Love Finds You in Sugarcreek, Ohio (22 page)

“Ah. I’m sure she is. Being around you would make any girl want to be just like you.”

“You think?” Rachel blushed. “I’d better be getting back.” She stood up.

Joe grasped her wrist. “Stay for a minute.”

Surprised, she sat down.

Joe didn’t let loose of her wrist. “I want to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“One of the guys at the hardware store told me about a movie playing at the Quaker Theatre over in New Philadelphia that his son liked. I think Bobby would enjoy it too. It involves animated bugs. If you’ll drive, I’ll buy the tickets and the popcorn.”

“I—I could do that.”

“Meet me back here at six?”

“I don’t know what to do about Stephanie.”

“Bring her along, of course. Do you suppose she likes bug movies?”

Her lips quirked. “If there’s popcorn and chocolate candy involved, she’ll like it.”

“It’s a date. I’ll see you tonight.”

He felt a lifting of his spirits as he went back to work and she went in to collect Stephanie.
It isn’t
really
a date,
he reminded himself. Real dates didn’t usually involve bringing small boys and pregnant teenagers along.

Still, he found that he was looking forward to this evening very much.

An hour later, with the holes satisfactorily filled, Joe put away the wheelbarrow and shovel, rinsed off his hands at the pump, and went to the aunts’ kitchen to collect Bobby—who had spent the afternoon alternately playing with his kitten and entertaining Lydia’s customers with a running commentary on her baked goods.

As much as he loved his son, sitting inside a dimly lit house for an entire evening with only a dancing pickle for company was not his idea of a great evening. After several days of going to bed extremely early, a movie sounded
really
nice. Going with Rachel sounded even nicer. Now that he no longer had to hide his identity from her—now that they were friends—asking the pretty cop to accompany him to a kids’ movie seemed an excellent way to spend the evening.

Except that she’d blushed when he’d asked her.

And she wasn’t the kind of woman to blush easily.

As a cop, she had no doubt waded into scenes that would make some grown men faint. And yet she had blushed and stammered when he’d issued a friendly invitation to watch a bug movie with him and his son.

He didn’t know whether to be worried or happy. Was there the remotest possibility that she might be interested in him?

What an intriguing thought. Rachel Troyer, all strength and loyalty, combined with a graceful beauty that could turn heads even in a no-nonsense cop’s uniform. Strange, how she seemed utterly unaware of her attractiveness. He wanted to get to know her better. A lot better.

Would that be a mistake?

I’ve got your back, Joe.

Her words came back to him. She had meant them.

No, spending time with Rachel was
not
a mistake. In spite of the cloud hanging over him, in spite of all that had happened back in LA, he was going to allow himself to enjoy her company at the movies tonight.

Rachel was in her bedroom trying to decide what to wear when she heard retching coming from the bathroom. She rushed in to check on Stephanie.

“Are you okay?”

Stephanie’s face was ashen, and her eyes were red and teary from the strain of being sick. “I thought morning sickness was supposed to happen only in the morning—but I never know
when
it’s going to hit.”

“I’ve heard that happens sometimes. Of course, maybe it’s not morning sickness. Maybe it’s all that food you ate today.”

“I couldn’t help it. I seem to be hungry all the time these days.”

Rachel looked at her watch. It was 5:45. They needed to be leaving. She pulled a washcloth out of a drawer, wet it, and handed it to Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor beside the commode. “Maybe this will help.”

Stephanie wiped her face, got up from the bathroom floor, rinsed out her mouth, and looked at Rachel.

“Would you care if I don’t go to the movie with you? I don’t feel so good.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t be afraid to stay here by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll just watch TV.”

“I’ll have my cell phone on me. Call me if you need me.”

“You go on and see that bug movie, Rachel. And have fun with Joe.”

“I will. But, sweetheart, I want you to be thinking seriously about what you’re going to do. You could be giving birth within the next few weeks, and you need to be with your family when that happens. Staying here with me is not an option.”

