Chasing Paradise (A Paradise Novel Book 1)

by Cindy Patterson

  “I'll be looking forward to seeing you play.” He leaned over and tipped his face to the side, closer to her, heightening all those emotions. “This is the Conestoga River Covered Bridge.”

  The sun set against the sparkling water as Paul pulled the buggy to a stop on the other side. But with one glance at her skirt and without another word set the horses on their way again. He led them along winding roads as the moon lighted their way. He pointed out farms and bed and breakfast hotels.

  The time flew and nine o’clock snuck up on them. As bad as she dreaded the evening to end, he pulled into her long driveway. She wanted this night to last forever.

  “Thank you for the tour.”

  Paul pulled the buggy to a stop and hurried around to help her down. “I wanted to be the one to show you Paradise.” His words lingered as his gaze fastened to hers. “Maybe you'll let me show you the rest of Lancaster County.” Holding Rachel’s waist in his hands, he gently lowered her to the ground. He stood at least eight inches taller.

  She took a deep breath. “I would love that.”

  At the front door, she turned, not sure what to say. He stared at her with such intensity, her mind whirled in confusion.

  Rachel stopped breathing when he lifted his hand and hesitated, before softly tracing her cheekbone down to her chin with the tips of his fingers. He turned without a word, leaving her standing there mesmerized.

  As he climbed into his buggy he turned once more. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, your coat!” She called out as he took the reins.

  “I'll get it tomorrow. Looks better on you anyway.”

  Rachel forced herself to open the door but took one last glance as he drove away. His dark hair curled at the ends and touched the tip of his white shirt. She thought about running her fingers through it again.

  Once safe inside her bedroom, she fell facedown onto the bed, hugging her pillow, and replayed the entire night. She didn’t wake until three in the morning, still fully dressed, still wearing Paul’s coat.

  Rachel slipped from her clothes, sleepily replacing them with her pajamas. Nestled in his jacket, she savored her memories of last night a few minutes longer.

  This place was beginning to feel like paradise.

  Twenty-Four

  Monday morning, Rachel busied herself straightening her bedroom as thoughts of last night stirred through her consciousness. Had it really happened? Paul’s jacket lay sprawled across the bed, but the feel of its wool against her skin remained. His fingers against her cheek still burned, and his expression would be etched in her memory forever.

  Paul pulled his horse and buggy into their yard, and Rachel stayed near the window as he unloaded tools from his buggy. A few times he glanced toward the house.

  Did he hope to see her, too?

  Thirty minutes later, she walked toward the garden.

  Paul stepped from the barn and headed straight for her.

  “Good morning.”

  “Gut-morgen to you.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and an excited tickle seeped into her belly. “What do you have planned for the day?”

  “I was gonna pull a few weeds ... before work tonight.” Their gaze met for a long tender moment. “I thought about fixing a picnic lunch to have down by the creek. You can join me if you want to?”

  “A picnic lunch?” A hesitancy caught her as his eyes held hers in a peculiar way. “I would love to. See you at noon.” He left her with a teasing wink.

  “Bye.” Her pulse tripled sensing his eyes following her as she continued toward the garden.

  Rachel slipped on her gloves and checked the perimeter before taking a step into the first row. Using extra caution, she pulled the green leafy vines back with a stick in case something was hiding underneath. She shuddered at the thought of finding a snake.

  When Rachel returned to the house, she started lunch.

  Thirty minutes later, her mom walked into the kitchen. “Something smells good. Fried chicken and potato salad, yummy.”

  “Paul’s going to join me down by the creek for a picnic. You could join us, if you’d like.”

  “I knew you two would become friends.” Something changed in Mom's face, and a quirky smile lifted her lips. “Weren't you out in the garden earlier? Your makeup and hair looks exceptionally nice for working outside.”

  Rachel wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I have to work later. There wasn't much to do. Just a few weeds.”

  Mom placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “I’ll let you two have your picnic, but please fix me a plate.”

  Rachel spooned the potato salad into a container. “Did you tell Paul I was sick?”

  “Actually he sat with you while I went into town to buy some Tylenol.”

  She paused mid-scoop, the words landing on her heart like a feather in the wind. “He sat with me? In my room?”

  “He was worried about you.” Mom swiped a spoonful of the creamy potatoes before Rachel could lower the lid. “When I returned from the store, he was sitting on the bed ... holding your hand.”

  Rachel leaned on the counter, her gaze glued to her mom's. What? Paul? Holding her hand?

  Mom licked the spoon clean, rinsed it, and dropped it into the dishwasher. “Delicious. By the way, how did you like the loft?”

  Rachel tried to absorb the information. He'd sat with her and held her hand, the day after he told her he didn’t want to be friends. She forced herself to focus. “I love it, Mom. You made it perfect.”

  “Honey, I wish I could take the credit, but Paul did it.”

  “Well, of course he helped. You can’t use a hammer.” She laughed out loud, regaining her composure. “But you gave him the ideas.”

  “No, actually they were all his. I only told him I planned to do something with the loft for you, and he took over. He even made the plaque with your name.”

