AMISH COUNTRY REFUGE

When an unknown assailant attacks Sarah Gardner shortly after she moves to Apple Creek, she doesn’t know which of her fears has come true. Is someone trying to tell her that meddling strangers aren’t welcome in this tight-knit Amish community, or has her abusive ex-boyfriend found her? The social worker doesn’t want to run again, not when she’s finally putting down roots. But she may not have a choice, unless deputy sheriff Nick Jennings can protect her. The former army ranger knows that Sarah has secrets…and women with secrets only bring heartache. But serving the community is Nick’s job, and he can’t turn away a woman in peril—especially when he can’t imagine a future without her.

“What brought you out here this morning, Deputy Jennings?”

She emphasized his title, as if it were a bad thing. “Did your sister talk to you?”

He cleared his throat then walked over to the railing and leaned back on it, so that they were almost back-to-back. He turned his head to study her serious profile. It was as if she didn’t want to make eye contact. “It’s not what you think. My sister always respects doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“But you suspected something more was going on than a rock through a church window?”

Nick let the silence stretch between them. A gust of wind rustled up and bent the cornstalks growing in the fields next to her house.

Sarah ran a hand down her long ponytail and shifted to face him, a serious expression in her bright blue eyes. “I’m afraid he’s found me.”

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 Protector
Alison Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.

—Psalms 56:3

To my daughter Kelsey. You are smart, kind and beautiful. You work hard to reach your goals, yet take everything in stride. This ability amazes me and will take you far in life.

I am so proud of you. I love you.

And to Scott, Scotty, Alex and Leah.

Love you guys, always and forever.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Sarah Gardner never thought a master’s degree in social work would mean she’d be sweeping the floor of the basement meeting room of the Apple Creek Community Church on a Sunday evening. No, she had thought she’d have her own office in a hospital or a private clinic, a family and maybe even a child by now.

But when Sarah was a promising young college student, she couldn’t imagine the things her life would be lacking at the ripe old age of thirty. No decent job, no car, no close friends. All in an effort to maintain a low profile for fear her ex-boyfriend would find her.

Yes, her life was a mess because she’d chosen the wrong guy to date. She swept a little more vigorously than necessary, sending a cloud of dust into the air, making her cough.

A loud slam made Sarah jump. She spun around to find Mary Ruth Beiler with her hand on the closet door and an apologetic look on her face. Sometimes Sarah envied the young Amish girl who seemed to have her entire life mapped out for her in the insular Amish community of Apple Creek, New York. Mary Ruth’s options had been pruned to the point that she didn’t have much room to make bad choices.

But not having choices didn’t mean freedom.

Sarah knew as much.

“Sarah,” Mary Ruth said in a soft voice, “I put the folding chairs in the closet. Is there anything else you need help with before I go?”

“I think we’re set.” Sarah wanted to make a few notes from the group meeting tonight before her thoughts slipped away, much like the wisps of dreams from her childhood that vanished when she opened her eyes after a fitful night’s sleep.

Sarah had set up a group meeting for primarily Amish youth, whose parents would rather they be attending the Sunday evening singings. But holding the meeting the same night as the bimonthly Sunday singings gave the teens an excuse to leave home without explaining where they were heading. They came to discuss the dangers of drinking and drugs—for some a reality, for others merely a temptation—and other worldly concerns. Sarah suspected some of their parents knew where their sons and daughters were really going and only pretended their offspring were enjoying the singings with hopes that soon they would be back within the fold. Other parents flat out forbade their children from associating with this Englischer who was surely giving them worldly ideas.

But if these same Amish parents knew the trouble their precious children were flirting with, they might remember Sarah in their prayers instead of regarding the outsider with a sideways glance and a cold shoulder.

Lord knew she could use their prayers.

“Yes, we’re all set,” Sarah said. “Thank you for your help.” She dug into her jeans’ pocket and handed the girl payment, payment she could ill afford if she had to remain holed up in Apple Creek much longer like she was some criminal on the run and not the victim that she was. The pastor of the church paid her a modest stipend to work with the youth in the community.

Having sweet Mary Ruth as an assistant was a bridge, however precarious, to the Amish youth, many of whom needed Sarah’s services, but, like their parents, were leery of outsiders. Some kids had found their way to drugs and alcohol—just like the youth she used to work with back in Buffalo—and their peers knew it. Mary Ruth made the first few introductions. From there, word spread. The rumor mill among the teens in Amish country was no less efficient than their texting counterparts in the outside world.

Now, every two weeks, Mary Ruth helped Sarah set up the room and serve as a friendly face to newcomers and repeat visitors alike. The gatherings usually only had four or five members, but even if she only touched one person’s life, it would be worth the effort.

Most Sundays, Mary Ruth then ran off to the Sunday singings. But not this week. This week she had stayed, a part of the group but separate. She seemed intrigued by the choices some of her peers had made, or choices they were courting.

Sarah hoped the youth kept her number one rule: what was said in this room, stayed in this room. She trusted Mary Ruth, but each newcomer was a risk. Despite their age difference, Sarah considered Mary Ruth a friend.

Perhaps her only friend in Apple Creek.

“Do you need my help at all during the week?” Mary Ruth lingered at the stairway leading to the exit.

“Yes, if you’d like. I was going to make a few home visits to young, single mothers in town who might be in need of services.” The women weren’t Amish and often needed help understanding what services were available to them and their babies until they got back on their feet.

“These new mothers really need you, don’t they?” Mary Ruth asked, as if she were just now coming to appreciate Sarah’s work in the community.

“Some of them don’t have anyone else.”

“It’s sad. Their future is uncertain.” Mary Ruth played with the folds in her long dress, its hem brushing the tops of her black boots.

The irony that Sarah’s future was probably the most precarious of them all was not lost on her, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

“I admire the work you do. Sometimes I wish Amish women could be independent like you.”

Independent. Sarah outwardly appeared independent, but on the inside she was a trembling mess. “How old are you, Mary Ruth?”

“Eighteen?” Her answer sounded more like a question.

“Ah, you have your whole life in front of you.”

“A life that has already been planned out.” There was a faraway quality to her voice. “Most of my friends are hoping to get married soon.”

“And you?”

Mary Ruth hitched a shoulder and her cheeks turned pink. The Amish didn’t talk much about dating and courtship, at least not to her. Some successfully hid their wedding plans until the church published their engagement announcement only weeks before their actual wedding.

Sarah did know that Mary Ruth had been spending time with a young Amish man, Ruben Zook, who lived next door to the cottage Sarah rented. But she didn’t dare inquire about Mary Ruth’s plans, respecting the Amish ways.

Sarah waved her hand. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Guten nacht,” Mary Ruth said, in a singsong voice as she climbed the stairs, her mood seeming to lift. She very rarely spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to Sarah, except for when she said good-night. Sarah was still smiling when the outside door opened with a creak and then slammed shut.

