A Cowboy at Heart

by Lori Copeland

  “No, you don’t.” He came to a halt behind her. “You don’t want to be alone any more than I do.”

  A bitter laugh slipped unbidden from her mouth. “What do you know of me? Nothing.”

  “I know enough.” His voice fell softly on her ears, and he stood so close his breath warmed the back of her neck. “I know everything I need to know about you. The way you sip your tea with your little finger held high. The way you put extra butter on your bread when you think nobody’s looking. I know you like cream on your berries, and the smell of your fingers after you handle tomato plants.”

  Her tears slowed. How did he know those things? The times when she thought him asleep, he must have been watching her through the window while she worked in the garden.

  “I know you pray for those you look after because I’ve seen your eyes close and your lips move. Your hands are tender and careful when you’re caring for a wound, but firm when they need to be.” His voice grew softer, almost a purr in his throat. “And I know you love children. You should see the way your eyes shine when you hold little Katherine. You need babies of your own, Katie. And a husband to help you care for them.”

  Pain shafted through her. She turned to find him even closer than she realized. If she leaned forward, their bodies would touch. Instead, she shrank against the tree trunk.

  “That is the one thing I cannot have.” Sobs threatened to close her throat, but she swallowed them back.

  His head cocked sideways as his eyes pried into hers. “What do you mean?”

  “Five years of marriage and no babies. Month after month we prayed, but either God did not hear or He chose to ignore our prayers.” The rough bark pressed into her back, and she leaned harder into it, welcoming the discomfort. “I am barren, Jesse. That is why I can never marry again.”

  There. The words were spoken. Now all that was left was for him to turn away, mumbling an excuse as he fled. She closed her eyes, unwilling to see the disappointment in his face.

  “Is that why you won’t marry me?”

  His question did not sound disappointed so much as curious. Cautiously, she cracked open an eye. His head was cocked sideways, and his lips had twisted into a bemused line that wrenched at her heart. That same smile had set her stomach to fluttering so many times.

  “You deserve to have a family.” Though she had to rip the words from deep in a heavy heart, she forced herself to voice them. “A wife and children.”

  The piercing gaze that searched her face softened. In the next instant she found herself pulled forward, encircled by his arms.

  “Katie, Katie.” The whisper that tickled her ear held the hint of a chuckle. “If the only way I can have children is with someone else, I don’t want them. It wouldn’t be fair to marry another when you are the only woman I love.”

  The warmth of his body, the strength of the arms that embraced her, and the heady, masculine scent that clung to him invaded her senses. Her spinning thoughts threatened to pull her into a whirlwind at which Jesse was the center.

  She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. “But you would be such a good fader.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know you will make a good mother.” Warm, soft lips nuzzled her ear. “And I know a boy who needs a family. You won’t even have to change his dirty linens, though you might need to force him into a tub for a good scrubbing every week or so.”

  Butch. A feeling akin to amazement flickered to life deep in her soul. Butch did need a family, and she loved him already. Together she and Jesse could provide the home he so desperately needed. What joy it would give her to teach him the pathway to true peace.

  She couldn’t think, not with Jesse’s breath warm against her cheek and his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Jesse, who had announced his intention to become Amish moments ago. Jesse, who wanted to marry her, even though he knew she was barren.

  Jesse. The man she loved.

  “Marry me, Katie. Let’s build a life together.”

  Her arms rose and her fingers brushed across the shoulders she had tended. She buried them in the soft curls at the base of his skull and pulled him down to her. The last of her reserves fled in the moment his lips touched hers.

  EPILOGUE

  White Church, Kansas

  Thanksgiving 1886

  Jesse scratched at his beard, still not easy with hair on his face after six months of growth. On the other hand, some outward signs of Amish life had been easy to adapt to. He slipped his thumbs beneath his braces and rocked on his shoes, aware that he was imitating a gesture of Jonas’s. Suspenders were a definite improvement over belts, and the broadfall trousers a far sight more comfortable than the tight denim britches of a cowboy. But he would never get used to this round hat. No matter how hard he argued, Bishop Beiler refused to consider changing the Ordnung to allow for the oblong shape of a man’s head.

