by Emma Miller
He glanced over at Roland, wondering what Grace saw in the young farmer that she couldn’t see in him. Roland was as much of a stranger to her as he was.
Women were a mystery to John. He liked to look at them, any man did, but he’d never gone out with a lot of girls. In high school, he’d been busy with sports, his part-time jobs and keeping his grades high enough to get into a good college. At university, the competition was even harder.
He’d known he wanted to be a veterinarian since he was ten years old, and his grandfather had warned him that being smart wasn’t enough. He had to work hard and never lose sight of his goal. He’d met Alyssa when he was in vet school, and he’d been certain she was the one. But after she broke his heart, he hadn’t been serious over any woman until Miriam.
Sometimes he wondered what was wrong with him—if he was too picky. He wanted a wife, kids, someone to share his dream home with, but after Miriam had chosen Charley, he’d let the half-finished log house he was building on the millpond stand locked and empty. He told himself that he was too busy with his practice to deal with contractors, but the truth was, without someone to share his life with, he didn’t think he had the heart to complete the project. Because he didn’t have the heart to think again about settling down with a woman.
Until Grace Yoder had appeared. Now, suddenly, everything was different, richer...brighter. The smell of the crushed apples today, the green of Grace’s dress and the husky-sweet sound of her voice. He told himself that it was his imagination. She couldn’t be as attractive as he imagined her, but the time they’d spent together at the hospital had made him all the more eager to see her smile at him. She might not have much formal education, but she was smart and funny and intriguing. By offering her a job at the practice, he was breaking all his own rules, but he didn’t care. He wanted to spend as much time with her as he could. And if she was the woman he believed her to be, it might be that he’d want a lot more.
What was it Uncle Albert had said when he was seeing Miriam? A thunderbolt. “You’ve been hit by a thunderbolt, boy. It comes out of nowhere and knocks you flat. Only one woman ever made me feel like that, and she turned me down. That’s why I never married.”
Thunderbolt. Being with Miriam had seemed right at the time, but it hadn’t been a thunderbolt, and he certainly hadn’t felt like this. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Grace, he’d felt disoriented and uncertain around her...and himself. Maybe this was what Uncle Albert had been talking about. Whatever it was, he had no intentions of standing back and watching any Amish man, let alone Roland Byler, walk away with Grace without doing everything in his power to prevent it.
* * *
Two hours later, after the second and third sitting, John noticed Grace and her little boy come out of the house, cross the yard and enter the barn. He didn’t hesitate to follow her.
Hoping that no one else was in the barn and that he’d have a few moments alone with her, John opened the door and stepped into the shadowy interior. “Grace,” he called. “It’s John Hartman.”
“Oh, John.”
His eyes adjusted to the semidarkness and he saw two figures standing by the cider-making equipment. He approached and stopped far enough away that she wouldn’t get the wrong idea.
“Dakota loved the apple cider,” Grace said. “He wanted to see how they make it, but...” She shrugged. “I suppose we should have come out earlier.”
John crouched down to put himself at the boy’s eye level. “How’s the head, buddy?” he asked. “Does it hurt?”
Dakota shook his head. “No,” he said.
“Good.” John smiled at him. “You were brave, even braver than Mom.”
The child offered a shy smile in return.
“So you want to know how this works?” John rose to his feet. Again, Dakota nodded. John reached under the conveyer belt and picked up a stray apple, then proceeded to explain how the apples rode up the belt, were crushed and then pressed to make the cider. “Next year, I’ll make certain someone brings you out to watch,” he promised.
A horse whinnied from a box stall in another section of the barn, and Dakota whipped his head around. “Can I?” he asked his mother in a small voice. “Can I see the horse?”
“Be careful,” she warned. “It might bite.”
“Not Molly,” John answered, rubbing an apple on his pant leg. “She’s a sweet old girl. And she loves apples.” He took a penknife from his pocket, unfolded it and cut the apple into four pieces. He offered one to Grace.
She chuckled, accepted it and bit into it. “Delicious,” she pronounced.
“Granny Smith. You can’t go wrong with Granny Smith. Good for pies, applesauce, eating out of hand.”
Grace walked across the straw-strewn floor to the box stall where the dapple-gray mare stood watching Dakota with large, intelligent eyes and cocked ears. Grace slid her hand into her son’s small one. “Isn’t she beautiful?” She glanced back at John who’d followed three steps behind. “I’ve always loved horses. I always dreamed of having one of my own when I was a kid.”
“Do you ride?” he asked her.
“No, never learned how. Joe...my husband... He always promised to teach me, but the right day never came.”
“I’m sorry. About his passing. Hannah said—”
“Joe loved the rodeo. It was his whole life. At least he died doing something he loved.”
“Was the accident...” John trailed off. He should have had more sense than to ask for details with the boy present. Grace didn’t owe him any explanations, but the way she said it... John looked into her eyes. She seemed sad but not grieving. He wondered how that could be possible. “How long ago?” he asked.
