Czytaj książkę: «The Amish Christmas Cowboy»

Chapter One

Harmony Creek Hollow, New York

“Guess what, Sarah?”

The last thing Sarah Kuhns wanted to do was play a guessing game with Natalie Summerhays, the oldest of the four kinder in the house where Sarah worked as the nanny. At ten, Natalie was poised partway between being a kind and standing on the precipice of becoming a teenager.

“What?” Sarah asked as she wondered why anyone with small kinder would build a house with columns within a youngster’s reach from the bannister on the staircase curving above the elegant entry’s marble floors. She’d talked four-year-old Mia into letting Sarah pluck her off one fluted column. Ethan, who at five years old considered himself invulnerable, wasn’t willing to give up his attempt to touch the ceiling twenty feet above the floor.

God, grant me patience, she prayed as she did often while watching the Summerhays kinder. Please let this be the last time I have to save these little ones from their antics. At least for today...

Motioning with her hands, she called to Ethan again, “Komm, kind.”

His head jerked around, and he grinned as the kinder often did when she spoke to them in Deitsch. For some reason, they found the words she used at home funny. She had no idea why.

Ethan’s blond hair fell into his blue eyes, and he reached to push it aside. With a yelp, he began to slide down the column.

Sarah leaned over the bannister, praying it wouldn’t collapse or her glasses wouldn’t slip off and crash to the floor. She caught the little boy’s shirt as he dropped past her. He shrieked, and she wrapped her fingers in the fabric. With a big jerk that resonated through her shoulders, she flipped him across the rail and into her arms. The motion knocked her from her feet, and she sat hard on a step.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she held the little boy close. He shook, and she cuddled him to her. Maybe he understood how he could have been hurt.

Then she realized he was laughing! He thought the whole thing had been fun. When he squirmed to get out of her hold, she tightened it.

She felt sorry for the four kinder who always were looking for ways to be noticed. Their parents were busy—Mr. Summerhays with his businesses and his racehorses and Mrs. Summerhays redoing her wardrobe and the house every two to three months—and they paid little attention to their kids. Even when one or more acted outrageously, the mischief seldom registered with their busy parents.

Carrying Ethan down the stairs while leading Mia by the hand, Sarah said, “You told me you wouldn’t climb the columns again.”

“We didn’t climb them,” Mia said with the aplomb of a four-year-old attorney arguing a legal loophole in a courtroom. “We got on them up there.”

Sarah resisted rolling her eyes as she put Ethan on his feet. The youngsters nitpicked everything. In the nine months since she’d taken the job as nanny, she’d learned to be specific when setting parameters for them. Apparently, she hadn’t been specific enough.

How her friends in the Harmony Creek Spinsters’ Club would laugh when she told them about this! They were getting together that evening to attend the second annual Berry-fest Dinner to benefit the local volunteer fire department. She wondered if her friends had guessed that she told them less than a quarter of the “adventures” her charges got into each day. She tried to head the kinder off before they were hurt, but didn’t want to hover over them. Being overprotective wasn’t gut for anyone. She knew that too well.

“Sarah!” Natalie stamped her foot. “Did you hear me?”

“Just a minute.” Frowning at the younger kinder, she ordered, “No more getting on the columns anywhere.”

“From floor to ceiling?” asked Ethan.

“And everywhere in between. No getting on the columns. Understood?”

Ethan and Mia glanced at each other, then nodded.

“Sarah!” Natalie crossed her arms over her bright red T-shirt. “Sarah, are you listening?”

Watching the two little ones skipping across the fancy rug that cost more than the farm where she lived with her two brothers, Sarah sighed. She faced the impatient ten-year-old who’d inherited her mamm’s glistening black hair and gray eyes. Someday, Natalie would be a beauty like her mamm, but with her lips compressed, she looked like the kind she was.

“I’m listening.” Sarah smoothed her black apron that had gotten bunched against her dark green dress when she’d kept Ethan from falling. For a moment, she wondered what Alexander, the fourth Summerhays youngster, was up to. She would check once she listened to Natalie. Checking her kapp was in place, she asked, “What’s up, Natalie?”

