Lancaster County Reckoning

PLAIN PROTECTOR

The father Darcy Simmons thought was dead is actually alive, but in a coma, and the men who attacked him are after her to produce what he was hiding. But she hasn’t spoken to her father in twenty years, since he entered witness protection and became Amish, and has no clue what the criminals want. Now the only person she can depend on is Amish farmer Thomas Nolt, her father’s neighbor and closest friend. Thomas knows nothing of his friend’s past, but he’s determined to save the fragile beauty the man shielded all these years with his silence. But with men willing to kill for stolen items her father was hiding, can Thomas and Darcy find them before their time runs out?

“For starters,” Thomas said. “Why don’t you tell me who you are?”

The woman wiped her tears, looked him dead in the eye and sighed. “I’m— Well, I’m Darcy Simmons and I’m—I’m Jesse’s daughter.”

Daughter? What? Jesse didn’t have any kin that Thomas had ever heard of. Jesse had always been all alone…

The woman—Darcy—had hardly gotten the words out when her fancy smartphone rang.

She looked at the phone and frowned. “I don’t know that number.”

Still, she touched the screen to accept the call and lifted the phone to her ear. She was so close that Thomas could hear every crazy word of the call. The oddly distorted voice filled the room.

“Oh, Darcy, honey, you’re just as lovely as your mother, but you do have your daddy’s eyes… And you also have something of mine. I’ll be coming around soon to get it back. You can either cooperate when I see you, or you can end up like your dear old dad. Either way, I get what’s mine. See you soon.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading a copy of Lancaster County Reckoning. I hope you enjoyed the story of Darcy and Thomas. I was so happy to finally write this story, because I have wanted to do so ever since I started the Willow Trace series. I fell in love the character Thomas Nolt when I was writing Plain Secrets and felt like he had to have his own happy ending after having been so good to Hannah in book one.

I dedicated this book to my father, who passed away suddenly while I was working on this book. He was a genius of a man who loved a good story and was a voracious reader. I will definitely miss all of his great advice and chatting to him about my writing.

This book is also dedicated to my oldest sister, who was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s a few years ago. She has spent most of her life taking care of other people, but now depends on others to take care of her. I wish a million blessings to those of you who take care of her—Greg, Charneise, Tamera, Cindy, Mom and my nieces and nephew.

If you or someone you love is suffering from Alzheimer’s, my prayers to you.

With all my love,

Kit

KIT WILKINSON lives in the heart of Central Virginia, where she works full-time as a French and English teacher and overtime as a mother of two. A graduate of the University of Virginia and the University of Tennessee, Kit loves to study, learn and read. She finds through writing she is able to do both with a purpose, while creating something new in the process. You can visit her website at www.kitwilkinson.com.

Lancaster County Reckoning

Kit Wilkinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Behold, I stand at the door and knock.

If anyone hears my voice and opens the door,

I will come in to him and dine with him and he with me.

—Revelations 3:20

To Dad, thanks for sharing your love, most especially your love for story and books. I miss you.

And to my sister, Elizabeth, my biggest fan and most dear to my heart, the Lord shines through you still.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Thomas Nolt spotted the bright red car the second he entered the clearing. It made for such an odd sight on his neighbor’s land, in the middle of their Amish community, that he pulled up on the reins of his gelding. The sudden stop of the horse threw the weight of the satchel his grandmother Ruth had loaded up with baked goods and preserves for his “Uncle Jesse” against his back.

Not really an uncle but his close neighbor of twenty years and considered part of the Nolt family, Jesse Troyer had asked Thomas to come take a look at his well at lunch. So it seemed a bit odd that someone else was visiting at the same time. Not that it was unusual for Jesse to have any visitors, but most of his acquaintances drove the typical Amish horse and buggy—not cars. And certainly not a fancy, brightly colored automobile like this one.

To be sure, Jesse had not always been Amish. Thomas had been just a child when Jesse had joined their community twenty years earlier, but he remembered how hard the man had worked to embrace the plain life and leave his Englisch ways behind. Ever since, Jesse pretty much stuck to his friends in the Ordnung. He had never mentioned keeping in touch with anyone in the Englisch world.

Thomas wanted to tell himself that it was nothing to worry about. In all likelihood, the red car’s driver was a tourist who had gotten lost and had stopped at Jesse’s home for directions. Christmas was approaching and tourists seemed oddly fascinated by the simple, minimal decorations with which the Amish commemorated the holy season. Yes, there was surely nothing ominous about the appearance of the red car at all. And yet Thomas could not deny that he felt strangely unsettled.

