by Marta Perry
Ted turned into the minuscule office that was all the township could afford for its small police force. If he weren’t lucky, the weekend would see more thefts or vandalism. So far the problem had been more annoying than serious, but it rankled that he hadn’t been able to lay his hands on the culprits yet. He was here to protect, and he didn’t like failure.
At least Fiona no longer seemed to need his help. He didn’t begrudge any single moment he’d spent with her, but it was probably best for both of them not to let their friendship become any more than what it was. There were too many complications inherent in that sort of relationship.
He flipped briefly through the report filed by one of his part-time officers. Jerry Fuller aspired to be a big-city detective, and his reports managed to make a lost cat sound like a major felony.
He hadn’t seen Fiona since the auction, but he’d heard this and that. Her practice was picking up, apparently, although the Amish hadn’t yet fully accepted her. Maybe somebody should have warned her that building a clientele among the Amish took a decade or two.
And her relationship with the Stolzfus family probably complicated matters for her, with people unwilling to take sides between her and her grandparents. He regretted that, but there was nothing he could do. It was past time for him to back off.
He’d just poured himself a mug of coffee when he heard the door open. He swung around to see Fiona standing there, lingering in the doorway as if unsure of her welcome.
He’d have to do something about that rush of pleasure he felt at the sight of her. “Fiona. Come in. Can I help you with something?”
“So this is where you hang out.” She glanced around the tiny office, as if interested in the crumbling cork bulletin board that bore community notices and the white board that listed staff assignments. “If you turn around too fast, you’ll trip over yourself.”
The way she evaded his question told him she did, indeed, want something—something she was reluctant to bring up. Well, that was okay. Plenty of people who came in here just needed a bit of patience to bring out their troubles.
“That’s why I try not to make any sudden moves.” He gestured toward his one and only visitor’s chair. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.” She drifted to the white board. “Just how big is the Crossroads police force? I guess a resident like me ought to know that.”
“You’re looking at the full-time force.” He perched on the edge of his desk, bringing himself to her level. “I have two part-time officers now, and usually we add another one in the summer. No dispatcher—if someone calls after I go off-duty, the call comes right to my cell phone.”
“In other words, you’re never really off duty.” She sat, finally, her back very straight.
He shrugged. “That’s how I like it.”
“It’s very different from Chicago.” Her gaze slid away from his, as if she regretted expressing so much interest. “You mentioned you’d started in police work there.”
“Yes.” That came out more abruptly than he meant it to. He didn’t care to discuss with Fiona, of all people, why he’d left the Chicago force. “Crossroads police work is different. I suppose it looks like a hayseed operation to you.”
Her clear gray eyes widened. “Not at all. I’m impressed that you can manage everything you have to handle. It can’t be an accident that this is the most peaceful place I’ve ever lived.”
“Usually.” He shrugged, trying not to feel too pleased at her praise. “I wish I could say nothing ever happened here, but then the township wouldn’t need me.”
“Is there a crime wave going on?” She said it as if the idea were absurd.
He shrugged. “Right now the only pressing cases are a missing dog and a few incidents of vandalism. The dog will probably find his own way home, but I’d love to lay my hands on the vandals before they graduate to something more ambitious than knocking over outhouses.”
“I guess I’m lucky I don’t have an outhouse.” A smile curved her lips at the thought.
He tried to ignore the effect of that smile. “Maybe you’re not worried about an outhouse, but you didn’t come here just to chat. Not that I don’t enjoy it.”
The smile slid away. “Yes.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “At the auction last Saturday—something happened.”
He leaned toward her, elbow on his knee. “Tell me.”
“Some boys had jostled me, spilling my hot chocolate. Otherwise I might have been watching where I was going more closely. As it was, I nearly walked into Emma and my grandmother.” She took a breath, as if it were difficult to say. “They both turned their heads and walked off as if I weren’t even there.”
“I’m sorry.” He kept the words gentle, sensing the pain the event had caused even though she didn’t exactly admit it. “But your grandmother—”
“I know.” She looked up, her gaze zoning in on his face. “Rachel came to see me. With, apparently, Emma’s tacit approval. She told me about my grandmother’s illness.”
Was she blaming him for not telling her? He couldn’t be sure.
“The family never talks about it,” he said.
“Are they ashamed of emotional illness?” Her gray eyes flashed.
“Not ashamed, exactly.” How to explain this to an outsider like her? “The Amish way is to accept what happens to you as God’s will. Your grandmother wasn’t able to accept Hannah’s leaving. It took some time for the family to realize that her reaction needed medical intervention.”
Pain shadowed Fiona’s face. “Rachel said she was hospitalized for a long time.”
He nodded, wondering whether she was hurting for her grandmother, her mother or herself. “I don’t remember it, but I guess so. I’m sure that’s why they’re all trying so hard to protect her now.”
“You think it’s wrong for me to want to see them.” Her gaze challenged him.
“Not wrong,” he said carefully. “I just think it might be unwise. You have to be cautious.”