“Did someone order a cowboy?”

Stunned, she stared at the girl. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because there are cowboys on the porch.”

She struggled not to frown. The kinder had played plenty of pranks on her when she first began working for Mr. and Mrs. Summerhays. Childish practical jokes like a whoopee cushion beneath her and spiders in her glass. She’d laughed along with them, until they’d stopped. Or she’d thought they had.

When she’d been offered the job, she’d seen it as a gift from God. It provided her with an open window into Englisch lives, allowing her to learn what she’d need to know if she decided to move away from the Harmony Creek settlement. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t want to leave her brothers or the wunderbaar friends she’d made since they moved to northern New York last year, but being baptized meant surrendering her dream of helping others.

That dream had been born the day she went to visit her daed in the hospital after a serious barn accident. He’d lost his right arm, and she guessed he might have given up if it hadn’t been for the nurses and physical therapists who’d believed in him. Watching them, she’d decided she wanted to learn to do such work, but that would be impossible if she became a full member of the Amish church. However, a job like a volunteer EMT might be allowed.

“Natalie,” she began.

“There are cowboys out there!” insisted the girl. “If you don’t believe me, look for yourself.”

Sarah took a quick glance at the top of the wide door to make sure someone hadn’t rigged a bucket of water on it. The fancy door was hinged in the middle, and she kept a close eye on the other side...just in case. The August heat battered her like an open oven door.

“See?” demanded Natalie.

Lowering her gaze from the door’s top, Sarah gasped when she saw who stood on the wide porch.

A cowboy!

A real live cowboy!

She stared in disbelief at his wide-brimmed straw hat that looked as if it’d been plucked out of one of her brother Menno’s Zane Grey novels. Though the day was warm, he wore a long-sleeved light green shirt and denims. His black Western boots had scuffed toes. Sun-streaked brown hair fell forward into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, bluer than a cloudless summer sky.

“Ma’am, is this Ian Summerhays’s place?” asked another cowboy, who tipped his black hat as he came up the steps. He was older, old enough to be her daed, and his slow drawl came, she guessed, right out of the heart of Texas.

“Ja... Yes, it is.” She couldn’t pull her gaze from the younger man, who gaped at her in outright astonishment.

Hadn’t he seen a plain woman before? If he hadn’t, he should still have known it wasn’t polite to stare.

Then, realizing she was doing the same, she cut her eyes to the older man and asked, “Are you looking for Mr. Summerhays?”

“Is he around?”

“He’s in his office.” She didn’t add how rare that was. He spent most days at the stables in Saratoga, about an hour’s drive south.

“Can you let him know we’ve got a delivery for him?” The older man gestured toward a large truck with a massive horse trailer behind it.

South Texas Stables was written on the side of the trailer in fading red letters. Through the narrow windows, motions revealed animals were inside. She was relieved to hear the sound of an air-conditioning unit coming on, knowing the animals would be more comfortable than she was in her bed on a hot summer night when the air was still.

“Of course.” She turned to Natalie. “Please go and let your daed know there’s a delivery.”

The little girl glanced at the men on the porch and, for a moment, Sarah thought she would protest.

Natalie grinned. “I told you there were cowboys out here.”

“You did.” Bending, Sarah said, “Mrs. Beebe said she was going to have a treat for you this afternoon.” The cook knew the youngsters were always ready for a snack. “You can check with her if it’s ready after you let your daed know someone wants to talk with him.”

“Okay, I get it. You want to talk to the cowboy by yourself. Don’t let him sweep you onto his horse and ride off with you into the sunset.” She giggled before running inside.

Sarah hoped neither man had heard the girl. Those hopes were dashed when she aimed a furtive look in the younger man’s direction and saw his frown. His light brown brows were lowered like storm clouds over his bright blue eyes. Intense emotion filled them, but she didn’t know why he was distressed.

