Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Jacob met her eyes, his sympathetic. “Hannah says business has been slow for you.”

  So she’d been right that his worry was for his sister. “Did she tell you what a good day Saturday was? Maybe I’ve turned the corner.”

  “Ja, I hope that is so.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Ach, I think that is Daad yelling for me. I must go, but call for us anytime if you need help.”

  His kindness gave her a lump in her throat. Maybe he was thinking about her as well as Hannah. “Thank you. Denke,” she ventured.

  Jacob laughed. “So you speak Deitsch, do you?”

  Nadia couldn’t help laughing, too. “So far, some polite phrases. Oh—because of the name of my shop, Hannah did teach me to say, En schtich in zeit is neine wart schpaeder naus.”

  A stitch in time saves nine.

  Eyes twinkling, Jacob agreed she had needed to learn that much.

  Her uplifted mood lasted about one minute. First, she saw Jennifer Bronske getting out of a car parked at the curb, and realized a second woman sat in the passenger seat. Then she saw an approaching police car, slowing to pull in behind Jennifer’s black Mustang.

  What’s more, a man was walking fast toward her on the sidewalk. A stranger. She wanted to be relieved, but he didn’t avert his gaze the way most passersby did. Should she know him?

  Her thoughts jumped. Jennifer had to be well aware that the store didn’t open until ten. Was she really so afraid she wouldn’t get paid?

  But Nadia forgot Jennifer now that she was close enough to see the burning intensity of the stranger’s stare, trained on her. She stepped sideways toward the vacant storefront next to A Stitch in Time, giving the man plenty of room to go by.

  But he didn’t. Her heart thudded as he came straight to her. The cords in his neck stood out and his face was flushed an angry color. He stopped barely a foot from her, his hands balling into fists at his sides. And then he spit on her face.

  * * *

  BEN ERUPTED FROM his car in time to hear Nadia’s assailant snarl, “That’s what I think of you, bitch.”

  He covered the distance in seconds. The two formed a frozen tableau when he reached them. Grabbing the creep’s shoulder, Ben yanked him around. “You are under arrest for—” The words died in his mouth. Oh, hell, he knew this guy. Not to meet, but he’d seen his face. One of the spring tornadoes had ripped a swath through his dairy farm, destroying his barn and taking the roof off his house. One of his kids had been killed. There’d been a lot of devastation this year, but only the one death.

  The man just glared at him. Behind him, Nadia hadn’t even lifted a hand to wipe off the spittle dripping down her cheek. She looked stricken. Meantime, Ben had heard brakes applied as a passing motorist stopped to watch the scene, and he was well aware Jennifer Bronske and some other woman had home-plate seats to the action.

  Ben said evenly, “I’m aware of your troubles, Mr...?”

  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Hixson. Leonard Hixson.”

  Ben nodded. “Mr. Hixson. I’m the chief of the Byrum police department. Whether you know it or not, you just committed the crime of battery on a woman who worked very hard to raise funds to help you among many others.” He raised his voice slightly, wanting to be heard. “There is no evidence to support any belief that Ms. Markovic took the money. To the contrary. How are you going to feel when we arrest someone else?”

  Hixson blinked a couple of times. The crazed fury in his eyes became confusion. “I didn’t...”

  “You did.” Now Ben let his voice harden. “Spitting is considered battery as much as striking another person would be.”

  His mouth fell open. “But...”

  Ben propelled him around to face Nadia, who had finally taken a tissue from her purse and was wiping her cheek.

  “Ms. Markovic,” Ben said formally, “this is Leonard Hixson. His farm suffered severe damage this spring from a twister. Worse, his son was killed.”

  Shock and pain transformed her face.

  Ben continued, “He has good reason to be feeling a lot of anger, but there is no excuse for directing it at you this way. I’m very willing to arrest him if you want to press charges—”

  As he’d expected, she was already shaking her head. “No. No, of course not.” Tears stood out in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for what you went through, Mr. Hixson. I can only promise you that I didn’t take that money.”

