by Alison Stone
AMISH COUNTRY REFUGE
When an unknown assailant attacks Sarah Gardner shortly after she moves to Apple Creek, she doesn’t know which of her fears has come true. Is someone trying to tell her that meddling strangers aren’t welcome in this tight-knit Amish community, or has her abusive ex-boyfriend found her? The social worker doesn’t want to run again, not when she’s finally putting down roots. But she may not have a choice, unless deputy sheriff Nick Jennings can protect her. The former army ranger knows that Sarah has secrets…and women with secrets only bring heartache. But serving the community is Nick’s job, and he can’t turn away a woman in peril—especially when he can’t imagine a future without her.
“What brought you out here this morning, Deputy Jennings?”
She emphasized his title, as if it were a bad thing. “Did your sister talk to you?”
He cleared his throat then walked over to the railing and leaned back on it, so that they were almost back-to-back. He turned his head to study her serious profile. It was as if she didn’t want to make eye contact. “It’s not what you think. My sister always respects doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“But you suspected something more was going on than a rock through a church window?”
Nick let the silence stretch between them. A gust of wind rustled up and bent the cornstalks growing in the fields next to her house.
Sarah ran a hand down her long ponytail and shifted to face him, a serious expression in her bright blue eyes. “I’m afraid he’s found me.”
Alison Stone lives with her husband of more than twenty years and their four children in Western New York. Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race motocross. Alison loves to hear from her readers at [email protected]. For more information please visit her website, alisonstone.com. She’s also chatty on Twitter, @alison_stone. Find her on Facebook at Facebook.com/alisonstoneauthor.
Books by Alison Stone
Love Inspired Suspense
Plain Pursuit
Critical Diagnosis
Silver Lake Secrets
Plain Peril
High-Risk Homecoming
Plain Threats
Plain Protector
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PLAIN
PROTECTOR
Alison Stone
But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.
—Psalms 56:3
To my daughter Kelsey. You are smart, kind and beautiful. You work hard to reach your goals, yet take everything in stride. This ability amazes me and will take you far in life.
I am so proud of you. I love you.
And to Scott, Scotty, Alex and Leah.
Love you guys, always and forever.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
DEAR READER
EXCERPT FROM TACTICAL RESCUE BY MAGGIE K. BLACK
ONE
Sarah Gardner never thought a master’s degree in social work would mean she’d be sweeping the floor of the basement meeting room of the Apple Creek Community Church on a Sunday evening. No, she had thought she’d have her own office in a hospital or a private clinic, a family and maybe even a child by now.
But when Sarah was a promising young college student, she couldn’t imagine the things her life would be lacking at the ripe old age of thirty. No decent job, no car, no close friends. All in an effort to maintain a low profile for fear her ex-boyfriend would find her.
Yes, her life was a mess because she’d chosen the wrong guy to date. She swept a little more vigorously than necessary, sending a cloud of dust into the air, making her cough.
A loud slam made Sarah jump. She spun around to find Mary Ruth Beiler with her hand on the closet door and an apologetic look on her face. Sometimes Sarah envied the young Amish girl who seemed to have her entire life mapped out for her in the insular Amish community of Apple Creek, New York. Mary Ruth’s options had been pruned to the point that she didn’t have much room to make bad choices.
But not having choices didn’t mean freedom.
Sarah knew as much.
“Sarah,” Mary Ruth said in a soft voice, “I put the folding chairs in the closet. Is there anything else you need help with before I go?”
“I think we’re set.” Sarah wanted to make a few notes from the group meeting tonight before her thoughts slipped away, much like the wisps of dreams from her childhood that vanished when she opened her eyes after a fitful night’s sleep.
Sarah had set up a group meeting for primarily Amish youth, whose parents would rather they be attending the Sunday evening singings. But holding the meeting the same night as the bimonthly Sunday singings gave the teens an excuse to leave home without explaining where they were heading. They came to discuss the dangers of drinking and drugs—for some a reality, for others merely a temptation—and other worldly concerns. Sarah suspected some of their parents knew where their sons and daughters were really going and only pretended their offspring were enjoying the singings with hopes that soon they would be back within the fold. Other parents flat out forbade their children from associating with this Englischer who was surely giving them worldly ideas.
But if these same Amish parents knew the trouble their precious children were flirting with, they might remember Sarah in their prayers instead of regarding the outsider with a sideways glance and a cold shoulder.
Lord knew she could use their prayers.
“Yes, we’re all set,” Sarah said. “Thank you for your help.” She dug into her jeans’ pocket and handed the girl payment, payment she could ill afford if she had to remain holed up in Apple Creek much longer like she was some criminal on the run and not the victim that she was. The pastor of the church paid her a modest stipend to work with the youth in the community.
