Saving Gideon

by Amy Lillard

  The sun was faithful and warm, and the last drifts of snow on the north side of the barn were finally starting to melt. Avery stretched and propped her bare feet up on the wooden porch railing and watched the farm go by. At least what there was of it. She’d thought a farm would be a little busier than Gideon Fisher’s seemed to be. But what did she truly know about farms? Nothing. Big, fat nada.

  Still, Gideon had disappeared in the barn about an hour ago—her traitorous companion hot on his heels—and neither one of them had come out again. Didn’t he have fields to plow and crops to harvest and what not? And wasn’t he going to church? After all, it was Sunday.

  And what did she care?

  Except that she had never felt more useless in her life. All she had done since she’d been here was wash the dishes in unnecessarily cold water—Gideon had showed her that very morning how he used water heated in a bucket by the fire to wash the dishes—and sit around. And that didn’t seem quite right.

  Her father always had a billion things for her to do—appearances to make, volunteer work, benefits to attend. It wasn’t hard work, but it kept her busy.

  Gideon had saved her life, clothed her, fed her, shouldn’t she give something in return? She was on a farm. There were no benefits to attend, but shouldn’t she do something?

  She should. And she would start by finding her host and . . . and . . . well, finding her host was something, now wasn’t it?

  Avery stood and started off the porch, stopping only when she got to the smooth patch of red dirt at the bottom of the stoop. She didn’t have on any shoes. She surveyed the uneven ground that separated her from the barn. A few tufts of brown grass lined the well-worn path that was mostly mud with only a few spots packed down since the snow had melted. Her Manolo Blahniks were no match for this type of terrain and that left her only one option.

  Despite the rising heat of the day, the path was cool on the soles of her feet, but not unpleasant. In fact, the experience of walking barefoot across a country farmyard was surprisingly pleasant. The sun was on her face, the ground soft beneath her feet, the rolled up pants legs brushing against her ankles as she made her way to the barn.

  Three dogs lay in the sunshine just before the cool, shadowy entrance to the barn—a beagle, a black and white border collie, and a spotty dog she guessed to be some sort of heeler. None of them moved anything save a small wag of their tails as she passed them by. Her furry friend was nowhere to be seen.

  Avery stopped just inside the door, taking a moment to let her eyes adjust to her new surroundings. It was dim even with the top half of the Dutch doors open on the other end. She could say one thing about the barn: it was neat. Fresh smelling, clean hay scattered across the packed dirt floor and perfumed the air as she trod on it. And it was big, with a trussed roof and expansive loft stretching the length of the barn. And empty . . . except for a lone cow in one stall and a couple of horses housed just to the left and opposite the tack room.

  Okay, that was three things, but Avery was so proud of herself for remembering the term “tack room” that she wasn’t keeping count. An “uncle” of hers over in Ft. Worth, one of her father’s associates, owned a sprawling ranch. Avery had gone out there once, toured the barn and ridden a gentle mare . . . and she’d loved it. It was just so far from Dallas. She often thought of going again, but there never seemed to be enough time. There was always a party to go to, or a ribbon-cutting ceremony, or some sort of event to attend.

  He was sitting off to one side in the corner of the wide wooden stairs, so quiet and still that she almost didn’t see him at all. Or maybe seeing him sitting there instead of milking a cow or throwing some hay confused her. He seemed to be taking the slower pace of the Amish culture very seriously.

  “I—” she started, unsure of what to say now that she had actually found him. “I was looking for you.”

  “And you found me.” Louie V. lay at his feet as if he had found a new master in Gideon Fisher.

  “Right.” Avery rocked back on her heels, enjoying the prickly feel of the straw beneath her feet. “I came to see if I could help you with anything.”

  “No.” Simple man, simple answer.

  “Yeah . . . well . . . okay. I just thought I could do something. I feel okay, you know. Farms are busy places, aren’t they? I mean, isn’t there always something to do, sun up to sun down and all the time in between?” Why was she rambling?

  “I s’pose.”

  “Well, then, what can I do?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Nothing?”

  “It’s the Lord’s Day. We only do what is required of us on Sundays.”

  Avery nodded. “Right. I was wondering about that. Church and all. I mean if you need to leave . . .” She couldn’t very well go with him dressed in her clothes or his.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought Gideon’s eyes hardened just a fraction, hiding that vulnerable light which crept into them when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  “No.”

  “You don’t have to stay here for me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay.” Avery didn’t believe him. She waited for him to load up another excuse, but he didn’t.

  After several tense heartbeats, she turned to go. A pile of quilts and a pillow stacked on the landing next to her host captured her attention. She didn’t know much about horses or the soft equipment they used, but these surely didn’t look like horse blankets. And she had never heard of a horse needing a pillow. For anything.

  She turned to face him. “Did you sleep here last night?”

  “Here?”

  “Here. In the barn.”

