Amish Triplets For Christmas (Amish Country Courtship Book 1)

by Carrie Lighte

  “Daed,” she scolded, “you mustn’t get too close to Hannah. That is how germs are spread. She’ll catch your lovesickness.”

  “Neh,” her father told her. “Hannah cured my lovesickness. I’m over it for gut!”

  Epilogue

  “Denki for hosting us this Christmas,” Doris said as she cut slices of caramel pie for the adults to enjoy with their afternoon tea. “I’ve never been to Ohio before.”

  “I hope you’ll come often. After all, we’re family now.” Hannah beamed. “Besides, it’s the least we could do after you allowed us to get married at your home in November.”

  “Schnickelfritz!” Doris exclaimed. “Where else would you have wed? Where would your relatives have stayed? Your house was thoroughly destroyed.”

  “I suppose we could have gotten married next autumn, but we didn’t want to wait a moment longer than we already had—we were following your example,” Hannah teased back.

  “You don’t think I was being too desperate?” Doris asked.

  “Neh,” replied Hannah. “Gott’s timing is perfect.”

  So were His provisions. As she prepared hot chocolate for the children, Hannah thought about how abundantly the Lord had provided for her, especially during the past autumn. John had allowed her grandfather to live in his home until he moved with Hannah to Ohio, and meanwhile he’d kept busy helping rebuild the schoolhouse.

  Hannah had stayed with Miriam and Jacob, assisting their household as they ushered their healthy son into the world. Given the extenuating circumstances, the deacon had been very accommodating in meeting with Hannah and Sawyer as many times as necessary in order for them to marry in November.

  Who would have thought the very kind of storm that was the source of so much loss and grief when Hannah was a child would ultimately result in so much gain and joy now that she was an adult? She sighed and filled the mugs as Gertrude scurried into the room.

  “Oh, you’ve finished already! I was coming to help,” the young woman said.

  “You’ve already helped me in more ways than you know,” Hannah replied, placing her hands on Gertrude’s shoulders. “I’ve long meant to say denki for the postscript you wrote me on Sarah’s letter. The part about Sawyer not being quick to express his affection helped me when I was filled with doubt.”

  “I should say denki, as well. I sense your influence in some of the freedoms Sawyer has allowed me as of late.”

  Hannah smiled warmly, lifting the tray of mugs. “Speaking of my husband, I heard him call me a moment ago. I’d better go see what he wants.”

  She stopped at the threshold of the gathering room to behold the scene inside: her grandfather was using blocks to construct a trestle for the wooden trains he’d made Samuel and Simon for Christmas. Their cheeks were rosy from helping him clear a path in the snow from his daadi haus to their back porch, and now the trio worked together in wordless cooperation.

  “Make sure your railroad tracks don’t run through my yard, please,” Sarah requested from where she was seated on the floor nearby. She fingered the miniature table Hannah’s grandfather carved for the dollhouse he’d presented her the day after Christmas, when the Amish traditionally exchanged small gifts.

  The best gift I’ve received is to have all these loved ones in my family, Hannah marveled as she scanned the room.

  “Kumme, sit with me.” Sawyer gestured to the empty spot on the love seat after he had taken her tray and set it on a side table, which was modestly decorated with an evergreen centerpiece and candles. “We didn’t want to start dessert without you.”

  “But first you must open the gift I brought,” Eve insisted. “Here, Menno, could you please hold the bobbel while I give them their present?”

  Eve deftly passed little Joshua to Menno, her face aglow.

  “Motherhood certainly agrees with you, Eve,” Hannah noticed.

  “Funny you should say that,” Eve replied as she handed her sister a large package wrapped in bright green paper and tied with silver ribbon. “Menno and I were just commenting to John and Doris how much we think motherhood agrees with you.”

  Hannah modestly dipped her head, but she was delighted to her core. When she lifted her chin again, she caught Sawyer’s eyes sparkling with pride.

  “It certainly does,” he agreed.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Doris prompted.

  Together, Hannah and Sawyer tore off the paper to discover the most beautiful wedding quilt Hannah had ever seen.

  “Eve!” Hannah exclaimed, but she was too choked up to say anything more.

  “All of my life, you’ve been like a mamm to me,” Eve said. “Now I get a small chance to be like a mamm to you—the quilt is something I imagine our mamm might have given you as part of your dowry.”

  “But how could you have made it so quickly, especially with a new bobbel to care for?”

  “I’ve been working on the quilt for years, Hannah,” Eve explained. “I never stopped believing and praying that the Lord would provide you the desires of your heart, as well as your daily bread.”

  As Doris served the pie, Hannah interlaced her fingers with Sawyer’s beneath the quilt and whispered, “Eve is right—through my new life with you and the kinner, Gott has provided both my daily bread and blessed me with the deepest desires of my heart.”

