Accidentally Amish (6 page)

Annie’s pace slowed as she came into town and guessed at the ages of the stone and brick buildings that anchored it. A gabled church bell tower thrust a cross into the air, and Annie’s feet turned in that direction without explanation. At the sight of it, a hundred years of history shivered through her, and she wondered if the residents who built the church could have imagined what she did for a living. The simple old-fashioned church stirred in her an impression of a place to belong. Before it became historic, this was simply a church where the community gathered.

The twentieth century had rumbled through the region, leaving in its wake signs that lit up and blinked, vehicles of various eras, practical business shelters, rehabbed houses, and ATMs. Yet the town stood poised in the past, weighing its future.

The ATM outside a stately bank gave her pause. How long could she stay afloat without resorting to a traceable electronic transfer of funds? She could not afford to lose herself in daydreams of scenery and history. She had a business to protect, and neither Rick nor Barrett would give up just because she managed to give them the slip. There was always her retirement fund. Rick might not think to track an IRA that she opened before she met him. The tax hit would be worth it if it meant she could halt Rick’s aggression.

On Main Street, Annie found a couple of promising shops and rummaged for essentials. Surely it was only a matter of a couple of days, a week at the most, before she could safely return home. She would hire someone to help her, and in a few days she would stop Rick and Barrett’s attempt at legal thievery of her creative work.

Annie thought of Rufus. The offense against him was plain to see, and now it was spreading to his friend. Yet he refused to take action.

I’ve got too much invested,
she thought.
I’m not giving up without a fight.

She stood in the bright afternoon sunlight, unsure what to do next. Find food, she supposed. She could have a meal now and take something back to the motel for later.

A passing patch of purple made Annie lift her eyes from the sidewalk. Two Amish women, one middle-aged and one younger, exited a furniture store. Annie considered the sign that hung over the door and surmised it was an Amish business. The women smiled at her as they passed on the sidewalk then entered the same discount store Annie had just come out of. Annie watched their long skirts and sturdy shoes disappear from view—then chided herself for staring. No one else seemed to find the women’s movements noteworthy.

An image of herself in the dress Rufus had left in the barn flashed through Annie’s mind. It hardly seemed possible that only that morning she had woken to his peculiar offering.

Annie glanced around the street, stuffed her purchases in her shoulder bag, and scouted the environs for any sort of restaurant. She ate quickly at a sandwich shop, promising herself that when she was not under pressure to save her business, she would return to explore Westcliffe. On the way out of town, she noted the gas station with a couple of cars for sale and idly wondered how she could buy one without leaving a trail.

She shook the thought out of her head.
I have a perfectly good car. I just have to clean up this mess, and I can go get it.

An hour later, Annie was showered and wearing her jeans with a fresh forest green T-shirt. A front porch ran across the length of the motel with Adirondack chairs scattered at irregular intervals. Annie settled into one with her laptop. The vista was nearly irresistible, but she forced herself to focus, compromising by working where the sun warmed her skin. If she could sort out a plan for dealing with Rick and Barrett, she would have plenty of time to relish the views.

Rufus spent the day sanding and staining detail pieces for woodwork around the house under construction and satisfying himself that the mantel was perfect. Tom showed up in the midafternoon with the new load, and the crew started on framing in the family room cabinetry. On his way out of town, Rufus took the buggy to an office building where the owners were dabbling with the idea of renovating and wanted him to quote on the job. He collected measurements, asked a few questions, and promised to make a formal bid. Perhaps if he focused more on remodeling rather than new construction, Karl Kramer would stop harassing him.

It was almost six o’clock when he let Dolly move at her own pace down the road toward home. His mind wandered to what awaited him at the farm.

Jacob could be a daydreamer. No one doubted the little boy’s good intentions when he headed out for his chores, but often it fell to Rufus to double-check and make sure the animals had hay and fresh water and to look for eggs Jacob missed. His sisters, twelve and fourteen years old, were more dependable about milking the family’s only cow and keeping up with churning butter and making cheese.
Daed
would have been in the alfalfa fields all day with sixteen-year-old Joel and no doubt would be soaking his sore feet by the time Rufus came through the door.
Mamm
would put down her sewing and check on the chicken potpie in the oven.

A mile out of town, Rufus happened to glance up from the road. Even from a distance he was sure of the slender form stretched out in the Adirondack chair, her hay-colored hair hanging loose as she hunched over a computer.

What was she still doing there?

A
nnie rubbed her eyes and glanced up just in time to see Dolly
clip-clop
past. Was it her imagination, or was Rufus Beiler looking at her just before the buggy moved out of sight behind a tower of blue spruce?

Rufus Beiler.

Annie’s hand moved to the phone in her back pocket. When she had spoken to her mother, she missed her chance to ask about the Byler name in her own family history. She hesitated over turning the phone on, but curiosity mounted, and she hit the speed dial number for her parents’ house.

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, Mom. Relax. I just remembered a question I wanted to ask.”

“What’s that, honey?”

“I met someone named Beiler today, and that got me thinking about Daddy’s grandparents. Wasn’t there a name like Beiler in the family?”

“It rings a bell, but I’m not the best at keeping track of your father’s side of the family tree.”

