He’s her only defense...and a frightening temptation

Rebecca Holt thinks she’s doing the right thing when she takes evidence proving her ex-husband is hiding a murder. But after two attempts on her life, she flees with her six-year-old son to rural Missouri, where the pair hide among Amish relatives, dressing “plain.”

County sheriff Daniel Byler was raised Amish, but his protective instincts put him in conflict with his family’s beliefs at an early age and he left the faith. Yet this background helps him to recognize Rebecca as someone who is out of place, in danger...and lying to him.

A slender Amish woman wearing the usual black bonnet stepped off the bus, reaching back to help a young boy down.

The boy pressed himself to his mother as she scanned her surroundings, her gaze stopping on Daniel in what he thought he read as alarm.

He straightened on a jolt of anger. One side of her face was discolored and swollen; the eye on that side opened only a slit. And something about him clearly triggered fear in her. Was it because, like most Amish, she was unwilling to report an assault and he was clearly a law enforcement officer?

The driver unloaded the last piece of luggage from under the bus and got back on board. With a deep sigh, the bus started down the street. None of the buggy horses so much as flapped an ear. It took something much stranger than that to bother them.

Daniel ambled forward, greeting folks he knew, stopping when he reached the Grabers and a cluster of Yoders who were enveloping the two newcomers.

Looking him in the eye, Samuel Graber stepped away from the group.

Protecting the woman and child? Daniel wondered.

“Sheriff.” Samuel’s greeting was pleasant but he didn’t smile. Behind Samuel, his wife was hugging the woman from the bus, while the blond boy gripped her skirts. His straw hat fell to the sidewalk. One of the many relatives picked it up.

Samuel’s message was not subtle: this is none of your business. But Daniel thought Samuel was wrong. Chances were the woman was escaping trouble of one kind or another. In his experience, trouble had a way of following people.

And the Amish were defenseless.

Dear Reader,

I confess: I’m a longtime fan of Marta Perry’s and Karen Harper’s romantic suspense novels set among the Amish. And then there’s the movie Witness, with Harrison Ford dancing in the barn. Temptation came my way. I became even more intrigued once I started reading nonfiction about the Amish, notably Donald Kraybill’s collaborations The Amish and Amish Grace. I found a whole lot to admire in beliefs that are very different than what we see in our typical lives. Forgiveness is not a concept we practice nearly often enough, for example. Their sense of community is extraordinary. Keeping their elderly close and caring for them through the end especially struck home with me, as I’m dealing with my mother’s sharp decline into dementia.

Plus I have always loved the clash of cultures (my two historical novels explore this). In this book, both Daniel and Rebecca are steeped in Amish culture because of their childhoods, yet as adults are thoroughly modern Americans. Raised to turn his other cheek, Daniel now carries a gun. Talk about internal conflict! Yet Rebecca’s need to save her son drives her to do what she thinks she must, even if it betrays her deepest beliefs.

No, sad to say, they don’t slip out late at night to dance in a barn. What they get up to out behind the barn, though...

Janice

Plain Refuge

Janice Kay Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

An author of more than ninety books for children and adults, JANICE KAY JOHNSON writes about love and family—about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have on us throughout life. A USA TODAY bestselling author and an eight-time finalist for a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, she won a RITA® Award in 2008 for her Harlequin Superromance novel Snowbound. A former librarian, Janice raised two daughters in a small town north of Seattle, Washington.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“DECIDED TO BOLT with your cut of the money, did you?” asked Detective Ray Estevez, his manner as insulting as his words.

Rebecca Gregory stared in disbelief at the man she had allowed into her apartment. Had he just accused her of being complicit in a crime? Thank goodness Matthew wasn’t home! At five, her son was too young to understand the accusation, but he’d have picked up on the tone. Would Detective Estevez have bothered to restrain himself with a child in earshot?

“Or do you and Stowe plan to hook up once the investigation goes cold?” he continued, dark eyes flat and mouth curling in what she took for contempt.

Rebecca stiffened. What a creep. Steven Stowe, her former husband’s business partner, had disappeared after embezzling millions of dollars from their construction firm. Why would this detective imagine for a minute that she had conspired with Steven, or had anything but the most distant relationship with him?

“I have never so much as had lunch with Steven Stowe without Tim present,” she said icily.

“Yeah? Then why’d you leave your husband?”

Managing to meet his stare, she said, “That is between Tim and me.” And, really, her marriage was irrelevant to any investigation, even though the separation had been precipitated by the tension surrounding the embezzlement.

In retrospect, she knew their marriage had already been in trouble when, several months ago, Tim’s behavior changed. She knew now that he’d been hit by mysterious and crippling financial problems in the construction firm he had founded with Steven and another partner, Josh Griffen. Then, all she’d known was that the ridiculous hours he worked stretched even longer. He seldom bothered to spend time with his wife and son and brushed off her concern. Worried, frustrated, occasionally angry, he refused to even acknowledge there was a problem, not to her. What sex life they had left her feeling used. In fact, he’d shut her out so completely it became obvious she held no meaningful role in his life. Increasingly, she saw that he had never really talked to her, not the way her parents had to each other.

Rebecca had taken her wedding vows seriously. She had sworn to stick with him through these troubles. So she’d kept quiet and made excuses to their five-year-old son when he asked why Daddy was mad or never home.

Except then one of the three partners vanished and it came out that he’d embezzled a great deal of money. Tim’s reaction? Not grief at the betrayal committed by a friend. Oh, no. The day after the news of Steven’s disappearance hit the San Francisco Chronicle, Tim had bounded into the house in a great mood, swung her in a circle and ebulliently told her they wouldn’t have to worry about money ever again.

She had looked at him and thought, I don’t understand or know who you are, this man who is relieved, even joyous, because his partner and friend has fled with millions of dollars. As if that solved all his problems.

She could no longer love a stranger whose ethics she doubted.

But she didn’t know anything. And she couldn’t understand what had precipitated the lead investigator to grill her.

“Funny timing to leave your husband,” he shot back.

She had to say something. “Tim had been under stress for months while he and Josh and Steven tried to understand what was wrong. That...exacerbated our issues.” Wonderful. She sounded like a marriage counselor or a self-help book.

Estevez tipped the chair back, letting her know not so subtly that he had settled in and would stay as long as he felt inclined. “When did he explain the problems at work?”

“The day after Steven disappeared.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “You expect me to believe that? You were living with the guy!”

She had been, and it still hurt, remembering how unimportant she’d been to the man who was supposed to love her. Rebecca would be ashamed of herself for staying as long as she had with him, given the way he treated her, but she had been raised to believe marriage was forever. Despite the months of estrangement, if she had been sure he really loved her, she could have forgiven a lot.

Now, she raised her eyebrows. “Believe me or not, it’s the truth.”

“You’re a cool one, aren’t you?” He did not sound admiring.

Detective Estevez was of average height, but he was built like a bull, his neck thick, his shoulders powerful. He kept asking questions to which she had no answers. His temper heated. He slammed the legs of the chair back on the floor and planted his forearms on the table so he could lean forward until his sneering face filled her field of vision. He shouted. He wondered aloud what would happen to her kid when she went to prison.

But she couldn’t tell him what she didn’t know. She didn’t have the money; she had never felt close to either of Tim’s partners, even though one or the other had dined at the house every few weeks until those last months, when she scarcely saw them.

“You’re wasting your time,” she said.

He snapped, “I’ll decide that.”

When he ran out of questions, he glared at her for what had to be a full minute. Rebecca laced her trembling fingers on her lap and stared back at him with the pretense of composure.

At last he shoved himself to his feet, eyes narrowed. After flinging a business card on the table, he said, “I’ll be watching you.”

She didn’t respond—didn’t move—until she heard the apartment door close behind him.

And then she hugged herself and tried to understand why Detective Estevez had wasted time on her when Steven Stowe was the embezzler.

* * *

FOUR MONTHS LATER, Rebecca let herself into this house for what she prayed would be the last time. Their house—Tim’s house now. No, she’d be here to drop off Matthew for visits or pick him up, but that would be different.

And visits were all that Matthew’s stays with his father would be. With resolve, she buried the whiff of fear that she would lose their custody battle.

