The twinkle in his green eyes. His impish, mischievous smile. His full, very kissable lips. His dark blond hair that just begged for her fingers to run through it.
He was hot.
Sizzling hot.
He made more than her blood boil.
He was also off-limits. In love with a woman who didn’t exist. But also a woman so hurt…
What man would want a woman with her wounds?
Not only that, but the fun-loving flare of mischief in his eyes screamed that he was the type who’d risk his life just for the thrill of racing buggies in a tornado. And would come to the same bad end as her former beau.
Gone. But not forgotten.
She just couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk that road again.
“Hallie. Wait up.” Someone called her name behind her.
Hallie turned. Her friend Elsie’s younger sister, Mandy, rushed up to her. Somehow, Mandy wore someone’s cup of coffee on her apron along with what looked like syrup splatters. She was a recent new hire and so far just did not have the fast-paced, coordinated skill of the waitressing staff. The boss was already muttering about transferring Mandy to the kitchen crew.
The cooks didn’t want her.
Hallie couldn’t help but feel sorry for Mandy. “Suzy told me to help you roll silverware up into napkins.” Mandy continued past her.
Hallie fell into step beside her. “Danki.”
“So, who was that man who asked to order a fifteen-minute conversation with you? That really set tongues to wagging. Everyone is saying he’s your new beau.” Mandy raised her eyebrows as they reached the overflow dining room.
Hallie sat in the chair that was pulled out. The same one Kiah had sat in. “He’s nobody.” A nobody she desperately wanted to become somebody…
Mandy snorted as she pulled out the chair Hallie had so recently vacated and sat. “Some nobody. I’d like to have nobody like that in my life.”
“Honestly. Today is only the second time I’ve ever seen him. The first was eighteen months ago. At Toby’s funeral.” Hallie’s voice broke. And not because of Toby, but because what Kiah wanted would never be. Because she was forbidden to tell.
Mandy reached across the table and grasped Hallie’s hand. “Are you okay?”
Hallie forced a smile and nodded. But truthfully, she might never be okay. Memories never faded.
“But…” Mandy frowned. “You remember him from one brief meeting eighteen months ago? Really? He is good-looking, but that’s a long time to remember a random stranger.”
And there was the issue. Why and how, in the midst of her grief, had he stepped into her thoughts and stayed for eighteen months? They hadn’t even exchanged more than a handful of words. Was it because of their letters? Except, she hadn’t caught his name eighteen months ago, and she never used hers in her letters. Just her initials.
Hallie had rolled a small stack of silverware in napkins before she noticed Mandy’s attempts. Silverware crumpled in the napkin. Crumpled. Not rolled. Hadn’t anyone ever taught her? She stood and walked around the table. “Here, let me show you.” She laid out a napkin and rolled it up, starting at the corner closest to her, explaining each step. “Now you try.”
“So that’s how it’s done,” Mandy muttered. She copied what Hallie had showed her, albeit a lot slower.
Maybe Mandy would survive as a waitress if someone took the time to teach her. Hallie would talk to her boss and see if she’d allow Mandy to follow her around to get a little more instruction beyond what was normally provided.
“So, that man. What’s his name and what’d he want?” Mandy asked.
Hallie grimaced as she returned to the other side of the table. Mandy wasn’t easily distracted. At least not with this topic. And if Hallie refused to talk, Mandy would tell her still-newlywed sister Elsie—one of Hallie’s best friends—and Elsie would drag everything from her. Not a little. A lot.
“His name is Hezekiah Esh and he’s from Shipshewana. He came with the missionaries after the tornadoes, and now he’s here with his parents. His daed is the visiting preacher this weekend. He’s trying to find the scribe for The Budget.” Hallie had never told her friends that she wrote for the Amish newspaper. The bishop had approved it only if she didn’t divulge her identity. Only her parents and grandparents knew, because Daed had to approve it.
Daed hadn’t hesitated. He’d hoped it’d take her mind off her grief.