  Gideon crossed his arms over his chest, his nonchalant pose of earlier vanishing in one fluid motion. “And what’s it matter to you if’n I did?”

  “Well . . .” What truly did it matter to her where he slept? “It seems sort of silly to me that I slept on the couch and you slept in the barn and nobody slept in that big, old bed in there.”

  “It is not silly.” He stood and even with the distance between them, Avery was impressed by his formidable height. “We are not married. We are not chaperoned. The elders will be vexed enough to discover you’re here with me, sleepin’ in the house.” He shrugged. “That is not somethin’ else I need on my conscience.”

  “What isn’t something you need on your conscience?” Avery eyed him, her brow furrowed.

  “Compromisin’ your good standin’.”

  Was he serious? “Because I’m here with you? Alone?”

  Gideon nodded. “Jah.”

  He was serious! And Avery was touched.

  “But I’m an Englisher.” She uttered the term she’d heard Jack use to refer to non-Amish folk.

  “Jah,” Gideon agreed. “But you are still a woman.”

  Gideon’s comment rang through Avery’s ears for the remainder of the morning. Even after he pulled on his mud-caked rubber boots and loaded her into a wheelbarrow to take her down to look at her car. It was an odd, but fun way to ride down the country lane with the sun on her face and her fanny planted in a piece of farm equipment. She enjoyed it. And there was no way she could have made the quarter-mile trek down the road and back barefooted. She had a few tough spots on her feet from wearing high heels, but she had those regularly tended to keep them to a minimum.

  Avery glanced down at her French-tipped pedicure as she stood on Gideon’s front porch. What kind of shoes did Amish women wear? She wished she had paid more attention to Jack as he had talked about his movie—the gonna-blow-Witness-out-of-the-water film that he had written and wanted her father’s funding to produce. She had only half listened as he spoke of his dream because she was too focused on him. Funny how that seemed a lifetime away when it had only been a couple of days.

  Her car on the other hand, wasn’t going anywh
ere anytime soon. Not without a tow truck. Avery shuddered at the memory of the crumpled piece of metal that was once an S class Mercedes. From the looks of it, she was lucky to be alive and blessed to be in one piece.

  She gripped the porch railing a little tighter, the paint flaking off under her hands as she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening and to whoever was watching over her.

  At least she had gotten a few of her personal items out of the car—her purse, her makeup bag, and her cell phone. There were fourteen missed calls from Jack and one from her father.

  She pulled the shiny device from her pocket and studied it as if it had all the answers. But it didn’t. Anything it contained would only bring more questions. With a heavy sigh, she punched in the numbers to her voicemail and calmly erased all of the messages from Jack without listening to them. He didn’t have anything to say that she was willing to hear. Her father on the other hand . . .

  “Avery.” His voice was as matter-of-fact and as coolly business-like as ever. “Jack tells me you’re having a ‘girls’ night’ in Aruba. I guess this means you won’t be back for the Cartwright benefit. I was depending on you to be there. Maris has another engagement and, well, I suppose we’ll find a way.” He sighed to show his frustration with her and her obviously selfish decision to take a vacation without first notifying him. “I trust you’ll be back before the Dunstan Pro-Am. I’ll expect you then.” No “good-bye.” No “talk to you later.” No “I love you.” Just a click and nothing more.

  Avery stared at the phone for several seconds trying to decide what had just happened. Jack had gotten to her father first. He probably already had the money for his movie. She was supposedly off gallivanting in Aruba, and no one was looking for her. She wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not. She sucked in a slow breath, tamping down the anger that threatened her perfect day. Jack had gotten away with sleeping with another woman and still reaped the benefits of his relationship with her. Maybe it served her father right to lose that kind of money if he never once questioned where she was and why she was there.

  She turned off the phone and slipped it back into her pocket.

  The Dunstan Pro-Am was three weeks away. Three blessed weeks of peace and solitude. She had half a mind to actually fly to Aruba, only she wasn’t sure how she would get to the airport from here. Right now, though, “here” was as good a place as any.

  Just then, Gideon strode around the side of the house, Louie V. following behind like a lovesick groupie.

  “My word,” Avery admonished, looking at the mess of her pedigreed dog. “Look at you!”

  His paws were caked with dirt and mud, and the silvery bow she’d tied to his topknot was missing. The longer hair around his face hung free, blowing back as he trotted after his new friend.

  Gideon stopped, glancing down at himself before shrugging.

  “Not you. Him.” She pointed at Louie. “He’s filthy.”

  “A little dirt never hurt nobody.”

  “Says you.” She admonished him with a quick glare toward his mud-crusted boots.

  “It’ll be good for him.”

  “I don’t see how.” Her beautiful dog was, well, he was disgustingly dirty.

  “Because he’s a sissy dog.” Any sting in Gideon’s words faded as he scooped the animal into the crook of one arm and joined her on the porch. “Time for dinner, no?” He opened the door and carried her pedigreed pooch inside as pretty as you please, leaving Avery no choice but to follow.

