On the website, there was a short article about that cowboy-hat–shaped straw hat he wore. It had been given to him as a gift, and even though it was slightly different from the indistinguishable wide-brimmed straw hats worn by all the other men in his community, the leaders in his church had given him special sanction to wear it. This, along with the fact that he preferred to travel on horseback rather than in a buggy, left Isaac Zook with the nickname of the “Amish Cowboy.”
All of this left Grace more puzzled than ever. Weren’t her people not supposed to draw attention to themselves? How could Isaac King conform while wearing a hat like that? How progressive was this man?
“Jah, and hello to you, too,” Grace said with a smile as she passed by the last stall, giving the spotted Indian pony a scratch behind the ears. The stall next to her was the biggest one, with the tallest walls, and it was currently vacant. Grace paused to give it one more once-over. Everything looked in place and ready to receive their new guest. Grace had even buffed all the tack, so it looked shiny and new. She took in a deep breath, smelling the freshly lain straw.
As she was climbing the porch stairs to go inside and wash up, she overheard her father’s voice from around the corner. “Jah, jah,” he was saying, speaking quickly in Pennsylvania Dutch, obviously on the phone. She paused when she heard her own name mentioned. But the call ended too soon after that for Grace to make out what her father was discussing, or with whom.
“Ah, Gracie. We were just talking about you.” He held up his cell.
“Aye?” Grace replied breezily, as if she hadn’t overheard. “Anything important?”
Her father adjusted his straw hat. “Isaac called me along the way—he’s fancy with his phone. Says he’s nearly here.”
“Hmm.” Grace tried not to care, to at least sound disinterested. But then she turned to her father. “You can still tell him not to come, ya know.”
“Why in heaven’s name would I do that?”
Grace took in a deep breath, prepared to say what she’d been holding back for days. “Because…because I can do it, Daed. All by myself. You know I can. Why don’t you trust me?” She was frustrated when she heard the quiver in her voice. She wanted to sound strong and sure, not weak.
“Now, Gracie. I thought we already talked about this.”
“Nay, you talked.” She instantly felt ashamed of her tone. This was not the conversation she had envisioned having. “What I mean is, you decided without talking to me.” She lowered her chin in humility. “I know you’re in charge here, but I thought we were more of a partnership. After all, I do most of the training now, and all of the heeding.”
“You do have a very special touch with the younger horses,” her father said. “But this one, well, he’s very important to our future.”
“I know. Believe me, I understand what it could mean for our business, and for…” She let her voice trail off when she glanced over her shoulder to the house, toward where her mother sat on the couch.
“Honestly, Gracie, I believe you could break and train this horse. If you had enough time, maybe. But Isaac King has the experience.”
“Has he trained an aggressive Morgan for the Grand Prix?”
John Zook opened his mouth to reply, but then didn’t speak.
“Papa, he hasn’t?”
“Not exactly, but he worked with stallions one summer a few years back. He knows how they are, the temperament and complications. You know well enough yourself, Grace, that we’ve had only a handful over the years. And believe me, they are very different.”
“What all horses need is love,” she said under her breath. “They need someone to look into their eyes, to pay attention to them. They always respond positively to that. But they also have to know who is boss.” She leveled her chin. “I’m the boss.”
Her father chuckled. “Looks like you had a good teacher.”
Grace smiled. “The best,” she said, the frustration and anger toward her father softening.
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m getting on in years and can’t keep this up forever.”
“Keep what up?”
He raised a hand, gesturing toward the front pasture and ring. “All of this. I’ll be selling some land soon—I can’t keep up this much property, especially when I retire someday. I’d like to know whoever takes over, it will be in good hands.” He looked Grace directly in the eyes.
Grace’s heart lifted. They hadn’t yet had a proper discussion about it but, since none of her brothers were interested in taking over the family business, she was sure her father would want her to.
“Oh, jah, you can be sure of that!” She grinned when her father’s eyes twinkled.
“A lot of work, you know.”
“Like you said, I had a good teacher.”
John Zook took in a deep breath, then blew it out. “Thing is, Grace, it’s not that simple. Not in this county and not in this church. I know our congregation isn’t as modern as some around here, but at least we’re not in the dark ages like the Old Order Swartzentruber sects. Even so, it’s rare, Grace—mighty rare for a woman to own a business of this size.”
“Is that in our Ordnung?”
“No,” her father replied.
“Would Bishop Turner be against it?”
Her father didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know for sure,” he admitted. “But we would require permission from the leadership of the church, that’s for certain.”
“The brethren love you, Papa. You all grew up together. Preaching Sunday is this week; can we talk to them then?”
“Slow down, Grace. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I haven’t decided anything. Barely crossed my mind, actually.”
At his words, Grace’s heart sank. It wasn’t that she wanted her father to retire right now, she simply wanted to get on with her future, plan the next part of her life. And that was being confident that she would be taking over the training farm when it was time. She felt it as surely as knowing Gott had made all living creatures.
“You know I never enjoyed being in the kitchen,” she said, her voice quiet. “Mary did most of the cooking with Maam before she got married and moved out. By that time, I’d found my place with the horses. It’s what I’m good at.”