  Hixson’s face crumpled. “Thank you. Thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I have to go.” He staggered as he turned away from her, his shock showing when he saw the growing audience. Then he bent his head and began walking. By the time he reached the corner, he had broken into a run.

  Ben exhaled when he lost sight of Hixson. He took Nadia’s arm and said quietly, “Let’s get you inside.”

  “Yes, I—”

  Cheeks crimson, she still held her chin high when she looked at Jennifer Bronske, who hadn’t moved an inch since Ben arrived on the scene. If the woman had looked pleased, he’d have been tempted to arrest her, but he thought shock was what held her in place.

  Nadia delved in her big handbag and pulled out what was obviously a bank envelope. She held it out to Jennifer. “As promised.”

  A flush spread on the other woman’s face, too. She lifted a hand, hesitated and then took the envelope. “What happened... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

  Nadia simply nodded and said, “Please excuse me.” Her hand shook when she took her ring of keys from her bag.

  Ben deftly removed them from her hand and unlocked the front door of the shop. While ushering Nadia inside, he didn’t so much as look at Ms. Bronske or any of the several other people who had clustered on the street out of sheer nosiness. After relocking the door, he steered Nadia toward the archway that led into the hall. That she didn’t once protest told him how raw she felt.

  Once they were out of sight in the hall, he gave her a nudge. “Go wash your face.”

  “Oh.” Her hand lifted toward her face but stopped short, as if she didn’t want to touch it. “Yes.”

  With her in the bathroom and the door shut, Ben stalked from one end of the hall to the other. Had he done the right thing, not arresting Hixson? Would the guy have also hit Nadia, if Ben hadn’t been there to intervene? And what was the deal with the bank envelope Nadia had handed over to Jennifer Bronske?

  The rush of fear-fueled adrenaline still had him on edge. That moment, when he’d realized a man was closing in on Nadia... If he hadn’t been here, if he’d gotten a call she’d been seriously injured and was being transported to the hospital...

  He couldn’t think like this. He didn’t know how his feelings for her had gotten so out of hand, but—

  He spun around when he heard the bathroom door opening. Nadia emerged with her composure almost reassembled. Only her eyes betrayed the aftereffects of the ugly scene.

  Without even thinking, he took the couple steps to reach her and pulled her into his arms. For a moment her body stayed rigid, but then her purse clunked to the floor and she wrapped her arms around him, too. She shuddered as she laid her head on his shoulder, and in back she grabbed handfuls of his shirt.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “I was proud of you. You kept your dignity. He ended up ashamed the way he should be. This will pass. It will.”

  Yeah? Who was he trying to convince? But he knew. Both of us, that’s who. Because if this didn’t pass, she’d move away. No question. And he didn’t want her going anywhere.

  As boneless as she felt right now, only the knuckles digging into his back told him she wasn’t truly relaxed. He fell silent as he became disturbingly aware of her body, pressed up to his. All those curves. Breasts flattening against his chest. If he let one of his hands stray, he could follow the dip of her spine down to another equally luscious and
curvy part of one of the most feminine bodies he’d ever seen—or touched.

  And, damn, if he didn’t inch away from her, she couldn’t help but notice his growing arousal. The timing was lousy. She needed comfort, not him coming on to her. Especially not him. Except, she did trust him enough to let him hold her. That meant something, didn’t it?

  Finally she sighed and began to straighten away from him. One hand released his shirt, then the other. The color in her cheeks hadn’t subsided—or maybe it was new heat in her cheeks. Yeah, she couldn’t have missed the erection straining against his zipper.

  When her eyes met his fully, he saw that they were dilated. He wondered if she was aware that, after releasing him, she had placed one hand on his chest, her fingers spread. When those fingers flexed slightly, he almost groaned with pleasure.