  Rachel stiffened and her heart gave a leap. “He made that?”

  “He did a great job. And it was very thoughtful of him to take some time away from all my other projects, so make sure to thank him.”

  Don't worry. “I will.” And will be looking forward to it.

  Rachel finished preparing lunch, hovering on a cloud, one spinning with unspoiled emotions. She took out her favorite plush blanket, stuffed silverware and napkins inside the basket, and made two quarts of fresh lemonade. Slipping the beverage into the refrigerator, she soaked in the warm breeze, relishing in her newfound delight. Rachel wanted to see the loft again, that plaque. It would be from a different perspective this time. It was still early so she slipped through the back door.

  The expectancy of what she would find, of what it could mean, enthralled her.

  Why had he done this?

  Rachel removed the rustic wooden sign from the wall and traced the letters. He had carved beautiful designs of flowers and hearts on each side of her name. Squiggly lines made their way through the whole piece of wood. It had a beautiful shape with curvy edges. Rachel hung it back on the single nail as something inside her quivered.

  A lantern sat on the table. It had to be his. The words her mom told her earlier soared through her mind. He’d held her hand. Why did she always sleep through the good stuff?

  Rachel returned to the house, grabbed the picnic basket, and hurried out the door to find Paul. He rounded the corner of the house at the same time.

  “I've got lunch whenever you're ready to take your break.”

  “I hoped you'd say that. I couldn’t wait any longer. It’s all I’ve been able to smell for the last hour.” He reached for the basket. “Here, let me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Paul took a deep breath. “It smells delicious.”

  She could feel his eyes on her, but she studied the scattered white blooms spilling from the trees.

  They were silent as they strolled down the path. After they crossed the wooden bridge, Paul helped her lay out the blanket in a patch of lush grass.

  He took off his ha
t, his hair tousled from the removal. The perfect squareness of his jaw, the smoothness of his skin, the absolute confidence of his mannerism fixated her.

  “Can we pause a moment in silence for the blessing?”

  “Yes, of course.” Rachel bowed her head. Though guilt plagued her at her obvious appreciation at an inappropriate time, her words flowed. Thank you for this meal. Thank you for your love. Thank you that you've led me to new friends. I'm so sorry ...

  “Amen.”

  Rachel opened her eyes. “Amen.” Her cheeks burned. “Is that an Amish tradition?

  “Jah.”

  “We pause in silence at school occasionally. I like praying that way. When someone else is speaking, I sometimes repeat what they say. But praying in silence is personal, you can really talk to Him.” She unfolded the basket. “I talk too much.”

  “Nein, not at all. I enjoy listening to you.”

  The smile she'd been fighting blossomed. “My mom told me you fixed the loft.”

  He nodded and cleared his throat.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  She moistened her lips. “You left your lantern up there?”

  “Nein, that belongs to you now. I thought it would be nice to have in case you wanted to sit out there after dark.”

  His response warmed places within her she hadn't known were cold. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Ach, I didn’t do it for you only.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His smile reached through her. “If I ride by your house after dark and the lantern's shining, I might stop to visit.”

  Her cheeks burned at his admission. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to?” Paul seemed to dare her to respond.

  “Well, of course I would. You can visit anytime you want.” Was this a game?

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I have your permission then.”

  “That's for certain sure.” She couldn't hide the laughter demanding to be set free.

  “Not bad for a new Lancaster County Englischer.”

  “You're nothing like I would've imagined an Amish person to be.” All at once she realized how that must have sounded.

  A deep grunt vibrated in his throat, then shifted into a hearty chuckle. “You mean like those perfect Amish men in your books.”

  She dipped her chin, her neck and cheeks flaming. “I didn't mean ... I only thought ...” Her words were tangled in her head and spilling rapidly all over the place. Then he took her hand and that flame plummeted into her chest and expanded through her middle.

  “I'm teasing you. And I'll take that as a compliment. I think ... I hope.” His eyes skimmed over her face, then his lips twitched as his gaze settled on her mouth.

  She could only nod. Her heart gave a little leap every single time he looked at her that way. But just because he'd agreed to have lunch with her in the middle of the woods, didn't mean anything had changed between them.

  After finishing a chicken leg, he wiped his mouth. “This is gut.”

  “Thank you.” The last thing she needed was to read anything into his intentions. He'd barely agreed to be friends.

  “You did this all yourself?”

  Rachel paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “You seem surprised.” She planned to enjoy every minute she had with him, and being herself was becoming easier and easier.

  “Mastering fried chicken isn't easy. But this is some of the best I've eaten.” He winked.

  She re-dipped her fork into the potato salad and trapped a potato between the tines. “My mom always insisted I help her in the kitchen. She wanted me to fall in love with cooking.”

  “It paid off. That's for certain sure.”

  One thing she knew for certain sure. She had fallen for the man sitting across from her.

  After they finished eating, Paul leaned back onto his side and faced her. “I wonder about your father.”

  His question threw her for a moment, and she tightened her lips and inhaled hard. There was only one way to say it. Bluntly.

