“Nothing is now. But I w-was stopping myself before,” Arden said. “I thought I should-shouldn’t get married be-because my kinner w-would have the same problems I have.”
“That’s a possibility, but it’s not an absolute. As you once said to me about my caring for Ivan, who would be better equipped to help that child than you?”
“I—I know that now. I figured it out when I saw how thrilled Colin was about his bobblin...”
Rachel giggled. “Jah, I didn’t know he could still smile like that.”
“Arden! Rachel! What are you doing out in the rain? Lunch is ready,” Grace summoned them from the porch.
“We’re coming.” Rachel was disappointed their conversation had been interrupted, but she hoped they’d pick up where they left off once they had privacy again. When they got inside, they dried off and seated themselves at the table.
“I hope rivel supp is okay. Mamm and I were making it for Aquilla, so we figured we might as well make some for you, too,” Grace said, and Ivan smiled politely.
After they’d thanked God for the meal, Rachel announced she had something for the other three to consider. “Grace, if your mamm’s health is stable and if Ivan and Arden agree to it, in a few days would you be willing to take over for me at the workshop on an ongoing basis—and check in on Ivan occasionally, too?”
Arden dropped the saltshaker right into his soup, spraying chowder everywhere. “You w-w-won’t be wo-working at the shop anymore?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel handed him a spare napkin, but he made no attempt to mop up the spill. “Hadassah and Colin have asked me to help them for a couple of months once she and the bobblin are discharged. I’d like to do it, but Ivan won’t be able to return to work for a while, and I don’t want to leave the two of you in the lurch, which is why I thought Grace might be—”
“I’d be hallich to step in,” Grace said.
Ivan simultaneously remarked, “Hadassah needs you more than we do.”
“Jah,” Arden agreed as he fished the saltshaker from his chowder. “You definitely should help Hadassah and the bobblin. It’s a better use of your skills.”
Rachel wasn’t expecting everyone to be quite so enthusiastic about her relinquishing her position at the workshop. She had intended to tell them about her decision to be baptized into the Amish church, too, but what if they weren’t receptive to the idea? Suddenly she could hardly fight back the tears. “Gut, it’s settled then. If you’ll excuse me, these clothes are wetter than I thought and I’m uncomfortable in them. I’ll go change.”
Upstairs she kicked off her shoes and curled into a ball, quietly weeping into a pillow. She understood that even if Arden had the smallest romantic inclination toward her, he wouldn’t have been likely to express it. Not while she was still Englisch. But did he have to seem so happy she wouldn’t be working with him any longer? And to think, I dared hope when he was talking about wanting to get married, he might have had me in mind—which just goes to show how much hochmut I really do have!
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she awoke, she changed into her lavender dress, went into the bathroom and splashed cold water over her face in an attempt to soothe her swollen eyelids and ease the sting of her bug bites. Downstairs she found the table had been cleared, Grace was gone and Ivan was taking a nap. Instead of soup, she opted to have a glass of lemonade. As she was putting the pitcher back in the fridge, she noticed a brown paper bag with her name on it. Inside was a bottle of witch hazel and a note.
Rachel,
Hadassah needs you so I can’t be selfish, but I will miss you in the workshop. I wish you could stay in Serenity Ridge forever.
Arden
Rachel hugged the bottle to her chest as she reread the note three times. Then she put the witch hazel back in the fridge and, with every ounce of restraint she could muster, slowly picked her way around the puddles as she walked toward the workshop. The sun was breaking through the clouds, and once again, Arden’s eyes mirrored the blue of the sky as he stepped outside. It was as if he’d been waiting for her.
Glancing at the note in her hand, he said, “As you know, I’m not very gut with words.”
“This is the best liebesbrief I’ve ever received,” Rachel gushed, and then she was immediately embarrassed she’d referred to it as a love letter. Was that how Arden had intended it?
“Gut, because it’s the best—and the only—liebesbrief I’ve ever written,” he replied, and for now, that was all he needed to say.
Epilogue
“Are you enjoying your work as a midwife’s assistant?” Sadie Swarey asked Rachel.
“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do. It must have been Gott’s plan for me to be here when the twins were born—otherwise I might never have found out the Englisch midwives desperately needed an Amish person to work with them in Serenity Ridge.”
“Ach! Speaking of twins, look—mine are getting in line for a third piece of hochzich cake.” Sadie waved a finger at her two children, Elizabeth and David, across the church’s gathering room. “Gott segen, Arden and Rachel.”
After she walked away, Meg came over to where they were standing. “Rachel, you’re glowing!” she remarked. “Oops, is that not allowed? Are compliments considered hochmut?”
Arden shrugged. “I hope not, because I keep telling Rachel the same thing.”
“Denki,” Rachel said to them both. “I’m so glad you took time off to be here, Meg.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Although I feel a little out of place. Am I the only Englischer here?”
“Neh. The Jones familye is Englisch.”
“Did I hear you mentioning my name?” Chris Jones sauntered in their direction, grinning.
“Jah. Chris, meet Meg. She’s my gut friend, and up until seven months ago, she was my roommate, too.”