It hadn’t. Wouldn’t. How could it when she reported other peoples’ happiness and sadness? The only thing it did was force her attention off of herself and on what happened around her in the community.
“Why did he ask you who writes for The Budget? Though I guess some districts allow everyone to know who the scribe is. Our bishop thinks it might cause pride issues.” Mandy frowned. “I can see that. If I were the scribe, I’d be tempted to shout it from the mountaintops. Something I’m good at.” She barked a short laugh.
“You’re good at a lot of things. You just need to pay attention.” Hallie glanced at the newly mangled silverware packets.
Mandy waved the comment away. “Anyway, why does he think you know?”
Hallie shrugged, but inside her stomach was churning. “I guess because his parents are staying at my haus so I’m convenient and maybe because I work in town where I meet people and might have heard something.”
Though it wasn’t funny that Gott put him directly in her path.
“Why does he want to find the scribe?”
Hallie sighed. Nosy much? “He said he fell in love with the scribe and wanted to meet her. But he only knows her initials. And he says that he knows her so well he’d recognize her in a roomful of strangers.” Which thankfully was not true. Although the things he’d noticed had caught her by surprise. Her lavender scent. Her pen color of choice. A fondness for fruit. She’d need to be very careful.
“So romantic.” Mandy sighed.
No. It was frightening.
“But then he called you sweetheart. So maybe he changed his mind and decided he likes you.”
“He’s a flirt.”
Mandy ignored her. “And if you do go with him to find the scribe, maybe he’ll fall madly in love with you instead.”
A girl could dream.
And for another moment, hope bloomed.
Then she squashed it down.
* * *
Kiah stopped the borrowed horse and buggy in front of a tiny haus. One that reminded him of the haus he’d stayed in when he came to Hidden Springs as a rescue worker. One bedroom. Elderly couple. Overrun with tiny ants and not so tiny cats. And nothing to eat but bean soup during his entire stay.
In fact…Kiah eyed the cracks in the uneven cement sidewalk, then glanced at the rundown garage situated behind the haus and off to the side. It was the same haus. So George Beiler was the semiretired buggy maker. He cringed, embarrassed that he hadn’t cared enough to learn his host’s name when he was here before.
There was no way he was the scribe. The man was also more than half deaf and communicated with shouts. Not to mention he had some mental issues.
And Hallie said he was a deacon?
Kiah sat there, staring at the haus. There was no point in asking George if he was the scribe or even if he knew who it was. This was a waste of time.
He pulled out the map for the home of the next man and studied it. Gabe—
“Hello there, young fellow!” The shout came from beside Kiah’s ear.
He jumped, fumbling the paper, and looked at George Beiler. “Hey, George. Remember m—”
“Hay? You want some hay?” George yelled. He balanced himself with his cane.
“Um, no. Danki. How are you doing?”
“Sue’s brewing? Brewing what?” George cupped his free hand over his ear. Not that it’d help.
Kiah gulped. Might as well end this eardrum-shattering conversation sooner rather than later. “I’m looking for the scribe—”
“You’re looking for a tribe? Speak up, boy!”
“Scribe!” Kiah bellowed. “I’m looking for the scribe!”
“You need a scribe?” George’s brow wrinkled. “Can’t you write? What do they teach children in school these days?” He hobbled off, muttering at full volume. “Not only that, but they make no sense whatsoever. I need to discuss this matter with the bishop.”
Maybe he should. And hopefully the bishop would see the need to use the benevolence fund to purchase hearing aids for George. Or were they not allowed in this district?
On the other hand, the bishop would know where to find the scribe. Kiah glanced back at the map. His home was marked on the map to Gabe’s haus. Almost directly across the street.
“Come back Monday and I’ll teach you your letters!” George hollered in Kiah’s ear.
Kiah yelped, dropping the map this time. How did the man get around so quietly?
“A big boy like you needs to know how to write!” George whacked the buggy with his cane.
The horse startled.
Reared.
And came down running.