  Her mind drifted back to that horrible day. “We, my dad and I, were in an accident as we were leaving softball practice on a Saturday afternoon. He died.”

  “What happened?” he insisted, his gaze drawing the truth from her.

  She stood and crossed to the bridge watching the water break against the sides. “It was my fault.”

  Paul moved into the space behind her. She could feel his presence. It was comforting having him so close, and the words she'd kept to herself, the words she'd never spoken came easily. “I was complaining about being late to a birthday party. He was the coach, so practice ending later than usual was his idea.” Rachel leaned into the railing, the memories coming back as if they'd happened yesterday. “I was so selfish. He was only trying to make me better, our team the best. He was so good.”

  Her smile came effortlessly, picturing Daddy standing across the field at third base. His face stern, watching her, teaching her, loving her. “I never told him how much it meant ... him coaching me all those years. I took him for granted. I thought he would always be there coaching my team ... cheering for me.” Hot tears stung the back of her lids. “I pulled out into the intersection, even after he told me to wait. The light was green, so I didn't listen. A man driving a truck ran through his red light and crashed into us. If I had listened and waited, he would still be here today. My mom would have her husband. I took him from her.” Her heart pounded. She had told him everything. Watching Paul's face, she searched for signs of judgment or disapproval. But there was only sympathy, compassion. Then he reached around her and placed his hand over hers. Tears escaped at the comfort he offered.

  “You can't blame yourself. It was an accident.”

  She closed her eyes, images emerging that had haunted her dreams. His blood-streaked face, his chest moving, then stopping. “It was my fault. I should've been the one to die, not him.”

  Paul's arm stiffened, and he fixed his gaze on her. “God doesn't make mistakes.”

  Grief settled over her like a fresh tidal wave. A broken sob burst from her throat before she could stop it. And then, Paul folded her against his chest and she wept, soaking his shirt with her tears.

  Heavy silence lingered between them while her sobs faded away. “I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to fall all to pieces on you.” Her voice suddenly wobbly, she pressed her hand against his chest. “I ruined your shirt.”

  He gripped her arms, his touch gentle, yet strong. “No, Rachel.” She lowered her lashes unable to make eye contact with him. “I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through that. Please don't blame yourself. It isn't up to you to decide when God calls his children home. And praise God for your memories, for the life and love that you shared. If your dad is anything like your mom, he wants a full, happy life for you. Not hurting and hating yourself for something you never had any control over.” He looked at her, really looked, like he wanted to make sure she would agree.

  Rachel's gaze fell to his hands, and she stared until her vision blurred. She digested all he said, and finally a measure of calm returned. “My mom connected everything in Pensacola with a memory of him. We agreed it would be best to move.” Suddenly tremulous, she wrapped her arms tighter around her middle. “We both needed a new start.” The piercing sorrow of reliving the memory finally eased into a dull ache. “I'm sorry about the emotional breakdown.”

  “Don't be ... I enjoy talking to you. You seem to feel things deeply. It's a unique, beautiful thing. You're beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” The trembles heightened a hundred fold.“What about your parents? My mom said you lived with your aunt and uncle.”

  “I was young when my parents died. Only four. I don’t remember much about them.”

  Her heart squeezed and she took his hand. “I’m so sorry.” Rachel tried to imagine what it would be like to live a whole life without her parents. At least she had her memories.
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  She focused on the streams of light breaking through the tall pines. They were standing so close to each other. Rachel turned and made a bold attempt to look him in the eye, but missed by a few inches. Her gaze halted on his lips. This isn't helping. “Come on. Let's finish our picnic.” Her hand still connected to his, she pulled him toward the blanket.

  She soaked in the moment as long as she could, then released his fingers as they sat down. She missed his touch instantly. “How did you learn to build things? You’re so good at it.”

  “I’ve always worked with wood. It’s something I’ve enjoyed for as long as I can remember.”

  “I know you renovate houses, obviously. But I overheard that guy Kevin calling you boss.”

  “I’m a building contractor. Several Englischers work for me, but I only have a few guys. I'm just getting started.”

  “How much do you want to grow?”

  “That's the complicated part.”

  “It shouldn't be. Your work is beautiful. You're very gifted, Paul. You can go as far as you want.” Rachel watched the play of emotions stretching across his face. Passion, hesitation, longing.

  “Tell my uncle that.” His gaze settled somewhere deep in the woods. “He's completely against this.”

  “That's hard to believe.” Paul was different, he had a determination she'd never witnessed in other guys his age. It wasn't just his Amish upbringing, there was more to it than that. She reached for his hand, longing to feel his touch again, longing to show him how she felt for him. She squeezed it gently before letting it fall away. “Your work speaks for itself. There's no doubt, you can do anything you set your mind to.”

  His gaze bore into hers. So intense, she feared she would dig her fingers through the short layers of hair surrounding his neck and kiss him hard on the mouth if she didn't do something. Fast. “So Kevin works for you?” She leaned onto her side, breaking the connection. “You've never brought him before and haven't brought him back since, not that I've seen anyway.”

  “I needed him that one day. Most of your mom's renovations only need one hand. I have the others, like Kevin, working on other projects.”