Having sweet Mary Ruth as an assistant was a bridge, however precarious, to the Amish youth, many of whom needed Sarah’s services, but, like their parents, were leery of outsiders. Some kids had found their way to drugs and alcohol—just like the youth she used to work with back in Buffalo—and their peers knew it. Mary Ruth made the first few introductions. From there, word spread. The rumor mill among the teens in Amish country was no less efficient than their texting counterparts in the outside world.
Now, every two weeks, Mary Ruth helped Sarah set up the room and serve as a friendly face to newcomers and repeat visitors alike. The gatherings usually only had four or five members, but even if she only touched one person’s life, it would be worth the effort.
Most Sundays, Mary Ruth then ran off to the Sunday singings. But not this week. This week she had stayed, a part of the group but separate. She seemed intrigued by the choices some of her peers had made, or choices they were courting.
Sarah hoped the youth kept her number one rule: what was said in this room, stayed in this room. She trusted Mary Ruth, but each newcomer was a ris
k. Despite their age difference, Sarah considered Mary Ruth a friend.
Perhaps her only friend in Apple Creek.
“Do you need my help at all during the week?” Mary Ruth lingered at the stairway leading to the exit.
“Yes, if you’d like. I was going to make a few home visits to young, single mothers in town who might be in need of services.” The women weren’t Amish and often needed help understanding what services were available to them and their babies until they got back on their feet.
“These new mothers really need you, don’t they?” Mary Ruth asked, as if she were just now coming to appreciate Sarah’s work in the community.
“Some of them don’t have anyone else.”
“It’s sad. Their future is uncertain.” Mary Ruth played with the folds in her long dress, its hem brushing the tops of her black boots.
The irony that Sarah’s future was probably the most precarious of them all was not lost on her, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“I admire the work you do. Sometimes I wish Amish women could be independent like you.”
Independent. Sarah outwardly appeared independent, but on the inside she was a trembling mess. “How old are you, Mary Ruth?”
“Eighteen?” Her answer sounded more like a question.
“Ah, you have your whole life in front of you.”
“A life that has already been planned out.” There was a faraway quality to her voice. “Most of my friends are hoping to get married soon.”
“And you?”
Mary Ruth hitched a shoulder and her cheeks turned pink. The Amish didn’t talk much about dating and courtship, at least not to her. Some successfully hid their wedding plans until the church published their engagement announcement only weeks before their actual wedding.
Sarah did know that Mary Ruth had been spending time with a young Amish man, Ruben Zook, who lived next door to the cottage Sarah rented. But she didn’t dare inquire about Mary Ruth’s plans, respecting the Amish ways.
Sarah waved her hand. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Guten nacht,” Mary Ruth said, in a singsong voice as she climbed the stairs, her mood seeming to lift. She very rarely spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to Sarah, except for when she said good-night. Sarah was still smiling when the outside door opened with a creak and then slammed shut.
Unease whispered at the back of Sarah’s neck as a pronounced silence settled across the room. Her plan to sit at her desk in her tiny basement office and make notes no longer seemed like a smart idea. It had been a habit during her years of working in Buffalo. Make notes immediately so that one patient didn’t blend in with the next. However, here in Apple Creek, her workload was lighter and she had no distractions at home.
Here, she didn’t have a boyfriend pestering her to know what she was doing every minute of every day. Nor did she have to worry that she’d inadvertently provide the wrong answer. An answer that would send him into a blind rage.
Icy dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. How did I allow myself to get tangled up with Jimmy Braeden? She had always considered herself a smart girl.
Even smart girls made bad choices sometimes.
Letting out a long breath and wishing she could silence all the doubts and worries in her head, Sarah gathered up her papers and jammed them into her bag with shaky hands. She hated that Jimmy had made her afraid. Made her hide. Made her into someone even she couldn’t heal.
A shadow crossed the basement floor and Sarah glanced up at the narrow windows that faced the church parking lot. Nothing. Just the fading blue sky, which made her realize if she didn’t hurry, she’d have to walk the mile home in the dark.
Sure, Jimmy didn’t know where she was. She hoped. But that didn’t mean it was wise to tempt fate as a single woman alone after dark on a deserted country road.
Sarah hoisted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and flipped off the light switch at the bottom of the stairs when a crashing sound exploded, disrupting the quiet night air. Shards of glass rained down over her head.
Sarah bit back a yelp and flattened herself against the wall of the basement under the broken window. Her pulse beat wildly in her ears as she fumbled in her bag. She was searching for a cell phone, when she remembered she didn’t have one. It was one of the many things she had given up when she decided to disappear.
A cell phone was too easy to trace.