Unease whispered at the back of Sarah’s neck as a pronounced silence settled across the room. Her plan to sit at her desk in her tiny basement office and make notes no longer seemed like a smart idea. It had been a habit during her years of working in Buffalo. Make notes immediately so that one patient didn’t blend in with the next. However, here in Apple Creek, her workload was lighter and she had no distractions at home.

Here, she didn’t have a boyfriend pestering her to know what she was doing every minute of every day. Nor did she have to worry that she’d inadvertently provide the wrong answer. An answer that would send him into a blind rage.

Icy dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. How did I allow myself to get tangled up with Jimmy Braeden? She had always considered herself a smart girl.

Even smart girls made bad choices sometimes.

Letting out a long breath and wishing she could silence all the doubts and worries in her head, Sarah gathered up her papers and jammed them into her bag with shaky hands. She hated that Jimmy had made her afraid. Made her hide. Made her into someone even she couldn’t heal.

A shadow crossed the basement floor and Sarah glanced up at the narrow windows that faced the church parking lot. Nothing. Just the fading blue sky, which made her realize if she didn’t hurry, she’d have to walk the mile home in the dark.

Sure, Jimmy didn’t know where she was. She hoped. But that didn’t mean it was wise to tempt fate as a single woman alone after dark on a deserted country road.

Sarah hoisted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and flipped off the light switch at the bottom of the stairs when a crashing sound exploded, disrupting the quiet night air. Shards of glass rained down over her head.

Sarah bit back a yelp and flattened herself against the wall of the basement under the broken window. Her pulse beat wildly in her ears as she fumbled in her bag. She was searching for a cell phone, when she remembered she didn’t have one. It was one of the many things she had given up when she decided to disappear.

A cell phone was too easy to trace.

Sarah gingerly touched her head and her fingers came back sticky. She closed her eyes and muttered a silent prayer: Dear Lord, please protect me. If there was one thing she clung to through her turned-upside-down life, it was her faith. One constant in a crazy world.

Biting her lip, she glanced toward the stairs. Toward the exit. The unlocked door. Dread knotted her stomach. She stood, frozen, until her heart rate returned to normal. Almost. She figured her nerves wouldn’t truly settle until she was safely at home, locked inside.

Her gaze landed on a large rock in the center of the room. Good thing she hadn’t been struck by that or she might be unconscious.

Sarah couldn’t stand here forever. She took a hesitant step toward the stairs.

Was someone waiting for her outside?

With a burst of courage—the same courage that had her leave her abusive ex—Sarah bolted up the stairs, clinging to her bag as if it could protect her. She pushed the door open and the still night air greeted her. Without a backward glance, she bolted as fast as her legs would carry her across the wide expanse of the parking lot to the pastor’s house on the opposite side.

She pounded up the porch steps and lifted her fist and hammered on the door, immediately taking her back to another day, another time, when her boyfriend was chasing her. Promising he’d kill her if he caught her. Swallowing her dizzying panic, she glanced over her shoulder.

No one was chasing her now.

Just the shadows. And the haunting memories that refused to leave her alone.

* * *

When Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings pulled up in front of the Apple Creek Diner, he had only two things on his mind: coffee and Flo’s pie. His stomach growled as he considered his options. He was in the mood for some banana cream. As he pulled the door’s release, his radio crackled to life. He listened intently, frowning when he heard there had been an incident at the church. Flo’s pie would have to wait.

“I’m at the Apple Creek Diner,” he said into the radio. “I can be at the church in three minutes.” Nick flipped on the lights and pressed his foot to the floor, not necessary since he was only a few minutes out, but he missed the occasional adrenaline surge. Policing small-town Apple Creek didn’t provide the same rush as serving in the army in times of war.

Not that he wanted to go back to war.

“The victim, a Miss Sarah Lynn, is at the pastor’s residence,” the dispatcher said. “The pastor’s wife claims she’s pretty shaken up.”

Sarah Lynn? The name didn’t register.

Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and as promised, made it to the parking lot of the church in under three minutes. Dusk had cloaked the area in the first hint of shadows, and his headlights arched across two people standing on the pastor’s stoop. One was Miss Ellinor, the pastor’s wife, the other was a petite woman he had noticed around town. That must be Sarah Lynn.

Nick had only been back in Apple Creek for a few months himself when this young woman arrived. Residents of a small town tended to notice new arrivals, even if they weren’t petite and pretty, which this one certainly was. Flo at the diner, who had a habit of trying to fix him up, mentioned that this woman seemed to keep to herself most of the time, hadn’t even offered up her name. A few speculated on why she had suddenly shown up in town—employment, low rent or maybe she was hiding from something—but mostly the residents of Apple Creek let her be. Nick assumed she probably did have her share of secrets. Having come off a bad breakup with a woman who was a master secret keeper, Nick figured he’d pass.

Nick climbed out of his cruiser and strode toward the pastor’s neat, white-sided home. He tipped his hat toward the women. “Hello, Miss Ellinor.” He thought it best if he waited for the young woman to introduce herself. That’s when he noticed she was doing more than touching her forehead, she was holding a cloth to it.

“Are you injured?”

“I’m fine. My name is Sarah. Sarah Lynn...” The corners of her mouth turned down and the woman seemed to be studying her shoes. This woman was either afraid or hiding something. Perhaps both.

Apparently the residents of Apple Creek were collectively a pretty good judge of character.

“I’m Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings. What happened here?”

Sarah shook her head, but it was Miss Ellinor who spoke first. “Someone smashed one of the basement windows of the church. I’m afraid Sarah has a pretty deep cut on her forehead. You’ll probably have to call an ambulance. Is an ambulance coming?”

Sarah held up her hand, her eyes growing wide. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine.” Her voice shook. She didn’t sound fine.

“May I take a look?” Nick stepped toward Sarah and she took a half step back, hemmed in by the front door of the pastor’s home behind her.

Sarah dropped her hand and her long hair fell over the wound. She stared up at him with a look of defiance, although he may have misinterpreted the emotion in the dim lighting.

Nick held up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. “I don’t need to look at it, but someone should.”

“I’m fine, really.” Sarah’s repeated use of the word fine seemed forced. She bent and picked up a heavy-looking bag. When she straightened, all the color drained from her face. If he hadn’t been watching her, he might not have seen the terror that flashed across her pretty features and then disappeared into the firm set of her mouth and her narrowed gaze.

He wasn’t going to have her pass out on his watch. “Let me drive you to the hospital. Have someone take a look at that cut.”

Sarah pressed the wadded-up paper towel to her forehead and frowned. “I’m fine, really.” There was that word again. “I just want to go home.”

Miss Ellinor’s features grew pinched. “Child, I know you like to put on a brave face, but if you don’t get that cut checked out, you’re going to end up with a big scar on your forehead. It would be a shame to mar that pretty face of yours. Wouldn’t you agree, Deputy Jennings?”

Nick felt a corner of his mouth tugging into a grin, despite suspecting his amusement might annoy the young woman. Miss Ellinor, the pastor’s wife, was a chatty soul who said whatever was on her mind. Being a woman of a certain age and position, no one seemed to call her on it. “A scar on that pretty face would be a shame.”