  “Thank you.” Nadia nibbled on her lower lip. “I’m still mad at you, but...I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” Her huff was almost a laugh. “Well, I suppose you were just doing your job.”

  “No.” Not smart. He made himself elaborate, anyway, be completely honest. “Yeah, I’d have intervened for anybody, but...I wouldn’t have been so scared.”

  “Scared?” she whispered, searching his eyes.

  He’d startled her. Maybe more. “He could have had a weapon. No matter what, he was a lot bigger than you are. I didn’t know if I could get to you in time.”

  Her hand moved in a circle, comforting—still unconsciously, he thought.

  “But you did. And...I doubt he meant to hurt me.”

  “I hope not.”

  “This is why you didn’t want Lucy near me.”

  “It is.” What else could he say? “But I don’t think she’s as fragile as I believed her to be.” He shook his head. “How could I have just let Hixson walk away? I should have asked if he just happened to see you, or came looking for you. Either way, he’s an angry, depressed man.”

  Pain infusing her voice, she said, “Who might have been helped with some of the money I lost.” Her hand falling to her side, Nadia started to step back.

  Ben caught her before she was out of reach, his fingers sliding beneath the bundle of hair at her nape to hold her. “The money was stolen. You didn’t lose it.”

  She stared back, not lowering her chin. “Unless I took it.”

  “You didn’t.” When he saw no softening on her face, Ben lost what grip he’d had on his self-control. The distance he’d had to keep, her anger, had been eating at the lining of his stomach and causing a chronic ache beneath his breastbone. He couldn’t prevent himself from bending his head and kissing her.

  * * *

  NADIA HAD FELT too much in such a short period of time. Mad and frightened, grateful and yearning. Somehow, Ben’s mouth covering hers was exactly what she needed.

  With a whimper, she rose on tiptoe and flung her arms around his neck, meeting his hunger with her own. He bit her lower lip, the sting part of this urgent tide that made her blood feel as if it was hot and thick in her veins. She nipped him back, and he took advantage of her parted lips to drive his tongue inside her mouth. The delicious stroke had her squirming to get closer.

  His hands roved, one kneading, then gripping her butt to lift her higher against him. She stroked the back of his neck and tangled her fingers in the heavy silk of his dark hair. His jaw rasped her skin, part of the startling intimacy with this man.

  She’d wanted to hate him.

  I can’t.

  He was turning her in a slow circle, as if this was a dance. She wanted to climb him to assuage a cramping need, low in her belly. She could wrap her legs around his waist, rub herself against the hard ridge. Except...during one of those slow twirls, something else that was hard bumped her side. His gun.

  She froze.

  Nadia put both hands on his chest and pushed.

  Ben lifted his head, his eyes almost black, the dark color of arousal running over his sharp cheekbones. “Nadia?” he said hoarsely.

  “I have to open my shop. You’re parked right out in front. People will think...”

  An indescribable sound tore from his throat, and his hands fell from her waist and hip. He backed up until he hit the wall.

  “I didn’t mean...”

  “To kiss me?”

  His gaze lowered to her mouth, then lifted to meet hers again. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I set eyes on you.”

  At the auction. The reminder was painful, but needed.

  “I’m still...” Nadia hesitated.

  “A suspect?” He shook his head. “Not in my eyes.”

  She retreated a couple steps, needing distance to regain her common sense. “How can you say that?”

  “Easily...” He ran a hand over his face. “No. I won’t push. You have a lot to deal with.”

  Yes, she did. But the kiss, him telling her he believed in her, changed something fundamental.

  After this, it would hurt even more to have him turn on her.

  What if a customer was peering in the front window wondering why the door was locked and the lights weren’t on? “I need...” She gestured toward the archway, even as she couldn’t seem to quite look away from his dark eyes.

  “I know. I have to get to work, too.” He didn’t sound any more motivated than she felt. But after a minute, Ben grimaced. “I’ll call later. I should talk to Bill Jarvis and find out if there isn’t something that can be done to help the Hixson family.”