“It will be two years in May.” She shrugged. “Dakota doesn’t remember him, and sometimes...” She sighed. “Sometimes I can’t remember his face. I try, but it keeps slipping away.”
“The boy takes after him?”
She nodded. “Joe was full-blooded Native American.” A muscle at the corner of her mouth tightened. “I’ve always been honest with Dakota. I want him to be proud of his heritage, of his father. He had his faults, but Joe was a great bronc rider. If he’d lived, he might have been a top-money winner, but our relationship wasn’t always...” She squeezed Dakota’s hand. “Like I said, rodeo meant everything to Joe.”
More than his beautiful wife and son? John wondered.
“Some men aren’t really meant to be tied down with a family,” she added, answering his unasked question. “But if he’d lived, I know Dakota would have learned to ride. His father would have made sure of it.”
John knelt down and offered Dakota a section of apple. “You like horses, after...”
Grace grimaced. “Joe’s accident wasn’t with a horse,” she said. “He was thrown from a Brahma bull. It kicked him.”
John clenched his teeth. “Were you there? Did you see—”
She shook her head. “No. It was two days before one of his friends remembered where we lived. I thought he had won money and was celebrating. It wasn’t unlike Joe to stay away for a week or two after a rodeo. He was in intensive care for four days before...”
“Look!” Dakota pointed at the mare. She was stretching her neck over the railing in an attempt to reach his piece of apple. “She wants some.”
John glanced at Grace for permission and then lifted the boy and settled him on his hip. He gave him another piece of apple and showed him how to hold his hand flat. “Keep your fingers out of the way,” he said. “She’ll take it from you.”
The mare wrinkled her nose and sniffed the apple. Then she lowered her head and gently took the treat between her teeth and munched it until the last morsel was gone. She tossed her head and blew air through her nose with a snort of sheer pleasure. Dakota giggled. “More!” he begged.
John gave him the last
section, and the child held it out to the horse. Molly quickly gobbled it. “All gone,” John said. “We don’t want to give her a bellyache, do we? Hannah wouldn’t like that.”
“Ne,” Dakota answered in a perfect imitation of his older cousin Jonah.
John and Grace laughed. “He’s turning into a little Amish man,” John said.
“Ya,” Grace teased. “He is.”
John hesitated, afraid to say anything that would spoil the moment. “I could teach you both,” he offered.
“What?” Grace’s eyes widened in curiosity. “Teach us what?”
“To ride. I have a horse, Bagherra. He’s a Percheron. A really great horse.”
“You have a horse?”
John chuckled. “I don’t ride him often enough. I keep him at Meg Johnson’s stable. She gives riding lessons, and Bagherra earns his keep by being a school horse.”
“A Percheron? They’re huge, aren’t they?”
“Bigger than Molly, but very gentle. He’d be a perfect horse for Dakota to learn on. And I’d be glad to take you both to see him.”
“We’d like that,” Grace said. “So long as Hannah thinks it’s fitting.”
John nodded. “We’ll do it soon. Just say the day.” And I don’t make promises I don’t keep, he thought.
“Can we feed your horse an apple?” Dakota asked eagerly.
“Absolutely,” John said. “Two shiny red ones. He’s big enough that we’ll need to give him at least two.”
Chapter Nine
Three weeks later, on a Wednesday afternoon, John and Grace left the side entrance to the veterinary clinic and walked across the parking lot to where John’s truck was parked. He opened the pickup’s passenger door and helped Grace climb in. “It’s good of you to drive me home again,” she said. “I appreciate it, but I can’t keep taking advantage of you.”
“You’re not,” he answered. He closed the door, went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. He’d been out earlier, so the wipers were able to easily sweep the new-fallen snow off the windshield. “I have a call at Martin’s, about a mile from the Yoder farm. It was no problem to swing by the office on my way.”
Grace wasn’t sure that John was being entirely truthful with her. It was the third day in a row that he’d found a reason to swing by the office about the time Grace was getting off work, and then happen to be heading in the direction of the Yoder farm. She didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression by continuing to allow him to drive her home. Still, she loved every minute of her job and she didn’t want to take the chance of losing it due to transportation problems. And she did enjoy John’s company.
The plan had been for her to ride to work with Melody, one of the vet techs, in the morning and be picked up by a regular driver for the Amish in the afternoon. But the van came past the veterinary clinic around 1:00. If Grace missed that van, she couldn’t catch a ride again until 5:30. And because of today’s snow, traffic would be slowed and that would make her arrival at the farm even later. She had to work, but she hated being away from Dakota any longer than she had to be.
Grace settled back, fastened her seat belt and stared back at the clinic entrance. Snow had been falling since late morning, early in the year for Delaware, according to her fellow employees. The air was crisp and cold, and the parking lot, remaining cars and yard were draped in a shimmering blanket of white. Like a child, she’d always loved snow. It made everything so clean and fresh.
“Tired?” John asked. “Uncle Albert said the office was crazy today.”
Grace had learned that after John’s grandfather’s retirement the previous year, John had continued to be on-call to care for their large-animal practice, while his uncle had started caring for cats and dogs. They had expanded their office and hired the young female veterinarian and were already thinking of hiring another. Grace got the impression that none of the men in the Hartman family had expected their small-animal practice to take off the way it had.