“I know. I just can’t remember.”

Rachel blew out a sigh. Deflated by Stephanie’s illness and her lack of honesty, she silently finished getting ready.

Joe and Bobby were sitting on the front porch steps of the daadi haus when she pulled up. Joe had showered and changed. Bobby, a pint-sized image of Joe, beamed up at her.

Joe stood. “Give Rachel your present, buddy.”

Bobby brought his arm out from behind his back and presented Rachel with one late, wilted rose from the aunts’ flower garden.

“Bobby seems to be under the impression that a gentleman should give flowers to a lady on their first date.”

Rachel tried to ignore the feeling of pleasure the use of that word “date” gave her. Was that truly how Joe was viewing their evening together? Deep down, she hoped so.

She stooped to take the flower from Bobby’s hand. The child was so innocent. So trusting. So easy to love. In fact, she already loved him.

“Thank you, Bobby,” she said. “It’s lovely.”

“My mommy liked flowers.”

Her heart turned over. “I’ll bet she did.”

“Where’s Stephanie?”

“She’s not feeling so good tonight.”

“Oh?” Joe said, concerned. “Is everything all right?”

“She lost her supper before I left. It’s either belated morning sickness or too much of Lydia’s pie. I’ve got my cell phone on me and she promised to call if she needed something.”

He glanced down at Bobby. “You ready to go see some bugs?”

“Uh-huh.”

Joe looked at Rachel. “Are you ready to go see some bugs?”

Rachel tucked the rose into a buttonhole on her yellow cardigan. “Can’t wait.”

Bobby grasped her hand and smiled up at her. Then he reached for his father’s hand, forming a solid link between her and Joe. As they walked toward the car, she had the feeling that her life was finally beginning.

Rachel hummed as she donned her work jeans the next morning. Today she was going to help start painting the farmhouse that Joe had scraped and prepared. Many of her Amish cousins were coming to help. Today was going to be an Amish work frolic—something her aunts had been looking forward to for weeks.

Best of all was that she would be working alongside Joe.

Even though her jeans were worn, they fit pretty well, and she was wearing a deep maroon sweatshirt with them. Then, surprising herself, she screwed in a pair of gold hoops and added a line of pale lipstick. Looking nice around Joe had begun to be a priority.

“You’re lookin’ good.” Stephanie walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Not wearing them ugly police pants today?”

Joe’s T-shirt was stretched tight around Stephanie’s middle. A pair of Rachel’s jogging pants were rolled beneath her belly. If the girl stayed much longer, they’d need to do some serious shopping. But, of course, she wasn’t going to be staying much longer. Yesterday Rachel had mentioned the possibility of contacting Children’s Services, thinking the threat of foster care might jog Stephanie’s memory.

“I’m hungry. Are you fixing anything for breakfast?”

“Help yourself to whatever you want. I’m headed over to the farmhouse to help paint. I asked you last night if you wanted to come. Remember?”

Stephanie scratched her belly. “Watching people paint doesn’t sound like fun to me. I’ll hang out here and read some magazines or watch some TV.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I might throw up again.”

“Okay.” Rachel felt a twinge of conscience. Stephanie seemed to be alone too much. But there was nothing she could do about it right now. She was looking forward to the day too much to stay home and babysit her.

Babysit.
It worried her that Stephanie would be in charge of an infant in a few weeks.

Rachel shoved her concerns about Stephanie aside, finished packing her mother’s old picnic basket with the muffins she had baked last night, and headed out the door. Nothing was going to keep her from enjoying today. She wasn’t going to worry about anything except having a wonderful time with a good man and his sweet little boy.

She hummed along with the radio. It was a beautiful fall day, and all her windows were rolled down as she drove to the farm.

Her foot hit the brake when she saw a black news van parked in front of the daadi haus. A smaller white van was parked in the driveway…and a group of people milled about in the yard with microphones and cameras.

Bewildered-looking Amish, prepared for a workday, stayed huddled inside their buggies to avoid being photographed. She saw Anna peeking out of an upstairs window.

