The Amish Baker

by Marie E. Bast

  “Howdy.” He gestured to the raised hood of her car. “Got a little trouble, I see. How about I take a look?”

  For a long moment, she just stared at him with wide, forest green eyes. Then she folded in her lips and bit them. Finally, she rolled down the window a half inch or so.

  “I don’t know you.”

  He put out his hand. “Jacoby Smith, from Loco Man Ranch. Most folks call me Jake.”

  She didn’t lower the window. Instead, she stared at him, biting her lips in what was obviously a nervous habit. He gestured toward the hood of her car again.

  “I’m going to take a look.” Without giving her a chance to object, he stepped to the front of the car and began to take stock. “Can you start it?”

  After a moment, she turned the key. It didn’t take long for him to diagnose the problem. He went to the window again, finding that she’d lowered it all the way, finally.

  Fanning herself with her hand, she spoke before he had a chance to do so. “I suppose you’re Dodd’s kin.”

  “That’s right. He was our uncle.”

  She stopped fanning and squinted up at him. “I was sorry to hear he’d passed.”

  “Thanks. My brothers and I were fond of the old boy.”

  “You’d be one of those three nephews who used to spend summers with him, then.”

  “Right again. And you are?”

  “Fine,” she said quickly. “I’m fine.” Her dusky pink lips formed the words even as her gaze cut to the hood of her car. “Just need some water for the radiator, I think.”

  Jake shook his head, irritated that she wouldn’t give him her name. Unlike so many others he’d met in the area, she wasn’t exactly a friendly sort, but she needed help. More than she knew.

  “I think you’ve blown a head gasket. At least.”

  “You can’t possibly know that for sure,” she scoffed, a hint of desperation in her voice.

  “I’ve seen it many times. I happen to be a mechanic.”

  She made a face, as if to say that only made his opinion more suspect.

  “Look,” he snapped, “I’m not out here trying to drum up business.”

  “Then why’d you stop?” she shot back, turning her head away. “You don’t know me.”

  Recognizing the sound of impending tears, Jake pulled in a slow, calming breath. “I stopped,” he said evenly, “because no one should be left stranded beside the road in this heat. Is there anyone you can call for a lift?”

  She thought for a minute, biting her lips, and shook her head.

  He raised his hands, palms up, in a gesture meant to convey that they were out of options. “My son and I will be glad to give you a ride.”

  Sniffing, she eyed him suspiciously. “I didn’t see anyone else in the truck.”

  “He’s three,” Jake gritted out, reaching deep for patience. “You ought to be able to see the top of his car seat at least.”

  She stuck her head out the window and studied the truck. Her thick, dark gold hair parted in the middle of her head and swung in a jaunty, ragged flip two or three inches above her shoulders. Sinking into the car again, she tucked the sun-kissed strands behind a dainty ear and muttered, “Oh, yes. I see that now.”

  Heat radiated up off the pavement in blistering waves. Jake pushed back the brim of his hat. “We can take you wherever you need to go.”

  She lifted her chin, swallowing hard and exposing her long, sleek neck and the delicate skin of her throat in the process. Jake’s chest tightened. He told himself it was concern, the fear that she was going to send him away, though he was her only immediate source of help. During his first deployment, he’d developed the habit of speaking silently to the Lord in moments of need, and this was one of those moments.

  Lord, You’d better zap some sense into her. It’s not safe for her to sit out here in this heat. Even worse if she tries to walk wherever she’s headed.

  To his relief, she slowly opened the car door and got out, slinging a large fabric bag over one shoulder. She was taller than he’d expected, and her blouse, worn over a full gray skirt, was of the medical variety, like the top half of a scrub suit. A muted green, it crisscrossed in front and tied at the side, creating a V neckline that exposed a dainty but prominent collarbone.

  “In case you forgot, my name’s Jacoby Smith. Jake.”

  “Jake,” she whispered in acknowledgment. “Kathryn Stepp.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kathryn, despite the circumstances. Now, shall we?” He nodded at the truck. Reluctantly, her arms folded across her middle, she began to walk in that direction. Shortening his steps to keep pace with her, he asked, “Where can I take you?”

  She bit her lips before saying, “I—I need to get to a client’s house. Sandy Cabbot. He’ll be wanting his lunch soon.”

