay. I know you both have experienced some backlash from the community after Willard was arrested.” Rebecca’s husband, now deceased, had been convicted for killing two of his Amish neighbors.

“Backlash.” Rebecca seemed to be trying on the word. “Yah, we have had issues from graffiti on the barn to smashed eggs on our windows. The sheriff never made any arrests.”

“Samuel told me it had stopped.” He studied the woman, estimating her to be in her late twenties, early thirties at the most.

“It had. Then more recently, it started up again. Someone took all four wheels off Samuel’s wagon...” Her voice trailed off. “I am grateful they took them off and didn’t just loosen them. I hate to think—”

“It sounds like a police matter,” Jake interrupted. “I’m not sure why you’re here... I’m a professor.”

Rebecca rubbed her flattened palms together. “It’s twofold, really. I called Sheriff Maxwell once... I’m friends with his wife. We grew up together.” She waved her hand, as if that part of the story was inconsequential. But any time someone left the Amish community, it scarred those that remained.

Rebecca drew in a deep breath and continued. “Samuel became very agitated when I called the sheriff. He holds himself partially responsible for his father’s arrest, even though we all know...well, we all know what his father did.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Sorry for your troubles. Sorry for your loss.”

“Me, too. This is not the life I imagined for me or for my children.”

“It took a lot of courage for Samuel to work with law enforcement to aid in his father’s arrest.”

Rebecca ran a shaky hand across her lips. “Maybe he wouldn’t be taking this all so hard if his father was simply in prison.” Her shoulders rose and fell on a heavy sigh. “When Willard was killed in prison, I think something inside Samuel broke. I don’t know how to reach him anymore.”

“I’m not sure how I can help, Mrs. Fisher.”

“Please, call me Rebecca. I no longer feel like Mrs. Fisher.”

“Okay...” He hesitated, waiting for her to continue.

“I’ve watched my son talk to you at the diner. He’s confided in you. I need...” She closed her eyes briefly. “...I need to know what you know about my son so I can reach him before I lose him for gut. Like the Kings lost their son, Elmer.”

Jake ran a hand across his chin. “What is it you’re worried about?” A niggling suspicion told him why she was here, but he didn’t dare say.

Rebecca’s gaze lingered on his. “I need to know if Samuel’s involved with drugs like his friend was.” Her voice was strained, as if it took every effort to get out the words.

“Samuel’s a young adult.” Jake measured his response, trying to distance himself from the pain on Rebecca’s face. Her son—her stepson, actually—was enjoying his running around years with the usual bending of Amish rules. If Jake broke the young man’s confidence, the young Amish men wouldn’t talk to him. On the surface, it would jeopardize his research at the college.

“Samuel needs to find his own way,” Jake said.

“He needs guidance. He has no father.”

Jake didn’t know if Samuel was into drugs, but if he was, Jake wanted to be there for him without the interference of his mother. He needed to foster Samuel’s trust.

Jake had learned that the hard way.

Rumors spread after Elmer’s tragic death. Apparently, Elmer’s father had kicked him out of the house after he had learned of his son’s drug use. Jake tapped his fingers on his thigh and tried to ignore the familiar ache of guilt eating away at him. Jake had encouraged—no forced—the young man to confide in his family believing they would provide the support system the young man needed to straighten up. Instead, his father threw his son out of the house. Elmer fell into a downward spiral. All because of Jake’s advice.

“Professor Burke,” Rebecca bit out when the silence stretched a little too long. “My son is at a vulnerable time in his life.” She lifted a shaky hand to her mouth, then let it drop. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose him.”

Jake thought long and hard on how he was going to phrase this. Finally, he said, “I don’t know what you want me to do. I thought the point of adult baptism was to allow the young adults in the community to make their own choices.”

“It is...” She paused. “It is. But this is far beyond that. Samuel is a different person since his friend Elmer died. He has become withdrawn. He won’t even let me in his room.”

“Samuel has suffered tremendous loss.” Jake leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair. “Be there for him when he comes around.”