  “Hey, Amish man. Get over here and help.”

  Jesse answered Luke’s good-natured jibe with a grin and crossed the churchyard to help unload benches from Bishop Beiler’s wagon. He grabbed one end while Luke took the other, and together they carried the bench toward the place where they had set up boards on barrels to form tables for the bountiful feast the women had worked for days to prepare.

  When the bench was set in place, they headed side by side back to the wagon for another.

  “I haven’t seen much of you since the wedding.” Luke speared him with a teasing grin. “That new farm must be keeping you busy.”

  Jesse refused to rise to his bait. Truth was, he didn’t feel much like visiting lately. He and Katie and Butch were happy with their long days of work on the farm and their peaceful nights together in their cozy new home.

  “The road runs both ways between your place and mine. Anytime you feel like visiting, come on over and we can talk while you help me milk the cows.”

  Luke’s only reply was a laugh as they hefted the next bench.

  The last in a string of buggies and wagons deposited its female passengers at the house and headed for the open field where Butch and Noah Stolzfus were corralling the horses after they had been unharnessed. Jesse almost tripped over a trio of smaller boys who dashed beneath the bench he carried, one in Amish garb and two in Englisch shirts and britches.

  “Hey, I think that was my son.” Luke frowned after the boys as they disappeared around the corner of the white church building. “He’s supposed to be helping his mother in the house.”

  “Let him go,” advised Jesse. “That house is full to bursting already, and too many people are around for them to get into much trouble without somebody seeing.”

  It was true. Everyone in White Church had turned out for today’s Thanksgiving dinner. Everywhere he looked, Amish and Englisch men stood talking, and women formed a continuous line from Colin and Rebecca’s big house to the already loaded makeshift tables. The scent of pies and roasting meat filled the air, and the happy laughter of children rang across the fields.

  They set the last bench in place and straightened, watching the bustle that surrounded them. Jesse realized his friend was staring at him, his mouth crooked into a quirky grin.

  “What?”

  “I was thinking about our cattle drive days and what a rowdy cowpoke you were.” Luke shook his head. “If somebody would have told me you’d end up Amish, I would have laughed them off the trail. If there was ever a hopeless case back then, it was you.”

  Jesse joined in with a chuckle. It was true. Of all the possible futures he’d envisioned, becoming Amish had never occurred to him. And yet here he was, enjoying a life he never thought possible, and a peace he thought would forever be beyond his reach.

  The last six months had held more changes for him than many men endured in years. He’d helped Amos, Jonas, and the others leave Apple Grove and set up a dozen new farms here in White Church, as they had decided to call their new community. He’d completed nine classes, conducted by Bishop Beiler, Zacharias, and Jonas, over a cour
se of several months. There he had learned the tenets of the faith, the customs and habits of his new community, and had studied the Confession until he could quote it in his sleep.

  The day of his baptism was forever etched in his mind. He’d knelt before Bishop Beiler in front of the community. The bishop’s cupped hands rested on Jesse’s bowed head. Jonas poured water from a pitcher into the bishop’s hands, and though Jesse knew it was nothing but plain spring water, he would swear until the day he died that the trickle that flowed over his head and dripped down his face washed away the last shred of rebellion from his soul. When he rose to receive the holy kiss, he felt like a new man.

  But that was nothing compared to the day, three weeks later, when he and Katie stood together before the same community to be joined forever as husband and wife.

  Jesse’s gaze strayed across the churchyard, his eyes drawn unerringly to the loveliest Amish woman in the gathering. As though she felt his regard, Katie looked up from her work of arranging overflowing bowls and trays on the table. Their eyes met, and the bustle of their surroundings fell away. For a moment they renewed the intimacy of their love, and the secret she had whispered into his ear in the dark of night only a week ago. Come spring, the Lord would bless them with a gift more precious than any they had ever dared to hope for. Katie was not barren; Samuel had been. Jesse and Katie would welcome a child, a baby of their own, born of their love for each other.