“Hello, Meg. If you’d like, I can stick close by. We’ll be fish out of water together.”
“That would be nice.” A blush settled over Meg’s face.
As the pair edged toward the dessert table, Arden teased Rachel. “I didn’t realize matchmaking was one of your vices. You’re worse than my mamm.”
“But wouldn’t it be wonderful if Meg and Chris fell in love, got married and were as hallich together as Ivan and Grace, or as you and I are?”
“I doubt anyone else could ever be this hallich.” Arden discreetly nuzzled Rachel’s ear as he whispered, “I didn’t know I could be this hallich, myself.”
“Just wait until we have bobblin. You’ll be overjoyed.”
“I can hardly wait. And I can’t wait any longer for this, either,” he said, before surreptitiously kissing his bride.
* * *
Don’t miss the next book in Carrie Lighte’s
Amish of Serenity Ridge miniseries,
coming in June!
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Cowboy’s Secret by Jill Kemerer.
Dear Reader,
During the many years I lived or vacationed in Maine, I never saw a moose in the wild. Frankly, after all I’ve heard and read about them, I’m not sure I’d want to see one except from the safety of my home or from my car as I drive in the opposite direction. Which isn’t to suggest most moose are aggressive toward humans, because usually they’re not, although they can be unpredictable and at thirty-five miles per hour, they’d definitely be able to outrun me.
However, since the moose is Maine’s state animal, I’d be remiss if I didn’t allow one to wander through the pages of my Serenity Ridge series. That’s one of the wonderful things about writing and reading fiction—it allows us to encounter people, places and things we might not otherwise meet.
As for whether this is the last time Serenity Ridge’s heroes and heroines cross paths with this great animal... I hope you’ll read the next two books to find out!
/> Blessings,
Carrie Lighte
WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM
Uplifting stories of faith, forgiveness and hope.
Fall in love with stories where faith helps guide you through life’s challenges, and discover the promise of a new beginning.
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The Cowboy’s Secret
by Jill Kemerer
Chapter One
“You can’t trust a cowboy.” Gabby Stover typed instructions for housekeeping at the front desk of Mountain View Inn, the premier—and only—hotel in Rendezvous, Wyoming. Bright June sunshine streamed in through the large windows near the counter, but she kept her focus on the computer where it belonged. Her shift as the day manager would be over soon, and she still needed to check tomorrow’s reservations and review her daily checklist.
“I’d give the cowboy outside a shot.” Stella Boone, the new reception clerk, pretended to brush off her shoulder. “That hottie is definitely not from around here.”
Gabby scrolled through the reservations, not bothering to glance out the window to catch a glimpse of the guy. She did not have time to indulge in Stella’s uncanny radar for spotting attractive men. There was enough to deal with at the moment, especially since Babs O’Rourke, the inn’s owner and Gabby’s friend, had thrown down a bombshell this morning.
Was Babs really selling the place?
Gabby took a deep breath to relieve the sudden tightness in her chest. If the inn transferred to new owners, she’d more than likely no longer have a job. And she loved her job. She’d been working at the inn since she was nineteen years old. She was good at managing it—enjoyed meeting new people and sharing her enthusiasm about Rendezvous with them. It gave her pleasure to make sure they were comfortable. Plus it paid better than most jobs around here.
With the baby to think about, she needed every penny. Her niece, Phoebe, deserved a stable home and wonderful childhood—the opposite of what she and her sister, Allison, had endured.
“Do you think he’s staying here?” Stella asked. “Maybe I can be his personal tour guide.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” Gabby forced herself to speak in a pleasant tone. “Take it from me, cowboys are liars.”
“That’s a rotten thing to say, considering you’re such good friends with Mason Fanning.” Stella pulled a compact out of her purse and checked her appearance in the small mirror.
“First of all, this isn’t the place to check your makeup. It’s unprofessional.” She tried to inject as much sternness as possible into her glare. “Second, Mason is a rancher, not a cowboy. There’s a big difference.”
“Sure. Big difference. Whatever you say.” Stella fluffed her hair. “Does this mean Judd Wilson made it on your hot list, or is he more cowboy than rancher?”
Hot list? Gabby’s eye began twitching uncontrollably. She’d hired Stella as a favor to the girl’s sister, Nicole, who’d recently joined her support group and was due this summer with triplets. But Gabby’s goodwill was quickly running out. As for Judd Wilson...the successful rancher was a looker, no denying it, but she had no romantic feelings for the man.
A shame. Judd was a good guy. But she was always attracted to the bad boys—the charmers in Stetsons with a twinkle in their eyes and snake oil on their tongues. Thankfully, she’d come a long way since the Carl debacle, and she had no intention of making a mistake of that magnitude again.
“Steer clear of cowboys, okay, Stella? It’s for your own good.”
“You sound as uptight as my sister. Ooh, he’s coming in!” She tossed her blond hair over her shoulder and flashed her biggest smile.
Gabby had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Only then did she catch a glimpse of the man.
Oh my. Hottie didn’t do him justice.