  “No,” she said, the screen slamming as she entered the house. Maybe it was her father’s voicemail. Maybe it was the physical state of her dog. Or maybe it was the fact that her precious baby abandoned her for their host. Whatever the reason, a spark of annoyance flared inside Avery. “It’s not time for dinner. It’s time for lunch.”

  Gideon turned to face her. “Around here we call the noon meal dinner. It is noon, so it’s time for dinner, jah?” Something in his quiet smile or the way he held her dog made her anger melt away as quickly as it had come.

  “Jah.” Avery smiled, mimicking him.

  “Here.” He thrust the dog into her arms along with a warm, wet rag. “You clean his feet, and I’ll get our dinner.”

  Avery hid another smile as she gently wiped the mud from Louie V.’s tiny paws, all the while watching Gideon from under the cover of her lowered lashes. She just couldn’t figure him out. Gideon, that was. One minute he acted like he would rather she were anywhere but here, and the next he was caring for her dog as if he loved Louie as much as she—which was impossible.

  He lived in this house alone. He had evidently been taking care of himself for a while. And he didn’t have a beard. That was one thing Avery did remember Jack saying about the Amish. The men grew beards—but not moustaches—after they got married. But Gideon didn’t have a beard, so it would stand to reason he didn’t have a wife. And that was something which piqued her curiosity. He wasn’t that moody. In fact, he was a good-looking man, caring and gentle, and hardworking. No, the house wasn’t perfect. The inside was dusty and careworn and the outside needed a couple coats of paint, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be corrected. He wasn’t a genius or a millionaire, but to a caring, gentle, hardworking young Amish woman, he’d be quite a catch.

  Avery finished Louie’s feet and sat him down, then chanced another look at her host. Once again he had pulled the container of cold roast beef from the bottled gas-powered refrigerator along with the half-empty bowl of potato salad. Once again he carved thick slices of the dark rye bread, then motioned her over to join him. And once again—and she watched closely this time—he did not bow his head before digging into the meal.

  They ate in silence, Gideon making no attempt at conversation. Avery wasn’t offended. She wasn’t sure if quiet meals were part of the Amish culture, but she had been eating alone for so many years, she didn’t think twice about eating her fill without saying a word.

  Afterward, they washed the dishes together, and Avery couldn’t believe herself—washing dishes not once, but two days in a row. It wasn’t so bad, and again the thought of a wife popped into her head. Back home, the houses were always spotless. Her father kept a team of domestics to clean everything from the garage and pool to the attic and kitchen. Surely such an undertaking would be the duty of the wife. After all, she had heard the Amish weren’t big supporters of equal rights. So why was Gideon standing beside her rinsing and drying while she washed?

  She glanced down at his left hand as he took the last plate from her. No ring, and no sign there had ever been one. But that didn’t mean anything. She thought she’d read once that the Amish didn’t wear jewelry of any sort—including tokens of their vows.

  So he could have a wife and no ring. A wife who had gone to visit family or friends. Or maybe to help someone in need. It would explain why he didn’t want to stay in the house alone with her.

  “Gideon, are you married?”

  He stopped, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the plate she’d just handed him. Then he seemed to visibly relax. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how tense he’d been.

  “She died,” he said quietly. Then he set the plate down with a gentleness that belied the grip he’d had on it just seconds before, and stalked away.

  She watched him stride out of the house and tried to tell herself that she needed to know what had happened. What if there was something wrong with him? What if he was some sort of crazy, a deviant who went around rescuing women from freak spring snowstorms, feeding them and giving them shelter and wheelbarrow rides and then . . .

  Who was she trying to kid? She wanted to know because he intrigued her. She bit the inside of her lip and stared at the empty doorway. She could have picked a better way to ask though, instead of blurting it out like a teenager.

  And hurting him.

  She f
ound him in the barn, in the same spot where he’d been that very morning. He sat there in the cool dimness, elbow braced on one knee, twirling a straw of hay between his thumb and forefinger. Like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “I believe it’s my turn,” she said, softly approaching him.

  He looked up slowly as if he had known she was there all along, but wasn’t going to acknowledge her until she spoke first. Still he said nothing.

  “To apologize.”

  “It’s not necessary.” He tossed the hay aside, but didn’t meet her gaze. She had the feeling that if he did, she would see pain and vulnerability etched there. He must have loved his wife very much.

  “It is.” She took another step toward him. “I was callous and hurtful and—”

  “It’s fine.” His words grew louder, his jaw clenched.

  Avery wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her . . . or himself.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then turned to go back into the house.

  “Tomorrow mornin’.” He halted her progress with those two simple words. “I’ll take you to town tomorrow mornin’. First thing.”

  She spun around to face him. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “You can call your people to come and get you. A fancy tow truck for what’s left of your car. I’ll stay with you if you like.”

  “I’d like to stay here with you for a while.”