Wyatt laughed. “I bet you were.”
“But the biggest miracle was the way Mamma took me in without demanding that I shed my English ways to join the Amish church,” she continued in a faraway voice. “I was just starting to do some graphic design and had no intention of giving up my computer skills to become an Amish hausfrau—”
“Thank goodness,” her guest blurted out. “No offense, Rebecca, but you don’t impress me as the sort of woman who could sacrifice herself to the restrictions the Amish impose upon their members. And please don’t take that as a put-down of your family or the other people who live here,” he added quickly. “Everyone I’ve met in Willow Ridge has amazed me with his or her openness and acceptance.”
She smiled wryly. “If you’ve met Luke and Nora Hooley, you’ve been dealing with our Mennonite neighbors, who are a lot freer about technology and driving cars and such,” she pointed out. “The local bishop, Tom Hostetler—he owns that herd of dairy cows down the road behind us—is accommodating of our English neighbors and visitors, but you’ll get a bit more resistance from Preacher Henry Zook, who owns the market. Preacher Ben, who married my mamma last year, is more liberal, like Tom. All things considered, the Willow Ridge Amish community is a lot more progressive than most others are.”
“Was I foolish to think I could establish Thoroughbred stables here, in an area where Amish practicality demands horses that aren’t so pricey?”
Rebecca was so drawn in by Wyatt’s steady gaze, it took her a moment to reply. “I don’t know the answer to that,” she murmured. “But you don’t impress me as a fool who’s soon parted from his money—unless he knows exactly why he’s spending it and what he’ll get in return.”
The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled with his smile. “And unless I miss my guess, you’re not a woman to suffer fools, Rebecca.”
She blinked. Was he flirting with her? “I, um, guess that makes us even, then.”
“It makes us equals, the way I see it.”
And what else did those penetrating blue-gray eyes see when they looked at her? Rebecca swallowed, not daring to say something girlish when her office felt supercharged with a tension that both delighted and terrified her.
“Am I out of line to invite you to dinner?” he asked in a voice so low she had to listen carefully to follow it. “If you’re married—”
“Nope,” she managed to say. “But if you’re married, you’re out of line. And if you lie about that and I find out the hard way, I guarantee you my family and friends will run you out of town, Mr. McKenzie.”
Where did that come from? Rebecca gripped the arms of her desk chair, appalled at the veiled threat she’d made to this stranger—this potential client. But she couldn’t unsay what had rushed from her mouth before her mind could stop it. Wyatt was so handsome and easy to be with, he surely had a wife—or an ex or two in his past.
For several long moments, Wyatt gazed at her. “I could easily find a website designer online,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. “I’ve checked out several of them.”
Rebecca’s insides shriveled. He was right. Open mouth, insert foot—and bite down hard.
“And I could handle the details, updates, and payments online as well,” he continued evenly. “Much simpler all around.” The muscles in his face remained absolutely still . . . perhaps waiting for her to grovel, or at least apologize.
It took all the strength Rebecca possessed not to flinch. She had overstated her family and friends’ reactions if Wyatt was keeping his marital status a secret—but otherwise she’d meant what she said. She wanted nothing to do with a man who was going to wine and dine her and then slip home to a wife.
After what seemed like forever, Wyatt murmured, “But if I’d hired an online web designer, I wouldn’t have needed you, Rebecca. And I’d be kicking myself, now that I’ve met you face-to-face.”
Her entire body tingled with joy and relief. I wouldn’t have needed you, Rebecca. But she wasn’t letting him off with pretty words. “So are you married?”
Wyatt’s chuckle teased at her senses. “Nope. Came close a couple of times, but saw the writing on the wall and walked away—just as you’re ready to do.” He cleared his throat. “So once again, that makes us equals. I have other places to be for a couple of days, but what if we go to the Grill N Skillet Friday night, where everyone in town will see us together and gossip about it all weekend? Will that make you feel safer?”
Rebecca laughed harder than she had in a long while. “You’ve got that right, you know. These Amish are dyed-in-the-wool matchmakers—and when they learn you’ve bought the land that adjoins Luke and Nora’s property, you’ll be the talk of the town.”
