The two ladies were turning the corner at the next block. Paul waited until it was safe to cross the street without being seen.
Why was he acting so foolish? He should’ve introduced himself. There was no reason to be worried about Mrs. Adams' daughter. It didn't matter that she was the loveliest creature he'd ever seen. She was an Englisch woman, and she was forbidden.
He would think nothing else of it.
~
Rachel rolled over in bed and pulled the pillow over her eyes to shield the morning sun. She reached for her watch on the night stand and groaned.
Slipping on her flip-flops, she took quick steps down the stairs, then tripped over a box as she turned the corner. She pulled herself up, her knee burning.
The scent of muffins flooded the kitchen. She grabbed one, took a small bite, then hurried through the back door.
Rachel strode into the barn hoping to find the box with her running shorts still buried inside.
A young Amish man, his look aimed over his shoulder, stepped across the threshold and nearly ran into her. She staggered to miss the collision.
Reaching out, he grabbed her arm and kept her from tumbling down the two steps. It wasn't until he pulled her away from his firm, broad chest that their eyes met.
It was him.
The guy from the restaurant yesterday.
She stepped back when he released his grip and cleared his throat.
“Ach, are you all right?”
“Yes, I'm so sorry. Thank you.”
Mom hadn’t noticed their near catastrophe, her eyes trained on a brochure. “Oh, Rachel, this is Paul, the handyman I told you about.”
It couldn't be. She caught him staring at her with the same look she’d seen in his eyes yesterday. Under his scrutiny, heat rose to her neck. “Hey.” The simple response leaked out between stumbling lips. Holding her head high, though it only reached the bottom of his chin, she trudged past him.
“Hullo.” The word sounded forced, unfriendly.
She stopped and cast another glance in his direction. His dark eyes fluttered to hers, but he looked away, more quickly than she could.
Rachel was still wearing her pajamas, the oldest, most comfortable plaid pajama shorts she had. Her snug fitting, faded T-shirt looked even worse. Her hair was pulled back in a knotty pony tail, but had probably fallen after flipping across the hall over that box. Biting her lip to keep her humiliation in check, she dropped her gaze to the ground.
I must look ridiculous.
“Mom, I'll be back. I’m going for a run.” Rachel's gaze flashed his way, but his expression was still uninterested. “After I change.”
Great. She’d insulted him. She wished the ground beneath her feet would swallow her whole. She was sure the Amish had some rule about dressing fully before coming outside.
“Okay. Be careful, sweetheart.”
Rachel hurried to the house. How could she have forgotten about the handyman coming this morning? And of all the Amish men, why did it have to be the same one who'd glared at her yesterday with something close to revulsion. The same one with the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen trapping her in their gaze. She'd anticipated meeting a real Amish person. But now, had second thoughts.
Rachel ran upstairs. She brushed through her hair, pulled it into a neater pony tail, and slipped on her running top and shorts.
She took off in a fast-paced walk up the path. Maybe she shouldn’t attempt running today. She had already fallen one time this morning and now had a funny feeling in her chest. She brushed it off as some crazy reaction to her embarrassment and the defiant stare the handyman had given her in the restaurant. The first chance she had at meeting a real Amish man and she'd ruined it. She would be prepared the next time. And fully dressed. Was that the reason he looked so angry? What did she care?
He certainly wasn't an older man with a bushy beard and funny hat like she'd imagined. Not even close.
~
Paul's temperature increased the moment he reached for the girl, the warmth burning his neck, his face. Her hair was strewn all over her head, but he had never seen anything more beautiful.
And now he couldn't help but stare as Rachel walked on the path heading toward the road and disappeared around the corner. Where could she be going? Surely she wasn’t planning to run on the road. Careless drivers in Paradise were innumerable.
He tried really hard to concentrate on Mrs. Adams, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate. Paul kept checking the path and had to stop himself from asking Mrs. Adams if she worried about her daughter, too.