Sarah squared her shoulders, apparently unsure of how to take his compliment.

Nick tipped his head toward his patrol vehicle. “I’ll take you to the emergency room.”

“Is this really necessary?” Sarah skirted past him and clearly had no intention of getting into his car.

“Would you rather I call an ambulance?”

Sarah sighed heavily. “I do not need an ambulance.”

Nick decided to change his line of questioning. “Any idea who might have tossed a rock through the window?”

Miss Ellinor shook her head. “Bored kids causing trouble, I suppose.”

Nick thought he noticed Sarah blanch. “I’m a social worker, and every other Sunday, to coincide with the Amish Sunday-night singings, I run a group meeting for Amish youth who may have alcohol or drug issues. Or other concerns.”

“Really?”

Sarah slowly turned, her sneaker pivoting on the gravel. “Is there something wrong with that? This community is an underserved area. For some Amish youth, the years leading up to their baptism can be stressful. It’s a huge decision, which can lead to unhealthy behaviors to deal with stress. Because of their insular life, they are often ill equipped to handle the temptation of drugs and alcohol.” Despite the cool bite to her tone, she sounded rehearsed, like she was reading from a brochure.

“No, ma’am. I didn’t mean to imply that what you’re doing is wrong. Do you have reason to believe someone from your meeting tonight took issue with you? Or something that was said?”

Sarah adjusted the paper towel on her forehead. “I’m a social worker. Unfortunately, being...” she seemed to be searching for the right word “...harassed on occasion is one of the challenges of the job.” She cut her gaze toward him, making a show of running her eyes the length of his deputy sheriff’s uniform. “You can understand that.” Unfortunately, in today’s climate, he could.

“I’m issued a gun. What do you have for protection?” His pulse ticked in his jaw, anger growing in his gut. If some punk was messing with a social worker who was trying to help him, Nick would have to set him straight.

“Oh my, we’ve never had trouble here before.” Miss Ellinor’s hands fluttered at the collar of her floral shirt. Her white hair seemed to glow under the bright porch light.

Sarah reached for Miss Ellinor’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t know what to do with a gun. And,” she said, lowering her voice, “I don’t think someone would be receptive to my help if I had a gun strapped to my body.”

“Any self-defense classes then?” Nick didn’t understand why he was so interested in this woman. He was here to answer a call about a broken window. See that she receive medical attention. That’s it.

“I took a few self-defense classes back when I was in college. But, I do my best to avoid conflict. Beats getting my head trapped in a headlock.” Half her mouth quirked up. Nick could tell she was trying to defuse the situation with humor, but what happened here tonight wasn’t funny.

Sarah cleared her throat and pulled the paper towel away from her forehead and suddenly seemed impatient to leave.

“Wait by the vehicle. I need to check out the broken window. I won’t be but a minute.”

Sarah nodded.

“Make sure she gets that cut looked at, Nick,” Miss Ellinor hollered after him.

He waved and smiled. “Sure thing.” He had a feeling that was going to be a difficult promise to keep.

Nick checked out the broken window, then went inside and assessed the damage. A large rock sat in the middle of the room. Punks.

When he returned to his vehicle, he found Sarah standing alone. “Miss Ellinor had to go in. She’s babysitting her granddaughter. The pastor’s not home. I told her I’d clean up the mess tomorrow.”

Nick nodded, but didn’t say anything. Sarah looked tiny standing next to his cruiser, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other arm wrapped around her middle. A large bag resting on her hip. He opened his passenger door and she cut him a cynical gaze. “Not going to make me ride in the back?”

“Are you a criminal?” He arched an eyebrow.

Without answering, she slipped into his car. “I’m not going to the hospital. You can take me directly home.”

Despite Sarah’s firm tone, her hands shook under the dome light as she fastened her seatbelt. She looked like a deer frozen in headlights, uncertain if safety existed a few steps away or if annihilation under the massive weight of an eighteen wheeler bearing down on her was inevitable.

* * *

The familiar sight of the interior of the patrol vehicle, with all its lights, displays and gadgets made Sarah suck in a breath, only to inhale the distinct police-car smell: part antiseptic, part vinyl, part whoever had been transported in the backseat. And the crackle of the radio sent Sarah reeling back to another time.

Sarah threaded her trembling hands, trying to maintain her composure. Trying to stay in the here and now. I will not have a panic attack. I will not give this man a reason to question me any more than he already has. I can do this.

Breathe...

“Any idea which of your clients could have thrown a rock through the church window? Anyone particularly angry or rude this evening?”

Sarah shook her head, not trusting her voice. “I’d just be guessing.” Or lying. Did she really believe it was one of the Amish men or women from her meeting tonight? “If you don’t mind, I’m tired. Can you please take me home?”

“I promised Miss Ellinor I’d get that cut on your head looked after. I’m not a man who goes back on a promise.”

Sarah sighed heavily. She wasn’t up for all this chivalrous stuff. She had been conned by the biggest con man himself, and she didn’t trust herself when it came to reading people’s—no, scratch that—men’s true intentions.

Act tougher than you are. Don’t let him take control.

Sarah shifted in her seat and squared her shoulders. “Truth be told, I don’t have any insurance, and as you might have guessed, living in Apple Creek, working as a social worker, I’m not in a position to be forking out money for unnecessary medical expenses. As it is, I’ll have a tough time paying my rent this month.” She figured God would forgive her this little lie. She did have medical insurance, but she didn’t dare use it. Just one more way for her former boyfriend to track her down. Everything she had Googled about vanishing had said to wipe her digital blueprint clean.

In today’s modern world, that was tougher than ever.

Checking into a hospital with all the paperwork and computer records would likely raise a red flag if her former boyfriend was still looking for her. If. Inwardly she rolled her eyes. Of course he was still looking for her. Jimmy Braeden didn’t give up a fight easily.

Sarah turned her head slowly, keenly aware of the man studying her in the confined space of his patrol vehicle. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, but surprisingly not out of fear, but out of uncertainty. How was she going to convince him to take her home?

She forced a smile. “Please, take me home.” She tried once again for the direct approach.

He smiled back, revealing perfectly even white teeth. “I can’t do that.” Under other circumstances, Sarah would have immediately put up her defenses. She had vowed she’d never let a man control her like Jimmy had. Yet, Deputy Jennings seemed to give off a different vibe than her macho ex. There was something soft around his hard edges.

But her hunches had been wrong before. Just the fact that she was in this situation proved her point. She couldn’t let her guard down because a handsome man smiled at her.

“I have a place I can take you.” Deputy Jennings shifted the vehicle into drive and her stomach lurched.

“No, please. Take me home.”

He cut her a sideways glance and his eyebrow twitched. Had he sensed her growing panic? If he had, he didn’t say as much.

“You can call me Nick.”

