Love At Pebble Creek (Hope Chest of Dreams Book 5)

by Lisa Jones Baker

  So, the layout wasn’t a mystery. He knew where to find the garden, the house, and the large, old barn where Paul loved to spend time. The three made a triangle, with the garden nearest the road.

  Still, despite the fact that Jesse knew their place like the back of his hand, what needed to be done wouldn’t be easy. Not in this storm. Thankful he was closer, he was fully aware that being outside in these conditions wasn’t safe. For him. Or Serene. As they headed up the long, dirt drive, flying debris filled the air.

  “Whoa, girl.” The moment he reached the barn, he jumped off and quickly led Serene inside the building. As he did so, he heard a call for help.

  Outside, he followed the sound of the voice. “I’m coming!”

  Finally, he looked down at Anna, who was pinned to the ground by a large, broken oak limb.

  Even as he asked, he could see she wasn’t all right. Her head was bleeding. “I’ll get you inside.” With all of his strength, he pulled the heavy limb that trapped her out of the ground, scooped her into his arms, and carried her inside the barn.

  He could hear her soft, tired voice. “Jesse . . . How . . . how did you know? What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t respond. Right now, he needed to get her to a safe place. Then he’d explain.

  As he took quick steps, he held on to her tightly and focused on his footing as he searched for where she’d be most comfortable. It didn’t take long to decide on the best spot. Her arms encircled his waist. He could hear small coughs coming from her throat.

  He stopped to catch his own breath. “You okay?”

  The only response was a cough.

  He eyed several bales of straw that touched the wall nearest the stalls. “I’ll put you down.” He bent, careful to support her neck. She wasn’t light, but she wasn’t heavy either.

  Thunder rumbled as he frowned at the large gash on her forehead and the blood oozing from the injury.

  “Jesse? What are you doing here?” Before he could answer, she went on. “I . . . I’m okay,” she said to the bishop’s son.

  He frowned, fully aware that the first thing he had to do was to stop the flow of blood. He kneeled so he was eye-to-eye with her before glancing at the nearest wall. With one fluid motion, he made his way to a hook with a clean, oversize rag. As he returned to Anna and pressed the cloth gently against her forehead, a cold shiver swept up his spine.

  A faint smile of appreciation lifted the corners of her lips as she met his gaze. “How did you know I needed help?”

  Relief swept up his arms and landed in his shoulders. “Right now, I’m just glad you’re conscious.” He leaned over her, gently using the cotton to absorb the blood. “By the looks of your forehead, that limb hit you pretty hard. Just try to stay still while I stop the blood.”

  For a moment, she closed her eyes. He bent so his face was near hers. With great care not to hurt her, he took strands of loose, jet-black hair and, using his most gentle, careful touch, pulled them, one by one, off her face.

  He heard the cadence of her breathing change. “Ouch.”

  He lowered the pitch of his voice so that it was barely more than a whisper. “Sorry.”

  When she opened her eyes, it was impossible not to notice the mesmerizing jade color. The deep shade reminded him of a beautiful yard after a fresh mow.

  Circumstances warranted their closeness. He’d never seen her with her hair down, and the fullness and beauty of the wet, jet-black waves took him by surprise.

  He wasn’t sure why; he supposed it was just because he’d never seen Anna King without her kapp. Or any other girl who went to church with him, for that matter.

  As he continued pulling her hair away from her face, he folded the rag and touched the dry side to her forehead. “It looks like you’ll need stitches.”

  He pressed. She winced.

  He gritted his teeth in agony. The last thing he wanted to do was put her in more pain than she already was. “Sorry. I don’t have much practice with this sort of thing.”

  As she closed her eyes, he tried to keep her talking to make sure she stayed awake. Not sure what to ask, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “What’s your favorite color?”

  When she opened her lids, he was quick to catch the expression of disbelief.

  “Blue.” The corners of her lips lifted in amusement. “Like your eyes.”