“I suppose I could ask Daddy, but I don’t think he keeps track, either.”

“His grandparents died when he was a little boy. He never talks about them.”

“But I saw the name somewhere. Malinda Byler.” Annie spelled the name. “I think it was a maiden name. Are you sure you don’t know anything?”

“Aunt Lennie gave us a book years ago,” Myra said. “A genealogy mishmash that some distant cousin put together.”

“That’s it!” Annie said. “It had a black comb binding and a pink cover. I remember looking at it in high school.”

“It must still be around here somewhere. You can look in the basement the next time you come.”

Annie groaned. “Half the boxes down there don’t have labels.”

“Then you’d better hope the one you’re looking for does,” Myra said. “I don’t have time to go digging, but if I think of it, I’ll ask your father.”

“Thanks.”

“Still don’t know when you’re coming home?”

“Nope.” Annie paused. “Mom, I may not be able to have my phone on much. Don’t freak out if you can’t get me. If something’s important, just use the family e-mail.”

“I worry about you, Annie.”

“No need.”

Annie ended the call then turned off her phone. She opened her laptop again and considered the screen. What were the odds of finding a competent and available intellectual property attorney in the San Luis Valley? She did not want glitz. Rick was well connected, so Annie wanted someone who was
not
, someone Rick would look right past. But this someone needed the guts to go up against Richard D. Stebbins and get the job done.

Cañon City, Walsenburg, Alamosa. How hard would it be to find a bus or catch a ride to one of those cities? Surely once she got there, she could rent a car and operate independently but still stay under Rick’s radar. Annie looked through the Yellow Pages listings and clicked through to one link after another to study the scope and experience of each attorney. The list narrowed to three. It was too late in the day to phone an office number and expect someone would answer, but first thing in the morning, Annie would make the calls. In the meantime, she had to think through how to tell her story succinctly and with enough urgency to persuade an attorney to drop other work and jump on her case.

Annie clicked over to her e-mail, which she had not looked at all day.

Four frantic messages from Jamie, her assistant, time stamped at two-hour intervals throughout the day.

Fourteen messages of varying importance from clients with complex business needs for whom she did custom website work.

One message from a corporate partnership she did not recognize, making her heart lurch with dread that Rick was bringing in reinforcements. What was Liam-Ryder Industries, and what did they want?

Twenty-three Facebook notifications.

One terse message from Barrett underscoring that their business success was primarily due to his efforts.

She did not check Twitter.

Nothing from Rick. Annie was not sure if that was good or bad.

Annie answered one message from Jamie, assuring her that she was simply taking care of unexpected business, and gave instructions for responding to the more high-maintenance clients. She promised to be in touch soon. She ignored Barrett and did not even open the message from the unfamiliar corporation.

Somewhere behind her a cell phone rang. When she heard a man’s vociferous swearing, Annie nearly jumped out of her chair. A door slammed, and a man in jeans and a blue work shirt stomped out of the room next to hers, a hammer in his hand. He brushed past her on the long porch. At the far end, near the lobby, Mo stepped outside.

“Hurry up, Jack,” Mo said.

“I’m coming.” His statement of the obvious weighed heavy with irritation.

“It’s going to fall down! I told you hours ago I was getting nervous.”

“I said I’m coming!”

Annie could not help watching the interchange. Jack made no effort to hurry his pace in response to Mo’s agitated movements—which only made her more visibly disconcerted. When the crash came, Jack rolled his eyes and entered the lobby. Mo squeezed her head with both hands and moved down the porch toward Annie.

“He’ll pitch a fit if I stand in there and watch what he’s doing,” Mo muttered.

Annie wondered if a response was required and finally said, “I hope everything is okay.”

“He’s just aggravated he had to pull the sink out of the room next to yours. I trust he’s not disturbing you.”

“I didn’t even know he was there until he came out.”

“He’s the most cantankerous handyman I’ve ever had.” Mo sighed. “I arranged for a carpenter to come tomorrow. I knew those shelves in the lobby needed work, but I didn’t think they were going to fall apart today. I doubt Jack can do anything now but clean up the mess.”

Annie nodded. “I hope it works out.” She went back to inspecting her e-mail.

“Don’t forget, continental breakfast from seven to nine every morning.”

“Did Annalise sleep in the barn again?” Jacob Beiler asked in the morning over his bowl of oatmeal.

“No, Jacob,” Rufus answered, “Annalise was our guest for only one night.”

“If she was our guest, why did we make her sleep in the barn?” Jacob waved his oatmeal-laden spoon precariously. “I don’t understand why she was here.”

“She just needed a place to stay for the one night.”

“She’s pretty.”

The image of Annalise Friesen sitting on the porch in front of the motel lingered. Rufus wondered if she was still there. He would find out soon enough, he supposed. But he could not allow the lithe
English
woman to absorb his attention.

“Are you thinking about Tom’s truck?” Franey ladled oatmeal into a bowl and handed it to her daughter Sophie, who passed it on to Lydia. Franey filled another.

“He had new tires on by the afternoon,” Rufus said, “but it pains me that he suffered for helping me. I’m not sure I should ask him again.”