“But if they see me with you, Rebecca, they’ll surely know me for a man of impeccable taste and sterling reputation, no?”
She sat straighter in her chair, aware that Wyatt was studying her closely as she took hold of the hands he’d stretched across her desk. “All right,” she murmured, releasing him after a quick squeeze. “The Grill N Skillet may be the only café in town, but you’ll find no place that serves better food.”
“Agreed. My lunch there was excellent, and the owner and I had a nice chat.”
“Josiah Witmer and his sister Savilla are relative newcomers,” Rebecca remarked. “But they’re lovely people. Passionate about down-to-earth comfort food.”
“What would life be without passion?” he murmured as he stood up. “I’m old-fashioned, so I’d like to pick you up. Six thirty work for you?”
Rebecca nodded. “I live—”
“In that new brick house about a quarter mile down the road,” Wyatt said with a nod. “Hope you don’t mind that I did my homework—concerning your website expertise and your professional reputation, of course. I insist on being informed before I become involved.”
She could only look at him. Her ability to breathe and form the simplest sentences seemed to have vanished, victims of Wyatt McKenzie’s way with words . . . his unerring ability to take her by surprise. “Of course you do,” she whispered. “I would expect no less.”
“I’ll see you at six thirty on Friday night, then. I’ll show myself out.” With a nod, he rose to leave—but at the door he turned, his expression utterly serious. “Just so you know, Rebecca, I plan to see that tattoo someday. Soon.”
When he grinned mischievously and shut the door, Rebecca fell back against her chair. What just happened here?
A moment later she was online, Googling Wyatt McKenzie to check out his holdings, his business connections, his presence on the web. If he had already done his homework, it behooved her to prepare herself for whatever he might spring on her at dinner.
Rebecca chuckled, at herself mostly. Wyatt probably knew exactly what she was doing right now, and knew everything she might find about him online.
And that keeps us equals, no?
Chapter Seven
Drew hammered the final decorative tack into the rocking chair he’d just reupholstered and laid aside his hammer. He liked the chair’s sleek vintage lines, and he was pleased with the way his brother’s stripping and staining had brought the wooden frame back to life. With its new cushion in earth-tone stripes, the farmhouse-style rocker should sell pretty quickly—even faster, if he could convince Nora to put it in her shop.
He wiped his face with a bandanna and glanced over at Asa, who was drilling screws into a drop leaf table he was refurbishing. When the whine of his air compressor died away, Drew asked, “Want something cold to drink? I think I’ve sweated out everything I’ve sipped since lunch.”
Asa set down his drill. “Jah, it’s a hot one. The ceiling fans are just moving muggy air.”
“I’ll mix up some more of that pink lemonade and be back in a few.”
Drew took the stairs two at a time up to his apartment, which felt even hotter than the shop. He measured the pink lemonade powder into a plastic pitcher, mixed it with water, and took a tray of ice cubes from the freezer. When he glanced out the
kitchen window, he noticed that Luke, Ira, and Will were setting posts in the large, flat parcel of plowed land Luke had designated as his future vineyard. They had to be inviting heat stroke out there in the blazing sun.
Drew emptied the tray of ice cubes into the pitcher and then opened the cabinet below the sink and found a half-gallon glass jar. He mixed another batch of lemonade in it, iced it down, and carried it to the shop. “I can’t believe the Hooleys and Will are out there setting posts this afternoon, when it’s so blazing hot,” he said as he set the big jar on the worktable beside their drinking glasses. “I’m going to be a nice guy and take them a pitcher of this stuff.”
Asa’s eyebrows rose as he poured two glasses of lemonade. “Luke’s used to an air-conditioned house,” he remarked. “I’d think he’d really be feeling this heat—and maybe put up his vineyard lines in the early mornings, when it’s a few degrees cooler.”
Drew downed his glass of lemonade in a series of gulps and wiped his mouth on his short shirtsleeve. “His wife has an air-conditioned shop, too,” he said, “and after I carry out my mission of mercy with his crew and take a shower, I’m going over there to see if we can consign a few of these pieces.”