Once she closed and locked the front door behind her, the silence was so complete that her footsteps on the marble floor of the foyer seemed to echo. Something about that silence gave her goose bumps, even though she had expected the house to be empty. Housekeeping staff had always been part-time.

As Rebecca walked from room to room, she marveled that she’d ever called this place home. Tim had been so excited about building it for them that she’d had to be careful about what she said. He’d ignored her gentle suggestions. An architectural magazine had run a feature on it because the design and function were cutting-edge. Naturally, the finest materials were used. It had just never come to feel homey to her. How could it, with six bedrooms, five bathrooms? To her, it felt like living in a hotel.

Would Tim have listened if she’d spoken out more strongly from the beginning? Rebecca smiled sadly. She could only imagine his expression if she’d said, “For God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble.” She had strayed so far from her roots that she couldn’t remember the whole quote, but knew there was something about clothing yourself in humility, too.

Pride, Tim understood. Humility wouldn’t be a virtue in his eyes.

There was so much she hadn’t let herself see when she’d foolishly fallen in love.

In the most recent meeting held at a law firm with both their attorneys present, Tim had told her to take anything from the house she wanted. Typical, she’d thought, feeling a mix of amusement and annoyance. He couldn’t look stingy in front of the attorneys. Once he had understood really, truly, that reconciliation wasn’t an option—something which had taken months—he’d been generous with financial settlements, as well as the small things.

His generosity had ended when it came to their son. Tim’s father, Robert Gregory, was a cold man who too often expressed astonishment that his son had made anything of himself. Whatever had happened between Tim and her, she still detested her father-in-law for what his disdain had done to his own child. Unfortunately, Robert thought Tim had done one thing right—he’d sired a handsome, smart son to carry on the family name. Divorce wasn’t a word Robert wanted to hear. He couldn’t have a dynasty if he didn’t have a firm grip on his grandson.

Rebecca had a very bad feeling that Tim’s demand for joint custody was only the beginning. Her attorney supported her decision to fight for primary custody. No reasonable person could think a five-year-old boy should live half the time with a parent who routinely worked seventy-to eighty-hour weeks and rarely took a weekend off.

Her gut feeling was that Tim agreed, but he couldn’t back down without facing his father’s contempt. And so their current standoff continued.

Temporarily blocking her worries, she focused on her current task. She was here, so she should get this over with.

She walked quickly through the ground floor, surveying the ultramodern furniture, which had never been to her taste. Even though the apartment she had rented was still scantily furnished, she didn’t want anything from here.

She did miss her exceptionally well-equipped kitchen, so she might raid the cupboards. The fine china or crystal goblets and wineglasses had mostly been given as wedding gifts, and she couldn’t imagine using any of them.

Cooking utensils were another matter. She selected a couple of favorite pans and tools and carried them to the box she had left in the foyer. She didn’t bother with Tim’s office, where she had rarely been invited. Thanks to staff, she hadn’t even entered it to clean.

A quick scan of Matthew’s bedroom assured her that she’d left only enough toys and books to allow him to feel at home during his weekends with his father. Everything important had already been packed up and brought to her new apartment.

The master bedroom was last. Rebecca was confident she had taken all her clothes and shoes. She had left behind most of the jewelry Tim had given her. She would never wear it again.

There was only one piece she would like to keep—the necklace that had been Tim’s gift their first Christmas together. The pendant was simple and lovely, an eighteen-karat gold heart studded with sapphires. They were the color of her eyes, he had told her before gently kissing her. It wouldn’t have been cheap, but neither was it extravagant and ostentatious like his later gifts. It would give her one memory to hold on to.

Tim had had a small safe built into his walk-in closet, hidden by stacked hemp storage boxes. Mostly, her jewelry had been kept in this safe rather than the larger one in his office. He’d always insisted on getting the jewelry out for her, but she had seen him dial the combination and remembered it. She doubted he would even notice that she had taken one necklace.

She moved a few boxes and dialed, and a moment later the safe door opened silently. She looked for the small blue box she kept the pendant in, but a surprising flash of red caught her eye. This was a ring, but massive and clearly masculine. Tim never wore rings. Stranger yet, a black leather wallet sat next to it.

Puzzled, she reached for the ring, lifting it out into better light.

Harvard University.

Steven Stowe, embezzler, had worn a ring just like this. An irritated Tim had claimed his partner wore it to flaunt his Ivy League education. Tim and the third partner, Josh Griffen, had graduated from a state university. She had thought they were being unfair. Steven didn’t talk about his past much, but she’d heard enough to know he had grown up in lousy circumstances. Making it to Harvard had to have been hugely symbolic to him. The sad part was that his mother had walked out when he was only a kid, and his dad had died of cirrhosis of the liver something like ten years ago. With no siblings, there wasn’t anyone left to be awed at his accomplishment.

Rebecca had wondered before whether his background explained why he’d been so desperate for wealth that he had been willing to betray his partners.

Her forehead crinkled as she set the ring back down.

What was she thinking? Of course this couldn’t be Steven’s! When he’d taken off with the money he’d stolen, he wouldn’t have left his treasured class ring behind. And they knew he wasn’t dead, because he’d been using his debit and credit cards on occasion, staying constantly on the move. Tim had told her the police hadn’t blocked his accounts so that they could trace his movements.

But dread formed anyway, making Rebecca reluctant to pick up the slim billfold. Her hands had become blocks of wood and her chest felt compressed, as if there was something wrong with the air in here. I don’t want to open this.

But the glow of the ruby was impossible to ignore. Just do it, she told herself, and flipped the wallet open.

Steven A. Stowe’s face looked at her from his driver’s license. His current driver’s license. One by one, she pulled the debit card and four credit cards from their slots. None of them had passed their expiration dates, either.

But...he was using his cards. That was how the police knew—

A whimper escaped her before she could stifle it. Steven wasn’t using them at all—Tim was. He traveled enough for business that it had never occurred to her to associate his trips with the times Steven had supposedly cropped up in Southern California. But maybe the investigators had.

Aghast, she thought about the huge risk Tim had been taking when he’d used someone else’s credit card for cash advances and large purchases. Except... She gazed at the driver’s-license photo. Tim and Steven did look a lot alike. People had always thought so. No one glancing at the awful driver’s-license photo would have questioned his identity, especially not when the man presenting it dressed well and had a smile that said he was trustworthy. And, of course, he could present other ID.

Rebecca dropped the billfold onto a shelf as if the leather had singed her fingers.

Her almost ex-husband wouldn’t have the wallet, credit cards and, most of all, that ring if Steven was still alive. So Tim knew he was dead...and had a stake in keeping the police chasing a man they believed to be alive and on the run.

And Tim was happy that Steven was dead. She couldn’t forget that.

Panting, Rebecca ran head-on into a terrible dilemma. Did she ensure Matthew’s father went to prison by giving these to that horrible detective? Tim might not have had anything to do with the death. Knowing Steven was dead wasn’t the same thing. It could have been an accident. And his first instinct would be to protect the company.

She wished as she hadn’t in years that she could talk to her mother. But she knew what Mamm would expect of her. “Pray,” she would have said. “Ask God what the right course is for you to take.”

Only, Rebecca’s faith had been worn down by life with a nonbeliever, by the modernity surrounding her. What her mother, raised Amish, really assumed was that prayer would open her heart, where God’s will would be revealed to her.

She wasn’t sure she’d recognize God’s will if it appeared in letters of fire in front of her, not anymore.

What if she pretended she had never opened the safe? Tim would never know.

Billfold still in her hand, Rebecca was already shaking her head. At least if none of the cards were ever used again, the police would start looking harder at the possibility Steven was dead, wouldn’t they? So, in a way, if she took these things she’d be doing the right thing while not betraying a man she’d once loved. Who was a good father, when he found time to spend with his son.

Heart hammering in her chest, Rebecca made her decision. She took the ring out of the safe again and replaced the hemp organizers. Then she rushed downstairs to stow the wallet and ring in her purse, and hurried for the front door.

Which opened just before she reached it.

“Shopping?” her husband said snidely.

* * *

A WEEK LATER, Tim arrived at the apartment to pick up Matthew. Playground and burgers, he’d promised.