“Nick, take me home.” Frustration bubbled up inside her. The thought of pulling the door handle while they cruised at forty-five miles per hour down the country road entered her mind and left just as quickly. She had tried that once before, and Jimmy had grabbed her ponytail and yanked her back in, promising he’d snap her neck if she ever tried that again.

Nick didn’t look like the kind of man who would lay a hand on a woman.

Jimmy didn’t look like that kind of man, either. Not initially.

“Please, I need to go home.”

A look of confusion flickered across Nick’s face before he focused on the road in front of him again. “It’s okay. I won’t take you to the hospital. My sister runs a small health-care clinic on the edge of town. It won’t cost you anything. If we hurry, we can catch her before she closes up for the night. She usually works late. She can stitch you up right quick.”

When Sarah gasped, Nick added, “It won’t be bad, I’ve had plenty of stitches over the years, much to the dismay of my nanny. My sister’ll do it as a favor to me. Don’t worry about the cost.”

“Oh, I can’t.” Sarah’s head throbbed. She really, really wanted to go home and forget this miserable day. She couldn’t take free services that were meant for someone who really needed them. And they’d ask for her name. Details that could get her killed.

Her anxiety spiked. If she freaked out now, Deputy Jennings—Nick—would think she had a screw loose. Best to remain calm and not raise any more suspicions.

The yellow dash on the country road mesmerized Sarah. She had gotten used to hoofing it these past six months. A car required a license, registration, a digital footprint. Again, all things that would reveal her location, only sixty miles away from her stalker. She’d run away, but not too far. She needed to be able to reach her sick mother in Buffalo in an emergency. But for now, she stayed away, prayed for her mother’s health and maintained a low profile.

“How come we’ve never officially met before?” Nick asked, as if reading her thoughts.

“I haven’t been in town long.” Be vague.

“What brought you to Apple Creek?” He cut a sideways glance before returning his attention to what was in front of him and the equally spaced cat’s eyes dotting the edge of the dark road. His question sounded innocent enough, but how could she be sure?

“I’m a social worker working with individuals who are either addicted or susceptible to drug or alcohol addiction. I also work with single mothers—not necessarily Amish—to help them access programs and—”

“You mentioned that before. But why here? Why Apple Creek?” Nick glanced at her quickly, then back at the road.

“Why not?” Her words came out clipped despite her efforts to keep her tone even.

“Seems like a remote place. Most newcomers to Apple Creek nowadays are the Amish folk. Do you have ties to the area? Family?”

She crossed her ankles, then uncrossed them when she thought about the possibility of being in an accident and having her legs pinned against the dash in a contorted position. Sarah had a knack for worrying about everything.

She cleared her throat. “The Amish are an underserved area. Many young adults are afraid to reveal their problems, substance abuse or otherwise, to their own community for fear of punishment from the church. At least with me, I can help them work through their issues without the added burden of feeling like they’ve let down their parents or the church. My hope is to help my clients be the best person they can be, whether they decide to stay in the community or not. No judgment on my part.”

“How does that go over with the Amish community?” His tone reminded her of when people asked, “How’s that working for ya?” when it obviously wasn’t working at all.

“I want to believe most Amish people appreciate my efforts, even if they won’t publicly acknowledge what I’m doing. I can respect that. The Amish are a humble people who prefer to remain true to their own community.” She wanted, no she needed, to work under the radar. Nick didn’t need to know that. The fewer people who knew her predicament, the less likely she’d be discovered. “If I can help someone who is struggling with drugs or alcohol, everyone benefits.” Sarah let out a long sigh. Her own father had been killed by a drunk driver. Sarah had heard more than once that social workers tended to come out of the ranks of individuals who needed some fixing in their own lives. If only the person who’d decided to drink and drive the day her father had been killed had chosen a different path. Had chosen to get help. How different her life might have been.

“Do you think the person who threw the rock tonight was someone from your group meeting? Or maybe an angry family member who doesn’t appreciate what they might consider outside interference?”

“I don’t want to believe one of the people I’m trying to help did this.” A chill skittered up her spine. Actually, Deputy Jennings, I think it was my crazy ex-boyfriend, but I don’t know how he would have found me. Sarah had taken tremendous pains to keep her location secret. The only ones who knew her background were the pastor and his wife. And Sarah trusted them completely.

Of course, her mom back in Buffalo knew where her daughter was, but was careful to only contact her through her pastor, who would relay the message to Pastor Mike here in Apple Creek.

Sarah’s life had become a tangled web of carefully crafted half-truths and secrets. The more she talked, the greater chance she had of being discovered. That’s why outside of work she had primarily kept to herself since she arrived in Apple Creek six months ago.

“Most of my clients’ names are kept confidential.” Even as the words slipped from her mouth, she knew that wasn’t foolproof for confidentiality. Trust was the foundation of her group meetings. She couldn’t control what clients revealed about themselves or others once they left.

Being a social worker, regardless of the community, had inherent risks: unstable patients, angry relatives and venturing into unsavory neighborhoods. But her need to help others—provide hope—trumped any threat to her personal safety. She took precautions. She wasn’t stupid.

Nick made a noncommittal sound and slowed the vehicle, turning into the parking lot of a nondescript building. A lonely sedan with a dent in the back panel sat in the parking lot. “Good, we caught her.”

Her, no doubt, being his sister. The physician.

Sarah’s mouth went dry. “I can’t. I won’t get out of the car.”

“My sister’s a great doctor. Don’t worry.”

Sarah glanced around the empty parking lot. The lonely country road beyond that. Her stomach knotted.

Suddenly, she was irrationally angry at this man who, on the surface, only wanted to help her.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” she bit out.

Under the white glow from the spotlights illuminating the building and parking lot, a flash of something raced across his features. For the second time since she had met him earlier tonight, she noticed the vulnerability in his face. He turned to her, a look of apology in his eyes. “Let my sister take a look. Just a look. If after that you want to go home, I’ll take you. No questions asked.” He cracked his door and the dome light popped on.

Nodding, Sarah squinted against the brightness. Her stomach felt queasy.

The first rule of disappearing—her personal rule—was not to get involved with anyone. Nick Jennings looked a lot like someone who might be worth breaking a rule for.

If only he weren’t a police officer.

Sarah knew more than anyone that sometimes even the guys who were supposed to be good weren’t.

Jimmy Braeden, her stalker ex-boyfriend, was a prime example. Her ex was a cop. And if tonight was any indication, he may have finally found her.

Goose bumps raced across her arms and she shuddered. She turned and saw her hollow eyes in the reflection of the passenger window.

“Okay,” she said, part agreement, part sigh, “I’ll let your sister take a look.” Her acquiescence was mostly to get inside, out of the open. Away from the crosshairs of an abusive man who threatened he’d kill her before he’d ever let her go.

TWO

Sarah’s vision narrowed tunnellike as she climbed out of the deputy’s vehicle in the parking lot of the health-care clinic. In a flash, Nick moved next to her and grabbed her arm. Her first instinct was to pull away.

Run.

She blinked up at him.