  What would Bishop Miller think when he heard the news? He’d received the announcement of the intended departure of eight families from the Apple Grove district silently, his expression stoic. The word from their friends who had remained said the man’s harsh attitude had softened somewhat, though grief still rested heavily on him. Would this little one harden his heart again, or would Jesse and Katie’s child be a harbinger of peace for the bitterness that had wrapped around the man’s heart like a shroud? That was Jesse’s prayer.

  He realized Luke was still watching him, waiting for a response. Laughing, Jesse clapped his friend on the shoulder. “One thing I’ve discovered, buddy. The Lord is partial to hopeless cases. I’m proof of that.”

  The church bell rang, calling everyone to the tables. Amish and Englisch alike gathered around the feast. Bishop Beiler and Sarah stood alongside Colin and Rebecca, whose little Isaac was already half again as big as baby Katherine. Luke and Emma corralled their pair while Jonas stood nearby beaming at his grandchildren. Maummi Switzer hovered over the food with a ready hand, daring any bugs to draw near. All of his neighbors were there, their faces beaming with thanksgiving.

  Jesse joined Katie, standing as close to her as propriety allowed. The smile she turned on him reached inside his chest, straight to his soul. The truth of his words to Luke echoed in his ears and resonated deep inside him.

  If God could bring peace to this restless cowboy’s heart, nobody was beyond His reach.

  AUTHORS’ NOTE

  We hope you enjoyed A Cowboy at Heart, our third book about the Amish of Apple Grove. As soon as we wrote Book 1, The Heart’s Frontier, we knew we would eventually tell Jesse’s story. He was such a rowdy but lovable cowboy. We couldn’t wait to see who would tame his restless heart. In the first book he teased Luke about falling for one of those “Aim-ish” gals, so we chuckled when Jesse fell in love with an Amish woman himself.

  Though this story is a work of fiction, we always like including a bit of actual history. The 1880s were a fascinating time in the American West. As the days of the great cattle drives came to an end, the economy underwent drastic changes. The demand for beef did not decrease, and cattle barons could be ruthless in their acquisition of land with easy access to the railroads. The circumstance in which Jonas Switzer finds himself in A Cowboy at Heart wasn’t at all uncommon during that period.

  Medicine was also changing during that time. As Dr. Sorensen explains to Maummi and Katie, an English doctor named Joseph Lister had discovered the role microorganisms played in infection a few years earlier. The concept of antisepsis before and during surgery had become common in Europe in the 1880s, but the practice took a while to become popular among American doctors. Most thought the whole idea was hogwash.

  Those who have read the previous Apple Grove books will notice that A Cowboy at Heart isn’t as humorous as the others. The themes in this story are serious ones—alcoholism, barrenness, inconsolable grief at the loss of loved ones, and the soul-searching that comes from standing your spiritual ground in the face of adversity. We are both certain that God can soothe every hurt, heal every injury, and strengthen every heart to endure even the toughest times with faith intact.

  We’d love to hear from you. Let us know what you thought of our book by visiting www.LoriCopelandandVirginiaSmith.com.

  Lori and Virginia

  BONUS! Short Story

  A Special Treat for You!

  Though we love all the characters in the Amish of Apple Grove series, one person touched our hearts in a special way from the first moment he appeared. Jonas Switzer, Emma and Rebecca’s wise and loving papa, is a man of sterling integrity, quiet strength, and deep faith. We loved spending time with him throughout the three books and thought it would be fun to peek into the past to see what he was like as a younger man. And, of course, we wanted to meet the woman who captured his heart and gave him two wonderful daughters. We hope you enjoy this glimpse into the early life of Jonas Switzer.