The moment Rebecca let him in, she recoiled and took a couple of cautious steps back. He was waxen beneath his tan, his eyes wild and his forehead beaded with sweat.

“Dad!” Matthew yelled, and came galloping down the hall.

Taking a couple strides inside, Tim snarled at him. “I need to talk to your mother. Go to your room and shut the door.”

Vibrating with shock, Matthew stared at his father. Then, with a muffled sob, he whirled and ran.

“Don’t talk to him like that!”

Tim turned his turbulent glare on her. “Why did you have to go snooping?”

She opened her mouth to lie, but couldn’t. “I wanted the sapphire necklace.” Which, in the shock of what she’d found, she had forgotten to take. She no longer wanted it. Why cling to a memory of this man’s tenderness?

“You don’t understand what you stole.”

Rebecca stared at him. “Really? I’m pretty sure I do.” She searched his face. “Tim, tell me you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Of course it wasn’t me!” He turned away and, with a jerky motion, swung back. “Misleading the cops a little, that’s not so awful. It was the only way to save the company. Don’t you understand?” he begged. When she didn’t respond, his face darkened. “You like your financial settlement, don’t you? What if I couldn’t keep paying child support? You might have to actually work for a living.”

The scathing tone and flushed face pushed her over the edge. “It was your pride that kept me from working during our marriage, and you know it. As it happens, I have a job.” Assisting in an elementary classroom would give her an in with the school district when she applied for a teacher’s position starting in the fall.

He rocked back. “What?”

“You heard me. And here’s something else you need to hear. I haven’t gone to Detective Estevez. I know, whatever happened, you think you’re doing the right thing. And, for better or worse, you’re Matthew’s father. I did hide the wallet and ring somewhere you’ll never find them.”

“You can’t do this to me.”

She crossed her arms. “What exactly am I doing to you?”

“You’re holding them over my head.” He shook his head, baffled. “Why? You’re the one who left me. I loved you.”

The fury she’d been suppressing swelled inside her. “So much so that I felt like a ghost in your house. One of the few times I tried to make you really see me, talk to me, you shoved me into the kitchen cabinet. I had to hide for days after that so nobody would see the bruises. But you weren’t around to notice. You were never around.”

“I told you I was sorry!” he yelled back.

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” Rebecca struggled to calm herself. She had forgiven him, hadn’t she? She wasn’t acting like it. “Tim, whatever you believe, my taking Steven’s wallet and ring had nothing to do with our history. I just...couldn’t let you keep fooling the police. It’s wrong. Whatever you did or didn’t have to do with Steven’s death—”

“I told you. I didn’t have anything to do with it. And it was an accident, anyway. We just...” He swallowed. “Him dying would have complicated everything. He took the money, he ran. That’s all anyone has to know.”

Hating what was staring her in the face, Rebecca whispered, “Why?”

“You don’t need to know. You need to quit interfering with something you don’t understand!” Teeth showing, the muscles in his shoulders bunching, he leaned in. “Give me back everything you took.”

Rebecca took a prudent step back. “No.” Groping behind herself, she found the knob and opened the front door. “You need to leave. I’ll make your excuses to Matthew.”

He didn’t move. “You’re blackmailing me.”

“No!”

“It’s the custody issue, isn’t it?” He gave an incredulous laugh. “You’ve got me over a barrel, and you know it. If I back off, you’ll give me what I need.”

The possibility had never crossed her mind. She wasn’t devious enough. But now that he’d laid it out...heaven help her, she was tempted. Her pulse raced. Matthew would stay with her, and he’d be safe from his critical, domineering grandfather.

What she was contemplating was a lousy way to protect her son, but she’d use anything or anyone for him.

“No,” she heard herself say. “I won’t give it back. But you have my promise that I’ll keep quiet. No one else will ever see what I found.”

Her pulse raced as she waited. His eyes narrowed in a way that told her he was thinking, and hard.

Finally he grunted, said a foul word and agreed.

* * *

THREE WEEKS LATER, she had her divorce and primary custody of Matthew, subject to the usual visitation schedule and swapping of holidays.

Detective Estevez might still be watching her, but, thank heavens, he hadn’t been back. She hated the idea of lying to his face.

Rebecca already felt tainted enough by a decision she knew wasn’t morally defensible. She imagined her mother shaking her head and chiding Rebecca with a gentleness that could still sting.

Yet, her mother had never shed her discomfiture regarding law enforcement. A fear of authority was bred into any Amish man’s or woman’s very bones by their bloody heritage. Throughout their history, the Amish had been driven out of one place after another by men in uniforms. Burned at the stake, tortured, imprisoned.

To go to the police about a family member’s behavior? No, Mamm would never have chosen that path. She would help that person see the error of his ways, guide him back to making godly choices. Punishing a wrongdoer wasn’t the aim of the Amish, and they never willingly went to the law.

Rebecca shook her head.

Her mother wasn’t here anymore. Rebecca was willing to live with a stain on her character if that was the only way to save Matthew from a life of being alternately shamed and molded by his grandfather.

* * *

THE DEAL HELD, although Matthew noticed the coolness between his parents. Worse, a couple of months after the divorce, he returned puffy eyed from a weekend with his father. Lower lip protruding, he stayed stiff when Tim hugged him.

Tim gave her an angry look, as if whatever had happened was her fault, then left. Rebecca followed Matthew to his bedroom and coaxed the story out of him.

Grandfather Gregory said some bad things about Mommy, and when Matthew objected, he had spanked him. Hard. And Daddy let him!

Furious, Rebecca hugged him. “Did he use his hand, or a belt, or...?”

Her little boy gaped at her. “A belt? Don’t people always spank with their hand?”

Well, that was something. “Is your bottom sore?”

He wriggled on his bed. “Uh-huh.”

She gave him another squeeze. “I’ll talk to your dad. Sometimes I think he’s a little afraid of your grandfather. He may have thought a spanking wasn’t that terrible. Especially if you were rude.”

“I wasn’t rude!” he exclaimed. “I just said my mom wasn’t a—” He sneaked a peek up at her. “He said a word you told me I can’t.”

She could imagine what Robert had called her. What she wondered was why. How much did he know about Tim’s part in Steven’s disappearance? And the leverage she held over Tim?

“Never mind,” she said. “Remember, ‘sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.’” Even so, he shouldn’t have to listen to her being vilified.

Together, she and Matthew decided the best thing was for him to say with dignity, Grandfather, I don’t want to listen when you use bad words about my mom, and then walk out of the room.

Forehead crinkling, Matthew repeated the line several times, then nodded firmly. “That’s what I’ll say.”

As far as she knew, he wasn’t spanked again. Perhaps Tim had confronted his father when Matthew wasn’t there. She wanted to think so.

Two months after her confrontation with Tim over the ring, he attended Matthew’s graduation ceremony from kindergarten. The three of them even went out afterward for pizza and had fun. At least, she thought they had, but when Tim drove them back to the apartment, he insisted on walking them up, where he asked Matthew to go to his bedroom.

He did it nicely enough, and Matthew shrugged and obeyed. Six now, he was growing like a weed and occasionally giving her glimpses of what he’d look like a few years down the road. That shrug was almost teenage. Rebecca wondered if he’d learned it from his fifteen-year-old babysitter.

She quit wondering when she glanced back at her ex-husband and saw the way his expression had tightened.

Feeling a little wary, she said, “What did you want to talk about?”

“Rebecca, you have to give me Steven’s things.” Tim kept his voice low, but urgency threaded every word. “Josh is pissed about this arrangement. He feels threatened, too.”

“Too?” she echoed.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” Hostility darkened his eyes. “Josh is after me, and Dad is angry because I gave in and let you have my kid. Sometimes I feel like that guy in the movie. I’m walking a tightrope between two skyscrapers. The only way off is to fall. That’s a shitty way to live.”

He was right. It was.

“I’d...like to think I can trust you, but I don’t trust your father,” she admitted. “Or Josh. And I’ve kept my word. I haven’t told anyone.”

“You know Josh is my best friend.”

She did know. Josh and Tim had met during orientation for their freshman year of college and had been roommates. Steven Stowe had been a much later addition, needed for his financial acumen. Because Josh had spent his summers working construction, he supervised the job sites. Tim’s gift had been convincing clients to choose G, G & S over other contractors. It was because of Tim that half the architects in the city recommended G, G & S to their clients. And when the company needed financing, Tim worked his magic on bankers.