“Are you okay? Here, sit.” His words sounded distant, jumbled in her ears. She was only partially aware of him yanking open the car door she had just slammed shut and ushering her to a seated position inside his vehicle. He crouched down in front of her and studied her eyes. “Are you dizzy?”

“I stood up too fast.” She had learned to make excuses to cover her panic attacks. It was less embarrassing this way. Her feelings were irrational, self-created, yet she couldn’t always control them.

“You’ve had a head injury.”

Sarah absentmindedly reached up and touched her head and pulled her fingers away, sticky with her own blood. Her stomach lurched and she shoved back a million memories of another time her head had been bleeding. Back then, the man with her hadn’t offered to help. No, it took several hours and a heaping dose of remorse before he came back to her, pleading for forgiveness with a promise to never lift a hand to her again.

Until the next time.

“Do you think you can make it into the clinic? If not, I can get a wheelchair from inside.”

Embarrassment edged out her feelings of anxiety, two emotions that twined around her lungs and made it difficult to breathe. “I can walk in.” One thing her ex-boyfriend had taught her was to pretend to be tough.

She had gotten good at pretending. At a lot of things.

Sarah stood and the officer hung close by her side, holding her elbow. He obviously wasn’t convinced. When they reached the door of the health-care clinic, it was locked. He buzzed the intercom and a crackling voice responded. “Who is it?”

“Christina, it’s Nick. I have a patient for you to examine.” He was talking into the intercom but his intense brown eyes were locked on hers, unnerving her.

“Urgent?” came his sister’s one word response.

“No, a few stitches.”

“Not a good idea,” Sarah muttered. She tried to pull away, but Nick gripped her arm tighter. She winced and he eased his hold, but not completely. She must have appeared as unsteady as she felt.

“I’m not going to let you go home with a head wound. I don’t want to get a call that you ended up dying in your sleep.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if his words were an exaggeration to wear down her resistance or a flat-out lie. She hardly thought her injury was that serious. “I was cut by glass, not hit by the rock.” She lifted her eyebrows and could feel the stiffness of the dried blood on her forehead.

The annoying buzzer released the lock on the door. As the deputy pulled it open, he whispered, “I’m trying to help you. Are you going to fight me every step of the way?”

She shrugged. She imagined she’d thank him one day for insisting she be treated for the cut on her head, sparing her from a lifetime of explaining how she got the scar, but today wasn’t that day.

They reached the dated waiting room. Dark stains—including a now-black piece of bubblegum—marred the bluish-gray carpet. Nick didn’t ask her to sit down on one of the blue plastic chairs, something her pounding head definitely would have appreciated. Instead he guided her through the office with a gentle hand on her waist and found his sister on the phone in the back.

The attractive woman, her long dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, mouthed without making a sound, “Give me a minute.” Her gaze traveled the length of Sarah, a scrutiny Sarah had tried to avoid at all costs since she had moved into the small cottage in Apple Creek and set up her quiet practice through the church.

Sarah’s face heated and the urge to flee nearly overwhelmed her. Don’t have a panic attack. Don’t have a panic attack.

The physician pointed at the open door of an adjacent examination room. Nick understood the silent directive and led Sarah into the room. At his insistence, she sat on the exam table, the white, protective paper crinkling as she scooted back. Nick stood sentinel at her side, and an awkward silence joined the steady hum of an air conditioner. Sarah was grateful for the cool air blowing across her skin.

The doctor’s appearance in the doorway was never more welcomed. Her gaze went from her brother to Sarah and back to her brother.

“Sarah was cut by broken glass. Someone threw a rock through the basement window of the church.”

If Sarah hadn’t been watching the doctor’s face, she might have missed the slight flinch. “The church, huh? Is nothing sacred?”

Sarah lifted a shoulder, finding it difficult to respond.

“I don’t have insurance,” Sarah repeated her lie. “I can pay over time if that’s okay?”

“We treat a lot of patients without insurance. We’ll figure something out. First things first.” The physician grabbed a clipboard. “Do you mind filling out this form?”

Sarah took the clipboard in her shaky hands and stared at it. Her pulse rushed in her head and the letters forming the words Name, Address, Phone number scrambled in her field of vision. She placed the clipboard down on the crinkly white paper and slid off the table.

Nick gently touched her elbow.

The world shifted around Sarah, and she grabbed the smooth vinyl edge of the table to steady herself. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“You need to have that cut looked at.” Nick, in his crisp sheriff’s uniform, loomed over her, his commanding voice vibrating through her. The walls grew close. Too close.

Sarah pushed past him. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“Wait,” the physician said. Instinctively, Sarah stopped in her tracks. “You.” The physician pointed at her brother. “Wait outside.” She turned to Sarah. “And you. Please, let me look at your injuries.”

A small smile touched the attractive doctor’s face. “You don’t have to fill out any paperwork.”

Sarah let out a long sigh, and without meeting Nick’s gaze, she returned to the exam table. The deputy slipped outside and closed the door.

The physician examined her in silence. The young doctor smelled like flowers and coconut lotion. She brushed a damp gauze pad across Sarah’s wound. “I’d feel better if we put a few stitches in this cut. I’d hate for you to have a huge scar.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary, Dr. Jennings?” Sarah didn’t notice a wedding ring on her finger, and since she was the deputy’s sister, she made the leap that her last name was the same as Nick’s.

“Yes, I do. And feel free to call me Christina. If I wanted to be Dr. Jennings I would have stayed at the big research hospital where I did my residency before I opened this clinic.”

Christina got out her instruments, and Sarah found herself wrapping her fingers around the edge of the table as another wave of panic crested below the surface.

“Perhaps you should lie down. I’d hate for you to pass out while I’m working on you.” With her hand to Sarah’s shoulder, Christina guided her patient to a supine position.

Christina cleaned the wound with a cool swab. “I’m glad you caught me. I was about to close up for the night.” The doctor ran the back of her protective glove across her forehead. “It’s been a long day, and the paperwork is endless.”

As Christina leaned in close to examine Sarah’s wound, Sarah noticed creases lined the physician’s pretty brown eyes, making her a few years older than Sarah first would have guessed.

“Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time. I had tried to tell your brother I didn’t need medical attention.”

Christina made a sound with her lips pressed together, a cross between an “I see” and “let me make that decision.” Sarah didn’t ask what she meant by that because she figured it didn’t matter. If she got these stitches maybe Nick would leave her alone and she’d resume her quiet life. God willing.

Unless Jimmy had found her...

Sarah swallowed back her nausea, fearing if she let her worries take root, she’d have a full-blown anxiety attack.

Dear Lord, protect me and please, please, please keep me safe from Jimmy.

They fell into silence as Christina focused on the task of suturing Sarah’s wound. After Christina finished, she placed a small bandage across Sarah’s forehead near her hairline. Christina smiled at her work. “I think that should heal nicely. My father once suggested I go into plastic surgery, but my heart had more humble goals.” Christina’s brown eyes met Sarah’s as if to say, “So, here I am in this small-town health-care clinic.”