After Natalie had rushed away to her daed’s office in the left wing of the house, Sarah looked at the men, unsure what to say next. She wished Mrs. Summerhays were there, but the kinder’s mamm was in Europe, buying items in antiques shops in Paris and Rome and Vienna to create her new vision for the house. Should Sarah ask the two men in? No, three men. Another guy with a cowboy hat walked around the trailer. Leaning against it, the dark-haired man lit a cigarette, startling her. Mr. Summerhays didn’t like anyone smoking near the house or stables.

Her face must have revealed that, because the older man snapped an order at the third cowboy. With a grimace, he dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his boot.

“Sorry, ma’am,” said the older man. “Ned forgets his manners sometimes.” He aimed a frown at the man by the trailer.

Wanting to put an end to the uncomfortable conversation, Sarah asked, “Was Mr. Summerhays expecting you?”

“We’re a day early, but I warned him we might be. By the way, I’m J.J. Rafferty, and that talkative guy there—” he pointed at the younger man who hadn’t said a word “—is Toby Christner. Toby, show the lady that you can talk.”

“Nice to meet you,” the handsome cowboy said. His baritone voice would have been pleasant on the ear if he’d put inflection in it.

“I’m Sarah Kuhns,” she answered.

J.J. nodded toward her, then looked past her.

Sarah turned to see Natalie standing behind her. “Did you talk to your daed?”

The girl nodded. “He’ll be out in a few minutes. He’s finishing a call.”

“We’ll catch up on a few things,” J.J. said, “while we’re waiting.” He walked toward the truck, motioning for Ned to follow him.

The dark-haired man winked at her before going with J.J.

Toby remained where he was. So did his frown. What was bothering him? Was he upset Mr. Summerhays hadn’t dropped everything to greet them when they arrived? If they’d done business with her boss, they should have known how busy he was. So busy he seldom came home before ten, long after the kinder were tucked into bed. He was gone at dawn to the stables in Saratoga or to New York City, where he did something there with the stock market.

Sarah wished she could think of something to say to the tall man who didn’t seem in a hurry to join the others. She’d gotten comfortable talking with Englischers since she started working as a nanny. Something about the man’s posture told her engaging him in small talk would be futile. She was curious how many horses were being delivered to the stables, but held her tongue.

J.J. and Ned returned to the porch after a few minutes. If they’d come to the house she shared with her two brothers deep in the hollow with Harmony Creek at its center, she’d know what to do. She would have brought them into the kitchen and asked them to sit at the table while she served iced tea and chilled pie.

Should she do the same here? She couldn’t invite them into the kitchen. Mrs. Summerhays had her guests brought to the room she called the library, though there weren’t any books in it. Sarah wished the housekeeper were here, but it was Mrs. Hancock’s day off. Mrs. Beebe, the cook, had her hands full with getting meals ready while the kitchen was being renovated...again. It was the third time in two years Mrs. Summerhays had decided it needed a complete updating.

Knowing she must not leave the men standing on the porch in the heat, she said, “Please komm inside where you can wait for Mr. Summerhays.”

Toby cleared his throat. “I can—”

“Come along, both of you,” said J.J. “I don’t want to unload the horses until Summerhays checks them to make sure they meet his satisfaction. We had a tough enough time getting the bay into the trailer the first time. He’ll be more resolute not to go in again.”

“But—”

“No sense standing out in the heat. Any chance you might have something cool to drink, young lady?”

“I’m sure there’s something. I can check.”

“Much obliged.” J.J. motioned for her to go ahead of him, then followed her into the large entry along with Toby and Ned. As J.J. took his hat off, he gave a low whistle. “Mighty fine spread here.”

She hadn’t heard anyone talk like him before but guessed he was complimenting the house. She had a lot to learn about Englischers. Finding out about Englisch ways was going to be a bigger task than she’d guessed.

“I’ll find out what’s on ice in the kitchen.” She shouldn’t leave them in the entry, but she wasn’t sure where to take them. Mrs. Beebe would know what to do, because the cook had been working at the house since the family moved in.