  As soon as she closed her lids again, he smiled a little in satisfaction. She’d always been spunky. And unafraid. But right now, her verbal reaction wasn’t all he sought.

  He needed more evidence to convince him that she was okay. The gash on her forehead looked wicked, and the knot over it was growing. She might have a concussion.

  “My next question will tell me whether or not you’re on your toes.” He cleared his throat and pitched his question with an odd combination of hopefulness and confidence. “What’s King’s Bakery famous for?”

  While he awaited a response, he removed the material from her wound to fold it again to find a dry spot. When he did, he continued dabbing the cotton fabric against the ominous-looking cut.

  He frowned and snapped his fingers. “Anna, answer my question.”

  “What?”

  “What’s King’s Bakery famous for?”

  When she opened her eyes and grinned, a great sense of relief swept through him.

  “Cinnamon rolls.”

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He considered her question but didn’t have an answer. To his dismay, she continued looking at him with an expression of expectation. Curiosity. Finally, he acknowledged that she expected an answer, so he had to come up with one.

  He lifted his chin a notch as words came to him. “There’s nothing funny about this situation. Nothing at all. But my laugh . . . I think it was a reaction of relief. I was worried that you couldn’t remember.”

  He blew out a deep breath and shook his head before locking gazes with her again. “You had me worried. The gash on your forehead . . . it’s wicked-looking.”

  After a slight pause, he went on. “But as soon as the storm lets up . . .” He lifted a brow and straightened. “We’re gonna get you to a doctor.”

  When she sat up, he steadied her with his hand and used as much persuasion as he could to convince her. “Easy does it, Anna. You’re not goin’ anywhere soon.”

  She closed her eyes a moment. As she did so, he took advantage of the opportunity to get a better look at her face. To his relief, color had started to return to her cheeks. Her long, thick lashes were as black as her thick head of hair.

  Even though he’d been around her most of his life, through school and church, he admitted he didn’t really know much about the tochter of Paul and Naomi. Just that she had been adopted as a baby. And that she could be a bit determined. Not in a bad way.

  In school, she’d stuck up for what was right. He automatically recalled one incident when Israel Schmucker, the orneriest kid around, had stolen her homework. Anna hadn’t said a word to their teacher, Mrs. Graber.

  But, to Jesse’s surprise, Anna had returned the favor after Mrs. Graber had asked Israel the answer to a math problem. The prankster answered correctly, but when Anna had followed up with her own question about how he’d gotten that response, Israel had been surprised. And unknowledgeable.

  Jesse had seen the slight smile after their teacher began asking Israel more follow-ups. It had quickly become obvious that the homework on his desk wasn’t his own.

  But personally, he knew so little about her, this new realization prompted his jaw to drop in surprise. He was aware that Naomi had made numerous unsuccessful attempts to conceive. He also was fully aware that this dark-haired girl loved to draw.

  She’d never said so. But he’d sat behind her in school often enough to know that she’d sketched whenever the opportunity had arisen. It had always amused him when he’d watched her open her textbook and quickly slip a piece of paper in between the pages.

  Mos
t likely, Mrs. Graber had thought the girl was taking notes. Because when posed questions, Anna rarely missed an answer. But while she sketched, she’d done mostly landscapes. And, humorously, she’d captured the expression on Israel’s face when Mrs. Graber had taken away his stolen answers.

  What had stunned Jesse even more than her uncanny ability to pretend note-taking was that her sketches had been incredibly good. In his eyes anyway.

  As her words came out, she smiled a little. The color continued to return to her cheeks. Inside, he sighed relief.

  “Denki, Jesse.”

  For some reason, the way she spoke with such gratitude softened his heart. He swallowed an emotional knot. Her words came out filled with adulation.

  He could feel warm blood rush to his cheeks, and he silently scolded himself. “God planted me in your yard at the right time and the right place. And I’m glad He did.”

  “By the way, you never said what you were doing here. But you must have come to talk to Daed.”