Christina held Sarah’s hand and helped her swing around to a seated position. The physician tipped her head and met Sarah’s eyes. “You feel okay?”

Sarah nodded. As good as I’m going to feel under the circumstances. But she kept that thought to herself. She had learned to keep a lot of things to herself over the past six months. And even before that.

Christina turned her back to Sarah and put a few instruments onto a tray. “Is there anything you’d like to share with me?”

Emotion rose in Sarah’s throat, and she cut her gaze toward the door. The need for escape was strong. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Christina turned around slowly. “I’ve seen a lot working in a rural health-care clinic.” She tipped her chin toward the discarded clipboard. “You didn’t want to share any personal information. What or who are you hiding from?”

Sarah’s cheeks flared hot. “I’m...” The lie died on her lips. She had mentally trained herself to deny, deny, deny even though deceit went against her Christian upbringing. White lies were a matter of self-preservation. She prayed God would understand.

Sarah looked at the closed door. Christina was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. Sarah closed her eyes and made a decision. She’d confide in Christina.

Sarah swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I came to Apple Creek to get away from my ex-boyfriend.”

“He’s abusive.”

“Yes. I feared if I stayed in Buffalo, he’d kill me.”

Christina reached out and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I’m sorry.” She narrowed her gaze. “Do you think he found you? Do you think he could have been the one to throw the rock through the window? To scare you?”

“No, no. No one knows where I am.” Sarah hoped saying the words out loud would make them true.

“No one?”

“Only the pastor and his wife. And our pastor back home. My mother also knows where I am. It gives her some peace to know.”

Christina flattened her lips and nodded, as if giving it some thought.

“And my brother?”

Sarah shook her head, her eyes flaring wide. “No, I just met your brother tonight.”

“My brother’s a deputy. He can protect you.”

“My ex-boyfriend’s a cop. He’s on the force in Orchard Gardens, a suburb of Buffalo.” Sarah’s voice grew soft, dejected. “He didn’t protect me.”

Christina twisted her lips. “My brother’s a good guy.”

Sarah gingerly touched the bandage on her forehead. “A lot of people think Officer Jimmy Braeden is a good guy. Do you know how hard it is to file a police report when his brothers in blue think he’s such a great guy?” All the old hurt and pain twisted in her gut. “No thanks.”

“I think you’d be safer if someone in law enforcement here in Apple Creek knew to be on the lookout for him. Where do you live?”

A little voice in the back of Sarah’s head was growing louder and louder: Don’t tell her. Don’t let her in. He’ll find you.

“I rented the cottage on the Zook’s property.” A knot in her chest eased a fraction. It felt good to confide in someone. Was Christina right? Should she let Nick in on her secret?

“I don’t want anyone else to know what I’m running away from. I’m safer this way,” Sarah blurted before she changed her mind.

“What about tonight? Do you think he found you?”

The heat of anxiety rippled across Sarah’s skin. “Tonight was just some kids.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“There’s no way Jimmy knows where I am.”

“Are you sure?” The tone of the doctor’s voice sent cold shards shooting through Sarah’s veins.

Sarah shoved back her shoulders, trying to muster a confidence she didn’t feel. “I have stayed off the radar for six months. No car. No credit card purchases. I’ve been careful about contact with anyone from my past. There’s no way he can know I’m here.” And if Jimmy had found her, he wouldn’t have simply thrown a rock through the window and fled. He would have stayed, stormed into the basement and killed her.

Unless he wanted to terrorize her first. Make a game of it. Jimmy loved nothing more than playing games. Games that were stacked in his favor.

Sarah shook her head both to answer Christina’s question and to shake away her constant irrational thoughts. This is what Jimmy had done to her. Not just the physical abuse, he had made her question her own sanity.

She had to flee Buffalo to save herself physically, emotionally and professionally. Jimmy was able to poke so many holes in her accusations that her job as a social worker for the county had been in jeopardy.

Christina ran a hand across her chin. “If you’re running away, why only go an hour from Buffalo? You could have gone anywhere. The other side of the country.”

“It’s twofold really. The pastor of my old church had a connection here in Apple Creek. They needed a social worker. And my mother still lives in the area.”

“You realize it’s dangerous to contact your mother. Your boyfriend—”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

“Well, he’s probably keeping tabs on your mother in case you make contact.”

“I haven’t. Only through the pastors have we kept in touch. Through letters.” Loss and nostalgia clogged her throat. “My mom’s sick. I need updates, and I need to be able to run home in an emergency.”

Christina bit her lower lip and nodded. Sarah appreciated that Christina didn’t question her need to be near her mom. Just in case.

“If even one person knows where you are, you’re in jeopardy,” Christina added.

Sarah was about to say something when a quiet knock sounded on the door.

Christina lowered her voice so Nick wouldn’t overhear through the door. “If you’re not going to leave Apple Creek, I strongly encourage you to confide in my brother. He can protect you,” she repeated.

A stark reality weighed heavily on Sarah. If Jimmy Braeden found her, no one could protect her.

* * *

“A deputy sheriff’s escort to my home is more than enough. You don’t have to walk me to the door, Officer Jennings.” Sarah slowed at the bottom step of her rented cottage and turned to face him, obviously trying her best to put her protective shield back in place. Nick could see it in her eyes. She was refusing his help every step of the way.

What secret was she hiding?

“You were attacked this evening, and whoever did it is still out there.”

“I was hardly attacked. Someone threw a rock through a window, and I got in the way. It was probably kids fooling around.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “May I make sure your property’s secure?” He framed it as a question, but he wasn’t leaving until he made sure she was safe.

“Only in a small town.” Sarah shrugged and smiled, an attempt to sound light and breezy, but she wasn’t fooling him.

“I’ll check the doors and windows.”

“Okay.” Sarah sounded exhausted.

His cell phone chirped, and he glanced at it and held up his finger.

“Deputy Sheriff Jennings.”

“Hey, Nick.” It was Lila, the dispatcher. “Sheriff Maxwell caught some kids lurking around behind the general store. They were throwing empty liquor bottles against the wall.”

“Any of them confess to shattering the church window?”

“Not yet, but I imagine once we get some of their fathers in here, they’ll straighten right quick.”

“Amish?”

“Three of the five. Two are townies.”

“Are they being held?”

“Yes, at the station. If you want to put the fear of God in them, you should come in quick. I don’t imagine they’ll be there long.”

“Okay.” Nick clicked End and looked at Sarah.

“They caught some kids breaking glass bottles behind the general store. No one claims to have thrown a rock through the church window, but it’s possible.”

An overwhelming need to protect Sarah filled him. What was it about her? Her petite stature? Her vulnerability? Or was he drawn to Sarah’s fiery attitude that emerged every time he suggested something she didn’t like.

His mind flashed to his sister Christina. She seemed to have her life together now—she lived and breathed the health-care clinic—but there was a time when she, too, had been vulnerable and he hadn’t been there to help her. His stomach twisted at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn’t gotten away the night she was attacked on campus. His head told him he couldn’t be everywhere, but the pain in his heart told him he needed to try. It made him want to be a better officer.