“Whatever you’ve got will be great,” J.J. said.

She smiled in return, then spun and hurried toward the kitchen. She glanced back. Her gaze was caught by the younger man, who regarded her with the same expressionless look.

How odd! At that moment, she would have given a penny to know his thoughts. Maybe even two.

* * *

The last person Toby Christner had expected would answer the door was an Amish woman. If someone had warned him ahead of time, he would have thought it was a joke. She wasn’t any more out of place in the fancy house than the house itself was among the other simple farms they’d seen along the road toward the Vermont border. Stone pillars by the road were set next to a fancy sign announcing Summerhays Stables, which lay beyond them. The whole setup matched the prestige Ian Summerhays was garnering with his excellent racehorses, including the three his boss had brought from Texas, where Toby had been working with them for a year.

He glanced at the young Amish woman, who was rushing away as if she couldn’t wait to be done with them. Not that he blamed her. Ned Branigan hadn’t stopped trying to get her attention. Toby wanted to tell his coworker his sly wiles wouldn’t work on an Amish woman, but Ned would have ignored him.

Sarah wasn’t tall. In fact, when he’d moved closer to her to go inside, she’d taken a step back so she didn’t have to tilt her head to look at him. She had bright red hair beneath her kapp. Her gold-rimmed glasses hadn’t been able to hide the surprise in her mahogany-brown eyes when she’d seen him on the porch.

Toby let his boss and Ned lead the way into the magnificent house. It was grander than the house on J.J.’s spread, and larger than what everyone called the Hacienda. That long, low house didn’t have pristine marble floors glistening like mirrors and columns as formal as the ones he’d seen in a casino in Las Vegas when they’d made a delivery out to the desert about six months ago. A staircase curved up to an open gallery on the second story. On either side of the front door, rooms were two steps below the entry’s marble floor. Furniture that looked like it belonged in a mansion was arranged in each. None appeared comfortable.

A plain woman didn’t fit in this setting. Neither did he.

“How long,” J.J. asked, “will it take us to get to our next stop?”

“From what I saw on the map, I’d guess about three hours.”

The two of them took turns driving and keeping track of their route, while Ned rode with the horses. Toby had been on map duty today because J.J. didn’t trust a GPS to get them where they needed to go. Many of the farms where they delivered horses were far off the beaten path, making map programs useless.

J.J. frowned for only a second because Sarah reappeared. She carried a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses. Behind her, like ribbons on the tail of a kite, were four youngsters. The oldest had been out on the porch, but there was a little girl and two boys, too. The quartet must be siblings, though the younger two were blond while the older ones had black hair. They couldn’t be Sarah’s because they wore bright colored shirts and sneakers with soles that lit each time they took a step. Yet, it was clear she was in charge of them.

“If you’ll follow me...” Sarah motioned with her head toward her left.

“Let me help you with that big load,” Ned said, stepping forward with a grin.

“I’m fine. Danki.”

“Nonsense. There’s no reason for a pretty filly like you to tote such a load.” Ned snatched the tray, and lemonade splattered out of the pitcher set in the center.

Dismay skittered across her face, but she turned to the kids, who’d skipped ahead of her into the big room, where they each grabbed a seat, the younger two wanting the same one. She convinced them to share as Ned put the tray on a low table. She turned and bumped into him. Without a word, she edged away.

Toby glanced at J.J. His boss was frowning. Ian Summerhays was an important client, and J.J. wouldn’t want Ned’s antics to cause problems. The plan when they left the ranch in Texas was for Ned to remain behind for a couple of weeks with the horses delivered to Summerhays. If J.J. changed his mind...

With a frown, Toby walked to a nearby sofa. If J.J. decided he couldn’t trust Ned—and he had plenty of reasons not to, assuming half the things Ned bragged about were true—Toby would be stuck at the fancy stables. Not that he wouldn’t have liked to spend more time getting the horses he’d worked with acclimated, but he’d hoped to use the time without Ned to ask J.J. about starting a small herd of his own. It would give him deeper roots on the ranch, something he’d never had while living with vagabond parents.