Mrs. Adams spoke, breaking his thoughts. “I definitely want to remove the carpet downstairs and replace it with hardwood floors.”
“I’ll bring some books tomorrow, and you can pick out the style and color.”
“That sounds great.”
“I know we’ve talked about painting the inside, but what about the outside?”
“Do you have any experience with vinyl siding?”
The more Beverly Adams talked, the better things looked for him. “Jah. Do you want to replace the wood siding?”
“I was hoping to.”
“That shouldn't be a problem.”
It would be enough work for him and his few guys, considering the other jobs he’d already gained. They would stay busy through the whole summer. He would do most of this work himself.
Was that a mistake? He was confident about the work, just not about the daughter.
They headed inside to discuss what needed to be painted. A beige, leather sectional sofa sat against the front windows. Glass tables stood on each end and a redwood bookcase stood against the opposite wall.
Mrs. Adams handed him a paint swatch with “living room” printed on the back. “I'll start with this color for this room.”
Paul couldn’t wait to see the finished product. Living so plainly, no brightly colored paint or pictures, he enjoyed being a part of the Englisch world in this aspect. He didn’t care to have material things, but it was nice to see the way things were made beautiful with a coat of paint or fancy trim work.
“How old is your daughter?” His gaze fell to the table. How could he have asked her that? Why had he? He had broken his own rule. A rule one of his best friends taught him. A friend who had been burned. Revealing interest in Englischers, especially the females, would only lead to trouble. Especially a beautiful, young woman like Beverly Adams' daughter.
“Rachel’s seventeen. How old are you, Paul?”
“I’m eighteen. I had a birthday a few weeks ago.”
“Happy birthday. She'll be eighteen in just a few more weeks. I thought you might be about the same age. Oh, I almost forgot. She wants to start a garden. Would you happen to have a tiller?”
“Jah, I have one at my uncle’s house.” He couldn't picture Rachel working a garden. But he was certainly having trouble keeping the mental picture of the beautiful young woman out of his mind.
“Would you mind tilling a spot so she can start planting? She’s so excited.”
“Of course not. I’ll go home at lunch and load it.” He cleared his throat, fixing his gaze on the color samples.
“Great, I’ll let her show you where she wants it.” Mrs. Adams smiled.
She'll show me? It felt as if a vice tightened across his middle. He hadn't expected to have to work directly for her.
Once outside, Paul searched the road again for the strange, beautiful girl. They were inspecting the wood siding that would have to be removed when Rachel finally came down the path. Beverly Adams didn’t notice his uneasiness or even that her daughter had returned. Halfway to the house Rachel paused. With a lingering stretch, she lifted her right arm across her body, and then her left. A layer of sweat shimmered against her skin. He should warn her to find a different route for running. But it wasn't his place. He'd already overstepped his bounds.
About half an hour later, slouched over the table set up outside the barn, he wrote a list of things he’d need to get started
. Speaking to Rachel about the garden blurred his concentration. But moments later, she drove away without a glimpse in his direction. That vice tightened again. Where was she going? And why was he disappointed?
Five
Rachel stepped into the strong aroma of bacon, sausage, and sweet pancake syrup. She pressed her hand against her stomach before moving forward. I should've grabbed another muffin.
“Rachel.” Mrs. Mavis’s animated voice rang out from behind the counter. “I'm so glad to see you.”
She took a slow step forward and wet her dry lips. “Good morning.”
“Kelli? Can you come out here please?” Mrs. Mavis turned toward the kitchen. “My daughter will be training you today.”
A pretty blonde approached from the kitchen and stood facing them. “Hi, I’m Kelli.”
Mrs. Mavis left the girls to their private introductions.
A huge smile filled Kelli's face, but there seemed to be a deeper understanding shining through her blue eyes and a sense of calm settled over Rachel. “I’m so excited to have someone my age working here. Mom says you’re new to town. Are you still in school?”
Mrs. Mavis returned, but Kelli had captivated Rachel's attention. “Yes, I’m a senior.”
