Dangerous Amish Inheritance

by Debby Giusti

  “Move off the mountain. No one wants you here.”

  Can this Amish widow survive her dangerous stalker?

  Someone wants Ruthie Eicher off Amish Mountain…enough to terrorize the widow and her boys. Now Ruthie must rely on her former sweetheart, Noah Schlabach—the secret father of her eldest son—as they figure out why. But Noah has turned his back on love and the Amish way of life. Can he shield Ruthie...without breaking her heart again?

  Debby Giusti, USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  “You need to tell the sheriff everything that happened...”

  Tires squealed around the corner, and a dark sedan with tinted windows approached at a high speed. Noah quickly ushered Ruthie and the boys away from the road. The car’s front tire came up on the sidewalk.

  Ruthie screamed and shoved the boys farther from the car. Noah turned as it raced past.

  Ruthie grabbed Noah’s hand. “If you had not moved us away from the curb, I fear what would have happened.” Tears filled her eyes.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and then pulled the boys into his embrace, as well. “The car’s gone, and we’re all okay.”

  “But—”

  He nodded to her, knowing there was a reason the car had jumped the curb, and it wasn’t because the driver was going too fast. He was sure the guy was the same man who had come after Ruthie.

  Noah glanced in the direction the car had gone. The guy who wanted Ruthie’s property was becoming unhinged.

  One thing was certain: Ruthie and the boys were in his crosshairs.

  Debby Giusti is an award-winning Christian author who met and married her military husband at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful children and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of mystery and suspense that touch the heart and soul. Visit Debby online at debbygiusti.com, blog with her at seekerville.blogspot.com and craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com, and email her at Debby@DebbyGiusti.com.

  Books by Debby Giusti

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Her Forgotten Amish Past

  Dangerous Amish Inheritance

  Amish Witness Protection

  Amish Safe House

  Amish Protectors

  Amish Refuge

  Undercover Amish

  Amish Rescue

  Amish Christmas Secrets

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Dangerous Amish Inheritance

  Debby Giusti

  Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink: let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters.

  Let not the waterflood overflow me, neither let the deep swallow me up, and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me.

  Hear me, O Lord; for thy lovingkindness is good: turn unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies.

  —Psalm 69:14–16

  In memory of Becky Martin

  February 28, 1950–April 16, 2019

  A beautiful sister in Christ! I miss you, dear friend.

  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

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  DEAR READER

  EXCERPT FROM CANYON UNDER SIEGE BY VALERIE HANSEN

  EXCERPT FROM AMISH PROTECTOR BY MARTA PERRY

  ONE

  Ruthie Eicher awoke with a start. She blinked in the darkness, hearing the patter of March rain on the tin roof, and touched the opposite side of the double bed, where her husband had slept. Two months since the tragic accident and she was not yet used to his absence.

  Finding the far side of the bed empty and the sheets cold, she dropped her feet to the floor, tied the flannel robe around her waist and hurried into the hallway. Sorrow twisted her heart as she peered into her father’s room, unoccupied since the buggy crash that had killed her husband and claimed her datt’s life, as well. Had her mother been alive she would have said it was Gott’s will, although Ruthie placed the blame on her husband’s failure to approach the intersection with caution. According to the sheriff’s report, the Englischer’s car had the right of way, which her husband failed to acknowledge.

  Ruthie hurried to the children’s room. Even without lighting the oil lamp, she knew from the steady draw of their breaths that nine-year-old Simon and six-year-old Andrew were sound asleep.

  Danki, Gott. She lifted up a prayer of thanks for her two wonderful sons, one blond, one brunette, both so different yet so loved. After adjusting the coverings around the boys’ shoulders, she peered from their window and gazed out at the farm that was falling into disrepair.

  Movement near the outbuildings caught her eye. She held her breath and stared for a long moment, unsure of what she had seen.

  Narrowing her gaze, she leaned forward, and her heart raced as a flame licked the air.

  She shook Simon. “The woodpile. On fire. I need help.”

  He rubbed his eyes.

  “Hurry, Simon.”