  Lori and Virginia

  A HOME IN THE WEST

  A short story from the

  Amish of Apple Grove Series

  Berlin, Ohio

  April 1858

  When you finish here, Jonas, will you hitch up the wagon and help the women load it? They are nearly ready.” Jonas Switzer kept his forehead firmly planted against the cow’s side, his eyes fixed on the rising level of milk in the bucket in front of his stool. Frustration flared like a flame in the center of his chest. Help the women? There was real farm work to be done this day, corn to be planted in the rich, fertile soil that lay ready to receive it. At nineteen years old his back was strong and his hand steady at the plow. But where was he during the plowing? In the barn milking the cows and in the house helping the women.

  I am better with the plow than either Peter or Melvin.

  The thought, though entirely true, brought a stab of guilt. Pride was one of the worst sins and despised of the Lord. Besides, Peter’s and Melvin’s lack of skill was the very reason Helmuth Byler insisted that his sons handle the work. After all, one day they would take over the running of this farm, whereas Jonas was little more than a hired hand.

  Only when he had mastered his emotions and was sure no trace of bitterness lingered on his face did he raise his head and look at the man standing in the open doorway of the barn.

  “Ja, I will help the women.”

  Though he was sure his voice betrayed nothing but calm acceptance, sympathy softened Helmuth’s kind features. Jonas thought he might speak, and he paused in his milking. But after a moment Helmuth merely said, “Danki,” and left the barn.

  With a sigh Jonas returned to his task. Milk flowed into the pail in two steady streams, the rhythmic swishing sounds a comforting accompaniment to the quiet serenity of the barn. In the next stall, Betsy’s teeth chomped sweet straw as the mare waited to be hitched to the wagon to haul the women and their cheeses and jams to the market in Berlin.

  As the pail slowly filled, guilt continued to plague Jonas. Surely his feelings of discontent were displeasing to Gott. They certainly were to Mader, who missed no opportunity to remind him that they had a home thanks only to the generosity of the Amish district of Berlin, and especially to Helmuth and Elizabeth Byler. When Jonas’s Englisch father died, the Bylers had taken in Mader and her two young children, Gerda and Jonas. The Amish community had even built a small house on the Byler farm where they might live together as a family.

  At a church meeting a few years ago, Jonas overheard Helmuth tell one of the men that when Peter was old enough to take over
the farm, the Switzers’ house would become a dawdi haus for him and his wife. The realization had slapped at Jonas like an open hand in the face. Of course he had known that Mader and Gerda and he didn’t own the farm on which they lived, but for the first time he realized that the house they called home wouldn’t remain theirs forever. As the man of the family, the task fell to him to provide for his mader and schweschder.

  At that moment a dream had been birthed in Jonas. He would not always live by the charity of others. One day he would build his own house, plow his own fields, and milk his own cows.

  Gott, let it be so.

  Of course, a man couldn’t build a home alone. He needed a wife by his side. And Jonas knew which woman he would choose.

  An expanding warmth crept over him as the image of Caroline Hersberger rose in his mind. The loveliest girl in Berlin, all the young men agreed. Whenever her name arose, a moment of silence fell among them, and Jonas had recognized in the eyes of many of his friends the same wistful longing he felt. The thought doused his hopes like a bucket of creek water. What had he to offer when Caroline could choose her husband from at least a dozen eager young men, eldest sons with the promise of prosperous farms that would one day be theirs? Jonas squeezed with renewed force, and the cow turned her head to fix a reproachful brown eye on him.

  But Jonas had something to offer that those others did not. He had a plan. No doubt Mader would call it a narrisch notion, but he would not give it up. And he hoped that the adventurous spark he’d seen on the occasions when he was bold enough to meet Caroline’s eye meant his plan might hold some appeal for her as well. He intended to find out, and soon. At tomorrow night’s singing.

  Of course, she might laugh at him.

  He set his jaw. That was a risk he was prepared to take. He was nearly twenty years old. It was high time he got a start on a life of his own.

  A movement to his right drew his attention. A gray barn cat, one of his favorites, edged through the open doorway and paced sedately toward him. The animal approached bravely, ignoring the cow, and came to a stop two feet away. He sat, wrapped his tail around his body, and fixed an expectant look on Jonas.