Chapter 3
Hallie wasn’t needed for a double shift, but she didn’t want to go home and risk seeing Kiah. She wanted to avoid him, avoid the questions, and avoid the very real chance of exposing her identity. He was sure to want to talk to her about the list of women Suzy had given him with the initials GB. Not all of them had the middle initial H. In fact, Hallie wasn’t entirely sure what most of their middle names were.
She’d drive by the addresses she’d given Kiah just to see if she could find him so she could avoid him. If he was at any of those places, she’d head home to a Kiah-free zone, hide in the bedroom she shared with her older sister, Hosanna, and write the article for The Budget.
She hitched Licorice to the buggy. The horse was named after Daed’s favorite candy, even though the mare was a caramel color. But Daed didn’t like caramels. Unless it was baked into apple pie.
Apple pie made her think of Kiah. He’d shared in a letter that caramel apple pie was his favorite. Would he be impressed if he knew she’d made that pie? It was the foolish reason she’d chosen it. But he’d only picked at it until after she left, so she hadn’t been there to hear any moans of pleasure. Probably a good thing. It was hard enough to be humble when her pies won first place at the county fair. Pies entered under her initials so no one knew who truly won. Their bishop frowned at his people trying to appear better than anyone else, so if they competed, they had to do it in a way that kept their identity secret.
Hallie drove down George’s street but didn’t see any sign of Kiah. George was out in his yard, batting at something hanging from the eaves and yelling for his wife to come out there to see the baby spiders. Hallie shuddered and drove on.
She turned down the dead-end road that Gideon lived on and glanced at the cloud of dust rising up ahead. What on earth? Probably boys playing kickball in the dirt road.
She drove around the curve and gaped. There, in the cul-de-sac, a horse raced around and around, the open buggy careening wildly behind it. A group of spectators huddled on the front lawns. A man stood in the buggy, holding the reins. What kind of off-in-den-kopf fool drove his horse like that?
The type who would try to outrun tornadoes. In a buggy.
Rage filled her, but she knew better than to get too close. She pulled on the reins. “Halt!” Once Licorice stopped, she climbed out and secured Licorice to a white-washed fence and slowly walked toward the racing animal.
As she neared, she recognized her sister’s horse, Jellybean, pulling their old buggy around and around the circle. The buggy creaked and groaned. She squinted to see who was driving it. The man standing in it yanked on the reins, and the horse went another round.
It might’ve been her imagination, but maybe this round was slower.
The man’s mouth moved as he passed by, but she only caught the accompanying wink he aimed her direction.
The wink…Kiah.
Of course it was. Who else would it be?
Why couldn’t he be more like the man in the letters? Except at least this “real” Kiah made it easier to keep her heart protected.
Was the horse safe? And their buggy. The man could get what he deserved.
She huffed, her hands went to her hips, and she glared. The same posture and expression that she’d earned when she told Mamm she didn’t want to apprentice to be a midwife. How could she celebrate new life and hope when her life was stalled in the darkness of the valley of the shadow of…
The night Toby died, she’d been assisting Mamm with a difficult birth. Both the new mamm and the baby had almost died. They’d fought to save them, but Gott had punished her by taking Toby. He hated the idea of her being a midwife.
She shook her head, repositioned her feet slightly farther apart, and concentrated on sending angry vibes at the man in the buggy.
Not that it bothered him any.
No. It just earned her another wink.
Despite her irritation, that wink did strange things to her midsection.
He took the horse on another, more sedate, turn around the circle, the horse finally slowing to a walk. One more round and Jellybean stopped on the far side of the circle. But her eyes were wide, fear-filled, and her sides heaved.
For a moment, time stilled. Hallie dared to take a breath.
Across the circle, Kiah slowly loosened his grip on the reins, then climbed out of the buggy. His hands quivered. But a wide smile spread across his face. And with a cocky swagger, he headed her direction. He whooped. “That was some ride!”