Sarah gingerly touched her head and her fingers came back sticky. She closed her eyes and muttered a silent prayer: Dear Lord, please protect me. If there was one thing she clung to through her turned-upside-down life, it was her faith. One constant in a crazy world.
Biting her lip, she glanced toward the stairs. Toward the exit. The unlocked door. Dread knotted her stomach. She stood, frozen, until her heart rate returned to normal. Almost. She figured her nerves wouldn’t truly settle until she was safely at home, locked inside.
Her gaze landed on a large rock in the center of the room. Good thing she hadn’t been struck by that or she might be unconscious.
Sarah couldn’t stand here forever. She took a hesitant step toward the stairs.
Was someone waiting for her outside?
With a burst of courage—the same courage that had her leave her abusive ex—Sarah bolted up the stairs, clinging to her bag as if it could protect her. She pushed the door open and the still night air greeted her. Without a backward glance, she bolted as fast as her legs would carry her across the wide expanse of the parking lot to the pastor’s house on the opposite side.
She pounded up the porch steps and lifted her fist and hammered on the door, immediately taking her back to another day, another time, when her boyfriend was chasing her. Promising he’d kill her if he caught her. Swallowing her dizzying panic, she glanced over her shoulder.
No one was chasing her now.
Just the shadows. And the haunting memories that refused to leave her alone.
* * *
When Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings pulled up in front of the Apple Creek Diner, he had only two things on his mind: coffee and Flo’s pie. His stomach growled as he considered his options. He was in the mood for some banana cream. As he pulled the door’s release, his radio crackled to life. He listened intently, frowning when he heard there had been an incident at the church. Flo’s pie would have to wait.
“I’m at the Apple Creek Diner,” he said into the radio. “I can be at the church in three minutes.” Nick flipped on the lights and pressed his foot to the floor, not necessary since he was only a few minutes out, but he missed the occasional adrenaline surge. Policing small-town Apple Creek didn’t provide the same rush as serving in the army in times of war.
Not that he wanted to go back to war.
“The victim, a Miss Sarah Lynn, is at the pastor’s residence,” the dispatcher said. “The pastor’s wife claims she’s pretty shaken up.”
Sarah Lynn? The name didn’t register.
Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and as promised, made it to the parking lot of the church in under three minutes. Dusk had cloaked the area in the first hint of shadows, and his headlights arched across two people standing on the pastor’s stoop. One was Miss Ellinor, the pastor’s wife, the other was a petite woman he had noticed around town. That must be Sarah Lynn.
Nick had only been back in Apple Creek for a few months himself when this young woman arrived. Residents of a small town tended to notice new arrivals, even if they weren’t petite and pretty, which this one certainly was. Flo at the diner, who had a habit of trying to fix him up, mentioned that this woman seemed to keep to herself most of the time, hadn’t even offered up her name. A few speculated on why she had suddenly shown up in town—employment, low rent or maybe she was hiding from something—but mostly the residents of Apple Creek let her be. Nick assumed she
probably did have her share of secrets. Having come off a bad breakup with a woman who was a master secret keeper, Nick figured he’d pass.
Nick climbed out of his cruiser and strode toward the pastor’s neat, white-sided home. He tipped his hat toward the women. “Hello, Miss Ellinor.” He thought it best if he waited for the young woman to introduce herself. That’s when he noticed she was doing more than touching her forehead, she was holding a cloth to it.
“Are you injured?”
“I’m fine. My name is Sarah. Sarah Lynn...” The corners of her mouth turned down and the woman seemed to be studying her shoes. This woman was either afraid or hiding something. Perhaps both.
Apparently the residents of Apple Creek were collectively a pretty good judge of character.
“I’m Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings. What happened here?”
Sarah shook her head, but it was Miss Ellinor who spoke first. “Someone smashed one of the basement windows of the church. I’m afraid Sarah has a pretty deep cut on her forehead. You’ll probably have to call an ambulance. Is an ambulance coming?”
Sarah held up her hand, her eyes growing wide. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine.” Her voice shook. She didn’t sound fine.
“May I take a look?” Nick stepped toward Sarah and she took a half step back, hemmed in by the front door of the pastor’s home behind her.
Sarah dropped her hand and her long hair fell over the wound. She stared up at him with a look of defiance, although he may have misinterpreted the emotion in the dim lighting.
Nick held up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. “I don’t need to look at it, but someone should.”
“I’m fine, really.” Sarah’s repeated use of the word fine seemed forced. She bent and picked up a heavy-looking bag. When she straightened, all the color drained from her face. If he hadn’t been watching her, he might not have seen the terror that flashed across her pretty features and then disappeared into the firm set of her mouth and her narrowed gaze.