“He’s leaning hard on me. You need to bend a little, Bec.” He hadn’t called her that in a long time. But then he said, “I don’t know how long I can keep protecting you. Be smart and think about it.”

She was speechless, and he departed without saying anything else. Rebecca almost lunged to flip the dead bolt on the door. Had he been telling her she needed to be afraid?

She tried to reason through the cloud of fear. Even if she returned the ring and the wallet and cards, she knew about them—about Steven. Even if she gave Tim the benefit of the doubt, what if Josh had killed Steven during an argument? Would he kill again to protect his secret? But there was the chance she’d given them to someone else as insurance.

Whatever he said to the contrary, keeping that proof might be the only way she could protect herself.

She put her back to the door and shuddered.

* * *

A COUPLE OF weeks later, Rebecca lay sprawled on the sidewalk, grit stinging her cheek. Dazed, she knew only that she was the near victim of a drive-by shooting, and that some man had tackled her to the pavement right after the first crack of gunfire.

I would have stood there frozen, like an idiot, she thought.

She groaned and pushed herself to a sitting position. People all around were babbling in excitement and alarm. The middle-aged man who had knocked her down was picking himself up, too. She heard an approaching siren.

Her phone rang and she groped in her handbag for it. She had to be sure someone from Matthew’s day camp wasn’t calling. Rattled, she stared at the strange number displayed on the screen. Even the area code was unfamiliar.

“Hello?”

A metallic voice said, “Call that a warning. You have something we need. Return it, or next time we won’t miss. And if you go to the cops? Your son is dead.”

Knowing the caller was gone, Rebecca began to shake.

CHAPTER TWO

DANIEL BYLER PULLED his squad car to the curb to let a bus pass. Having already noticed several buggies and horses lining the street, he assumed an Amish visitor was expected. Come to think of it, weren’t Roy and Nancy Schwartz supposed to be arriving about now from Iowa?

Roy was a cousin of his, although Daniel had lost track of whether they were second cousins or first once removed or... It didn’t matter. The Amish tended to have a lot of children, and family networks sprawled and frequently tangled. Daniel and Roy had played together as boys. Too much had passed for them to reconnect as friends, but he did hope his parents would invite him to dinner sometime during the visit so he could say hello.

The bus groaned to a stop in front of the general store. Daniel got out of his car, careful not to jostle the people exiting the bus. He didn’t see anyone from his direct family among those waiting on the sidewalk. Apparently, this wasn’t the day Roy and his wife and children would arrive. Emma and Samuel Graber, members of his parents’ church district and their contemporaries in age, stood in front of this group. Leaning a shoulder against the brick building, Daniel exchanged nods with them.

As usual, it was the Englisch passengers who got off first. They had a way of assuming it was their right. That wasn’t fair, Daniel realized, thinking of his good friends among the non-Amish in his county. There was no way around it, though—they had a different way of thinking.

And me? How do I think? he asked himself, as he did daily. Betwixt and between, that was him.

Finally a slender Amish woman wearing the usual black bonnet stepped off, reaching back to help a young boy down. Looking tired and shy, the boy pressed himself to his mother. The woman lifted her head to scan her surroundings, her gaze stopping on Daniel in what he thought was alarm.

He straightened on a jolt of anger, followed by curiosity. One side of her face was discolored and swollen. The eye on that side opened only a slit. Had she been in an accident? Or was she a victim of spousal abuse?

Her scan had been wary, and something about him triggered her fear. Was it because, like most Amish, she was unwilling to report the assault and thought he might press her to do so?

The driver unloaded the last piece of luggage from under the bus and got back on board. With a deep sigh, the bus started down the street. None of the buggy horses so much as flapped an ear. It took something much stranger than a noisy bus to bother them.

Daniel ambled forward, the picture of congeniality. After all, as county sheriff, he was an elected official. He greeted folks he knew and nodded at strangers while assessing them, until he reached the Grabers and a cluster of Yoders, all enveloping the two newcomers.

Looking him in the eye, Samuel Graber stepped away from the group.

Protecting the woman and child by distracting me? Daniel wondered.

“Sheriff.” Samuel’s greeting was pleasant, but he didn’t smile. The Amish trusted Daniel as a person, but they were wary of everything he represented. Behind Samuel, his wife was hugging the woman from the bus, while the blond boy gripped her skirts. His summer straw hat fell to the sidewalk. One of the many relatives picked it up.

“Family?” Daniel asked easily.

“Ja.” Samuel cleared his throat as he made a mental switch to English from the Deitsch language the Amish used among themselves. “Rebecca is the daughter of one of my sisters. Here for a visit.”

His gaze resting on the slim back clothed in a dark blue dress and apron, he said, “You know I’m only here to help.”

“You saw she has been injured.”

“I did.”

“She was hit by a car and thrown over the hood of another. A miracle it is she was not hurt worse.”

Daniel nodded. “I hope her little boy didn’t see it happen. That would have been frightening.”

“Ja, but I don’t think he did. She will tell us more once we get her home.” Without another word, Samuel returned to the group, his broad frame hiding the newcomers.

The message was not subtle: this is none of your business. But Daniel thought Samuel was wrong. The sight of a police uniform made many of the Amish wary, and accidents happened every day. But an accident did not leave a woman afraid of who might be waiting for her when she stepped off a bus.

Chances were that she was escaping trouble of one kind or another. In his experience, trouble had a way of following people, and the Amish were defenseless.

He often stopped to say hello to folks in his small county. He’d give the Grabers a day or two and then drive out to their farm, just to say he hoped their niece was recovering and enjoying her visit.

He was opening the door to the café, where he’d been headed for lunch, when he glanced back to catch Rebecca watching him, her expression now unreadable. With her high forehead, fine bones and sharp chin, she’d be a pretty woman once the swelling subsided. Between the bonnet and the prayer kapp, he couldn’t tell what color hair she had, but she shared her son’s blue eyes.

He smiled. She looked startled and quickly climbed into one of the buggies. Her onkel Samuel closed the door, and she was lost from Daniel’s view. Thoughtful, he went into the café, taking a seat at the window.

As he watched the buggies drive away, he wondered how long the Grabers’ guest intended to stay.

* * *

THE DRONE OF the metal wheels on the paved road, the sway of the buggy and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves would quickly make her drowsy, Rebecca feared. At least she didn’t have to strain to understand Deitsch, often called Pennsylvania Dutch, which was actually a Germanic dialect. Aenti Emma and the others had spoken English from the moment she stepped off the bus. Or maybe they were doing so for Matthew’s sake. Rebecca suspected the language would come back to her quickly. She had been reasonably fluent once upon a time—as a child, she had spent her summers with her Amish grandparents. She had loved those visits until she became a snotty thirteen-year-old with the same preoccupations as her other San Francisco friends. Boys, the right clothes, boys, how unfair their parents were, boys. The plain life had suddenly held no appeal. Her mother’s disappointment in her wasn’t enough to combat peer pressure.

That, she thought now, was when her foolishness had begun.

“Your aenti Mary gave you clothes, I see,” Aenti Emma said approvingly. Her round face was as cheerful as always, but she had become considerably stouter since Rebecca had last seen her.

“Yes.” Rebecca plucked at the fabric of her apron. They had gone first to her aenti Mary and onkel Abe’s farm to confuse anyone trying to find them. “It feels strange, I have to admit.” She kissed the top of her son’s head. “Matthew doesn’t know what to make of the suspenders.”

Sarah, the younger cousin she scarcely remembered, chuckled. “They suit him fine! We are so pleased to meet Matthew at last.”

Matthew buried his face against Rebecca. His hat fell off once again. The two other women laughed. Onkel Samuel, in the driver’s seat, either couldn’t hear or was ignoring the womenfolk.

Sarah said, “He will be less shy once he sees the horses and cows and chickens, ain’t so?”

Matthew sneaked a peek Sarah’s way.

Rebecca would have smiled if it hadn’t hurt. “He was fascinated by Onkel Abe’s horse. I don’t think he’s ever been close enough to pet one before. He went to a birthday party this spring that included pony rides, but that’s it.”