“I’m a little tired.” She rubbed the back of her neck. She’d been up since five-thirty this morning, and they’d been so busy today that she’d barely had time to snatch a sandwich mid-afternoon. Usually, she started work at 8:00 a.m. sharp and finished by 1:00 p.m., but today everyone’s schedules were off at the office.
One of the front desk clerks had called in sick, and the office had been mobbed. There had been three scheduled surgeries, a full appointment schedule, two emergencies and a sweet Rottweiler that had lost an encounter with a skunk.
Besides her usual job of cleaning cages, sweeping the kennel, feeding the animals and walking dogs, Grace had taken a turn at the desk. There, she’d answered the telephone, registered incoming patients, made and canceled appointments and collected payment for services.
“Uncle Albert said you were a huge help,” John said. “He said he didn’t know what they would have done without you today.”
A warm wave of pleasure enveloped Grace. “It’s what I’m there for, isn’t it? To do whatever I can?”
“Yes, as a kennel tech, but that rarely includes the receptionist’s job or dealing with skunk-sprayed animals.” He grinned. “Poor Mr. O’Brien. I heard he stunk worse than his Rotti.”
Grace chuckled. It was a wonder she didn’t smell of skunk. Luckily, Melody had insisted she change into a jumpsuit and gloves before taking charge of poor Zeus. It wasn’t one of the regular groomer’s days, so bathing the animal had fallen to Grace, as well. She really hadn’t minded. She loved dogs, and Zeus, despite his size, was as gentle as a lamb.
“Seriously, you’re a terrific addition to the staff. Everyone agrees.”
Grace smiled but kept gazing out the window. It was difficult for her to remember the plan when John was sitting so close to her. She knew that he liked her, and it would have been easy to like him, and not just as a friend. But that wasn’t part of the plan. She had to keep reminding herself of that. He wasn’t Amish, so all he could be to her, other than her employer, was trouble.
They were both quiet for a moment. The only sound in the cab was the swish of the windshield wipers and the crunch of the tires on the snowy road.
“You okay?” John asked, glancing her direction.
She nodded. “Fine.”
He started to speak, stopped, then went on. “I...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Grace. If you feel riding home with me...” He cleared his throat and began again. “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to humor me to keep your job. It just seems silly for you to wait an hour and pay the driver when I can have you at Hannah’s back porch in ten minutes.”
Grace knew that what he was saying made sense. The van cost eight dollars a trip, and she had to watch her pennies if she didn’t want to be a burden on Hannah. It wasn’t that she didn’t like riding with John. The truth was, she thoroughly enjoyed his company. He was fun and upbeat, and they always found interesting things to talk about. Plus, he usually had the truck radio tuned to the local country music station.
She loved country music. Music was one thing she’d really miss when she became Amish; the Amish, she’d learned, didn’t permit using or listening to musical instruments. She’d have to give up her guitar, and she’d played since she was thirteen. She’d never had formal lessons, but she thought she had a real knack for it, and playing had always made her happy.
“You know I’d never do anything on purpose to make you uncomfortable.”
“Of course.” She turned toward him and placed a hand on his arm. “You’ve always been a real gentleman...kind to me and Dakota. I won’t forget you spending half your day taking us to the hospital.”
“It was the least I could do.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You did more than most people would. You were great. You were patient with Dakota and me. You told me it was just a bump, b
ut I was being an overprotective mom. I realized that later.” She shrugged. “It’s just that he’s all I have. I love him so much, and I can’t imagine what I’d do if anything happened to him.”
“He’s a special little guy.” He pointed with a gloved finger. “Don’t forget, I did promise to give him a riding lesson. Provided it’s okay with you.”
Grace folded her arms, tucking her hands inside her coat sleeves. The heater was running, but she didn’t have gloves, and the cab was still chilly.
She tried to think of a way to keep from hurting John’s feelings. Dakota had been begging her to go and see the big horse, and she knew she would enjoy it, as well. But she was afraid that going with John would take her away from the Yoder farm, away from Hannah, her sisters and the Amish community. Not away physically—the place where John stabled the Percheron wasn’t that far—but spiritually. It wasn’t something an Amish woman would do. Rebecca wouldn’t consider going with an Englishman for the afternoon. Even with Dakota along as chaperone, it might look like a date. She was still learning the ropes here, but it hadn’t taken her long to figure out that the Amish cared very much how things appeared to their fellow church members.
Besides, seeing John, one of her bosses, after work hours might cause gossip at the clinic. And with good reason. She’d always made it a rule not to date people she worked with or for. That was a lesson she’d learned the hard way when she was eighteen and working at an ice-cream shop. She’d taken the manager, Eddy Polchak, up on an invitation for pizza and a movie and later discovered that he expected more than a thank-you for the evening. That had cost her her job, because no way was she going to compromise her sense of right and wrong, no matter how badly she needed money. She might have grown up rough, but she had standards.