He hoped the rough seams on his denims wouldn’t snag the smooth lustrous material on the couch. He made sure his worn boots weren’t anywhere near the expensive upholstery or the wood that looked as if it’d been whitewashed. Everything about the house shouted the owners had spent a bundle on it.

They should have worried more about comfort, he thought as he sat. The chairs and sofas seemed too fragile and tiny for a full-grown man. His boss looked as if he perched on nursery furniture, because his knees rose to his chest level.

While Sarah served them lemonade, Ned kept trying to catch her eye. She stiffened each time he came close, but kept a smile in place as she told the youngsters they could have lemonade in the breakfast room.

Toby guessed she was their nanny. He thanked her when she handed him a glass that was frosted from the humidity, though the air-conditioning was keeping the house cool.

Ned moved too near to her when she offered him a glass. His broad hand closed over the glass and her hand. Her faint gasp brought Toby to his feet.

J.J. didn’t stand as he fired a glance at Toby, a warning to sit. At the same time, his boss asked, “Why don’t you drink that while you check on the horses, Ned?”

“I—”

“Never hurts to check again.”

Ned gave Sarah a broad smile but aimed a scowl at Toby as he strode out of the room.

J.J. motioned for Toby to remain sitting. Toby wasn’t sure why. Did Sarah have any idea that Ned was going to be remaining at the farm while Toby and J.J. left to deliver the rest of the horses?

Wishing he had an excuse to leave the ornate room where most of the surfaces seemed to be covered with gold leaf, Toby sipped the tart lemonade. Sarah still appeared uncomfortable, he realized, as J.J. smiled at her.

“May I ask you a personal question, young lady?” he asked.

Toby swallowed a silent moan. He recognized that grin. His boss was about to shake up what he considered a dull discussion. When J.J. looked at him, Toby guessed what his boss was about to ask. If he could think of a way—any way—to distract J.J., he would have. Stopping J.J. was about as easy as halting a charging bull with a piece of tissue paper.

“Of course.” Sarah squared her shoulders, preparing herself for whatever J.J. had to say.

“Are you Amish?” J.J. asked.

“I am.”

He chuckled and hooked a thumb toward Toby. “Like you. How do you say it, Toby? Like you, ain’t so?”

“You’re Amish?” A flush rushed up her cheeks, and he could tell Sarah wished the question would disappear.

Toby nodded as he waited for her to ask one of the next obvious questions. The ones he was always asked. If he was Amish, why was he traveling with J.J. and Ned delivering horses? Where did he live when he wasn’t on the road? Was he related to—or knew—someone connected to her? He hated the questions as much as he hated the answers he’d devised to skirt the truth.

Almost fifteen years ago, when he’d first gone to work for J.J., he’d answered those questions. He’d explained traveling wasn’t new to him. It was the life he’d always known. His parents had moved from one Amish settlement to another, seldom staying longer than six months, sometimes less than a week before heading somewhere new. They’d done that for as long as he could remember. He’d learned not to establish close relationships because soon he’d be leaving them behind. How could he have fun flirting with girls when he’d be going soon, breaking her heart as well as his own?

His life had changed after the family had arrived at a settlement in southern Texas. They’d stayed eight months. Toby had found work he loved: training horses at J.J.’s ranch. When his parents left, he’d stayed. The ranch was perfect for him. People and horses came and went. He didn’t have to worry about being the only outsider.

When he’d shared honest answers, he’d gotten pity or, worse, someone wanting to help him. To accept assistance would mean obligations he didn’t want. He’d created other answers. Not lies, but not the whole truth, either.

“Ja,” he said, letting himself slip into Deitsch for a moment.

“If you’re here on Sunday, you’re welcome at our services,” she replied in the same language before turning to J.J. and asking in English if he wanted more lemonade.