“Aye, Grace. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that over the years. And don’t think it hasn’t pained me some.”
Grace felt a sharp stab in her stomach. “Pained you?”
“You’re hard to explain sometimes, my girl. See, most other young ladies your age are married, or engaged at the least. Your sister was married at twenty-one. That’s two years younger than you are.” He turned to look at her, his blue eyes in earnest. “Whatever happened to Samuel Chupp’s boy?”
Grace sighed in frustration. Definitely not the way she’d hoped the conversation would go. “Collin? Oh, he’s still around. Would probably marry me next wedding season if I showed the slightest interest.”
“But you feel nothing for him? Seems like a capable young man.”
“Daed, please. If I wanted advice about dating, I would talk to Maam, or Mary…or anyone besides you.”
He chuckled and scratched his beard. “All I’m saying is it’s a mite strange that you’re always in a dirty dress with your brother’s trousers underneath.”
“I’m on the back of a horse most hours of the day. Wouldn’t be proper without pants.”
“Grace, I think for a man of my position in the community, I’ve allowed a lot when it comes to you. And with this Morgan business, you’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m doing. This is too important to not do perfectly.”
Grace opened her mouth to say she could train perfectly, too, if given the chance. But she knew it would end in another argument, and she respected her father too much to go against him.
“I think you’ll like working with Isaac,” he continued. “Y
ou’ll be a good apprentice.”
Ack, that word. Grace wasn’t sure if it was apprentice or Isaac that annoyed her more.
“Sure, Daed.”
“Speaking of the Chupps, that’s where he’s staying.”
She stared at him. “With Collin’s family?”
He nodded. “Got that big empty room on the second floor since his daughter moved back east.” He wiped his brow. “Should be enough space,” he added as he walked toward the side yard, leaving Grace on the porch. “It’s just him and, er…Sadie, I think is her name.” He turned back to Grace. “Tell your mother I’ll pick her those peaches she asked for.”
Sadie? Grace thought. So he is married.
Well, that was fine with her. Why shouldn’t he be? And sure, fine, he was quite handsome, now that she thought about it. And wasn’t it okay to think that now when he was completely off-limits? In fact, she could be as friendly with him as she wanted to be.
Though maybe if she was slightly overly friendly, it would make him so uncomfortable, he’d quit his job and go back to Silver Springs. Gah! Grace shouldn’t be so unkind to a perfect stranger. She promised herself that she would not, while also promising that she’d also be extra patient with her sister-in-law, Sarah, tonight, helping her with dinner.
Just as she smiled at the new plan and dusted some dirt off her apron, she noticed a buggy arriving, No, it wasn’t a buggy but a man on horseback. And was he wearing a cowboy hat?
Chapter Six
Isaac saw her on the porch. As he neared, he noticed she was in another dirty dress, a pair of men’s trousers and work boots that came nearly to her knees. The moment before he could have waved a long-distance hello, she whirled around so her back was to him.
Mercy, did she despise him so much already? Her father had mentioned to him last week that his daughter was a key member of their training team, and that she would be something of an apprentice to him with the Morgan, if Isaac wanted.
Suddenly, she whipped around to face him. Her hair was now tucked neatly inside her kapp, no flyaways like last time. But hadn’t that added to her appeal?
No, no appeal. He mustn’t think that way about his boss’s daughter. Having that discussion with Daniel had put her square in the front of his mind for a few hours—where she didn’t belong.
“You’re early,” she said, her expression unreadable, though her voice sounded accusatory.
Having nothing to say to that, he climbed off Scout and led him to the water. “Mighty nice day,” he offered, walking toward her.
“I said, you’re early,” she repeated in that same tone. She walked to the front of the porch, while Isaac stood at the bottom of the stairs, not sure he was welcome any farther.
“I spoke to your—er, John Zook a little while ago, told him I’d be here shortly.”
She didn’t reply for a moment, then her hostile posture untensed a bit. “Heard you’re staying at the Chupps’ across the way.”
“Jah. I just came from there. It’s real nice. Nice folks.”
“Hmph,” she grunted, crossed her arms, then looked away.
He took a step closer. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
For just a moment, he couldn’t help examining her to see if she’d be pretty enough to pass his nephew Sol’s definition. Blue eyes, pink lips, long neck, and he could tell she had a narrow waist under all those layers of dress, apron, and pants.
“What are you staring at?” she asked.
Isaac blinked himself awake. “Nothing.” He couldn’t help that his smile was turning into a crooked grin. “I think I like this place, too. I was impressed when I visited before. You must work hard to keep it up so nice.”
Again, her shoulders lowered another few inches. Perhaps he could get her on his side by being charming. He’d been told more than once in his life that he could charm a skunk out of its own smell. Not that he would use his gift manipulatively. For he knew it was from Gott, being able to persuade people to like him when they didn’t at first.
Would it work on John Zook’s daughter?
“Danke,” she replied, folding her hands together. “Um, would you like a drink from inside? Sarah, my sister-in-law, made fresh strawberry lemonade this morning.”