She surged out of her chair so suddenly that the movement startled him. “Be cautious. Be patient. That’s all anyone will say to me.”
He rose, playing for time, trying to decide what to say to her. “That’s the Amish way.”
Her hand slashed, seeming to reject that. “It’s just prolonging the agony. Maybe I ought to go out to the farm and confront them.”
“No.” He hurt for her, even as he worried about the family. “Fiona, you can’t do that. If you force the issue, you may never get what you want.”
“You don’t know what I want.” The fire in her was so intense he could feel it. “I’m not sure I do.”
He shook his head. “You want to talk to them. Your grandparents. To resolve your feelings.”
For a moment longer she glared at him. Then her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. “I suppose. I’ve started feeling that I’ll never come to terms with the past until I do.”
Her eyes met his, and he could see what she was going to ask before the words were out of her mouth.
“Please, Ted. Will you help me? Will you convince them to see me?”
There it was—the straightforward appeal for his help that he’d hoped wouldn’t come. He’d never found it easy to say no to someone who needed him. And sometimes it was downright impossible.
He ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he had some magical answer that would make everyone happy. There wasn’t one.
“Fiona Flanagan, I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you.”
She surveyed him gravely. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a maybe.” He shook his head at the hope in her face. He didn’t want to respond to that hope. Didn’t want to start feeling responsible for her. But it was probably already way too late for that. “Don’t build on it too much. But I’ll try to think of a way I can help you.”
Taking the black bag that contained everything she needed for a routine prenatal visit, Fiona slid from the car. The Hostetler farm
didn’t look quite as prosperous as some she’d seen, but Susie’s friend, Miriam, had mentioned that she and her husband had just managed to buy it a few months earlier, from an elderly, non farmer who’d let the place go in recent years.
They’d have a struggle to get the place up to Amish standards, perhaps, but given the price of farmland in the area, they’d been lucky to buy. According to Ruth, many young Amish had left for areas farther north because they couldn’t afford land here. Ironic that the presence of the Amish had created the tourism that now threatened their very existence.
Miriam came out onto the porch to greet her, bobbing her head with what seemed a nervous smile. She had the round, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes of a china doll, but the tension was new since Fiona had met her. Still, first pregnancies could do that—each step in the process could bring up new concerns.
“It’s good to see you, Miriam.” She smiled reassuringly. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. I am fine.” Miriam gestured to the door. “Please, come in. We must talk.”
That worried look wasn’t the usual reaction to a prenatal visit, but maybe the young woman had some fears she wanted to be sure she brought up. Fiona followed her into a spotless, sparsely furnished living room.
“Is something worrying you?” Fiona said. “You can talk to me about anything.” She set the bag down on the shining wooden floor.
Miriam’s cheeks flushed. “It is not that. I wish—I must tell you that I cannot continue to be your patient.”
For a moment Fiona could only stare at her. “But I thought we had agreed. If there’s some problem with my fee—”
“No, no. It is not that.” She paused, fingers twisting together, obviously reluctant to say whatever it was. “It is just that my husband’s father, he is second cousin to John Stolzfus. And he thinks—”
She stopped, unwilling or unable to say anything else.
She didn’t need to say more. Fiona didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Did my grandfather ask you not to see me?”
“Not exactly.” Miriam pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “I am sorry. But it would be better if you left now.”
She had to take a deep breath and remind herself that the young woman wasn’t responsible for this. Miriam would give in to the others’ wishes, because that was the Amish way. Fiona managed a smile as she picked up the bag she wasn’t going to need.
“It’s all right, Miriam. I know it’s not your fault.” She patted the young woman’s arm. “Really. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
Miriam nodded, cheeks scarlet.
There wasn’t anything else to say, was there? Fiona kept a faint smile on her lips until she got out the door, though it probably looked more like a grimace. Then she stopped, staring.
Her car still sat where she’d left it, but behind it was the township’s black patrol car. Ted leaned against the driver’s-side door, but at the sight of her, he pushed away and came toward her.
“Are you following me around?”
The words were snapped in a way Ted didn’t deserve. After all, he wasn’t to blame, but he was male and he was handy. She stamped down the steps toward her car.
He blinked, but that was the only sign of surprise. His face wasn’t made for expressing much emotion, but she’d still learned to read him fairly well.
“No. I’m not following you. Should I have been?”
She tossed her bag into the back seat of the car. “Sorry.” She bit off the word. “I shouldn’t take my feelings out on you.”
“Feel free.” He planted one large hand on the door frame. “But you might tell me first what has you so upset.”
She’d probably explode if she didn’t. “I’ve just lost a client. Miriam’s husband would prefer she didn’t see me. And guess why—because his father is my grandfather’s second cousin.”
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head slowly. “I guess this is small consolation, but it’s only one client, after all.”
She frowned at him, narrowing her eyes against the sun’s glare. Around them, fertile fields stretched toward the line of low hills, and a herd of black-and-white cows munched grass in a nearby pasture. It was a tranquil scene, but she didn’t feel very peaceful at the moment.