Aenti Emma beamed at Matthew. “He will like our horses.”

Rebecca let out a breath that seemed to drain her, mostly in a good way. She wouldn’t be able to stay here forever, but for now she and Matthew were safe. She couldn’t imagine Tim or Josh would think to look for her among the Amish, or succeed if they tried. She’d told Tim that her mother had grown up Amish, had mentioned summers with her grandparents, but would he remember? Would he know Mamm’s maiden name? Or that those summers had been spent in Missouri? He’d rolled his eyes at the idea she had been happy even temporarily in what he considered a backward, restricted life, and she doubted he’d really listened when she talked about family. Because of his lack of interest, she hadn’t mentioned her Amish roots in a very long time. And where the Amish were concerned, most people thought Pennsylvania or Ohio. An investigator could find her mother’s maiden name on her marriage certificate, but no one from her family had attended the wedding or signed as a witness.

Graber wasn’t quite as common a surname as some among the Amish, but there were Grabers in many settlements, so tracing her wouldn’t be easy. In many ways, the Amish lived off the grid. They weren’t in any phone directory unless their business was listed. They didn’t need driver’s licenses, and they didn’t contribute to federal social security or draw from it. Living on a cash basis, none of the Amish Grabers would be found in a credit-agency search, either. They did have Social Security numbers, or at least many of them did, because they paid federal income taxes and state and local taxes. Still, would a private investigator have access to income-tax records?

She had done her best to complicate any pursuit by initially flying to Chicago, then backtracking by bus to Des Moines, where she and Matthew had switched to various local buses, paying cash. They finally wended their way to Kalona, Iowa, where more of Rebecca’s relatives lived. Having received a note from Aenti Emma, Aenti Mary and Onkel Abe Yoder had kept her arrival and departure as quiet as possible. Their bishop and some members of their church district knew that their niece and her child had fled something bad and needed help. If an outsider came asking questions, she had confidence they’d pretend ignorance. Staying reserved was their way even when they had nothing to hide.

The unquestioning generosity still shook her. Even though Mamm had jumped the fence—left her faith—to marry Dad, the family considered Rebecca and now her son their own. She’d never even met the Iowa relatives, and yet they’d welcomed her with open arms.

Once she and Matthew were appropriately garbed, another cousin had driven them several towns away, where they caught yet another bus. They had meandered south into Missouri, changing buses frequently. By this time, Rebecca’s entire body ached until she could hardly pick out the new pains from the places that already hurt when they set out from San Francisco. But at last they were here.

Aenti Emma leaned forward and patted Rebecca’s knee with her work-worn hand. “Ach, here we are, talking and talking, when I can see you close to collapsing! Lunch and some sleep is what you need.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she admitted. A glance told her Matthew was nodding off already.

She was grateful when her aunt and cousin lapsed into silence and let her do the same.

She found herself thinking about the cop who had talked to Onkel Samuel just before they left town. A sudden certainty that someone was watching her had felt like icy fingertips brushing her nape. She’d known she should keep her head down so as not to draw attention, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from looking around. If Tim was already here, waiting for her... But then she’d seen the uniformed police officer, instead, as broad-shouldered and strong as the farmers and woodworkers she knew among the Amish, men who labored hard. His face was too hard to be handsome, too inexpressive, his eyes too steely. His cold scrutiny reminded her of the way Detective Estevez had looked at her. She guessed this police officer to be older than she was, perhaps in his midthirties. His hair was a sun-streaked maple brown that probably darkened in the cold Missouri winters.

Rebecca looked down to see that her hands were clenched together hard enough to turn the tips of her fingers white. With an effort, she loosened her grip. Yes, that man made her anxious. Had he only been interested in her because he’d noticed the bruises? But why had he been leaning against the building watching people get off the bus in the first place? Did he check out new arrivals every time the bus stopped in Hadburg? Was that one of his duties? In this rural county, she wouldn’t have thought the local police force would have the personnel to be so vigilant—unless they were watching for someone in particular. Could Detective Estevez have figured out where she’d gone already?

A bump in her pulse rate left her light-headed. She was being stupid. Estevez hadn’t bothered her since their one interview. Tim shouldn’t notice her disappearance until tomorrow, after he arrived to pick up Matthew for his scheduled visit. And violating the custody agreement wasn’t an offense that would draw police attention, certainly not at first. Would Tim even dare file a missing-person’s report on her or accuse her of custodial interference?

No, the last thing he wanted was to attract more attention from the police. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t hire a private investigator to find her, if he didn’t set out to do so himself. She wondered what he’d tell his father. Tim wouldn’t want the man to know his grandson was out of his reach.

And Josh. What would Tim tell the partner who’d been pressuring him? Would he try to protect her, as she was protecting him?

She feared not, given the results after she had gone to him about the shooting and the phone threat.

Aenti Emma swayed gently with the motion of the carriage, her gaze resting on Rebecca and Matthew.

“I saw Onkel Samuel talking to that police officer,” Rebecca blurted, not sounding as casual as she wanted. “Does he know him?”

“We all know Sheriff Byler. His family moved here when he was, oh, sixteen or so, you see.” An odd hint of discomfiture in her voice caught Rebecca’s attention, but Aenti Emma continued, “He went away and nobody knew for a long time what he was up to, but he became a police officer, of all things! And in the big city.” She shook her head, scandalized by the mere idea. Aenti Emma had probably never been as far as St. Joseph, let alone Kansas City. Why would a local boy want to leave placid Henness County for a place that was all concrete and towers of glass and steel and noise? Sirens and car horns and people shouting. So much noise.

“What city?” Rebecca asked, as if it made any difference.

“I heard he went to St. Louis. I guess he didn’t like it, because he came back three years ago and got the Englisch to vote for him to be sheriff. That Gerald Warren, who was sheriff before, nobody liked him. He was lazy, and he looked down on the people.”

The Leit, she meant. The Amish. Lazy Sheriff Warren wouldn’t have been alone. Even tourists equated plain with simpleminded and gullible. Rebecca’s mother used to talk about how much resentment was caused by the slow, horse-drawn buggies with metal wheels that wore ruts in roads, even though the Amish paid road taxes like everyone else.

“So you like this Sheriff Byler?”

“He’s a good man,” Aenti Emma said, although a hint of ambivalence remained. “He listens and understands why we won’t go to the law most of the time.”

Rebecca nodded her understanding. Would that “good man” poke his nose in her problems? Perhaps she should take advantage of the opportunity if he did. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if he knew to watch for anyone asking about her. Even if she didn’t tell him about the unholy bargain she’d made with Tim, if the sheriff thought she was running from her ex-husband because he was stalking her, he might form another line of protection.

But of course that would mean telling him she wasn’t Amish. Almost instantly she shook her head. What if he went looking for police records concerning the alleged abuse? Or even searched online for information about Tim? It might be the modern equivalent of yelling, Here she is. No, it would be better to stay away from Sheriff Byler, however good his intentions were.

She had to grab the seat as the buggy turned sharply. The wheels made a crunching sound that told her they were no longer on a paved road. Peering out the small window, she saw fields of corn growing high in the August heat. Oh—and sunflowers, an entire field of them! A minute later, the crops were replaced in her view by grazing cattle. A sign for a produce stand caught her eye. This was all so familiar. Comforted, she sat back and gently stroked her now-sleeping son’s hair.

Finally they turned into a narrow lane. Corn grew on one side, while to the other was pasture. Enormous, dappled silver horses grazed. Rebecca smiled. Onkel Samuel still bred and raised Percherons, as his father had before him. As a child, she’d been awed by the gentle giants with velvety lips and stiff whiskers and big brown eyes. They had seemed magical to her. She hoped they would to Matthew, too. He didn’t understand why they were making this trip or who these people were, but she had confidence he’d enjoy himself as much here as she had as a girl.

Another bonus of staying here—she didn’t have to worry about Matthew getting to a phone and calling his father. She had left her cell phone behind for fear it could be used to trace them, and Sarah was the last of Aenti Emma and Onkel Samuel’s children left at home. Some Amish teenagers did have cell phones during their running-around time, but Sarah looked to be past that. Rebecca had no intention of telling Matthew about the phone in the shanty that used to be halfway between the Graber farm and the neighbors.