  A wide smile revealed a row of straight white teeth. “Not exactly. I work here now, Anna. Your daed . . . he hired me . . . for the summer. Since the addition at the bakery has become more of a project than anticipated. And there’s no need to worry about your parents . . . they’re both at the bakery, safe and sound. In fact, they sent me to warn you of the storm and to make sure you were inside, safe and sound.”

  She lifted her chin a notch in sudden recollection. “I wasn’t aware that he’d actually hired someone.” She paused and then added in a light voice, “You.”

  When she opened her eyes, he took in the expression on her face that indicated urgency.

  “What is it?”

  She frowned. “I just remembered something.” She sighed with regret. “My satchel.” She started to get up, but he stopped her with his hand.

  “Uh-oh. Not so fast. When your daed asked me to make sure you were safe, I’m sure he expected me to follow through. Besides, you’ve got to be freezing in those wet clothes.”

  “Right now, there’s really no option until I get back to the house. But you’re drenched, too.”

  “I’ll survive. Like you said, there’s no option.”

  She smiled a little and expressed her gratitude. “Ich bin dankbar to be in here. But my satchel . . . I left it on the buggy. Something important’s inside.”

  He considered the two statements. And frowned. “The wind . . . Anna, I don’t want to sound like the voice of doom, but you and I both know how strong the storm is. And unless that satchel of yours has a heavy stone inside it, only heaven knows where it is now.” After clearing his throat, he lowered his tone to a more serious pitch. “What’s inside can surely be replaced.”

  He was quick to note the tension in her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around her waist and straightened. And when their gazes locked, he caught her expression’s deep concern. He could see it in her set jaw. In the way her lips parted.

  “I’ve got to go . . .”

  Lightning illuminated the area for a quick second. He waited for her to explain what was in her satchel that was so important, but to his surprise, she didn’t.

  “Tell you what . . . As soon as I’m convinced it’s safe to leave you, I’ll try to find your satchel.”

  She gave him an abashed smile. “No. I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much.”

  As he listened, he noticed the sudden lessening of the wind. The rain had lightened significantly, although he could still hear drops on the roof. To his relief, she hadn’t closed her eyes for some time now.

  “Tell you what, the wind has let up . . .” He lifted one corner of his lips in amusement. “A little water never hurt anyone, now did it?” Before she could respond, he went on. “Besides . . .”

  He pointed to his wet clothes. “How much worse can it get?”

  They laughed. He stood. And stopped. “By the way, to help me find it . . . what’s the color?”

  “Braun.”

  He bobbed his head toward the front doors and spoke during his stride to them. “I’ll do my best, Miss King. Wish me luck.”

  At the doors, he turned back and darted an encouraging wink. “If it’s in the near vicinity, I might have a shot at finding it. But considering the strength of the storm . . .” He lifted an uncertain brow. “No promises, Anna.”

  Before stepping outside, he drew in a deep breath. Right now, he was fairly sure he could safely look for the satchel. However, he wasn’t certain how long the lull would last.

  Outside, quick steps took him to the Kings’ spare buggy. He looked closely. Not expecting to find the satchel, he arched a surprised brow when he glimpsed it.

  With the strong speed of the winds, he’d expected the satchel to have traveled to the state of Texas by now. But it was stuck in the buggy’s wheel, wrapped around a spoke.

  He kneeled and retrieved it with both hands. The satchel was soaked. But Anna hadn’t seemed concerned with the satchel itself, rather with what was inside it. What could be so important?

  * * *

  As the barn doors slammed, Anna’s head ached. She squeezed her eyes closed and continued to hold the large rag to the gash. The pounding in her head wasn’t as fierce as it had been; still, the pain was there.

  Only now, it was duller. And all she wanted was to close her eyes and fall into a deep slumber. But the pain wouldn’t let her. And neither would her conscience. She breathed relief that she was alone.