“Clients aren’t exactly falling out of the trees for me right now. I can’t afford to lose even one. And how many more might I lose if my grandfather has his way?”
Ted studied her with those calm blue eyes that were nearly as placid as the cows’ in the face of her annoyance. “Look, you don’t know that this was John Stolzfus’s idea. It’s entirely possible that Miriam’s father-in-law is guessing at that, or just wants to stay uninvolved. It doesn’t mean your grandfather is trying to undermine your practice.”
“Doesn’t it?” She stared at him bleakly. He didn’t understand. Her bank account was dwindling steadily, and if her practice didn’t pick up soon, the likelihood of it surviving a year wasn’t very good. “If his influence keeps prospective clients away, it won’t really matter whether he told them to stay away or not.”
“I’m sure you’re tired of hearing this, but you have to give it time. Nothing moves quickly among the Amish.” His smile was cautious. “It took two years for the bishop to decide it was all right for an Amish business to have a telephone. Rotary dial, of course.”
He obviously hoped to lighten her mood, but it wasn’t working.
“Maybe my initial reaction was the right one. Maybe I should just go out and talk to them.”
“Don’t.” He moved then, so quickly that it seemed his casual attitude was just a pose. His fingers closed around her wrist, as if to emphasize his warning. His hand was warm and strong, and she could feel her pulse accelerate against it.
He must have felt it, too. Almost without her will, her gaze lifted to his. His blue eyes darkened as his pupils dilated, and a current flowed back and forth between them where their skin touched.
They stood motionless, caught in the moment. His muscles tightened, as if he’d pull her against him. She should pull away, but something seemed to push her toward him. The faintest of movements would have her in his arms…
He shook his head, as if surfacing from under water. “I’m sorry.” He let go of her wrist slowly. “I know I can’t tell you what to do.”
He seemed to have trouble getting back to the conversation. She understood. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely concentrate.
“It’s all right.” Her voice sounded husky, and she cleared her throat. “You’re trying to be fair to everyone. But I just don’t know what else to do.”
“Maybe there’s another way.” He shook his head again, as if still trying to clear it. “I wasn’t following you today, but I was trying to find you. Ruth mentioned she thought you were coming out here. I talked to Emma.” There was the faintest hesitation in his voice as he said her name. “She asked me to tell you she’d like to stop and see you tonight.”
Her breath caught. “Did she say why?”
“No, but that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
He so obviously wanted to make things right for everyone that it touched her. The big, tough cop had a heart like a marshmallow.
“Maybe.” She couldn’t allow herself to hope. It wasn’t safe to risk her happiness on other people. They so often let her down. She’d learned that before she’d learned to walk. “I guess I won’t know until I see her, will I? Did she say what time?”
He shook his head. “Probably whenever she can get free after supper.”
“Or when she can make some excuse.” It was ridiculous to think that her own aunt had to sneak around in order to visit her.
“At least she’s coming.” His fingers brushed hers lightly, setting up a tingling that rushed across her skin. “Be happy with that for now. All right?”
“All right.” Her fingers brushed his again, in spite of herself. “I’ll try.”
The flicker of hope she
felt startled her. She’d better be more careful. If she spent too much time with Ted, she might actually start to believe in all those old-fashioned things he so obviously valued—things like family loyalty and happily ever after.
Chapter Seven
By the time she’d wiped the sink for the third time, Fiona had to admit that she was nervous about this impending meeting with her aunt. She glanced out the kitchen window. It was fully dark now, and loneliness seemed to close in on the house as the light went. Surely, if Emma was really coming, she’d be here by now.
Ted had said she would come, and she trusted him. That thought gave her pause. She did trust him. Quite aside from the attraction that flared each time they were together, she liked and trusted him. If he said Emma would be here, then she would.
Crossing quickly to the stove, she turned the gas on under the teakettle. She would treat this visit like a friendly social call, and maybe that’s what it would be.
She leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil, her mind drifting back to those moments with Ted outside Miriam’s house. She’d expect, if she were being honest, that it would be that surge of attraction that demanded her attention. Oddly enough, as powerful as that attraction had been, she found herself returning again and again to the sense of concern that had flowed from Ted.
He had cared that she was hurting. His sympathy had been the real thing, not some facile expression. He wanted to make things right for her, and that was stronger than any mere attraction could have been.
Her fingers curled against the edge of the countertop. Other people here cared about what happened to her—the Flanagans, maybe even Ruth and Susie. And she’d let them in—she’d started feeling for them in return.
That wasn’t her way. She’d learned as a child that the best way to protect herself was not to open herself. Then it didn’t hurt so much to be shipped off to another foster home at a moment’s notice, or to sense that she was the outsider in her father’s house.
The old ways of protecting herself didn’t seem to be working since she’d come here, but she didn’t know how else to respond. Apprehension shivered through her. “What if she opened herself up to these people and got kicked in the teeth for her trouble? How would she deal with that?