The world turned red. Bloodred. Hallie marched across the expanse to meet the stupid but good-looking man, and shoved her finger against his chest. “You idiot! If you want to get yourself killed, do it in your own city, with your own horse and buggy, and honestly, you should’ve known better racing my sister’s horse. What if you’ve injured her? Don’t you have any common sense? What is it with men and horses and trying to outrace tornadoes…” The words spilled out, uncensored, morphing into a dull roar that filled her ears, but she couldn’t tell where one sentence ended and another began. She might’ve forgotten to breathe.
Kiah’s mouth opened and shut a few times. His eyes darted to the clear blue sky without a single dark cloud in sight, then off to the side where residents of the neighborhood gathered to watch her make a spectacle of herself, an Amish woman daring to yell at a man. Perhaps one of them would chime in and restate Kiah’s candidacy for the idiot-of-the-year award.
Seriously.
“Oh, honey. You care.” His quiet words barely managed to register in the continuing verbal vomit, but without hesitation he closed the distance between them. He stood so close she could admire his thick eyelashes and the specks of mischief glittering in his green eyes.
That should’ve warned her.
His calloused fingers slid from her jaw to cup her cheeks. Sparks ignited into flames at his gentle touch. The next second his lips touched hers, killing the rest of her lecture. A mere brush of his mouth against hers, but she gasped, breathing in a manly, piney scent.
He pulled back, gazed into her eyes for a second, and then his lips returned, claiming hers with an unknown intensity. He tasted of the peppermint candy she’d dumped into the bowl beside the cash register. Her hands flattened against his chest, gripping his suspenders, reveling in the assault on her senses.
Her lips moved, a tentative response.
And then it was over.
He backed away, out of slapping range, if she was so inclined.
She wasn’t. She was too busy trying to find air. Wishing for a repeat performance. What was wrong with her? He was in love with GHB, not her. Well, her but he didn’t know that…so kissing her truly did make him a flirt and a cheater and oh how she wished her lips weren’t still tingling from his touch.
“I wasn’t racing.” Kiah’s voice shook a little. From rage? The racing horse? Or dare she hope, their too-brief kiss? “George, he’s a bit deaf.”
&nb
sp; Oh. Jah. She should’ve thought to warn him. And really “a bit deaf” was an understatement.
“He misunderstood me when I tried to talk to him and ended up offering to teach me my letters. ‘A big boy like you needs to know how to write.’” He mimicked George’s quivery voice.
A giggle, unbidden and unwelcome, with eighteen months’ worth of rust and disuse on it, bubbled into Hallie’s throat. She swallowed it.
“And then he whacked the buggy really hard with his cane. He might have left a dent. I haven’t checked yet. But it scared the horse and he bolted. I was trying to keep him away from traffic and get him under control. I figured a dead-end road would leave him with no choice but to stop. I wasn’t expecting it to end in a circle.”
“She,” Hallie corrected. “The horse is a mare.”
Kiah rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The point is—”
“You kissed me.” The words emerged in a gasp of wonder.
Kiah startled, staring at her as if she’d grown horns. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. It was the only way I could think of to shut you up.”
Shut her up? “You kissed me,” she said again. She lightly touched her lips with her fingertips. His warm, firm mouth had pressed against hers, a vast difference from Toby’s fumbling, clumsy kisses.
“You liked that, did you?” He eyed her. Assessing.
Jah. Jah, she did. Very much so.
She wanted to kiss him again and again.
But no. She wouldn’t go there.
“You kissed me.” A third repeat. Her gaze slid to the small crowd of gawkers standing on their porches and in their yards. Her face flamed.
He glanced around. “Oh. I suppose this is a bad time to mention to them”—he waved his hand toward the onlookers—“that I’m in love with the scribe and need to find her.”
“You think?” What would his reaction be if he knew he’d just kissed the woman he was looking for?
His attention swung back to her. He studied her, his gaze taking in her probably pink face, then dipping to her lips. They tingled. “But that was…nice. Very nice.”
The Amish Secret Wish Page 3