“No way! Me too.”
Mrs. Mavis handed Rachel a folder. “I’ll need you to fill these out, and then you’ll follow Kelli and help her today. I'll get you on the schedule for Monday and have you train everyday next week.” Rachel took the papers from her outstretched hand. “You can sit in the back booth. If you have any questions just ask.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She took the seat, the same one Mom's new handyman occupied yesterday. A light dance skittered across her chest.
“We’ll talk later.” Kelli moved away with a bounce in her step.
After completing the application, Rachel spent the morning assisting Kelli with the breakfast and lunch crowds, helping take and fill orders.
It had just been over an hour, but already Rachel had fallen in love with the prospect of the job.
“Do you have a boyfriend back home?”
“No.” The question caught her off guard. “There wasn't much time for dating. My whole life was consumed with school and softball, until my daddy died.” The last of her words poured out before she could stop them.
“I'm so sorry. About your dad.”
How should she respond? With the truth? I want him back. Most people didn't want to hear the real truth. They just want you to know they're sympathizing with you. “Thank you. You're the first person here I've met my age.” Other than the gorgeous Amish man. Was he her age? She couldn't be sure. There was something about him, something youthful hiding behind all that strength. So, maybe. “I think I'll like working here.”
Kelli's face lit up. “I have a feeling we're going to be great friends. But right now, we better get back to work.”
After memorizing many of the menu choices, filling and refilling drinks, carrying entree's to the last few guests, and even taking an order or two, Rachel was feeling accomplished. She wiped tables and swept part of their section at the end of the shift. Mrs. Mavis praised her for a job well done and let her go for the day.
Arriving home, Rachel pulled onto the long drive, but the old-fashioned wagon wasn't in the yard. She took a deep breath. Good. Rachel was in no mood to be around the Amish man with eyes of steel. What if Mom decided not to hire him after all?
She'd waited in anticipation today as every Amish person came into the restaurant, worried how they’d treat her. Only friendly smiles of welcome and greeting. Confusion set uneasily within her. What was it about her that he didn't like? Why should she care what he thought?
She climbed from her car anxious to change from her grease-filled shirt and could hardly wait to collapse on the couch. Never had she worked so hard.
Mom was seated in the recliner, reading, when Rachel walked inside. “How was the restaurant?”
“Great. Mrs. Mavis has a daughter that will be going to school with me. She's actually training me.”
“Really?” Mom lowered her reading glasses. “That’s wonderful.”
“How was your day?”
“Paul’s aunt stopped by to welcome us and brought a loaf of bread and pot of soup. She joined me for lunch, and we had a really nice visit.”
Paul, so that’s his name. Where is he?
The fumes of paint gave the old house a new, fresh scent. “You’ve already started painting?”
“Yes, and Paul headed home to get the tiller while the primer dries.”
So he would be back today. Unexpected relief swelled through her middle. Rachel ran upstairs, dropped her keys on the dresser, and changed from her dingy outfit into something more comfortable, something cuter.
Taking special care in her appearance, she brushed through her knotty layers, bringing back the silky shine. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, but she flipped it back up into a pony-tail. She didn't want to overdo it, but had to look decent, better. For him. Especially after the impression she'd left on him this morning. Staring into the mirror, she shook her head. It felt like inches of grease layered her skin. It would be impossible to remove the grime without a shower. But there was no time for that.
Rachel returned to the living room and sat in the plastic-covered chair and closed her heavy eyelids. Drowsiness worked its way through her, and she slipped into a daydream.
“Can you show Paul where you want the garden?”
She sat up straight. “He's here?”
“Not yet. I meant when he gets back. It surprised him when I told him it’s your garden. He thought you were young to be into that sort of thing.”
“He said that?” What was that supposed to mean?
Mom smiled. “Not exactly, but I told him you did all the cooking, which surprised him as well.”
