The Innkeeper's Bride

by Kathleen Fuller

Levi picked up the plate. “Dare me to?”

  “Of course not.” She took the plate from him and set it down. Then she looked up at him, her partial smile fading. “I . . . I don’t want you to get sick.”

  “I don’t think you can get sick from burnt food.” He gazed at her. “But danki for caring.”

  That brought her to her senses, and she started to pull back from him, but he caught her hand before she could. “Don’t call Christian. Let me take you home.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “Trust me,” he said, still holding her hand. “You’re not.” Finally he let go. “I’ll geh hitch mei horse to the buggy.”

  “What about the food?”

  “That’s Nina’s job, remember?” He walked into the mudroom and out the back door.

  Selah shivered and looked at her hand. Had he realized he was holding it? Certainly not, or he would have let go sooner.

  Yet despite his holding her hand being an accident, and despite how the romantic supper had turned out, and despite being worried about Cevilla and Richard, she was looking forward to Levi taking her home. And for once, she didn’t ignore that feeling.

  Chapter 19

  Levi steadied his hands as he hitched up the buggy. He shouldn’t have held her hand. But she was always pulling away, and he couldn’t let her this time. Once he had her, he couldn’t let her go . . . until he realized what he was doing. And now he was taking her home, which would be fine if he could get himself together.

  He drew in a deep breath, finished hitching Rusty to the buggy, turned on the battery-operated lights, and pulled out of the barn. Selah stood in the parking lot, huddled in her coat and black bonnet, waiting for him under the automatic lights. He pulled up beside her, and she climbed in. He noticed she was sitting as far away from him as she could. Great. He had offended her. Best thing to do was pretend it hadn’t happened. He pushed up his glasses and guided the buggy onto the road.

  Other than the jangle of the reins, the clip-clop of the horse’s shoes on the pavement, and the creaking of the rocking buggy, it was silent—and that was getting to him. “You know,” he said, his mouth ignoring his mind telling it to shut up, “tonight wasn’t a complete disaster.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, now we know we can put on a special event, even if this one didn’t work out.” He glanced at her. “I told you I’d let you know about yer suggestion after we did this supper.”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  Just so he could keep the awkwardness from completely engulfing them, he was about to ask her if she wanted to discuss any other ideas. But then a car came out of nowhere, speeding toward them. It blared its horn, scaring the horse. On instinct, Levi grabbed Selah, pulling her close. The reins dug into his hand as he tried to control Rusty, but he kept his arm around Selah until the horse came to a halt.

  He looked down at her, tucked into the crook of his arm. They were stopped under a streetlamp, and he could make out her wide, fearful eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, tightening his arm around her.

  “Ya.” She sounded breathless. “I’m okay.”

  “That was a pretty big scare,” he whispered.

  “It was.”

  His heart thumped in his chest, and not just from the car that almost hit them. He knew he should let her go, but he couldn’t. She wasn’t looking away. She wasn’t moving away. Her eyes were locked with his, and even though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned down and kissed her. To his surprise, she kissed him back. He’d never felt so happy—so right.

  He finally slowed the kiss, and they parted. Then they must have come to their senses at the same time, because they scrambled to opposite ends of the seat.

  “I . . . I have to check on Rusty.” He clambered out of the buggy and took a big breath. What have I done?

  * * *

  Selah touched her lips, still feeling the effects of Levi’s kiss. His perfect kiss. Which she shouldn’t have succumbed to. But once he kissed her, she couldn’t stop herself. And now all she knew was that she wanted to kiss him again. “I can’t,” she whispered, trying to catch her breath. My job, remember? Being single, remember? Living alone with no problems . . .

  None of that mattered, at least not now. From behind the buggy screen, she saw him petting Rusty, talking in his ear. He patted the horse’s flanks and climbed back into the buggy.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “If that guy had hit us . . .” He picked up the reins, made sure no one else was on the road, and continued toward Christian’s house.

