by Unknown
"You'd do that?"
She smiled, seeming to overcome whatever reservation she had. "Of course. We're neighbors, after all."
It took a second to adjust to the warmth of that smile. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."
Careful. He took a mental step back. Rachel Hampton was a very attractive woman, but he couldn't afford to be distracted from the task that had brought him here. And if she knew, there might very well be no more offers of help.
* * *
The dog danced at Rachel's heels as she walked down Crossings Road beside Tyler that afternoon. At least Barney was excited about this outing. She was beginning to regret that impulsive offer to accompany Tyler. And as for him—well, he looked as if every step brought him closer to something he didn't want to face.
Fanciful, she scolded herself, shoving her hands into the pockets of her corduroy jacket. The sun was bright enough to make her wish she'd brought sunglasses, but the air was crisp and cold.
"There's the lane to the farmhouse." She pointed ahead to the wooden gate that sagged between two posts. If there'd ever been a fence along the neglected pasture, it was long gone. "Is it coming back to you at all?"
Tyler shook his head. "I only visited my grandfather once before the time I came for the funeral. Apparently, he and my mother didn't get along well."
From what Grams had told her this morning, John Hostetler hadn't been on friendly terms with anybody, but it would hardly be polite to tell Tyler that. "That's a shame. This was a great place to be a kid."
Her gesture took in the gently rolling farmland that stretched in every direction, marked into neat fields, some sere and brown after the harvest, others showing the green haze of winter wheat.
He followed her movement, narrowing his eyes against the sun. "Are those farms Amish?"
"All the ones you see from here are. The Zook farm is the closest—we share a boundary with them, and you must, as well." She pointed. "Over there are the Stolz-fuses, then the Bredbenners, and that farthest one belongs to Jacob Stoker. Amish farms may be different in other places, but around here you'll usually see a white bank barn and two silos. You won't see electric lines."
He gave her an amused look. "You sound like the local tour guide."
"Sorry. I guess it comes with running a B&B."
He looked down the lane at the farmhouse, just coming into view. "There it is. I can't say it brings any nostalgic feeling. My grandfather didn't seem welcoming when we came here. If my mother ever wanted to change things with him—well, I guess she left it too late."
Was he thinking again about his grandfather's funeral? Or maybe regretting the relationship they'd never had? She knew a bit about that feeling. Her father had never spent enough time in her life to do anything but leave a hole.
"You said something this morning about conversations breaking off when you came in the room—people wanting to protect you, I suppose, from knowing how your grandfather died."
He nodded, a question in his eyes.
"I know how that feels. When my father walked out, no one would tell us anything." She shook her head, almost wishing she hadn't spoken. After all these years, she still didn't like thinking about it. But that was what made her understand how Tyler felt. "Maybe they figured because he'd never been around much anyway, we wouldn't realize that this time was for good, but the truth would have been better than what we imagined."
His deep-blue eyes were so intent on her face that it was almost as if he touched her. "That must have been rough on you and your sisters."
She registered his words with a faint sense of unease. "I don't believe I mentioned my sisters to you."
"Didn't you?" He smiled, but there was something guarded in the look. "I suppose I was making an assumption, because of the inn's name."
That was logical, although it didn't entirely take away her startled sense that he knew more about them than she'd expect from a casual visitor.
"The name may be wishful thinking on my part, but yes, I have two sisters. Andrea is the oldest. She was married at Thanksgiving, and she and her husband are still on a honeymoon trip. And Caroline, the youngest, is an artist, living out in Santa Fe." She touched the turquoise and silver pin on her shirt collar. "She made this."
Tyler stopped, bending to look at the delicate hummingbird. He was so close his fingers almost touched her neck as he straightened the collar, and she was suddenly warm in spite of the chill breeze.
He drew back, and the momentary awareness was gone. "It's lovely. Your sister is talented."
"Yes." The worry over Caro that lurked at the back of her mind surfaced. Something had been wrong when Caro came home for the wedding, hidden behind her too-brittle laugh and almost frantic energy. But Caroline didn't seem to need her sisters any longer.
"The place looks even worse than I expected." Tyler's words brought her back to the present. The farmhouse, a simple frame building with a stone chimney at either end, seemed to sag as if tired of trying to stand upright. The porch that extended across the front sported broken railings and crumbling steps, and several windows had been boarded up.
"Grams told me the house had been broken into several times. Some of the neighbors came and boarded up the windows after the last incident. The barn looks in fairly good shape, though."
That was a small consolation to hold out to him if he really hadn't known that his mother let the place fall to bits. Still, a good solid Pennsylvania Dutch bank barn could withstand almost anything except fire.
"If those hex signs were meant to protect the place, they're not doing a very good job." He was looking up at the peak of the roof, where a round hex sign with the familiar star pattern hung.
"I don't think you'd find anyone to admit they believe that. Most people just say they're a tradition. There are as many theories as there are scholars who study them."
Tyler went cautiously up the porch steps and then turned toward her. "You'll have to climb over the broken tread."