His eyes moved over Jesse’s house, and he finally realized what seemed off. It was a cold December day with a biting wind...and yet no smoke rose from Jesse’s chimney. The old man was home. Jesse’s little bay-colored Morgan horse was enclosed in her paddock and his buggy was parked, as always, next to the house. So why hadn’t he lit a fire? An emotion washed over Thomas. It was a feeling deep in his gut—a feeling that something was wrong.

He nudged King into a gallop over the open field, only slowing when they’d reached the back of the house. Thomas dismounted with one smooth swing of his leg and rushed around to the front porch, where he came to a full, screeching halt.

“Who are ye?” The words flew out of his mouth before his brain could rephrase them into something more courteous. He took a slow step back as if he’d encountered a rattlesnake. It might as well have been seeing as what stood in front of him rattled his brain. It was a young woman. A young Englisch woman with modern clothes and styled hair and a face painted to a glossy fashion magazine’s idea of perfection. She was petite but looked agile and adept.

“Who are you?” she countered in a flat tone. She looked down at the bench and snatched up a fancy little handbag, which she stuck under her arm as if to keep it safe.

This was no tourist. If she was simply passing by, she would have assumed Thomas was the home’s owner, and would have launched into her explanation of where she was trying to go and how she’d gotten turned around. Her expression made it clear that she knew this wasn’t Thomas’s house. And that meant she was looking for Jesse specifically. But why? She looked at him with equal reservation. Tension exploded between them.

At least he belonged there. Thomas crossed his arms over his chest.

From the top of her coiffed head to the bottom of her designer boots, she looked as out of place as a chicken swimming in the river. “Are you lost, ma’am?” he asked, hoping he’d read her wrong. “I can tell you how to get back to the highway.”

“I’m not lost,” she retorted.

Thomas scratched his head. “Well, then, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t see what concern that is of yours.” Her voice was edgy.

His eyes locked on hers. “Well, I’m a neighbor of the folk that live here and I’ve never seen you before. I am just looking out for my neighbor.”

Thomas noticed that the front door had been cracked open. “Have you been inside, ma’am?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then why is the door opened?” Thomas didn’t mean to accuse her, but Jesse was a responsible man—he wouldn’t have left his door open like that. He would, however, have left his door unlocked. Doors were rarely bolted in their close-knit community and Jesse in particular was known to keep his home accessible. He was unbothered by visitors at any hour who wanted his help or to borrow a tool or simply to sit and share a cup of tea. If this woman had wanted to let herself in, she could have easily done so.

“The door was opened when I got here, which was about a minute before you did. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t even look in. I was just...” She stopped and pressed her glossed lips together. She shook her head and glanced at her watch. “I was just waiting for Jesse. We had an appointment. You don’t happen to know where Mr. Troyer is, do you?”

“Jesse was expecting you?” Thomas could feel the muscles in his face tightening. Why? Why would Jesse have a meeting with an Englisch woman? He wanted to ask but held that thought at bay. “I assume he is inside. Did you knock?”

“Of course I knocked.” She backed out of the way as he moved toward the front door. “Since the door was already opened, I thought maybe he stepped around back or something. I was going to go check when you arrived.”

“Jesse?” Thomas called.

He pushed the door open wide and stepped inside the small cottage. She followed him in as if she feared to be left by herself on the porch. Although what he found inside might have been worse. It was chaos. Everything inside had been turned upside down. Furniture toppled. Drawers emptied. Jesse’s belongings had been scattered from one end of the home to the other. Behind him, the tiny woman gasped and threw a hand over her gaping mouth.

“Ach! Had ye seen this?” he asked.

“No. I told you I didn’t go inside.” Her gray eyes were wide with alarm.

“And you’re alone? You came here alone?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was breathy and low. “Like I said, I just got here. I was supposed to meet Jesse at noon. I—I was a few minutes late. I knocked on the door and called inside. No one came, and then you were here.”

Thomas didn’t know whether or not to believe a word she was saying but the astonishment in her voice sounded genuine. “And you haven’t seen anyone coming or going?”

“Just you.” Her gaze flowed from one end of the room to the other, surveying the damage. “Whoever you are. You never told me your name.”

“You never told me yours.” Thomas unloaded the sack of food on his back. It landed with a clunk in the center of Jesse’s kitchen table. He looked back into the woman’s dark gray eyes. “I’m Thomas. Thomas Nolt. I live next door.”

She seemed to take that in for a long moment, avoiding eye contact. But that was typical. Being Amish, Thomas was used to Englisch people either staring for too long, or just the opposite—not wanting to make any eye contact.

He frowned at the scattered mess. Of course, break-ins did happen, even in Amish communities from time to time. But they were rare, and usually there were teenagers involved. Jesse was a sixty-year-old widower with no children. Not exactly a typical target for a teenage prank. And as for robbery as a motive, he had no electronics, no money, no jewelry.