Asa let out a short laugh. “Just so happens Loretta’s working today, too, ain’t so?” he teased.
Drew shrugged good-naturedly. “You could go along,” he said. “Doesn’t cost anything to see what the Brennemans have put in Nora’s shop lately—and the cool air would be a nice break for you.”
“I want to get the new leaf made for this table before I quit for the day. But thanks for the offer.” Asa walked over to the rocker, nodding as he walked around it. “This looks really gut—and the Brennemans only make wood pieces, without upholstery, so it would be something different from what Nora already carries. Could be that folks will like single pieces—like this chair—instead of having to invest in a whole dining room or bedroom set, too.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. We’ve picked up a lot of odds and ends lately that won’t take long to fix up.”
Drew went back upstairs to fetch the pitcher of lemonade, as well as a few plastic glasses. As he stepped out the shop’s back door, the bright afternoon sun struck him, and he was glad he’d put on his sunglasses. The gray sky in the west suggested that rain was on the way, so he hoped a cool front would come with it. Once he’d crossed the yard of the house where Asa and Edith lived, he was walking on the ground Will had plowed earlier for the vineyard.
Ira, the shorter of the Hooley brothers, spotted Drew and waved. “Is that lemonade I see?” he called out hopefully. “You’re a saint, Detweiler!”
Drew chuckled. Considering the way the folks of Willow Ridge had been talking about him when he’d ruined Asa’s original wedding day, saint was a huge improvement. He suspected Luke’s support had won him favor around town since then; he hoped carrying refreshments to the fledgling vineyard would continue the process.
“We’re knocking off for the day,” Luke said as Drew reached them. “But you’re still a sight for sore eyes, Drew—not that I think you’re gut-looking, understand.”
Ira laughed as he accepted a plastic glass and Drew’s pitcher. “Hah!” he teased as he poured. “To your way of thinking, brother, nobody else is nearly as gut-looking as you are.”
“I’m glad you’ve noticed,” Luke said as he, too, accepted an empty glass, “because now you realize your looks will never measure up. Gut thing Millie felt sorry for you and married you anyway.”
When Drew offered the last glass to Will, he immediately sensed a drop in the emotional temperature. Gingerich was scowling, wiping his sweaty forehead on his sleeve—and pointedly refusing to accept the glass. Luke poured his lemonade and handed the pitcher to Will, but he refused that, too.
“I’ll head on home now, denki,” Gingerich muttered. “See you fellows tomorrow.”
“Bright and early, jah—six, when it’ll be cooler?” Luke asked.
“I’ll be here.” Will started across the plowed soil as though something invisible and unpleasant were nipping at his heels.
“Huh. Wonder what put a burr up his butt?” Ira said as he grabbed the pitcher for a second glassful. “He seemed fine until a minute ago.”
“Sour grapes.” Luke held Drew’s gaze. “Will was as mad as a wet hen last Saturday when you lured Loretta away from him. Apparently, he’d been working up to courting her again—proposing to her—when she flat-out walked away to be with you.”
Drew considered this. He didn’t owe Luke and Ira any explanation, but it wasn’t a good idea to voice the sarcastic remark that first came to his mind, either. “I asked Loretta if she wanted to go for a ride, and she joined me,” he said. “The choice was hers.”
Luke rubbed his forehead with his cold glass. “Will gave me quite an earful about how you would ruin her reputation—ruin her—and how she wouldn’t be able to avoid that fate.”
“Sounds like a train wreck waiting to happen,” Ira said with a chuckle. “But from what little I know of Loretta, she’d be telling you where to get off if she didn’t want your attention, Drew. None of the Riehl sisters impress me as the doormat type.”
For a fleeting moment, Drew recalled his times alone with Loretta—the way she’d eagerly accepted his invitations, suggestions . . . and kisses. It might have been true that he’d kissed Loretta in his buggy partly to irritate Will, but her response had told him she’d liked it as much as he had. “Seems to me this is a matter for Will and Loretta to sort out between them.”
Luke smiled. “That’s the same advice I gave Will. But he’s a fine farmer—every bit as hardworking and reliable as Asa promised when he asked me to hire Will a few months ago. I’m hoping this little bump in his road won’t distract him.”