She grasped the hand he held out, and he almost lifted her to the porch. She whistled to the dog, nosing around the base of the porch. "Come, Barney. The last thing we need is for you to unearth a hibernating skunk."
"That would be messy." Tyler turned a key in the lock, and the door creaked open. He hesitated for an instant and then stepped inside. She followed, switching on the flashlight that Grams had reminded her to bring.
"Dusty." A little light filtered through the boards on the windows, and the beam of her flashlight danced around the room, showing a few remaining pieces of furniture, a massive stone fireplace on the end wall, and a thick layer of dust on everything.
Tyler stood in the middle of the room, very still. His face seemed stiff, almost frozen.
"I'm sorry if it's a disappointment. It was a good, sturdy farmhouse once, and it could be again, with some money and effort."
"I doubt I'd find anyone interested in doing that." He walked through the dining room toward the kitchen, and she followed him, trying to think of something encouraging to say. This had to be a sad homecoming for him.
"There's an old stone sink. You don't often see those in their original state anymore."
He sent her the ghost of a smile. "You want to try out the pump?"
"No, thanks. That looks beyond repair. But I can imagine some antique dealer drooling over the stone sink. Those are quite popular now."
"I suppose I should get a dealer out to see if there's anything worth selling. I remember the house as being crowded with furniture, but there's not too much left now."
"My grandmother could steer you to some reputable dealers. Didn't your mother take anything back with her after your grandfather died?"
She couldn't help being curious. Anyone would be. Why had the woman let the place fall apart after her father died? Grief, maybe, but it still seemed odd. Surely she knew how valuable a good farm was in Lancaster County.
"Not that I remember." He turned from a contemplation of the cobwebby ice box to focus on her. "You spoke o
f break-ins. Was anything stolen?"
"I don't know. My grandmother might remember. Or Emma Zook, since they're such close neighbors. She's our housekeeper."
"The Amish woman who was in the kitchen this morning? According to the lawyer who handled my grandfather's will, the Zooks leased some of the farmland from his estate. I need to get that straightened out before I put the place on the market. I should talk to them. And to your grandmother."
Something about his intent look made her uneasy. "I doubt that she knows anything about their leases."
"According to my mother, Fredrick Unger offered to buy the property. That would make me think your family had an interest."
There was something—an edgy, almost antagonistic tone to his voice, that set her back up instantly. What was he driving at?
"I'm sure my grandfather's only interest would have been to keep a valuable farm from falling to pieces. Since he died nearly five years ago, I don't imagine you'll ever know."
"Your grandmother—"
"My grandmother was never involved in his business interests." And she wasn't going to allow him to badger her with questions. "I can't see that it matters, since your mother obviously didn't want to sell. Maybe what you need to do is talk to the attorney."
Her own tone was as sharp as his had been. She wasn't sure where the sudden tension had come from, but it was there between them. She could feel it, fierce and insistent.
Tyler's frown darkened, but before he could speak, there was a noisy creak from the living room.
"Hello? Anybody here?"
"Be right there," she called. She'd never been quite so pleased to hear Phillip Longstreet's voice. She didn't know where Tyler had been going with his questions and his attitude, and she didn't think she wanted to.
TWO
Tyler didn't miss the relief on Rachel's face at the interruption. The speed with which she went into the living room was another giveaway. She might not know what drove him, but she'd picked up on something.
Or else he'd been careless, pushing too hard in his drive to get this situation resolved.
He followed her and found her greeting the newcomer with some surprise. "Phillip. What are you doing here?"
The man raised his eyebrows as she evaded his attempt to hug her. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" He held out his hand to Tyler. "Phillip Longstreet. You may have noticed Longstreet Antiques on Main Street in the village."
He was in his late forties or early fifties at a guess, but he wore his age well—fit-looking, with fair hair that showed signs of gray at the temples and shrewd hazel eyes behind the latest style in glasses.
"This is Tyler Dunn." She glanced at him, and he thought he read a warning in her eyes.
"Nice to meet you. Were you looking for Ms. Hampton?"
"It's always pleasant to see Rachel, but no, I wanted to meet the new owner." Longstreet shrugged, smiling. "I like to get in before the other dealers when I can."
"How did you know?" Rachel sounded exasperated. "If we had a party line, Phillip, I'd suspect you of eavesdropping."
"I have to be far more creative than that to stay ahead of the competition. If you want to keep secrets, don't come to a village. Emma's son, Levi, delivered the news along with my eggs this morning."
It was an insight into how this place worked. "Are you interested in the contents of the house, Mr. Longstreet?"
A local dealer might be the best choice before putting the house on the market, but Longstreet was obviously trolling for antiques, probably hoping to get an offer in on anything of value before his competition did. Or possibly before Tyler realized what he had.
"Phil, please. I'd like to look around." Longstreet's gaze was already scoping out the few pieces left in the living room. "Sometimes there are attractive pieces in these old farmhouses, although more often it's a waste of time."
"I'm afraid your time was definitely wasted this afternoon." He gestured toward the door. "I'm not ready to make a decision about selling anything yet."