  Selah stared straight ahead, but then unable to stand it anymore, she shifted her eyes to Levi. He was also looking out front, his expression unreadable, at least in the dimness of the buggy. A tiny battery light illuminated the floorboard, but that was it. It wasn’t enough for her to gauge what he was thinking—or feeling.

  Her eyes darted to the buggy screen, and she kept her focus on that until he pulled into her brother’s driveway. When the horse stopped, she paused. Should she apologize? Jump out of the buggy and pretend nothing happened? Talk it out with him, like her therapist always told her to do when she had a problem? Ugh, why was she thinking about her therapist now?

  “Selah.”

  She turned and found him facing her. A county road crew had installed three streetlamps on the road right before Selah moved back in, and one of them was at the end of the driveway. She searched his face for some hint of what was going on in his mind, but his expression was inscrutable. “What?” she finally asked.

  “I hope that what happened back there won’t come between us in our working relationship. The car . . . I was just worried something had happened to you.”

  So you kissed me to find out? But she bit her tongue.

  “You’re a valuable employee,” he continued. “I don’t want something . . . insignificant to keep you from returning to work.”

  Their kiss was insignificant to him? When it had touched her very soul?

  He wasn’t much different from Oliver. She realized that now. “I’ll be there in the morning,” she said, her throat tight as she got out of the buggy. Before she could hear him say anything else hurtful, she hurried into the house.

  “You’re home early,” Ruby said when Selah dashed inside.

  “Headache.” She ran upstairs to her room and shut the door. Levi was doing her a favor. She had veered from her goal, and she was not going to let the fact that he was a complete jerk keep her from her job.

  Her fists clenched, and she shut down her heart. And she would never, ever open it again.

  * * *

  Jackson flipped through the TV stations in the apartment living room, but as usual, nothing good was on. He glanced at the clock. Nine p.m. His father wasn’t home, and Jackson didn’t care where he was. He was still angry about the fake reviews. He’d been stewing about them since yesterday, but he didn’t bring it up with his father. The only reason he didn’t was Levi. He didn’t get how the man could be so calm, other than he didn’t fully understand the magnitude of what bad reviews could do for a business. The dude wasn’t stupid, but he was naive. Jackson also hadn’t heard from the webmaster of the review site, and the reviews were still up.

  He sat up on the couch, some home improvement show droning in the background. There was another thing he didn’t get about Levi. How could he instantly forgive Jackson’s father like that? Maybe he wouldn’t if he knew Dad, but Jackson had a feeling that wouldn’t matter. Earlier that evening he’d done a little perusing on the internet about the Amish and was surprised at how much information he was able to glean. They were fairly popular folks, considering they kept to themselves. What he read about the importance of forgiveness in their faith made Levi’s reaction more sensical, although Jackson couldn’t imagine himself forgiving that easily.

  Grabbing the remote, he restlessly scanned the TV channels again, catching several Valentine’s Day commercials. He figured his father must be out romancing some twen
tysomething woman. The thought made his stomach turn.

  He was about to turn off the TV when the apartment door burst open and his father staggered in. Jackson smelled the whiskey on him right away. Dad left the door open and fell into the nearest chair.

  Jackson got up and shut the door. “Did you drive home like this?”

  His father nodded, hanging his head.

  Anger welled up within him. “You could have killed somebody—or yourself. Why didn’t you call me? I would have picked you up.”

  “I’m fine.” He looked up at Jackson, bleary-eyed. “Get me a beer, will ya?”

  Jackson rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen, where he filled a glass with water from the tap. “Here,” he said, handing it to his father when he returned to the living room.

  “That’s not beer.”

  “Drink it anyway.”

  His father shoved away Jackson’s arm. Jackson set the glass on the side table next to him. “Where’s your date?”

  His father let out a sound that resembled a growl. “Still at the bar.” Then he started to sob.

  “Oh brother.” Jackson sat down on the couch as his father cried, unable to look at him. Talk about uncomfortable. When his father stopped drunk-crying, he looked at Jackson. “Get me a beer.”