“I would love some.” Neither of them moved for a moment, and Isaac wasn’t sure if she’d invited him into the house or not.
“I’ll be right back.” She turned and disappeared through the door.
I guess that answers my question: not invited in.
He came up onto the porch, wondering how she would react when she saw him there. He smiled to himself, already enjoying this private little game of his. She came out a few minutes later, pausing briefly when she noticed that he’d stepped onto the porch, leaving less distance between them now. She was carrying a tall glass of a pink drink, ice cubes clinking together. It looked delicious.
“Nothing for you?” he asked when she handed it to him.
She took in a feminine breath, then let it out. “Nay, this one’s for you.”
Isaac thanked her again, then took a long drink.
Ack! Either this sister-in-law of hers didn’t know the first thing about lemonade, or John Zook’s daughter had put something in it, something like…salt?
“You like it?” she asked with a sticky-sweet smile that Isaac saw right through…answering his other question.
“Mmm. Tasty,” he said, taking another, much smaller sip. “Unique. Never had anything quite like it.” He’d had some bad food in his life, but this topped the list.
“Well, then.” She tilted her head. “I’ll tell Sarah she has a fan.”
He cleared his throat, the sharp salt burning his windpipe. “P-Please do.”
“Sure is a hot day,” she said. As she stood, smiling eagerly at him, Isaac suspected she was going to wait right there until he drank it all. He was completely prepared to call her bluff.
“Good thing I have this, then,” he replied. He downed the rest of the foul liquid in one big gulp, straight-faced, doing his best not to gag. “Mmm-mmm,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, staring her dead in the eyes.
Her gaze narrowed as he handed back the glass. “Refill?” she asked in a sweet tone.
“Oh, gosh, no thanks.” He held up his hands, palms out. “That was the perfect amount. I wouldn’t want to be rude by drinking more—which I could, by the way.” Isaac was hoping she wasn’t about to drag out the entire pitcher.
He could tell by looking at her that she was chewing on the inside of her cheeks, probably trying to figure him out. He was trying to do the same.
“Would you mind showing me the stables?” he asked by way of escape, taking off his hat.
“Didn’t Papa show you the other day?”
Isaac swallowed, trying to get the nasty taste out of his mouth. “Jah, he did, but I’d like to see where the Morgan will go.”
After another moment of chewing the inside of her cheek, she nodded, then came down the stairs. Isaac followed, not too closely, so he could spit the rest of that salty swill into the bushes. Maybe hearing the noise, she glanced quickly over her shoulder at him, a little smirk on those pink lips.
“Second stall on the right,” she said, allowing him to enter first.
The stables were pristine, as tidy and organized as any he’d seen, even when he’d worked with rich Englishers who had the best of the best. “Is this tack yours?” he asked. When she didn’t reply, Isaac turned around, finding her before the stall next to him, standing on a little stool, nuzzling a pretty Indian pony. He could barely hear what she was cooing to him, but the cadence sounded like a Bible verse.
“Who teaches us more than the beasts of the earth and makes us wiser than the birds of the heavens?” she recited.
“Job?” Isaac said.
She blinked
and looked at him. “Chapter thirty-three.”
“Verse eleven,” he finished for her. And for a moment, they stared at each other. Isaac wasn’t sure why he found it odd that she was quoting scripture to a horse. But then, why not?
“Jah,” she said, stepping off the stool while running her fingertips down the front of the pony’s nose. “That tack is ours. Why?” She turned to him. “Is it not good enough?”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s very nice, actually. I just wondered if they’d sent any supplies ahead of time.”
“Oh.” She dipped her chin. “Nay, not that I know of.”
“Did you prepare the stall? It’s perfect,” he added before she could ask again if it wasn’t good enough.
“Jah,” she said, her voice sounding a bit more pleasant, less suspicious, her expression, too, like when he’d first met her out in the ring. “The straw is our best, but I might order a different kind next time I’m in town. There’s one that is supposed to be good for aggressive horses.”
He felt his eyebrows lift. “Do you think our gaul is going to be aggressive?”
She shrugged. “My father seemed to get that impression. I was trying to prepare for anything.”
“That’s very smart.” He put his hat back on. “Well then, I suppose there’s not much more I need to do here. You’ve taken care of everything. Thank you very much, uh…” He paused, feeling foolish. “I beg your pardon, but I can’t remember if your father told me your name.”
“Oh.” She lifted a smile, a real one this time. At least, Isaac hoped it was, because her whole face changed, brightened, lightened. Definitely pretty. “Grace. I’m Grace.”
Yes, you are, he couldn’t help thinking.
“Grace Zook, I am very pleased to meet you officially.”
“You too…Isaac King.” She dipped her chin, and when she slowly lifted it again, her cheeks were pink, and did her eyelashes just flutter?
Isaac hadn’t felt hot under the collar like that since…forever. “Well, uh…seeing how well you were training that horse the other day, I know you’re going to make a fine apprentice.”
The Amish Cowboy's Homecoming Page 4