The buggy swayed to a stop and Onkel Samuel got down and came around to let them out. She carried her sleeping son in her arms, though he began to awaken with the movement.

The large farmhouse was just as she remembered it, painted a crisp white, the wide porch still holding a swing and several comfortable chairs. A small wing attached to one side of the house, the grossdawdi haus where her grandparents now lived, had its own porch. Two dogs raced toward them from the huge barn.

“Down, down,” Onkel Samuel said, intercepting them. The dogs spun around in excitement, barking.

Matthew tightened his grip on her neck and lifted his feet out of reach. “Mom! Do they bite?”

Onkel Samuel set a gentle hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “No, they will be your best friends before you know it. Especially if you sneak them some treats.”

His wife turned a look on him. “Don’t suggest he waste my good cooking on dogs!”

He only laughed, his face creasing above the distinctive Amish beard that reached his chest. It was the clean-shaven upper lip that made it different from facial hair among the Englisch. “Boys will be boys,” he declared. “I will bring your bags once I stable Molly,” he added, and got back into the buggy. The dogs hesitated, then bolted after him as he drove toward the barn.

“It’s so good to be here.” Rebecca’s eyes burned. She tried to smile. “Thank you for having us.”

“You’re family,” Aenti Emma said simply.

Sarah hugged her.

“We can’t know God’s purpose,” Aenti Emma murmured, “but the bad things that happened brought you and Matthew to us, which is reason to rejoice. Grossmammi especially has worried about you. Letters aren’t the same.”

“No. I wish...” Rebecca didn’t finish the thought, and saw in the two women’s kind faces that she didn’t need to.

Just then the front door in the grossdawdi haus opened and her grandmother hurried across the lawn to envelop her in more hugs. Her grandfather followed more slowly, every breath a rasp. In the eighteen years since she’d seen them, they’d aged more than she had anticipated. Both had white hair now and looked frail. Guilt stabbed Rebecca. Why hadn’t she managed to visit? Brought Matthew sooner for them to meet?

But her grandmother showed no hint of accusation. It would not be her way. “How often I have prayed to have you restored to us!” Her wide smile included Matthew. “And now to be able to get to know your son, as well! Such a blessing.”

The entire family ushered her and Matthew into the house. In no time, Sarah had poured glasses of lemonade while Rebecca’s aunt and grandmother set out home-baked bread, different cheeses and cold cuts, as well as a special peanut butter sweetened with marshmallow cream. There were at least two kinds of cookies and fudge besides. Matthew’s eyes grew wide, while Rebecca knew this was a modest meal by her aunt’s standards. There would be a much greater variety at dinner.

Matthew was initially suspicious, but he tried the strange peanut butter and grinned his approval, exposing the gaps where he’d lost baby teeth. Before she knew it, lunch was over and they were upstairs, ushered into a typically bare room with two twin beds. Sarah helped Rebecca out of her clothes, drew the curtains and left them to lay their aching bodies down to rest.

Safe, Rebecca thought, and then sleep claimed her.

* * *

DANIEL THOUGHT OF the strange woman on Sunday, and even drove by Reuben Gingerich’s house where church was being held. The every-other-Sunday Amish services were held in homes or barns, the privilege of hosting it rotating among the families in each church district. A dozen or more buggies lined the fence at the top of the lane. The horses stood hipshot and lazy in the shade from a grove of old black walnut trees that Daniel suspected were quite profitable for Reuben.

Daniel usually attended a service at the Congregational Church in Hadburg, which he had joined on his return to Henness County. The occasional Sundays he missed were understood as part of his job. Sometimes that was even true. Sometimes, he parked out of sight and walked across a field to where he could hear the Amish singing hymns, so much a part of his childhood. He never went near enough to a barn or house to chance being seen or to hear the sermons, but the singing quieted something in him even as it reawakened his sense of loss.

It was very different from hymns sung in the Congregational and Baptist churches in town. All Amish hymns came from the Ausbund, a thick book passed down through many generations. It contained only the words, no musical scores. The singing was slow, often mournful, the voices blending together into one. An Amish would say, “One with God.”

The familiar hymns sharpened Daniel’s emotions. Sorrow seemed strongest—or perhaps regret was a better word to describe the jagged feeling in his chest. And yet...he wouldn’t go back if he could. He still believed he had made the right decision. He was where he belonged, protecting his people but separate from them. Daniel only wished his choice hadn’t left him alone, however many friends he made, belonging neither here nor there.

Annoyed with his self-pity, he shook his head and turned his back on the large red barn, where the multitude of voices had fallen silent. He walked back to his squad car and drove away. He always tried to be present when the fellowship meal broke up. Most locals were good about keeping watch for the slow buggies and Amish on foot, but despite all warnings tourists still drove too fast. They didn’t understand how quickly a car could close in on a buggy pulled by a trotting horse. Car-and-buggy accidents were too often tragic. He and his deputies dreaded being called to the site of one.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t be everywhere. Three separate church districts fell completely within this county, which meant services being held at three separate homes on any given Sunday. He had assigned two deputies to patrol today while he did the same, the best he could manage given limited resources. With fewer than ten thousand people in the county, Daniel’s entire department consisted of himself, a sergeant and five deputies, as well as two administrative assistants who were also dispatchers.

The two largest cities in Henness County, including Byrum, the county seat, had their own police departments.

Amish businesses might be in town, but the people rarely lived within city limits, so they were, with few exceptions, in his care. A wry smile accompanied the thought. They believed they were in God’s care, not his. He was careful not to mention his alternate opinion on the matter in the hearing of anyone Amish.

The cars he saw as he patrolled were likely driven by tourists. Amish businesses and roadside stands were closed on Sundays, but the idea was incomprehensible to the typical American who came to sightsee.

Daniel found himself thinking about the Grabers’ guests, as he had more often than he should in the three days since their arrival. They would have been in the barn, the boy still young enough to sit beside his mother on a bench on the women’s side. He wondered if Rebecca had been able to surrender herself wholeheartedly to God today, or whether she held some anger or fear in reserve. However good their intentions, Amish struggled with negative emotions like everyone else. Nonetheless, her feelings toward whoever had hurt her would be far more charitable than his, he could pretty well guarantee.

Tomorrow, he decided, wasn’t too soon to stop by the Graber farm and ask after their visiting family.

He refused to question why he was so eager to do so.

CHAPTER THREE

“THEY’RE AWFULLY BIG,” Matthew said, standing behind the board fence and well back from the row of Percheron horses.

Rebecca stroked the cheek of the nearest gelding, which whuffled a response that startled a giggle out of her, one that made her wince as her swollen cheek protested. “They’re friendly,” she said. “From birth, Onkel Samuel and cousin Mose groom them and feed them and pick up their feet, so they like being around people. Didn’t you see these four pulling a plow yesterday? That was part of their training, to work as a team. I think they will be ready for a new home soon.” The horse she was petting nudged her for more attention, and she added, “They can smell better than we can, so they know we have carrots.”

“They really like carrots?” her son said dubiously. He didn’t mind carrot sticks, but detested cooked carrots. His pickiness where food was concerned had already brought surprise from her family here, where children weren’t indulged in the same way they were in the outside world.

“A carrot is like a cookie to a horse,” Rebecca said firmly. “Watch.”

She broke off a chunk and held it on the palm of her hand. The horse she’d been petting promptly lipped it up and crunched with such enthusiasm that saliva and flecks of carrot flew.

Matthew laughed.

She had just persuaded him to feed a piece of carrot to another of the horses when she heard a car engine followed by the sound of tires crunching on gravel. There were innocent reasons for a car to be driving down this quiet road, even if the homes on it were all Amish owned, but she couldn’t control her spike of anxiety. She turned and saw the green-and-white SUV with a rack of lights on the roof slow and turn into the lane leading to her aunt and uncle’s home. It would pass right by her and Matthew. Rebecca had no doubt who the driver was.

Turning her back on the police car, she cupped Matthew’s hand and helped him hold it out. He squeaked in alarm when lips brushed his palm, then laughed in delight when the carrot vanished.

“It tickled!”

The police vehicle rolled to a stop right behind them. A door slammed, and she and Matthew both turned to face Daniel Byler, who strolled around the front bumper and joined them.