Heartsick, she parked her Mustang, climbed out, and began to elbow her way through the small crowd to the daadi haus’s door.

“Coming through,” she commanded.

As a cop, she was used to crowds opening up for her when she asked. Dressed in civilian clothes, her “cop’s voice” was ineffective. The reporters turned on her with interest.

“Are you his girlfriend? A relative? Can you tell us anything at all about Micah Mattias? How long has he been here? Is it true he’s been working as a handyman for Amish people? Is his son with him? Has the boy told you what he saw the night his mother was killed?”

Rachel realized that cameras were being trained on her and she tried to shield her face with her hand as she steadily worked her way onto Joe’s porch.

“Joe! It’s me!” she shouted, pounding on the door.

It opened a crack, and she angled her body inside. Once she was in, Joe closed it against the clamor of questions outside. As it clicked shut, she looked into eyes filled with anger.

He held Bobby in his arms. The little boy’s head was buried in his neck, and he was crying. Joe’s face was dark with fury.

“What happened?” Rachel asked.

“Perhaps
you
can tell
me.”

Rachel was surprised. Why was he angry with
her?

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are they here? How did they find out?”

“What did you do, Rachel? Confide in a girlfriend? Mention it to some guy at work? Send an anonymous e-mail to a gossip magazine?”

“You think I—?” Her voice choked at the unfairness of the accusation. “You
know
I wouldn’t—”

Joe cut her off with a slash of his hand. “You were the only one who knew. I
trusted
you.” His jaw clenched. “Do you know the questions they tried to ask my little boy this morning when he innocently opened the door? Can you imagine what they threw at him? Did you even
think
about the two lives you were destroying when you told whoever it was you told? Or did you just want to be known as the girl cop who had discovered Micah Mattias’s hiding place?”

“I
didn’t.”

“Get out, Rachel. I’ll deal with these people. I’ve dealt with them before—but I never want to see you again.”

He opened the door and practically shoved her outside. Rachel stumbled into the cacophony of questions and microphones.

“Did he confess to murdering his wife? How long has he been hiding here? What’s your connection to him? Are you dating him? Did you have a relationship before his wife died? What are all these buggies doing here?”

Rachel pushed her way through the sea of bodies, so shocked by Joe’s accusations that she could barely process anything that was happening. She saw the reporters’ mouths move, but it was as though they were talking silently and in slow motion.

Amish buggies began to work their way back toward the road. The work frolic her aunts had looked forward to was ruined.

As she pulled away, she saw the curtains being yanked shut, one by one, in the downstairs windows of her aunts’ house as a news photographer tried to point a camera inside. It had been decades since her aunts’ curtains, one dark cloth panel per window, had been released from the single swag holding them back and positioned to block out the world.

How bewildered the three of them must feel right now.

She considered going inside and trying to explain to them what was happening, but it would take too much time. They would be all right for now. She had a higher priority.

In spite of her own hurt and her aunts’ ruined work frolic, the main thing on her mind was how alone Joe must feel right now. And how afraid Bobby must be. His little-boy sobs still echoed in her heart.

She cast around in her mind for a clue as to who might have tipped off the press. The only person she could think of was Kim Whitfield. She’d been a fool to give Kim all that information…a fool for having confided in the girl about her suspicions concerning Joe. Obviously, Kim had done the research and figured it out. Unfortunately, she had also chosen to share her discovery with the world.

It was a five-minute drive to her house, her gun, her uniform, and her squad car.

She made it in three.

Stephanie was sitting at the kitchen table buttering a stack of toast when Rachel burst in.

“We need more bread,” Stephanie said. Then she looked up. “You’re home awful early. Did you forget something?”

Rachel took in the scene at a glance. In addition to the toast sitting on the table, there was a stack of magazines beside the plate.

She strode over to the table and scanned the top one. It was the most recent issue of the
People
magazines she had carried out of the library. And along with the others, it had been tucked away on the top shelf of her closet.