Her heartbeat thumped as her living, breathing cowboy fantasy-nightmare strode her way. He took off his hat, revealing short, messy black hair. She tried not to stare at his full lips, dark eyebrows and brown eyes. His shoulders were wide, hips slim, legs long. He wore jeans, cowboy boots and a black T-shirt. Flawless. Her knees trembled. She firmed her muscles.
This one was going to be trouble.
He stopped at the counter and exhaled as if something heavy was on his mind.
“May I help you?” Stella batted her eyelashes.
“I’m looking for Gabrielle Stover.” Even his voice was perfection. Low with a slight rasp—a shiver rushed over her skin.
“You’re looking at her.” Gabby pasted on her most professional smile. “What can I help you with today?”
He frowned, pulling out a piece of paper from his back pocket. She forced herself to look away from his sinewy fingers to check the clock. In another hour she’d pick up Phoebe from Eden’s place and kick off her Friday night with a pizza. Maybe this would be the weekend she’d coax her niece to crawl. At nine months old, Phoebe was scooting and pulling herself up to a standing position with help from the furniture, but she’d yet to crawl. If only Allison could see her daughter... Sudden emotion clogged Gabby’s throat. Her little sister would have been a great mommy if she’d lived.
The cowboy handed her the paper he’d smoothed out. She began to read. Her stomach dropped, leaving her nauseous, reeling.
Oh, please, no. No...
The man standing before her was Phoebe’s father!
“Stella, keep an eye on the front desk.” Gabby rounded the counter and curtly motioned for the man to follow her. She led him down the hall to her private office and offered him a seat before practically collapsing into her own chair.
“You’re here for the baby.” Saying the words out loud ripped something from her soul. He was here to claim Phoebe. He was going to take her niece—Gabby’s whole world, the baby she’d been raising as her own ever since Allison’s heart attack.
“Are you okay?” He tilted his head, those brown eyes darkening with concern. “You look...ill.”
Ill? Of course she was ill! This was what she’d feared from the day Allison first tried to contact him. Her sister’s poor judgment had led to a one-night stand during a trip to Texas. Allison had tracked down the guy, Sam Pine, and had written several emails to let him know she was pregnant and keeping the baby. He’d never responded, nor did he seem to be on any social media sites. After Allison died, Gabby had tried to contact him, too. As a last resort, she’d mailed a letter to the only address she could find linked to his name, although she’d doubted it was current. That had been six months ago.
Unfortunately, a father had rights, and there was nothing she could do about it. He was the dad. She was merely the aunt.
“I’m...fine.” She tried to compose herself. “So, Sam, I—”
“Sam?” It was his turn to look green. “I’m not Sam. Sam died. I thought you knew.”
Sam died? Relief swept in. This guy wasn’t the father! He wasn’t taking Phoebe away!
Shame brought her back to the situation at hand. She couldn’t celebrate the sad fact Phoebe’s father was dead. The baby truly was an orphan. How horrible.
“No, I had no idea.” She shook her head. “He never responded to any of Allison’s emails or mine, after—” she licked her lips and pressed them together, willing her emotions back in place “—after Allison died.”
“I’m sorry about your loss.” He averted his eyes, then glanced up at her once more. “What happened?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words jammed in her throat. Come on. Tell him the facts. Don’t get emotional. You’ve gotten good at it.
“Twelve hours after giving birth to Phoebe, Allison was asleep in her hospital room and had a heart attack.”
His exhalation came out in a whoosh. “A heart attack?” He rubbed his cheek. “In the hospital? And she died? How could that have happened?”
The same questions she�
��d asked herself countless times since getting the call from the hospital telling her that her sister was gone. A fresh gush of pain spilled down to her gut.
“The doctor told me her death was caused by a spontaneous coronary artery dissection.” Her tone was brisk and no-nonsense, nothing like her current emotional state.
“What does that mean?” He looked genuinely distressed, and her outward calm faltered a bit at the sympathy in his expression.
“A tear formed in her heart. The flow of blood was blocked. They told me she passed quickly.”
“And she had no prior heart problems?”
Gabby shook her head.
“So you’re raising the baby.”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin, daring him to question her authority where Phoebe was concerned. Then it hit her—if this guy wasn’t Sam... “Exactly who are you?”
* * *
“Dylan Kingsley. Sam’s stepbrother.” He extended his hand. She reluctantly shook it, and he could read every question running through her beautiful slate-gray eyes. Why was he here and how would his showing up affect her life? He’d prepared answers for both questions before arriving.
He wasn’t going to lie to her—not exactly. He simply couldn’t tell her the whole truth. Not until he was reasonably sure she was raising his niece with love and stability. Two things he’d been deprived of as a child.
Gabrielle Stover sure wasn’t what he’d expected—but then, he hadn’t known what to expect. The internet search he’d done on her hadn’t given him much to go on besides age—twenty-seven, four years younger than him. She had no social media profiles. Neither did he. First impressions? She was professional and not happy to see him. But why would she be? She didn’t know him.
“You’re Phoebe’s uncle.” She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with suspicion. Her chestnut brown hair rippled over her shoulders in soft waves. The white blouse and crisp black pants she wore hugged a curvy but trim figure, and gave her the authority of someone in charge.
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