  “Don’t know him. How do I get there?”

  “Just head on east to the county line, then go left. It’s only a few miles.”

  “No problem. You’ll have to point out this county line to me, though.”

  She seemed surprised by that. “Oh. All right.”

  They drew alongside the truck. Jake opened the front passenger door for her and jerked his thumb toward the back seat. “That’s my boy, Frankie.”

  Frankie waved at her. She waved back, smiling timidly, before climbing into the truck. Jake walked around, tossed his hat onto the back seat next to Frankie and slid behind the steering wheel in time to see her pass a trembling hand over her forehead.

  He started the engine and rolled up the windows, sitting for a moment to let the cool air from the vents flow over them. “Tough morning, I take it.”

  She nodded. He waited. After a long moment, she softly said, “Without that car, I can’t work, and if I can’t work, I can’t fix the car or...” She shrugged morosely.

  “I find things usually look better if we give them some time,” Jake told her, getting the truck underway.

  Muttering something about time running out, she pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her voluminous skirt. “I have to make a phone call.” He listened unapologetically as she placed the call and spoke into the phone. “Sandy, this is Kathryn again. I’ve got a ride. See you in a few minutes.”

  She replaced the phone in her pocket then jerked when Frankie yelled, “Hey, lady!”

  Jake briefly closed his eyes. His outgoing, energetic three-year-old didn’t take well to being ignored, and he habitually spoke at the top of his lungs. Tina claimed that was perfectly normal. Applying patience, Jake prepared to remind Frankie to use his “inside voice.” Before he had the chance, Kathryn Stepp twisted and gazed into the back seat.

  “Hello.”

  “Hay-ell-o!” Frankie repeated happily, mimicking her Oklahoma drawl.

  Jake winced, but she laughed. “You’re a cutie.”

  “You a cutie!” Frankie bellowed back at her.

  “Take it down a notch, please,” Jake instructed.

  She glanced at Jake but went on speaking to Frankie. “Are you having fun, riding around with Daddy today?”

  “No,” Frankie said bluntly, moderating his volume a bit. “I wanna ride my pony.”

  She frowned. “That sounds dangerous. Doesn’t your mama worry you’ll get hurt when you ride your pony?”

  Jake leaned forward slightly, watching his son’s face in the rearview mirror.

  Frankie replied matter-of-factly. “No. She in heben.”

  “Heaven,” Jake corrected gently, relaxing into his seat again.

  “Oh,” Kathryn said, sobering. “I’m sorry.”

  “She like it,” Frankie said, sounding unconcerned.

  “That’s nice.” Turning to Jake, she asked, “He’s only three?”

  “About three and a half.”

  “He seems big for his age,” she commented, as if that were a worrisome th
ing.

  “Smiths are big men,” Jake muttered defensively.

  At the same time, Frankie asked, “S’wat her name?” He often got his contractions backward, substituting s’wat for what’s and s’that for that’s.

  “It’s Miss Stepp.” Or so Jake assumed. Surely if she had a husband, she’d have called him for help. On the other hand, maybe the man was out of town. Glancing at her, he asked, “Or is it missus?”

  She bit her lips before answering coolly, “Miss.”

  Couldn’t say he was surprised. She didn’t seem to trust men. Or was it that she just didn’t like or trust him?

  She was a pretty woman, though, with that long, long neck and those intense green eyes and rosy lips. Obviously, she didn’t take much stock in her appearance, given her mismatched garb, straggly hair and utter lack of cosmetics. Even Jolene had known how to get dressed up.

  His late wife had been the perfect soldier, but once the uniform had come off, she’d tended toward sparkles and slinky fabrics. He’d often wondered if that had been her way of making up for her dedication to all things military. This quiet, nervous female hardly seemed of the same species. If Jolene’s transportation had broken down beside the road, she’d have commandeered the first vehicle to cross her path.

  He supposed that most women would be more cautious. Few had Jolene’s training and confidence, and too many men were willing to take advantage of a woman alone, especially a timid one. Glad that he’d stopped, even if this unexpected passenger was prickly, Jake smiled at her. Instantly, she leaned away from him, her eyes going wide.

  So much for chivalry.