  Not that she wasn’t grateful to Jesse; she was. Because he had rescued her, picked her up off the ground, in the wind and the rain, and had carried her into the barn, then placed her on this bale of straw . . . she looked down at the loose pieces that stuck to her wet clothes . . . where he had been tending to her like a mother would take care of a child.

  Only, to her dismay, in her vulnerable condition, she was fully aware that this unexpected interaction with Jesse was far from that of a maemm caring for a little one. When he had lifted her and taken her into the tall shelter, she’d been conscious enough to recognize the feel of his strong arms around her body.

  As he’d lifted her, she’d glimpsed the small freckle beside his nose. The gray flecks she’d never noticed on his deep blue eyes. The shade reminded her of the beautiful pictures she’d seen of the Bahamas in the window of a travel agency when she’d gone to the city to shop with friends last Christmas.

  As she began to realize how close she’d been to him physically, she tensed. Even though the circumstances had led to this happening, she was fully aware that their closeness had made her pulse pick up. Dear Lord, I know that all that counts is what’s inside a person’s heart. Please stop me from feeling like this around him. Amen.

  She breathed in, opened her eyes, and tried to make sense of how she felt. She finally reasoned that her inappropriate reaction had been caused by the shock of having lost a lot of blood.

  She’d tried to keep her eyes closed in order to avoid his gaze, but now that she was thinking through everything that had happened since his arrival, a rush of heat flooded her cheeks.

  Not because what he did was wrong. But her reaction certainly was. Finally, she let out a sigh of acceptance and reasoned that the odd circumstances of the afternoon were affecting her emotions in strong ways. Jah, that has to be it.

  She remembered the cut on her forehead and resumed the strict instructions Jesse had given her before stepping outside the barn to retrieve her satchel.

  Leaning her head back against the wall, she gently continued to press the material to her wound. Her head still pounded. As she sat up, she looked down at her disheveled appearance and suddenly recalled the livestock. She wondered if all the animals had made it into the barn, safe and sound.

  The whinnies from the horses and the constant mooing from the cattle reassured her that they were okay, although, just from the sounds, she couldn’t account for each individual animal.

  As she thought of Jesse Beiler, she smiled a little. And as she observed the blood-covered rag
, she expelled a sigh, acknowledging how very fortunate she was that he’d arrived when he had.

  The fierce throbbing in her head forced her to close her eyes again. As she did so, automatically, Jesse came back in to her thoughts, and she arched a brow, wondering how she could have known him for so long yet not know him at all.

  Of course, Anna was fully aware that she hadn’t been the most outgoing child. She’d been interested mainly in art. Sketching landscapes and people on paper.

  The wind picked up speed again. The livestock reacted strongly to the rumbling of thunder and the crackle of lightning by increasing their volume. She wiped her hands together to get rid of the loose straw that stuck to her skin.

  But what was most important now was making sure Jesse made it back inside. Is he okay?

  * * *

  Outside, Jesse assessed the obvious damage from the storm. This will require lots of cleanup. By the looks of it, gutters had been swept from the house and strewn about the large country yard. Some of the old oaks were missing nearly half of their branches.

  Thank goodness the livestock had made it inside. And his buggy . . . amazingly, it was still in one piece, which was a miracle because it had been outside. The Kings’ spare buggy looked okay, too. Jesse knew that Paul and Naomi’s other mode of transportation was parked outside King’s Bakery in town.

  He sensed that the storm wasn’t over. Jesse enjoyed following the weather. He looked up at the light-gray clouds that hovered precariously in the sky and narrowed his brows in skepticism.

  But his uncanny knack to forecast, along with his keen instincts, told him to get back inside the building. Right away. Besides, he didn’t want to leave Anna alone for too long.

  Even though she seemed to be recovering, her gash would most likely need medical attention. She was fortunate that the huge limb that had struck her and had trapped her hadn’t done more damage. And he worried about a concussion. As soon as the storm was over and the Kings were home, he’d offer to get someone to take their daughter to the hospital. And he’d go, too.