They stood in silence for a minute before Sarah turned and inserted the key into the lock. Most people in Apple Creek didn’t lock their doors, but he supposed a single woman living out here all alone wasn’t like most people.

And enough bad things had happened, even here in Apple Creek, that eventually everyone would realize they’re not immune to evil.

Sarah pushed open the door and propped the screen door open with her hip. She turned to face him. “Since they picked up the kids breaking bottles, I’m fine out here.” There was a hint of a question in her tone.

“Hold on, you’re not slipping away from me that easily.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. He couldn’t seem to reach her, and he wasn’t sure why he was striking out.

“I’m going to call Sheriff Maxwell and get their names, and you can tell me if you know any of them from your meetings.”

Sarah leaned on the doorframe and held the screen door open a fraction with the palm of her hand, apparently still hesitant to allow him into her home.

Once Nick gave the names, Sarah frowned. “Ruben and Ephram Zook live next door.” She stretched out her arm and pointed to the well-tended home across the field. “I’m surprised they’d get caught up in such foolishness. I’m renting the house from their parents. Their father is rather strict. However, I suppose saying an Amish father is strict is redundant.” The tight set of her mouth relaxed into an all-too-fleeting smile. “But neither boy has been to one of my meetings. I’ve never heard of them having issues with alcohol or drugs. Or being otherwise wild during rumspringa.”

“What about the other names?”

Sarah shook her head. “Not familiar to me.”

“I’ll have to talk to each of them. See if they’d been near the church first.”

“Please don’t tell anyone you asked if the young Amish men had been to one of my meetings. My work is based on trust. They’ll be afraid to come if they think I’ll rat them out.”

Trust.

Nick nodded. Strange word for a woman who seemed afraid to trust him. She was obviously harboring secrets.

“You going to be okay out here?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Nick hesitated a fraction before pivoting on his heel and stomping down the porch steps.

Sarah Lynn had secrets. Unless her secrets drew the attention of the Apple Creek sheriff’s department, Nick decided he’d let her be.

The last thing he needed was to get caught up with someone like Sarah. It would be easy to do. But Nick had already been burned by a woman with her share of secrets.

Once in a man’s lifetime was enough.

* * *

Sarah walked through the small cottage she rented—cash only—from the Amish family next door without turning on any lights. The downstairs windows lacked curtains, and she hadn’t remedied the situation because she had to be conservative with her money. Make it last. But she hated the lack of privacy. A woman who had a stalker didn’t relish the notion of being in a lit-up fish tank. So most nights, she retired to her upstairs bedroom to read in privacy.

How long can I keep hiding? Delaying my life because I’m afraid of one man?

Sarah reached the kitchen. The white moonlight slanted across the neat and functional cabinets and stove. Englischers, as the Amish called people like her, had lived here and when they moved away, Amos Zook had purchased the house adjacent to his land for future use by one of his children. Therefore, the house had modern amenities, such as they were, that would have to be torn out once one of the sons and his new bride moved into the house. Perhaps when Ruben, their second-eldest son, married Mary Ruth. If the rumor mill was to be believed. When Sarah first heard the plans for the house, she found it amusing. Updating a home by removing modern conveniences.

Sarah opened a cabinet closest to the sink and got a glass for water. As the cool liquid slid down her throat, her mind drifted to her mother. Alone in the only home Sarah had ever known.

She and her mother had been exchanging letters through their pastors. Her mother’s were always filled with cheery accounts of what she had been up to depending on the day and the weather.

“Weeded the garden today. You should see your father’s rosebushes.” Her father had been dead twenty years, but his rosebushes kept thriving.

“Wow, had to shovel the walkway three times today. I don’t think spring is ever going to get here.”

Or...

“It’s been so hot that I’ve had to turn on the fan at night. You know how I hate to sleep with that fan.”

Despite her mother’s lung cancer diagnosis almost a year ago, Sarah rarely ever heard her mother complain about her health. And when it came time to flee Buffalo because of Jimmy, her mother encouraged her to go and live her life, happy and healthy and away from that domineering man.

Her mother made it sound like her last wish: that her daughter live a happy life. Perhaps the kind of life that had eluded her mother after she lost her husband in a drunk-driving accident.

Pinpricks of tears bit at the back of her eyes. Losing a dad as a little kid did that to a person. Her poor dad had gone out for ice cream when some drunk teenager T-boned him at an intersection. Sarah inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, a trick she had learned to calm her anxiety. It worked maybe half the time.

Sarah glanced around the dark kitchen, and her cheeks flushed. Her mother had been widowed when Sarah was only ten. She raised Sarah to be a confident, independent woman. It shamed Sarah that she had fallen for a man who was able to control her.

Instead of following her mother’s lead, Sarah had grown up fearful, cautious, contained.

Now she’d have to spend the rest of her days hiding. And pray she’d get to visit her mother again in person before the horrible disease took its toll.

A rush of nostalgia overwhelmed her, and the sudden urge to call her mother nearly brought her to tears. Sarah moved to the kitchen hutch in the darkness and opened the middle drawer. It opened with a creak, sending shivers up and down her spine. Sarah hated that she had grown fearful of her own shadow. Yet, she had turned Nick away when he volunteered to check her house. Such was the conundrum of being stalked by a cop.

Afraid, but too afraid to call the police.

Glancing around the darkened space of her current home, she convinced herself she was alone. Safe, but alone. She laughed, an awkward sound in the silence.

Boy, am I ever alone.

Leaning down, she stretched her arm to the back of the drawer. There, she found the disposable phone and a prepaid card with one hundred minutes. Items she had purchased—with cash—in a moment of weakness, but then never used. Sometimes just knowing she had a phone, a way to reach out, made her feel less lonely.

Tonight she had reached her breaking point. No one could trace the call, she reasoned. She needed her mom. What girl didn’t? She needed to hear her mother’s reassuring voice. Tonight of all nights.

Sarah flipped on a light. Her hands shook with the knowledge of what she was about to do. Sarah fumbled with the packaging until she freed the phone. It fell and clattered against the pine table in her kitchen. She scooped it up and held it close to her beating heart, feeling as if she were doing something criminal.

The tiny hairs on her arms stood on edge and she couldn’t shake that feeling that someone was watching her. She lifted her head and stared toward the back window, her reflection caught in the glass. Beyond that, the yard was pitch-black. A surge of icy dread coursed through her veins. She’d have to save up for curtains. Sitting here like a duck on a target stand with a big red bull’s-eye over her head didn’t do anything for her nerves.

She gathered up the phone’s instructions and turned off the lamp. She hurried into the downstairs bathroom, closed the door and turned on the light to read the instructions. In short order—after installing the battery and activating the phone—she was calling the familiar phone number of her childhood home. The same phone number Sarah had since the time she could reach her mother’s rotary phone mounted on the wall in the kitchen. The phone had been updated, but little else had in her mother’s cozy home.

Yeah, the Gardners didn’t have the fanciest gadgets, but they did have each other. Sort of.