  * * *

  Kathryn had never known how to behave around men, especially the good-looking ones, and Jake Smith definitely fit into that category. With his rumpled black-coffee-colored hair, chiseled features and straight white teeth, he was movie-star handsome, and that dark, prickly shadow practically shouted masculinity. It was the way he moved that made her so nervous, however. Every motion proclaimed him a confident, capable man who had never met an obstacle he couldn’t overcome.

  Before getting into the vehicle with him, she’d reasoned that no man with a three-year-old in tow would truly present a threat, but old habits died hard. Since the age of seventeen, Kathryn had been virtually on her own, apart from the wider world, tied to her mom’s bedside by that woman’s debilitating physical condition. Always shy, Kathryn had never been very brave or confident, and from the time of her mother’s accident, she had diligently taken every precaution, especially after her father had abandoned them.

  As usual, thoughts of Mitchel Stepp brought a world of worry down on Kathryn. How was she to keep him from forcing the sale of her home when she couldn’t come up with the money to buy him out? And now her car was broken down. If only she could find her mother’s insurance policy. It wouldn’t pay much, but it might be enough to satisfy her father for at least a while. Her salary as a home care provider covered her bills and allowed her to put aside a bit every month to cover the property taxes that would come due at the end of the year, but Mitchel expected thousands, half the value of her house.

  As Jake pulled the metallic olive-green truck to a stop in front of Sandy Cabbot’s lonely little farmhouse, he glanced around. “Can someone here give you a ride back to town when you’re finished? I don’t see a car anywhere.”

  Shaking her head, she opened the door. “I’ll manage. Thanks for your help.”

  “It’s no problem,” he said. “If you want me to look at your car—”

  She cut that off right away. “I can’t afford to pay you, Mr. Smith.”

  He balanced a forearm against the top of the steering wheel. “Jake. I didn’t ask for payment. And the fact is you can’t go walking far in this heat.”

  Stepping out onto the running board, she replied, “We do what we must.” That was one lesson she’d learned early and well.

  “What time are you through here?” he asked.

  She reached the ground and turned to face him. “Why?”

  He pulled off his mirrored shades and tossed them onto the dash, fixing her with a hard stare. His eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black. “What time?”

  “Six.” The reply was out before she could stop it.

  “Then I’ll be back at six.”

  Kathryn bit her lips. She knew she shouldn’t get in that truck with him again. He made her feel...well, not frightened really, but completely inadequate, and she did not need help with that. She cleared her throat anxiously. “That’s not—”

  He reached across and pulled the cab door shut.

  “—necessary,” she muttered, watching as he backed the truck around and drove away in a cloud of red dust.

  Confident, capable, commanding—and apparently not used to taking no for an answer—he was exactly the last sort of man she should find attractive, and that she did find him attractive, wildly so, was reason enough to avoid him. She didn’t know how to deal with a man like him, but then he wouldn’t be interested in a plain, shy, unsophisticated woman like her, anyway. At least she wouldn’t have to walk back to town tonight. How she’d manage tomorrow, she couldn’t imagine, but she’d worry about that, and everything else, later. Moving toward the house, she thought of the boy and smiled.

  Hey, lady.

  Frankie certainly wasn’t shy. She didn’t know anything about children, but despite losing his mother at such a tender age, he seemed to be happy and well-adjusted, if a bit loud. Nevertheless, with her own mother’s death still fresh in her memory, her heart went out to him.

  She wondered what had happened to the late Mrs. Smith. Illness or accident? Mia Stepp’s death had been a combination of the two, her illness a direct result of the automobile accident that had battered her body and left her paralyzed and brain damaged. Kathryn missed her dreadfully, but Frankie’s confident, carefree words concerning his own mother came back to her.

  She in heben. She like it.

  Kathryn prayed that was so. For both his mother and hers.

  As she greeted Sandy, her elderly client, and began checking his vital signs before starting his lunch, she couldn’t help wondering how long ago Mrs. Jake Smith had passed on. And how many women were already lined up to take her place.

  It made no difference. She would never see Jake Smith again after this evening.

  She certainly would not think of him as her rescuer.

  Even if he was.

  Copyright © 2019 by Deborah Rather

  IMPRINT: M&B Love Inspired, Digital Exclusives

  ISBN: 9781489281937

  TITLE: THE AMISH BAKER

  First Australian Publication 2019

  Copyright © 2019 Marie Elizabeth Bast

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