  “And our life with you,” Sawyer murmured into her ear, “is sweeter than a dream.”

  * * * * *

  If you liked this book, try these other

  Amish romances from Love Inspired:

  AMISH CHRISTMAS TWINS

  by Patricia Davids

  SECOND CHANCE AMISH BRIDE

  by Marta Perry

  A READY-MADE AMISH FAMILY

  by Jo Ann Brown

  HER SECRET AMISH CHILD

  by Cheryl Williford

  HER AMISH CHRISTMAS SWEETHEART

  by Rebecca Kertz

  Available now from Love Inspired!

  Find more great reads at www.LoveInspired.com

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE RANCHER’S CHRISTMAS BRIDE by Brenda Minton.

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  Dear Reader,

  Who knew, back when my parents first took my sisters and me on a long road trip through the Lancaster County countryside, that one day I’d end up writing Amish romance? I had no idea, although I was certainly intrigued by the beliefs and lifestyles of the Amish people we saw and met along the way. Sometimes, we just don’t know where the road we’re on will lead—both figuratively and literally speaking!

  If you’re anything like me (and Hannah and Sawyer), as you journey through life, you may find yourself concerned about your “daily bread.” Likewise, you’ve undoubtedly experienced God’s abundant and creative provisions, which were exactly what you needed when you needed them most. Including love.

  Of course, no one makes actual “daily bread” quite like the Amish do, so if you’re traveling through Lancaster County, be sure to buy a loaf—along with a sweet or two. Hannah would approve!

  Blessings,

  Carrie Lighte

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

  You believe hearts can heal. Love Inspired stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

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  The Rancher’s Christmas Bride

  by Brenda Minton

  Chapter One

  When memories crashed in on Alex Palermo, he drove. He never thought about a destination. He only knew that if he rolled down his truck windows, played some cowboy country on the radio and prayed, the memories would fade and so would the guilt. The praying part happened to be a new addition to the process. Pastor Matthews of the Bluebonnet Community Church had insisted he try it.

  They’d joked that real men can eat quiche. Real men can pray. They can even cry every once in a while. As long as it didn’t become habit. They’d fist-bumped and joked over that.

  On a cool day in December, Texas Hill Country wasn’t at its warmest. But the breeze coming through the open windows of his truck helped to clear his mind. He’d been doing really well, but tonight, maybe because it was almost ten years to the day since he’d killed his father, the memories had resurfaced with a vengeance.

  No, he hadn’t really killed his father. Deep down he knew that he hadn’t. But for years he’d told himself he was responsible for the death of Jesse Palermo. In reality, alcohol and a mean bull had killed Alex’s father.

  Earlier, standing in the arena where his father had drawn a bull rope—and his last breath—Alex had been hard put to remember that it hadn’t been his fault his dad had gotten on that bull.

  The tires of his truck hummed on the pavement. He took a deep breath and turned up the radio. As if he could outrun the pain.

  A few miles out of Bluebonnet Springs, he hit the brakes. Because either he’d gone crazy, or ahead of him, on the shoulder of the road, was a woman in a wedding dress. The last thing he wanted was a bride, even someone else’s bride. His common sense told him to keep on driving.

  Common sense told him that he had enough problems of his own without getting tied up in someone else’s hard times. He’d taken off driving in the hopes of outrunning some of those problems.

  Unfortunately he’d never been good at listening. His twin, Marcus, always accused him of being the good twin. He didn’t know if he’d agree with that, but he supposed he must have a chivalrous side. He pulled to the shoulder just ahead and got out of his truck. The woman was definitely real. And wearing a wedding dress. As if on cue, it started to rain. Steady, big drops. The kind of rain that danced across the pavement and soaked a person’s clothing.

  “Need a lift?” he asked, hoping they could get back in the dry warmth of his truck soon.

  Better yet, she could tell him she had a ride already on the way to pick her up. But a bride without a groom? That didn’t exactly spell wedding bells and happily-ever-after.

  “I’m fine.” She said it with her chin raised a notch, even as the rain picked up pace. He was losing objectivity because that little lift of her chin showed some pride and big eyes that rivaled the stormy sky.

  “Ri-i-i-ght.” He said it slowly. Did he point out to her that she was miles from anywhere, wearing a wedding dress and standing in the rain?

  “You can go on. I know where I’m going.”

  He looked around, at the open fields, pastures full of cattle and nothing else. He glanced back at her and grinned, because they both knew she was bluffing.

  “I know we’re taught from the time we’re little not to get in the car with a stranger. But I think even your mama would want you to get in out of the rain.”

  Hands up so she could see them, he took a step toward her.

  She reached for the bag slung over her shoulder. “Don’t come any closer. I’m armed.”