“These are beauties,” he said in a voice that was just a little gravelly. “Your uncle raises the handsomest draft horses I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled despite her tension. “Say that to him, and he would then tell you about three other Amish men he knows who raise horses just as fine. And he would also admonish you for admiring them for their looks, when it is strength and willingness and heart that truly matter.”

His chuckle was a little rough, too. “You’re right, he would. Although I have no doubt he is willing to discuss desirable conformation with buyers.”

“An entirely different thing from calling them beautiful,” she said, trying to repress another smile.

“Why shouldn’t they be beautiful?” Matt burst out. “Aren’t horses s’posed to be—”

“Sheriff Byler is teasing,” she said hastily, seeing his raised eyebrow. “And you know Onkel Samuel is right. These will be working horses. A horse pulling a plow could be mud brown and have a bump in the middle of his forehead and mismatched eyes, one blue and one brown—”

“Like that dog we saw!” he said excitedly.

“Yep.” Uh-oh. “Ja,” she said hastily. “Remember how funny-looking he was? But if the horse was strong and did the job, no one would mind how he looks.”

“Oh.” Matthew frowned, then nodded. “Can I have another carrot?”

The sheriff stayed at their side as they proffered, piece by piece, all the carrots they’d brought. Rebecca was very careful to guide their minimal conversation so that Matthew wouldn’t have a chance to say anything else so un-Amish.

Sheriff Byler offered them a ride up to the house, which she would have refused except for Matthew’s excitement. She held him on her lap in the front seat. The sheriff showed him how to turn on the siren and flashing lights.

Matthew reached out. “Can we...?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Think how it would frighten the horses.”

“Oh.” He subsided. “I guess it would.”

He was happy when a voice came over the radio. A deputy reported, using code that the sheriff translated, that he’d pulled over a motorist for speeding.

Byler’s mouth was tight, and she knew why. Speeding was always dangerous, and particularly on narrow country roads shared by horse-and-buggy travelers.

At the house, she opened the door and let Matthew out first. Already used to the dogs, he giggled to find them waiting. “Go tell Aenti Emma or Grossmammi that Sheriff Byler is here. I’m sure he would like coffee or one of those sticky buns I saw going in the oven.”

Accompanied by Onkel Samuel’s dogs, Matthew raced for the house while the sheriff laughed. “You know your aunt’s sticky buns are famous in these parts. She bakes enough so the café in Hadburg can sell them.”

“Ja,” Rebecca said, striving for the faint accent she heard in the speech of local Amish. “For sure, I know my cousin Sarah drove to town this morning to deliver some.”

Matthew had wanted to go, but Rebecca wasn’t ready to let him out of her sight. The plain clothing wasn’t enough of a disguise. His hair was too short to resemble a typical Amish boy’s bowl cut. His new, wide-brimmed straw hat didn’t hide his face the way a bonnet did hers, and that was when he managed to keep it on his head. And if he saw his father...

Who couldn’t possibly have found them yet, she kept reminding herself, for what good that did.

“You seem to move carefully,” the sheriff said, before she could leave him. “Are you healing?” Turning toward her, he laid his forearm casually on the steering wheel.

“Yes, I am mostly sore.”

“Mostly?”

Being this close to him unnerved her. She was too conscious of him in a short-sleeved uniform. His forearms were strong and tan, dusted with bronze hair tipped with gold. She could see the hint of darker stubble on an angular jaw and noticed the thick, short lashes and the wave in his hair. His eyes were a penetrating dark blue. To evade them, she lowered her gaze, which meant she was looking at powerful thighs. Damn it.

“I have bruises,” she admitted after a moment. “And two cracked ribs. They hurt the most.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t lift your son.”

“My middle—” she laid a hand over her stomach “—is wrapped for protection. Of course I must pick him up.”

He made a grumbly sound she took for disagreement, but said, “What happened?”

Careful. “I stepped out in the street—” She cut herself off before she finished the sentence. The last thing she could admit was that she’d been about to get in her car. “I thought I had looked for traffic, but afterward I was confused, so I’m not sure. A car came fast and hit me. I think I was jumping out of the way, but it still lifted me in the air. I went over the hood and banged into a car coming the other way. That driver stopped to help me, but not the one who hit me.”

“A hit-and-run.”

“Ja, that’s what the police called it. No one saw the license plate, so there was not much they could do.”

As she had lain there waiting for an ambulance, she’d berated herself. She should have fled after the shooting. Instead, because Tim had sounded shocked about what had happened when she called him, she had given him a couple days to talk to “other people”—his vague reference. Make sure there was no repetition. Instead, he had called her back the next day to say tensely, “You’ve got to give those things back, Rebecca. You’ll be okay if you do. I swear.”

Not believing that for a second, she had packed and been ready to run as soon as she picked Matthew up at day care. That was where she’d been heading when she was hit.

This time, she hadn’t been surprised when her phone rang. The message conveyed was even shorter: “Ignoring my last call, not so smart. Lucky for us, you have a weakness.”

Matthew. Dear God. All she could think to do was take him and hide.

Now Sheriff Byler watched her in a way that made her suspect he knew there was more to her story, but he only said, “I’m surprised you chose to travel when you were hurt.”

“I wanted to go away,” she said simply—and truthfully. “Here it is quiet. Not so busy.”

“Where are you from?” he asked, as if making conversation. She knew better and had been prepared.

“Pennsylvania. There, we have so many tourists.” She shook her head. “I was scared every time I crossed a street or heard a car coming up behind my buggy.”

A twitch of his expressive eyebrows made her realize her mistake.

“You think I am not trusting in God.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I do in my head,” she explained, “but my heart still races and my hands shake.”

“Post-traumatic stress,” he said quietly.

She pretended to look puzzled.

“Your body reacts without waiting for permission from you. It takes time for that kind of response to go away.”

She shivered. “Ja.”

He laid a big hand over hers. “You’re cold.”

Her fingers curled into her palms and she quickly withdrew from him. “My hands and feet are always cold.”

A smile crinkled the skin beside his eyes. “Even in August here in Missouri? Teach me your trick.”

She wanted to laugh. Instead, she said shyly, “There is no trick. It’s fine in summer, not so good in winter.”

“No.” His gaze rested on her face a moment longer. Then he reached for his door handle. “We should go in. I see your uncle coming from the barn.”

Oh, heavens—everyone in the house was probably peeking out the window by now.

“Ja, you are right.” She leaped out faster than she ought to have and slammed the door. “I should have been helping to cook, not sitting here like a lump.”

Walking beside her, the sheriff said, “I suspect your family wants you to rest until you don’t hurt anymore before you dive into chores.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to listen to them. It is so kind of them to take us in.”

Another mistake—he must know that visiting was a favorite pastime for the Amish, who loved having family even for extended stays.

But Sheriff Byler only glanced sidelong at her before remarking, as if at random, “It occurs to me your last name isn’t Graber.”

Her mind stuttered in panic. She couldn’t admit to being divorced. The Amish didn’t divorce. Widowed. She would be widowed, except then she would have retained her husband’s last name. And she’d never heard of anyone among the Amish with a last name of Gregory.

Lie? But Matthew might give her away. Oh, no—if he ever told anyone his last name was Gregory, they were in trouble.

“I... No,” she said.

The front door opened just as Onkel Samuel reached them, his long strides eating up the ground. Amid the greetings, Rebecca was able to slip into the house and take Matthew to the bathroom to wash his hands. Heart still thudding, she realized how important it was that she avoid giving Sheriff Daniel Byler any more chances to corner her. She’d made too many slips already. He wasn’t Amish, of course, but she suspected he knew the citizens of his county well enough to notice anomalies in her speech or behavior. And he was too interested in her.

Once back in the kitchen, she took a seat at the far end of the farmhouse table, staying silent as her uncle talked with the sheriff about local happenings, including an upcoming street fair and auction in Hadburg to raise money for the volunteer fire department. She tensed, knowing everyone would go. People would comment if she and Matthew didn’t.

When Sheriff Byler finally rose to leave, her uncle politely standing to show him out, Rebecca only joined the others in murmuring “Goodbye.”