The strange woman bit her upper lip nervously as she moved around some of the clutter and farther into the house. “Who do you think did this?”

“I was just wondering that my—”

A faint moaning sounded overhead from the loft.

There was someone else in the cottage. Thomas looked at the woman. “Stay here.”

Thomas raced up the back stairs. “Jesse? Is that you?”

The Englisch woman didn’t listen to him. She was on his heels, on the narrow staircase to the loft.

At the top of the stairs, Thomas paused. More chaos. The loft looked much like the downstairs. Completely trashed. He took a few wide steps over the debris and made his way to an odd-looking lump in the corner, from where he estimated the sound had originated. Jesse!

The old man lay in a heap on the floor. His face was swollen. His lips bloodied and bruised. Jesse had been beaten. And from the looks of it, nearly to death.

His wounds looked fresh and in some places were bleeding out. And worse, Jesse wasn’t moving. Thomas dropped down to his hands and knees and grabbed the old man’s hand. Thomas had seen men after fights a few times. He’d never seen anyone roughed up like this, as if the people who’d attacked him hadn’t cared whether he survived or not.

“It’s okay, Jesse. It’s Thomas. I’ve got you. Just rest. You’re going to be fine.”

The woman had slowly edged her way around the loft. She let out a horrible squeal as she saw Jesse on the ground. “Oh, no, no, no. Jesse. No.”

She dropped to the floor to get closer to the wounded man. Her body moved in waves of silent sobs.

“He’s not dead,” Thomas said, although he could barely detect the old man’s pulse. “Hang on, Jesse. Hang on. Help is here.” He looked to the woman. “You have a phone in that fancy bag of yours?”

Still crying, she scrambled through the little bag, plucking out a shiny smartphone. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to try three times to enter her pass code to unlock the phone. For efficiency’s sake, Thomas grabbed it from her and called 911. He gave thorough directions to the dispatcher. He also asked him to notify the local clinic, which was even closer than the fire department and the EMS. He hoped they would make it in time.

As he spoke, the Englisch woman placed a small pillow under Jesse’s head and a blanket over his torso. She touched Jesse’s hand and whispered something low into his ear. Who was she?

He held the phone out for her to retrieve. Thomas’s own hands were trembling, too. It was all he could do to control his emotions. He was filled with a mixture of horror and anger. What had happened? Who would do such a thing to a kind man like Jesse? And why?

He looked at the woman, wondering if her sudden and strange appearance had anything to do with the beating Jesse had taken. Thomas sighed aloud. He had to refocus his thoughts.

He had to remind himself that God was in control. His anger would solve nothing and it certainly wouldn’t save Jesse, which should be his only concern at the moment.

The woman took the smartphone from his hand. “How long will it take someone to get here? Maybe you should carry him to my car? I can get to a hospital faster than waiting for an ambulance. Right?”

“Wrong.”

“What?” She looked back at him with surprise. “Of course that would be faster.”

“Maybe faster but not better. He may have broken bones that need to be stabilized before he can be moved. I don’t want to cause any more damage than has already happened. I’m not moving him.”

“Right. Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She stood back and put her hand to her forehead. She was trembling like a leaf. “But what can we do? We have to help him.”

We? Thomas took off his hat and put it back on his head. It was something he did when his thoughts or emotions were getting away with him. A little trick his father had told him about when he was very young that reminded him to take a deep breath and pull himself together.

“For starters,” he said, “why don’t you tell me who you are.”

The woman wiped her tears and swept her bangs carefully away from her face. At first, Thomas thought she hadn’t heard him or was once again avoiding an answer. But then she looked him dead in the eye and sighed. “I’m...well, I’m Darcy Simmons and I’m—I’m Jesse’s daughter.”

Daughter? What? Jesse didn’t have any kin that Thomas had ever heard of. Yes, he’d been married. But that had been years ago. In fact, his wife had died before Jesse had moved to Willow Trace. Jesse had always been all alone...

The woman—Darcy—had hardly gotten the words out when her fancy smartphone rang out a series of loud beeps that was apparently her ringtone.

She looked at the phone and frowned. “I don’t know that number.”

Still, she touched the screen to accept the call and lifted the phone to her ear. She was so close that Thomas could hear every crazy word of the call. The oddly distorted voice filled the room.

“Oh, Darcy, honey, you’re just as lovely as your mother, but you do have your daddy’s eyes... And you also have something of mine. I’ll be coming around soon to get it back. You can either cooperate when I see you, or you can end up like your dear old dad. Either way, I get what’s mine. See you soon.”

The phone slipped from the woman’s hand. Her head dropped back and her eyes fluttered as her legs collapsed under her and she fell toward the floor.