Drew shrugged. “Wasn’t my intention to upset him when I came out here with lemonade. If Will has a beef with me, he’d be better off confronting me with it rather than stewing over it.”
“Nora and I have agreed to keep our noses out of it, so I see no point in wasting more time and talk on the matter.” Luke drained his glass of lemonade and poured another one.
After Ira topped off his glass, the pitcher was empty, and he handed it back to Drew. “Denki for thinking of us. We’ll drop the glasses off at your shop on our way home.”
Drew nodded, starting back across the expanse of plowed earth, which was partially dotted with rows of fence posts. He showered quickly, spending the last full minute under cold water for the welcome relief it brought. After he’d shaved and combed his wet hair, he put on a deep blue short-sleeved shirt and fresh broadfall trousers. Then he went downstairs to load the rocker into a hand-pulled cart.
“Somebody’s looking for some sugar,” Asa teased. He placed the drop-leaf table’s good leaf on an unfinished maple board so he could draw around it. “Is that fancy aftershave I smell?”
“Same aftershave that’s in your bathroom cabinet, I suspect,” Drew shot back. “And I’m not the only man in this shop who’s hooked on sugar. From what I’ve seen, Edith keeps you mighty happy.”
Asa’s face lit up, and he laughed. “You’ve got that right. Gut luck talking Nora into taking that rocker. Give Loretta my best, too.”
As Drew started down the road in the oppressive heat, pulling the cart behind him, he wondered if hitching up the horse would’ve been a better idea. A breeze was starting up, however, and the clouds he’d seen earlier were casting shadows over Willow Ridge. He’d heard folks say their gardens would welcome a slow, steady rain, because God’s water always did more good than what came from a hose.
Annie Mae Wagler and her sister Nellie waved at him as they came out of Zook’s Market with armloads of groceries and four younger siblings darting around them. Lydia Zook paused in taking laundry off her clothesline to wave to him as well. He felt good, knowing the folks around town were becoming his friends. As he pulled the cart up the lane toward the Simple Gifts shop in Nora’s red barn, he felt the first raindrop splash hi
s face.
Drew parked the cart on the side of the building and carried the rocking chair inside. A red SUV was parked in Nora’s lot, so he reminded himself not to embarrass Loretta by flirting with her in front of customers.
What he saw as the door closed behind him made Drew smile proudly. Three middle-aged English ladies were standing near the high stool where Loretta sat demonstrating how she made her rag rug. The women appeared awestruck, hanging on every word she said—and one of them seemed honored when Loretta asked if she’d like to make a few stitches herself with the pointed plastic gadget that held the strip of purple fabric she was working with.
Nora, who was standing an aisle behind the ladies, waved when she noticed Drew. He set the rocker on the floor, pleased at the smile on her freckled face. As she approached him, she seemed as fresh as a springtime daisy in her yellow and white checked dress. “What have we here?” she whispered, placing her hand on the top of the rocker. “Please tell me you want to consign this with me.”
Drew nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to make a sales pitch. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” he said softly. Then he nodded toward Loretta. “Looks like she’s in her element, showing those ladies how she works.”
Nora’s face lit up. “Loretta’s got a real knack for demonstrating how she makes her rugs. On Monday we sent out a notice about the two classes she’ll be teaching, and we already have a dozen ladies coming.”
“Wow. That’s fabulous.”
“So’s this rocking chair,” Nora put in quickly, holding his gaze with her hazel eyes. “How much do you want for it? I predict it’ll be gone by Saturday.”
Drew blinked. He’d heard the Brenneman brothers talking about how quickly Nora sold most of their furniture, so he didn’t question her remark. “Hundred and fifty? You might be a better judge of what your customers will pay.”
“This little gem outshines anything you can find in a store selling new pieces,” she said as she sat in the chair and rocked. “And it’s the perfect size for a shorter person. You chose nice colors for the upholstery, too. Go for a hundred eighty. With my percentage added on, it’ll be just under two hundred—and considering other things I’ve sold lately, that price won’t make my customers blink.”
A Simple Wish Page 6