Nodding, Rebecca reached down and picked up her coat, tote bag and umbrella from the floor and balanced them on her lap, as if ready to spring out of his office. She glanced toward the door. “I hear a lot of things at the diner. About both college students and the Amish doing drugs.” She traced the handle of the umbrella. “I fear I’m going to lose him, too.”

“Have you asked Samuel if he’s into drugs?” Jake angled his head, trying to meet her eye. He found himself fascinated by her wide brown eyes and full lips, sweet and innocent without any hint of makeup.

“Yes.” She finally lifted her eyes, deep with worry. “He told me no, but I don’t know if I can trust him to be truthful.”

Jake settled back in his chair, weighing how much to say. “Drugs and alcohol are an issue in the Amish community, but I don’t know if Samuel is involved. You need to talk to your son and keep talking. It’s a rough time in a young Amish man’s life. He has a tough decision looming ahead of him. He needs your support.”

A look akin to disgust wrinkled her nose. “Are you lecturing me in the Amish ways?”

“I’m trying to...” What exactly was he trying to do? Avoid helping her for fear of alienating Samuel? For fear of giving her the wrong advice?

Rebecca held up her hand, stood and took a step toward the door, her frustration evident by her pinched mouth. “I don’t know why I thought you’d understand. I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Did she suspect he was holding something back?

“Would you have been satisfied if I had told you your son’s a drug addict?”

Rebecca eyes flared wide, an emotion straddling fear and my-worst-nightmare-come-true flickered in their depths. “Is he?”

“I have no reason to suspect he is.”

“Can you find out and tell me? Maybe he’ll confide in you. I have lost much in my life—I can’t bear to lose Samuel, too. If he’s made a bad choice, I need to help him before it’s too late. But I want to do it without getting law enforcement involved. If he ended up in prison...” She shook her head. “I’m holding on dearly to all that I have left.”

“I don’t want to lose Samuel’s trust. I can only encourage you to keep trying to reach him.” Jake already knew the devastation of his meddling in Elmer’s life.

“Thanks for your time.” Rebecca’s words came out clipped. She spun around and stormed out of the office.

Jake sat for a moment, replaying the conversation in his head. A subtle thump started behind his eyes. He stood and returned to his chair behind the desk and dialed his assistant’s cell phone number. Tommy picked up on the first ring, his voice hushed. “What’s up?”

“How much do you know about Samuel Fisher? Is he big into the drug or alcohol scene?” His assistant had grown up in the Amish community and had left to earn his GED and eventually go to college. His background gave Tommy an “in” to the sometimes rowdy youngie scene and made him a valuable asset to Jake and his research.

A long pause stretched across the line. For a minute, Jake had thought he’d lost the connection. “Is that who that Amish lady was? Samuel’s mom?”

“Yes.”

“And his mem—” the word sounded foreign on Tommy’s lips, mocking almost “—thinks he’s into drugs and alcohol? Is that why she stopped by?”

“She’s worried about him.” Jake absentmindedly doodled an R on the piece of paper in front of him and traced over and over it. “She wants to know what I know about him.”

Tommy laughed. “Far as I know, Samuel’s a good kid. I’d vote him most likely to bend a knee before he’s twenty-one.”

“Yeah? You really think he’ll choose to be baptized into the Amish community?” Jake felt reassured. “Rebecca Fisher seems to think he might be in some kind of trouble.”

“Nah, not Samuel.” A rustling sounded over the line, like from a gust of wind as if he were still walking.

“Aren’t you home yet?”

Tommy laughed. “What? Are you my keeper? I had some errands to run.” Wind muffled his words again. “Let Mrs. Fisher know Samuel’s a good kid. He’s not into drugs or anything. Not as far as I know.”

“She’ll be relieved.”

“Hey, anything else?” Tommy asked. “I have to run.”

“No. Thanks.” Jake ended the call and tossed aside the pencil. He stood and grabbed his coat from the hook. If he hurried, he might catch up with Rebecca.

Give her some good news for once.

* * *

Rebecca ran down the hall and out the door. Behind her, the heavy door slammed shut, like all her hopes of reaching her son. She stopped short and blinked against the soft mist of rain as she fumbled to open her umbrella. She strode forward, deciding getting wet was the least of her problems.