  “I said no.”

  “Good for nothing . . .” His eyes rolled, and then he passed out.

  Jackson stared at him. It would serve Dad right if he left him there. Then he’d have a hangover and a sore neck. He muttered an oath as he lifted his father, putting his arm over his shoulder, and dragged him to his bedroom. Jackson plopped him onto the bed, and his father let out a big snore.

  He shut the door partway and went back into the living room, where he parked himself in front of the TV again. He couldn’t go to bed, not with his father passed out. He remembered a fellow student in college being so drunk that he passed out and vomited. He could have choked to death if one of his fraternity brothers hadn’t been there. He turned the volume down low and started flipping through the channels, settled in for a sleepless night. Another Valentine’s Day commercial splashed across the screen, all hearts and flowers and sappy romance. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” he muttered as his father sawed logs in the other room.

  Chapter 20

  Cevilla woke up late the next morning, her heart broken. The handkerchief she used to dry her tears was still in her hand. Richard had dropped her off last night after a stone-silent ride in the car. He made sure she got in the house all right, and then he drove away. She didn’t even look to see if he’d gone home. She went inside and straight to bed, where she had a long, overdue cry.

  Now with sunlight streaming through her window, she was filled with regret. Other than the Lord, Richard was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she had shoved him away after he’d gone to all the trouble to surprise her with a romantic dinner. But had she truly made a mistake? If they couldn’t discuss the important issues in their lives without fighting or deflecting, then how were they to have a long-lasting relationship? What if in a year or two he regretted a decision to marry her and was stuck with her for the rest of his life, separated from his daughter?

  When she heard a rapid knocking on the front door, she was tempted to ignore it. But then she realized whoever was banging on the other side of the door didn’t plan to stop. As she hurriedly dressed, she tried to readjust her kapp after sleeping in it. But then she gave up and just headed to the door. “I’m coming, all right?” she snapped. “Hold yer horses.”

  She unlocked the door and opened it, and then she groaned. “Not you again.”

  Delilah gave her a once-over. “You look dreadful.”

  Leave it to Delilah to give her a boost of confidence. “What do you want?”

  “To knock some sense into you.” Once again, without waiting for an invitation, Delilah breezed inside.

  Cevilla shut the door, leaning on her cane. “If you’re expecting tea this time, forget it.”

  “I’m not expecting anything, other than for you and Richard to make up.”

  “That’s not happening.”

  Delilah sat down on the couch. “Why not?” Then she shivered. “It’s freezing in here.”

  “I just woke up. Or rather someone woke me up.”

  “At this time of day? You’ve practically slept it away.” Delilah stood and started putting logs into the woodstove.

  Cevilla glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight thirty wasn’t exactly sleeping the day away, but she kept that to herself. “Look, I appreciate you taking care of the stove and caring about me and Richard, but I’d like to be alone right now.”

  “You’ve been alone for a hundred years.” Delilah shut the woodstove and smirked.

  “I have not.” She hobbled to her chair and sat down. Every joint in her body was stiff, but the heat from the stove would help. “I have always had the Lord.”

  Delilah nodded. “That goes without saying.” She sat down again. “We went to a lot of trouble for you two last night. I thought it was a bit overboard,” she said, looking at her fingernails before pinning Cevilla with her gaze, “but the kinner wanted to make sure it was special.”

  “I didn’t know Richard was doing that for me. I didn’t mean to waste their efforts.”

  “And mine. I made the side dishes, and mei famous beets.”

  “Beets?” Cevilla’s stomach turned. She couldn’t stand beets.

  “I’ll bring you three jars next time I come by.”

  Good grief, she planned to stop by again? “That’s not necessary—”

  “Let’s not get off track.” She held up one plump finger. “I will not allow you to throw away a man like Richard. You love him, and he loves you. Case closed.”