  He glanced at the bag and the object pointing through the thin cotton. “With a high-heeled shoe?”

  “I’m warning you.” She issued the command with a startling amount of conviction as rain poured down from the steel-gray sky. She was a tiny thing with a pixie face and a massive amount of brown hair piled on top of her head.

  Rain dripped down her face and she swiped it away with her shoulder. That chivalrous side of him kicked into gear. He jerked off his jean jacket and held it out to her. She eyed it the way a stray kitten eyed a bowl of milk, but didn’t take it.

  “Well, I’m not really worried you’ll shoot me with a shoe.” He grinned as he said it, hoping to put her at ease. “But I do think we’re both in trouble if we don’t get out of this rain. I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to get you off the road.”

  The rain picked up and he saw her shiver. Her feet were bare. So were her arms. She took another swipe at the water dripping down her face. She eyed the jacket and his truck.

  “Listen, we could stand here all night or I can just literally pick you up and put you in my truck.” He did not want to do that. She looked like the kind of female that once a man had her in his arms, he’d want to hold her forever.

  He didn’t do forever.

  For a full minute she stood there facing him, then she nodded, giving in. He hurried ahead of her to open the passenger door of the truck. As she struggled to get her skirts under control, he took her hand and helped her in.

  That hand was like a frail bird’s, cold and fine-boned. He held it gently, afraid he’d hurt her.

  “Are we on the way to the church? Or do you have somewhere else you’d like me to take you?” he asked as he climbed behind the wheel of his truck.

  Huddled in the seat, her teeth chattered. He turned up the heat.

  “Do you know Dan Wilson?” she asked, hugging herself for warmth.

  “Yeah, I know Dan.”

  “Could you take me to his house?”

  He tried again to give her his jacket. This time she took it, sniffing at the collar before settling it over her bare arms.

  “It’s clean,” he said, a little defensively.

  “I know, I just...” She shrugged a bit and looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. If you could take me to Dan’s...”

  “I can, but do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “No, I guess not.”

  “Dan isn’t the most pleasant guy in the world. He’s been sick and that’s made him extra cranky.”

  “I’m his granddaughter.”

  He had pulled onto the road so he shot her a quick look. “Seriously? I mean, not that you can’t be. But I didn’t know Dan even had a granddaughter.”

  “He hasn’t seen my mom since she was a little girl. I tried to get him to come to the wedding...” She let the words trail off as her gaze slid to the window. A delicate finger brushed across her cheek.

  Tears. He’d never been good with tears. He had two sisters and fortunately neither of them was the type to cry. The Palermo siblings had learned the hard way that tears didn’t help. In fact, sometimes tears made it worse.

  His dad hadn’t invented the warning “Do you want me to give you something to cry about?” but he’d definitely put action to the words. He’d put the words into action the night he’d locked Lucy in the tack room of their barn. He had put the words into action the night he’d punched Marcus in the throat. They’d all learned not to cry and they’d learned not to tell.

  But that had nothing to do with now and the lady sitting beside him wanting a ride to Dan’s.

  “None of my business,
but does Dan know you’re coming? I don’t think he’d take kindly to a surprise family reunion.”

  From the look on her face, a grim mixture of worry and sadness, she wasn’t amused by his poor attempt at humor. Some things just weren’t that funny. And a bride that was walking down a back road, still in her wedding dress, pretending a shoe was a weapon? He guessed she’d had a pretty rough day.

  The road was bumpy, but as they bounced along he managed to open the glove compartment and pull out a box of tissues.

  “I’m not going to cry,” she insisted. But a few tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “I guess I don’t have a right to ask what happened. But if you need to talk, I’m all ears.” He glanced in the mirror. “Seriously, have you ever seen ears this big?”

  She glanced at him and burst into watery laughter, shaking her head as she surveyed his ears.

  “They aren’t that big,” she countered. At least he’d made her laugh. He’d always been good for a laugh. And not much more.

  “He picked the caterer,” she said quietly into the darkened interior of the truck. Her voice was soft, kind of sweet.

  The windshield wipers clicked as they swept back and forth, and Chris LeDoux was singing “Cadillac Ranch.” Alex cleared his throat and shot her another quick look.

  “Who picked the caterer? You mean you let him decide what to feed the guests and you’re upset about that? I think you’d need a bigger reason to walk out on a wedding.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No, he picked the caterer.”

  He pulled to the side of the road because he couldn’t focus on the road and a conversation that seemed important. She fingered the sleeve of the jean jacket and her gaze slid to the window.

  “He picked the caterer,” she said with meaning. “Not the chicken or the beef—the caterer. He picked her. Over me.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and breathed. The tears disappeared but they’d left streaks down her cheeks. They’d left marks, the way this wedding would leave marks, he knew with certainty.