"If I could just take a look around, I might be able to give you an idea of values." Longstreet craned his neck toward the dining room.
Tyler swung the door open and stepped out onto the porch, so that the man had no choice but to follow. "I'll be in touch when I'm ready to make a decision. Thank you for stopping by."
"Yes, well, thanks for your time." Longstreet stepped gingerly over the broken step. "Rachel, I'll see you at the meeting tonight."
Rachel, coming out behind him, bent to snap a leash onto the dog's collar. "Fine."
Tyler waited until Longstreet had backed out of the driveway to turn to her. "Is that one of the reputable dealers your grandmother might recommend?"
"Grams probably would suggest him. His uncle was an old crony of my grandfather."
"But…?"
Her nose crinkled. "Phil's nice enough, in his way. It's just that every time he comes to the inn, I get the feeling he's putting a price on the furniture."
"I'm not bad at showing people the door, if you'd like some help."
"I run an inn, remember?" She smiled, her earlier antagonism apparently gone. "The idea is to get people in, not send them away. Are you a bouncer in your real life?"
"Architect. Showing people the way out is just a sideline."
She looked interested. "Do you work on your own?"
He shook his head. "I'm with a partner in Baltimore, primarily designing churches and public buildings. Luckily I'm between projects right now, so I can take some time off to deal with this." Which brought him back to the problem at hand. "Well, if your grandmother recommends Longstreet, I'll still be sure to get offers from more than one dealer."
"That should keep him in line. He's probably easier to cope with when he wants to buy something from you. I'm on the Christmas in Churchville committee with him, and he can be a real pain there."
He pulled the door shut and turned the key in the lock.
"Are you sure you're finished? You didn't look around upstairs."
"I've had enough for the moment." He tried to dismiss the negative feelings that had come with seeing the place again. This was a fool's errand. There was no truth left to find here—just a moldering ruin that had never, as far as he could tell, been a happy home.
The dog leaped down from the porch, nearly pulling Rachel off balance, and he caught her arm to steady her.
"Easy. Does he really need to be on the leash?"
"I wanted to discourage any more digging around the porch. I'm afraid you may have something holed up in there for the winter."
"Whatever it is, let it stay." He took the leash from her hand and helped her over the broken step to the ground. "I won't bother it."
She glanced at him as they walked away. "You must be saddened to see the place in such a state."
He shrugged. "I only saw it twice that I recall. It would have been worse for my mother than for me. She grew up here."
"Do you think—" She stopped, as if censoring what she'd been about to say.
"That's why she let it fall to pieces?" He finished the thought for her. "I have no idea. I'd have expected my dad to intercede, but—" he shrugged "—I didn't know she still owned the place until a few weeks ago, and by then she was in no shape to explain much. Maybe she just wanted to forget, after the way her father died."
Rachel scuffed through frost-tipped dead leaves that the wind had scattered over the road. "I don't think I've ever actually heard how it happened."
"From what my mother told me, he apparently confronted someone breaking into the house. There was a struggle, and he had a heart attack. He wasn't found until the next day."
She shivered, shoving her hands into her pockets. "It's hard to think about something like that happening here when I was a child. It always seemed such an idyllic place."
They walked for a few moments in silence, their footsteps muted on the macadam road. He glanced at her, confirming what he heard. "You're limping. Did you twist your ankle getting off that porc
h?"
"It wasn't that." She nodded toward the bend in the road ahead of them, the wind ruffling her hair across her face so that she pushed it back with an impatient movement. "I had an accident just up the road back in the spring."
He frowned down at her. "It must have been a bad one. Did you hit a tree?"
She shook her head. "I was jogging, too late in the evening, I guess. A car came around the bend—" She stopped, probably reliving it too acutely.
That explained why she'd stepped back into the trees when he'd come down the lane last night. "How badly were you hurt?"
"Two broken legs." She shrugged. "Could have been worse, I guess. It only bothers me when I'm on my feet too long."
"I hope the driver ended up in jail."
"Hit and run," she said briefly.
Obviously she didn't want to talk about it any further. He couldn't blame her. She didn't want to remember, any more than he wanted to think about the way his grandfather died, or the burden his mother had laid on him to find out why.
"I guess this place isn't so idyllic after all."
"Bad things happen anywhere, people being people."
"Yes, I guess they do." Of course she was right about that. It was only the beauty that surrounded them that made violence seem so out of place here.
* * *
Rachel was thankful when the business part of the "Christmas in Churchville" meeting was over. The strain of mediating all those clashing egos had begun to tell on her after the first hour.
Now the battling committee members wandered around the public rooms of the inn, helping themselves to punch and the variety of goodies placed on tables in both the back parlor and the breakfast room. She'd figured out a long time ago that if you wanted to keep people circulating, you should space out the food and drink.
She and Grams had put cranberry punch on the round table next to the fireplace in the back parlor, accompanied by an assortment of cheeses, grapes and crackers. The breakfast room had coffee, tea and hot chocolate on the sideboard, along with mini éclairs and pfeffernüsse, the tiny clove and cardamom delicacies that were her grandmother's special holiday recipe.