  Nadia nodded. “A lot of the people who paid with credit cards or by check have reimbursed us. That’s nowhere near enough money, but...”

  “Most people’s losses were at least partially covered by insurance. I wonder if his weren’t.”

  “It might not be that,” she said. “Grief changes a person. But also, when I started working on the auction, I was told that some companies specifically exclude windstorm damage. It can come as a shock to people who didn’t read the policies carefully.”

  Ben grunted his agreement. “Some of the folks who got hit had coverage on their houses but not the barns, tools, livestock. For a dairy farmer, that would put him out of business.”

  “Does he have other children?” She had to ask, even though she doubted it lessened the agony of losing a child. Ben’s expression suggested he knew she was remembering Molly...and Molly’s brothers.

  “Two younger, if I remember right. The boy he lost was the oldest, out exploring with his dog, too far away to make it to the house. I know Hixson kept the door to their storm shelter open as long as he could.”

  Praying, she thought. He would have had to let himself believe the path of the tornado would miss his son, that he would come running after it had passed, calling for his mom and dad. They would have climbed out of the shelter, looking frantically in every direction, uncaring of barn or house. She imagined the desperate search—

  “Nadia.” Ben squeezed her shoulder. He waited until she focused on him. “It was a tragedy. You can’t save every child.”

  “I already know that.” How well she’d learned that lesson. She backed away. “I’m okay. I am,” she repeated, when she saw that he remained unconvinced.

  “All right.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss. “I’ll call later.”

  It surprised her that she could smile. “I might even answer.”

  His husky chuckle made it easier to see him leave, and to greet a woman who appeared minutes later.

  She only bought two rolls of thread—but she hadn’t had to go somewhere else because A Stitch in Time was inexplicably closed.

  * * *

  BEN NEEDED A decent cup of coffee, which he wouldn’t get at the station. Only after he had accepted the job and moved to Byrum had he discovered he couldn’t get anything but an old-fashioned cup of coffee anywhere in Henness County. He’d boug
ht an espresso machine and resigned himself, but six months later a drive-through coffee stand with a serious drink menu opened on what had formerly been a vacant lot two blocks off the main drag.

  Today he bought a double espresso on ice that should hold him for a couple of hours. After one long, cold drink, he drove the short distance to the police station and parked in his reserved spot, taking the cup in with him.

  After letting dispatch know where he was, Ben settled down to work in his office on scheduling for August.

  Boyd had put in for vacation—two weeks, which Ben had approved back in March. And, crap, Jose Garcia was getting married the first Saturday of August and then taking a honeymoon. Their absences overlapped by only a few days, but if anyone got sick—

  His desk phone rang, the internal line. “Slater.”

  Sherry, the fount of gossip, said, “Chief, Jim Wilcox is here to see you.”

  The locksmith? If he’d suffered a loss of some kind, why wouldn’t he have called 911?

  “I’ll be right out.”

  What few dealings Ben had had with Jim Wilcox, he’d liked him. Somewhere in his forties, the man had a way of sliding into the background. Just one of those unmemorable faces.

  When Ben opened the door into the waiting room, Wilcox stood. He picked up a brown paper bag from the seat beside him and brought it along. They shook hands, and Ben ushered him into a small conference room.

  Once they were seated, Ben said, “So what’s this about?”

  “Someone managed to shove this through the mail slot in the door of my shop.” He pushed the bag across the table, looking glad to get rid of it.

  Ben had never been in his store, but had seen ads. Wilcox made copies of keys and sold a variety of padlocks and dead bolts as well as safes for homes and businesses.

  The brown paper sack in front of Ben was the kind just about every grocery store used when customers didn’t want the plastic ones. This one was plain, lacking a store name or logo. It had been folded several times and the whole thing flattened. Ben opened it and looked inside. From long practice, he suppressed his jolt of surprise. He didn’t reach in. In fact, he regretted handling the bag at all without having put on latex gloves first.