  Cevilla looked down at the basket of crochet by her chair. She hadn’t picked up her yarn and hook for over a week. “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

  “Do you really believe that? Would you have said that to Martha and Seth? Noah and Ivy?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have, but that was different. They didn’t have the obstacles I do.” When Delilah laughed, Cevilla scowled. “What’s so funny?”

  “Every relationship has obstacles, from beginning to middle to end. Nee couple is immune from them. The successful ones work it out. The ones who don’t try . . .” She clucked her tongue. “I never thought you would back down from a challenge, Cevilla Schlabach.”

  Cevilla sighed. “Maybe I’m too tired to fight this one.”

  Delilah’s expression softened. “It’s that bad?”

  “Richard hasn’t decided if he’s going to join the church. At least he hasn’t said anything to me about it. He refuses to discuss it or the future.” Her shoulders slumped. “On top of that, his dochder, Sharon, is convinced I’m only out to take his fortune.”

  “Now, that’s ridiculous.” Delilah scoffed. “How much money does he have, anyway?”

  “Close to a billion.”

  Delilah gasped and then started to cough. “You’re joking,” she said when she’d sufficiently recovered.

  “Not at all. But I wouldn’t care if he didn’t have a quarter to his name.”

  “But a billion dollars, Cevilla—”

  “Money isn’t important. You know that.”

  “It is when you don’t have it,” she mumbled.

  When Delilah didn’t clarify, Cevilla continued. “It’s one thing to ask him to give up his church. It’s another to ask him to give up his familye.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you ask him to give up his familye?”

  Cevilla paused. Had she? Of course, his becoming a member of the Amish faith was a given. They couldn’t marry unless he did. But had she asked him to give up his family? “Nee. I would never do that.”

  “So it’s possible, then, that he knows exactly what he’s doing? That he thinks being with you is worth whatever conflict he has with his dochder? Because nee man would rent
out an entire inn and set up a romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day unless he had made up his mind.”

  Her hand went to mouth. “You think he was going to propose?”

  Delilah shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples. “If I didn’t believe before that you were single all yer life, I would believe it now.” She looked up at Cevilla. “Ya, I’m sure he was going to propose. And then you went and soured the milk.”

  “I—”

  “Now, you geh right over there and tell him you’re sorry and that you’ll do whatever he wants you to do to make it up to him. At our age, that’s a limited list, so you shouldn’t have any problem reconciling.”

  “Delilah—”

  “I’m serious, Cevilla. I’m not leaving until you set things right with him.” She crossed her arms.

  Cevilla imagined Delilah sitting on her couch like a plump hen for the rest of the day. No thank you. “Fine, I’ll geh.” She got to her feet. “You have to be the most stubborn, pushy person on the face of this earth, Delilah Stoll.”

  Delilah grinned and rose. “Takes one to know one. I’ll get yer coat.”

  A short time later, Cevilla stared at Richard’s front door. His car was in the driveway, but that didn’t guarantee he was home. The overcast sky, combined with a chilly wind and the fact that for once she had no idea what to say to him, made her want to flee to the warmth of her own home. She’d figure out a way to kick out Delilah when she got there.

  Wait. Cevilla Schlabach didn’t flee. She didn’t cower, she didn’t run, and she certainly didn’t let other people push her around. Her gaze narrowed with determination, and she knocked soundly on the door, which immediately opened. Startled at the quick response, she gripped her cane, nearly losing her balance. He must have been standing right behind the door. She cleared her throat. “Richard.”

  “Cevilla.”

  “May I come in?”

  He let her inside, and then she followed him into the small living room. Richard’s house wasn’t much bigger than hers, and he had built it that way, despite having a sprawling mansion in Los Angeles. Meghan had designed the home with simple furnishings—a light-gray rug on the hardwood floors, his old, beat-up recliner that was over thirty years old positioned near a woodstove similar to Cevilla’s. He had air-conditioning, which he rarely used, and electricity, but for the most part, the home was close to a typical Amish one. Even then, he spent most of his time at Cevilla’s.