Did he draw that conclusion from their brief, unpleasant meeting this morning? Mom! How embarrassing.
Rachel crossed her legs. The plastic fused to her skin and crinkled with each movement. She tightened her lips and exhaled hard. It would be better to keep her mouth shut. Mom seemed pleased to have him working here, and she didn’t want to ruin it. She had already ruined everything else. It wasn’t Mom’s fault. She had offended the handyman by staring at him in the restaurant and wearing pajamas in the yard. Of course he'd think her incapable of simple tasks.
“You're close in age. He’s only eighteen. I’m sure you'll become friends.”
“I doubt that. He’s Amish. He’ll probably think I’m weird.”
You’ve already given him a head start. Rachel leaned her head into her hands. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? She already struggled with gawking at the Amish.
“He’s a nice young man.” Rachel didn’t miss the warning in Mom’s voice. “He’s doing all the painting, except for your room which needs to be done so I can get the carpet put in upstairs.”
“I can start on it today. Ms. Mavis put me on the schedule every day to train. But I can finish this weekend.” She didn’t want Paul in her room, sneering at her personal things.
“Paul could get it done in one afternoon, honey.”
“No, I really want to do it. I’ll start this afternoon.”
“We’re putting in all hardwoods on the first floor …” She paused at the sound of his buggy. “Here he comes. Can you run out there and show him where you want the garden?”
Me? She wants me to talk to him. Rachel stood to put on her shoes, feeling the slightest hint of butterflies. Why did she feel so nervous? She’d waited on Amish people all day. Why did this particular one get to her like this?
“I’m so excited. A garden was a wonderful idea, Rachel. Be nice. He’s going to be a real help to me around here.”
Rachel slipped through the back door and sauntered around an apple tree, hiding behind its early blooms. She hadn't noticed it standing there until now.
Paul proceeded around the buggy and stepped onto the back of the wagon. His hat tilted t
o one side when he leaned over. He reached for it and placed it on the rail, shaking his head, his wavy dark hair flipping in an uneven manner. Her smile came naturally.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. Not wanting to get in his way, she moved closer but stood to the side and waited for him to finish.
He pushed his sleeves further up his arms and pulled at the steel protruding from the wagon. His muscles bulged with each tug. Seconds later, he turned toward her and as their gaze met his eyes widened. He reached for his hat and slammed it on his head. In one fluid motion, he jumped from the wagon. Lifting the tiller in his arms, he moved past her without saying a word. Did it irritate him that she was adding to his workload? She combed her fingers through her hair.
He probably thinks I’m wasting his time.
“Hi.” Rachel forced the word from her mouth. “I appreciate you going home to get this for me.” She lifted her chin. “I mean for my mom.”
Rachel searched his face for any expression that would give her a clue as to what he thought. She didn’t worry about staring at him. He wouldn’t even look in her direction.
“Jah.” He looked across the yard and then peeked at her before taking a few steps.
She knew the tiller must be heavy, so she headed in the direction she’d decided on. He followed.
“This is my first time doing something like this, so I’m not really sure where to put it.” It wasn't a question, but she expected a reply. None came. Not immediately. Rachel glanced in his direction. His bleak expression irritated her.
It’s like he’s already decided.
Had he treated Mom this way? No. Beverly Adams would never allow that. Rachel almost told him to just forget it. She wanted to walk away and leave him standing there.
“I’ll be glad to till wherever you would like, Miss Adams.” He placed the tiller on the ground, locking his gaze with hers. The corners of his lips lifted into a slight smile, shattering the unfriendliness that was there just moments before.
Her defenses crumbled and she tried to smile, but her mind whirled in a confusing spiral. She blinked. “You can call me Rachel.”
He propped his foot onto the machine, his broad shoulders pressing against the white shirt straining the first few buttons. “Okay, Rachel. Where would you like me to start?” He gave her another smile, this time it was stronger and mixed with confusion and determination.
Chasing Paradise (A Paradise Novel Book 1) Page 3