TWO

The giant Amish man caught Darcy under the arms just before she hit the floor.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” She still felt light-headed and shaky, but she was able to straighten her legs and stand on her own...mostly.

Thomas backed away quickly, as if touching her had stung his hands. “What was that about? That phone call?”

“I have no idea. I told you I don’t know that number.” Darcy’s head swirled. “I have no idea who that was or what he was talking about. The voice didn’t even sound real. It was more like he was using some kind of distorter.”

Thomas frowned down at her, his face darkening with suspicion. “But you are Jesse’s daughter?”

She nodded. “But no one knows that. I only just found out myself.”

The Amish man shook his head up and down as if he understood her words, but Darcy felt like he didn’t believe her. She could hardly blame him. She had trouble believing it herself. After years of being told her father was dead, it had been a shock to have Jesse contact her.

“Okay. Let’s just concentrate on Uncle Jesse,” he said.

“He’s your uncle?” Did that mean this man was her cousin?

“No, but lots of people call him that around here. When I was a kid, he didn’t like us calling him Mister.”

“Oh.” Darcy tried to slow down her breathing. It was hard to imagine this massive, intimidating man had ever been a child.

She’d rarely seen such an imposing figure, so tall and strong, dressed in black trousers and a green button-down. Dark curls spilled out from under his hat and his beard—if you could call it one—was made of thin, sparse stubble, shaved clean to the edges of his broad face. No mustache—which she had heard was the Amish way. His wide brown eyes had golden flecks around the pupils, which seemed to pulse as he stared down at her. He was a Goliath of a man, one continuous string of muscle. If he had been around earlier, whenever the attack had taken place, she doubted anyone would have touched Jesse.

Poor Jesse. She knelt beside him and held his hand. Thomas sat opposite, his eyes closed. She guessed that he was praying as she saw his lips move in silent speech from time to time. She was thankful he asked her no more questions.

And he’d been right. It wasn’t long before help arrived. The EMS workers quickly strapped Jesse on a gurney and started him on fluids. She and Thomas followed the gurney to the ambulance, and watched as it was loaded inside.

On the one hand, she was thankful for Thomas’s presence and his ability to answer questions she couldn’t—about any medical conditions Jesse had and whether he was allergic to any medications. But on the other hand, she couldn’t help resenting him just a little for knowing her own father so much better than she did herself.

When the ambulance was ready to drive away, she and Thomas looked at each other.

“I’m going to follow. You want a ride with me?” she asked.

“Are you sure?” he said hesitantly.

Was he kidding? After that phone call, she wasn’t exactly keen on being alone. She nodded.

Soon, they were at the hospital. The hours blurred together as they waited for news on Jesse’s condition.

Small groups of Amish men and women came through the waiting area. They would talk quietly with Thomas, glance her way once or twice then leave. Thomas stayed on one side of the room. She chose to sit at the other side. She didn’t want to talk or meet more Amish people. She didn’t want to explain who she was or why she was there.

And certainly she didn’t want to talk about the phone call. She didn’t even want to think about it. That hard robotic voice and the person who, unaccountably, knew her. Knew who she was. And knew her connection to Jesse. Someone who, if they really were connected to the attack against Jesse as they’d implied, had almost killed her father. The thought of it sent a shiver down her spine.

She shook away the terrifying thoughts. Right now she just wanted some news about her father. Was he going to live? Was she going to find out why everyone had lied to her for so many years? Or was Jesse going to leave her almost as quickly as he had come back into her life?

“I’m going to get a coffee. Could I get you one?” Thomas stood over her. His long dark curls, freed from his black felt hat, which he twisted nervously in his hands, sprung around his tanned face.

“Sure.” Darcy reached in her bag for money.

“No. It’s on me,” he said. “But why don’t you come down to the cafeteria with me? It will be good to sit in a different seat for a few minutes.”

He hadn’t seemed interested in talking to her in the hours up to now. Why the change? Realization struck as she recalled watching him speak quietly to a doctor at the end of the hall a few minutes earlier.

“You’ve had news?” Darcy stood so quickly her head felt light.

Instead of answering, Thomas nodded toward the elevator bank. She followed him out of the waiting area, into the elevator, then down the hall to the cafeteria. She wanted news of Jesse. Even if it meant talking to this stranger.

“Thank you for the ride to the hospital,” he said, handing her a hot cup.

“Of course,” she said. “Thanks for the coffee.”

They sat opposite each other at one of the cafeteria tables. Darcy stared into the black liquid, watching steam swirl up from the cup. She took a drink. It was bitter and stale, and as it hit her stomach, she was reminded that she’d skipped breakfast and hadn’t had a chance to eat lunch.