With shaky fingers, Sarah pressed the last digit of her home phone number and held her breath. Silence stretched across the phone for a long time. Sarah pulled it away from her ear and glanced at it, wondering if it actually worked. A distant ringing sounded in the quiet space, and Sarah quickly pressed the phone to her ear. It was getting late, but she knew her mother didn’t sleep much nowadays.

...Three, four, five...

She counted the rings.

“Come on, Mom, answer the phone.”

She imagined her mother pushing off the recliner—maybe asleep in front of whatever show happened to be on right now—muttering about the nerve of someone calling so late. No matter how many times she told her mother to keep the portable phone by her side, her mother insisted on placing it in the charger.

Every. Time.

...Eight, nine...

Sarah’s body hummed with impatience.

“Hello,” came her mother’s curt greeting, startling Sarah who had all but given up hope that she’d reach her mom tonight.

Sarah swallowed a knot of emotion. “Mom.” The word came out high-pitched and tight.

“Sarah...” her mother said her name on a hopeful sigh.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Her mother’s tone shifted from surprised delight to concern. “Is everything okay?”

Sarah touched the bandage on her head. “Yeah, yeah, I just missed you and needed to hear your voice.”

Her mother made an indecipherable sound and started to cough, a wet, popping noise. Her mother tried to talk, but the racking cough consumed her.

Sadness, helplessness and terror seized Sarah’s heart.

She envisioned her mother reaching for a tissue and holding it in a tight fist against her mouth as her pale face grew red from the exertion of coughing. Her eyes watering. A loud gasp sounded across the line as her mom struggled to catch her breath.

Sarah muttered a curse against Jimmy. She should be there caring for her mother. Not hiding an hour away, alone in someone else’s house.

After a moment, when the coughing slowed, Sarah asked, “Are you okay?”

Her mother seemed to have collected herself. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

Her poor, sweet mother, always trying to protect her only daughter. Sarah hadn’t magically forgotten that her mother had lung cancer.

“Have you been keeping up with your doctor’s appointments?”

“Yes. There’s just so many. Sometimes I’ll have a coughing jag when I’m driving...” Her mother forced a cheery tone. “Now, don’t worry about me. I’m as tough as they come. Now tell me about you. I thought we were only supposed to write letters. Safer that way.”

“I called on a disposable phone.”

Silence stretched across the line. “Jimmy came here the other day.”

Sarah’s heart jackhammered in her chest. “What did he want?” You, stupid, stupid girl! Suddenly the phone felt like a hot coal in her hand. What if he tracked her down here? How? It was a disposable phone.

Jimmy was resourceful.

She looked up at the lavender walls of the small downstairs half bath. She’d have to run again. This time farther away. Away from her mother.

“Jimmy acted like he was checking up on me, seeing if I needed anything—boy, that man could charm a lollipop from a baby—but I knew better. He was fishing around to see if I knew where you were. Same as he’s done the other times he’s swung by the house on the guise of checking up on me.”

Sarah pressed the phone tighter to her ear, her racing pulse making it more difficult to hear. “What did you tell him?” Sarah’s mouth grew dry as she anticipated her mother’s answer. They had rehearsed before Sarah left as to what her mother should say or do, but Sarah constantly worried that her mother’s illness, medication or just a plain old slip of the tongue would jeopardize her location.

Sarah knew she was being irrational, but having someone mess with your mind for two years straight had forced an otherwise sane girl to consider every crazy scenario.

Her mother started coughing again, but regained her composure more quickly this time. “I told him what we agreed upon. Again. That you had a job opportunity in California. Lord, forgive me for lying, but I do it to keep you safe.”

“I imagine he’s pressing you for an address. A phone number.”

“I told him it was best if he moved on now.”

Sarah could imagine Jimmy’s reaction when he was told to give up on something. Jimmy Braeden wasn’t a quitter. Or one who liked to lose. And losing Sarah had come as a huge blow to his ego.

“Mom, there’s no way Jimmy believes I moved to California for a job. Not when you’re not feeling well.” Not feeling well. That was an understatement. “He’s going to keep pushing.” Maybe they should have come up with a different story.

Jimmy would never stop looking for her. That much she knew for sure. Knees feeling weak, Sarah grabbed the towel bar and lowered herself onto the closed toilet lid. She reached forward and turned the lock on the bathroom door.

One swift nudge with a strong shoulder would send the door into splinters. How pitiful. She had locked herself into the bathroom of the home where she lived alone.

“I’m sorry I’m not there for you.” Sarah fought to keep the tears from her voice.

“I’m managing fine.”

Sarah cleared her throat. “What did the doctor say last time you were there?”

She envisioned her mom waving her hand in dismissal. “Oh, the same as always. If I believed everything they told me, I’d be buried next to your father already.”

Cold dread pooled in Sarah’s stomach. She feared her mother would never tell her the truth when it came to her prognosis.

Sarah traced the round edge of the brass door handle. “Maybe it’s time I came home.”

“I’m fine.” Her mother’s forced cheeriness sounded shrill. They both knew Sarah returning to Buffalo would only add more stress to her mother’s already stressed life. And they both knew Jimmy was a violent man who had the backing of his brothers in uniform—both in Orchard Gardens where he worked and his fellow cops in nearby Buffalo. All the cops seemed to know each other. Yet, Sarah couldn’t fault the men. Jimmy was a great liar and friend, when he wasn’t beating up his girlfriend. She didn’t blame his fellow cops for being deceived. Hadn’t she been? When Sarah tried to make a report, Jimmy’s own mother gave him an alibi. Then the rumors began when Sarah showed up at the station with a black eye.

Sarah had been out drinking and picked up the wrong guy. Now to save face, she’s trying to blame it on Officer Braeden because they just went through a bad breakup.

It was then that she knew she’d never get justice. And if she valued her life and her mother’s peace of mind, she had to leave.

Sarah pulled off a strip of toilet paper and wiped her nose. “Maybe you and I can go off somewhere. Somewhere where Jimmy can’t find us.”

“Sarah... Sarah...” her mother said, in her familiar soothing voice that made Sarah’s chest ache with nostalgia. “We’ve been through all this. I need to stay close to my doctors. And I like my home. Tending the garden.” I want to be in my own bed when I die. Her mother didn’t say it, but it was implied.

Sarah swallowed around the knot of emotion in her throat.

“Have you made any friends where you are? Someone you can trust?”

Nick’s kind smile floated to mind. “It’s hard, Mom. I don’t know who I can trust.” However, Sarah had confided in Nick’s sister, but Christina was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. And sweet, Amish Mary Ruth would never understand her new friend’s predicament.

And Sarah didn’t trust her own decision-making skills. She had been wrong—so very wrong—before.

“You need to stay safe,” her mom said, her voice cracking. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom. I’ll stay here.”

“That’s my girl. Go and save the world.” Her mother liked to tout that her only daughter was always looking for ways to help people. Too bad Sarah didn’t know how to help herself.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.