She nudged her son, who said, “I liked looking at your police car,” which was only polite. That was the moment when Rebecca realized in horror that they had been speaking in English the entire time. Of course they had been. But an Amish boy Matthew’s age shouldn’t be fluent in English.

Frantically trying to think of an excuse if the sheriff ever asked, Rebecca didn’t let herself meet those dark blue eyes, and she stayed seated until he was gone. Once she heard the engine, she let Matthew run outside.

Onkel Samuel came back to sit across the table from her. “Curious about you, he is.”

She nodded. “I think that’s why he came by this morning.”

“Ja, that is so.” Lines in his forehead deepened. “I didn’t tell you, but after you got off the bus, he asked about your face.”

Her aenti Emma and Grossmammi bustled in the background and didn’t contribute to the conversation.

“I knew he’d seen my bruises,” Rebecca said. “When we were sitting in his car, he asked how it happened. I made it sound like an accident, but told him the driver didn’t stop and the police hadn’t been able to find him.”

His face relaxed. “That is good. There was no need to lie.”

“No.” Onkel Samuel wouldn’t approve of lying, but... “He asked what my last name is. You greeted him then, so I didn’t have to answer, but what if he asks again?”

He pondered that. “Outsiders join us sometimes. Someone named Holt could be one of them.”

“Yes, but if he looked me up in his computers, he might find me. And Matthew’s name is different from mine, besides.” She hesitated. “I did lie to him. I said I had come from Pennsylvania.”

He frowned. “Perhaps we should tell him what you fear. Someone must set things right. I think he can be trusted.” Still, he sounded reluctant.

Inexplicably, the idea of confiding in Sheriff Byler was appealing...as was he. And that triggered a new kind of alarm. Being attracted to him was a really bad idea. Plus, a physical attraction was absolutely the wrong reason to trust him. She could easily imagine him being cocky enough to think he could solve her problems, and arrogant enough to do what he thought best without asking her first. And that was assuming he didn’t have more in common with Estevez than she wanted to believe.

“The fewer people who know I’m not Amish, the better,” she said slowly. “What if he tells a friend, or one of his officers, who tells someone else? So fast, everyone could know.”

“If you ask him to keep silent...”

“Why don’t we wait and see what happens?” she said. “He came out here and saw that I’m doing fine. He may have satisfied his curiosity.”

After a moment, he nodded. “Ja, that is so.”

Rebecca hesitated. “You don’t think I’m off in the head to think someone was trying to kill me?”

“Wu schmoke is, is aa feier,” he said without hesitation.

That much of the language she remembered: where there is smoke, there is fire.

“God asks us to trust in Him, but He does not say to be a fool,” her uncle added. “When a horse lifts a hoof and I see he will set it down on my toes, I move my foot schnell.”

“Denke,” she said, torn between humor and tears.

He only smiled and said, “I must get back to work.” Clapping his straw hat onto his head, he departed.

It took her a moment to collect herself enough to rise and say, “Let me wash those dishes, Aenti Emma.”

* * *

DANIEL DROVE AWAY from the Graber farm no more satisfied than before. He knew he didn’t have Rebecca’s whole story. She’d failed to offer her last name, which increased his suspicion that she was running from an abusive spouse.

He didn’t much like that explanation for several reasons. At the forefront was the danger to Rebecca and her kid. In his experience, domestic violence was like dynamite, volatile and deadly.

What was most puzzling was the rarity of an Amish woman fleeing from her husband. They were a peaceful people, committed to nonviolence. Domestic abuse existed among them, but forgiveness was so ingrained that women rarely gave up on a husband. Or perhaps it was more that the women knew how few alternatives they had. If the abuse was bad enough, she might go to her bishop, who would chide the husband, maybe going so far as counseling him and demanding he confess and beg forgiveness from the entire congregation. But for the wife to take her child and run... Daniel had never heard of such a thing.

Even as he brooded, Daniel noted how well the corn seemed to be coming on, thriving in the heat. Many local farmers would plant a second crop once the corn was harvested—soybeans had become a success in the difficult northern Missouri climate, but many of the Amish chose a cover crop like forage turnips, which provided good grazing for livestock and kept down weeds. Even the Amish moved with the times, just with more deliberation than their neighbors.

He wasn’t sure what more he could do to help Rebecca when she so clearly didn’t want his help. Daniel fully understood the stubborn refusal of the Amish to turn to outsiders. Samuel Graber was a capable man, and he had extended family in the county. Yet he was ill equipped to counter violence. The best he could do was slow down an intruder to give Rebecca and Matthew time to hide in the barn or the woods at the back of the property. Samuel would let himself be shot rather than strike a blow.

And that was where Daniel had collided with the Ordnung, the rules directing the people that had once been his.

No, his decision to go out in the world had been more complicated than that, as nearly every life-altering decision was, but he knew his father or mother would say sadly, “Daniel could not forgive.”

To them it was that simple.

He wished he thought any of the Grabers would call him if a dangerous man came seeking Rebecca.

* * *

“SLEEP TIGHT.” REBECCA kissed her son’s forehead and stood. She lifted the kerosene lamp to light her way back downstairs. Thank goodness Matthew had never been afraid of the dark.

“Mommy?” he whispered.

She paused and turned back.

“Can Daddy come see us here?” Matthew asked. “I bet he’d like the horses, too.”

He’d asked about his father when they first set out, but not since. After a moment, she returned to sit on the edge of his bed again. Smoothing his hair, she said, “You know how hard he works. He wouldn’t be able to get away for days and days. This is our adventure.”

“But...what about when it’s his weekend?”

His weekend had just come and gone. She didn’t like to think about how he’d reacted.

“We’ll make up for it later,” she said. “Just like we do if he has to travel for work and can’t be home for his weekend.”

Matthew was quiet. She knew he understood that much.

“I don’t know when we’ll go back,” she said softly. Or if. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

“Aenti Emma makes good cookies. And I liked fishing with Abram and his dad.”

Mose, the son who farmed alongside Samuel, had his own house and a growing family on the far side of the cornfield. In his thirties, he already had four children, the oldest almost eleven. Like Matthew, Abram was six.

“Only, Abram doesn’t talk that good.”

“That well. And Abram talks just fine, but he’s only starting to learn English. I actually thought he was doing pretty well with it for his age.”

“But how come he doesn’t speak English? Everyone does.”

So she explained again how the Amish people spoke their own language, and that children weren’t usually exposed to English until they began school at six years old. By the time they finished eighth grade, they would be able to speak two languages, which was more than you could say for the typical American student.

Matthew was quiet long enough that she hoped she could slip out, but then he said, “Abram wants me to go to school with him. He says Sarah will be his teacher.” He sounded astonished.

Rebecca smiled despite feeling a pang. When would she be able to have her own classroom again? She could hardly apply for jobs now. “It’s true. Cousin Sarah is a teacher. Just like teachers and kids at home, she has the summer off. She told me that tomorrow she is going to the schoolhouse to start preparing for the new school year. I offered to help her clean. You can come with us, if you’d like.”

“Can Abram come, too?” he asked, with eagerness that encouraged her.

“If his mamm and daad say he can. Now.” She made her voice firm. “Sleep, and no argument.”

“’Kay,” he murmured. “But you’ll come to bed real soon, too, won’t you?”

“I will.” Without electricity or television or smartphones, there was little temptation to stay up late. And on a farm, the work began early.

She kissed him once again and this time made her escape, taking old worries and new ones with her. What would she say if Matthew kept asking about his father? If he begged her to let him call Daddy? And how would he react when he found out he likely wouldn’t be in Mrs. Chisholm’s first-grade classroom this fall, but would instead be joining his cousin Abram and the other children in their church district in a one-room school?

He was young. He’d adapt.

But Rebecca knew she’d keep asking herself if this huge adjustment she expected of him was fair or even possible. And yet Tim had let her know he couldn’t protect her or Matthew. Her priority had to be keeping herself and Matthew safe. If Tim truly loved their son, if he felt even a shadow of affection for her, he would understand what she’d done.

How long would they have to stay in hiding? Right now, all she could do was check the internet for any news about Steven, Josh, Tim or the construction company when she could make it to the library in Hadburg. If she found no news about an arrest or closing of the investigation, at some point, she had to talk to Tim again.

But not yet.

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