“Where did you get these?” she demanded.

“Your bedroom,” Stephanie answered. “I was looking for some clothes—I thought maybe you’d have something that would fit.” She took a bite of toast. “You don’t have much for me to work with, you know. You should shop more, Rachel.”

Rachel ignored Stephanie’s rudeness and focused on the problem at hand. “How long have you had these?”

“What? These? They’re just magazines.”

In spite of Stephanie’s attempt to look innocent, Rachel saw that she was hiding something.

“There are about thirty reporters camped out on Joe’s front yard. Do you know anything about that?”

Stephanie turned the pages of the top magazine, her eyes cast down. “I might.”

Rachel grasped Stephanie’s jaw in her hand and forced her to look at her.

“What
did you do?”

Stephanie wrenched her face away, scattering toast crumbs across the table. “I made a phone call. I got a baby girl inside of me, Rachel! You keep telling me I need to be thinking about how to take care of her.”

“What does that have to do with Joe and Bobby?”

Stephanie opened the pages to a picture of Joe where he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. Although there was only a shadow of beard, it was enough to tip someone off if they looked hard enough.

“I was bored. Then I saw this stack of magazines in your bedroom. I
love People
magazine, but the only ones you had was of that baseball player everyone was talking about and trying to find. I knew right away it was Joe. I figured there might be some money in a good tip like that, so I called the
National Enquirer.
I was right. They were
very
interested.”

“How did you even know how to get in touch with them?” She was appalled. The
National Enquirer?

“Did you ever hear of the Internet, Rachel?” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “I surfed around on your computer. The
Enquirer
said they’d pay for ‘good stories and juicy tips about celebrities.’ I figured this was as good a story and as juicy a tip as I was ever going to get.”

Unconcerned about the lives she’d just destroyed, Stephanie calmly slathered strawberry jam on her toast and took a bite.

There were a half dozen things Rachel wanted to say—but now was not the time. Instead, she abruptly left Stephanie to her toast and magazines and went into her bedroom to suit up. After a couple phone calls, she donned her uniform, loaded her gun and her utility belt, clipped it around her waist, grabbed her hat, and slammed out of the house.

Joe might never trust her again, but she could at least keep the press from beating down his door.

Bobby sat in the middle of his bed, sniffling, while Joe packed the duffel bag. In the bottom of the bag was some money he had gleaned from the books in Abraham’s library.

Rifling through the old man’s books had made him feel like a thief, but he knew that no matter what, he’d pay it back. With interest.

His plan was to wait out the rest of the day and then leave in the middle of the night while the reporters, hopefully, were half asleep.

Getting to his truck and then out on the road was going to be difficult. It was blocked by one of the news vans. He would have to drive through the yard. He had little hope of getting away undetected, but the least he could do was lead the newshounds away from the gentle women who had taken him in. The three aunts did not need to have this happen to them.

He ached to think of how their little work frolic had been destroyed—all because of him. They were undoubtedly disappointed.
He
was disappointed too.

Now he would never get to smooth fresh paint over the boards he had so painstakingly prepared. He had looked forward to working alongside Eli’s sons and the others. He had looked forward to sharing food and camaraderie at the long table he had helped set up in the backyard. Laughing. Talking. Working beside friends while his son tumbled about, playing with the other children.

Rachel and the newspeople had stolen this from him.

The only thing left to do now was to go back to LA, dragging a tail of reporters behind him. He would hole up at his house again. Give the interviews Henrietta would schedule. Find a good shrink for his son.

“It’ll be all right, buddy.” He tried to reassure his little boy in spite of his own heartbreak. “Daddy will take care of you. We’ll have an adventure.”

“Don’t want ’venture.” Bobby sniffed. “Want Anna and Lydia and Bertha and Rachel and Gracie.”

“I know. We’ll come back someday, after this is all over—when the people out in the yard go away.”

“Those people are
bad.”
Bobby curled into a ball, and his thumb went into his mouth.