  Leaving him to crawl from bed, she raced downstairs, almost tripping, her heart pounding as she knew all too well how quickly the fire could spread. She ran through the kitchen, grabbed the back doorknob and groaned as her fingers struggled with the lock.

  “No!” She moaned and coaxed her fumbling hands to work. The lock disengaged. She threw open the door and ran across the porch and down the steps.

  Cold Georgia mountain air swirled around her, along with the acrid smell of smoke. Rain dampened her hair and robe. She raced to the pump, grabbed a nearby bucket and filled it, then scrambled to the woodpile and hurled the water onto the flames. The fire hissed as if taunting her efforts to quell the blaze. Returning to the pump, she filled another bucket, then another.

  A noise sounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting Simon. Instead she saw a large, darkly dressed figure. Something struck the side of her head. She gasped with pain, dropped the bucket and stumbled toward the house.

  He grabbed her shoulder and threw her to the ground. She cried, struggled to her knees and started to crawl away. He kicked her side. She groaned and tried to stand. He tangled his fingers through her hair and pulled her to her feet.

  She turned, her arms flailing, and made out only a shadowed form of a man. A lady’s stocking distorted his face. A knit cap covered his hair. She dug her fingernails into his neck.

  He twirled her around and yanked her arm up behind her back. Pain, like white lightning, exploded along her spine. She reared back to ease the pressure.

  The man’s lips touched her ear. “Didn’t you read my notes? You don’t belong here.” His rancid breath soured the air. “Leave before something happens to y
ou and your children.”

  Her heart stuttered.

  He threw her to the wet ground and kicked her again. Air whizzed from her lungs. She gasped, unable to breathe.

  The back door creaked open, and Simon stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “Mamm?”

  “Stay...inside.” Ruthie glanced at the now smoldering logs. She was relieved by the dying fire, and even more grateful that the man had disappeared.

  Andrew pushed past his older brother and grabbed the rope to the dinner bell that hung on the back porch. His face twisted with determination as he tugged on the heavy hemp. The peel of the bell sounded in the night.

  Simon ran to where she was lying and fell to his knees. “Mamm, do not die. Do not die like Datt.”

  She wanted to reassure both boys, but all she could think of was that no one would answer their call for help.

  * * *

  Noah Schlabach stepped from his father’s house and inhaled the smoke that hung heavy in the air. The chilling clang of a dinner bell pierced the silence. At this time of night, it signaled danger and need. The closest neighboring farm on Amish Mountain belonged to Eli Plank. Ten years ago, the crusty old codger had a bad heart and a cranky disposition. Doubting Eli’s condition had improved, Noah climbed behind the wheel of his Ford pickup, flicked on the lights and headed along the dirt road that led to the bridge, which he hoped was still standing. Rain had fallen steadily since he had returned to the area twenty-four hours ago and had swelled the narrow river. There was a safer bridge closer to town, but the detour would delay his response to the bell’s clamant call.

  He’d last crossed the river the night he had begged Eli’s daughter, Ruthie, to run away with him. Leaving her ten years ago had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, next to burying his brother, Seth, and his family. Coming back to sell their father’s house was closure to the past and all its pain. If only he could rid himself of the guilt so he could embrace life again. But then, he didn’t deserve happiness. Nor did he expect to find it.

  The wind howled, bending the pines and pushing against the truck with a powerful force. He gripped the steering wheel as he neared the rickety bridge. The guard railings bowed in the wind. A board broke loose, fell into the water and floated downstream toward the town of Willkommen.

  Had he remained Amish, Noah would have offered a prayer for his own safe passage over the aged structure, but if God hadn’t answered Noah’s prayers for his brother, He wouldn’t answer his prayer tonight. Better to remain silent than to face God’s rejection again.

  The moon broke through the clouds and reflected off the churning river below. Glancing higher up the mountain, he spied the cascading waterfall. The early spring rains had been merciless, which added to the surge of water flowing down the mountain.

  He eased the truck across the bridge and accelerated on the other side. The Plank farmhouse sat at the upper tip of the valley, not more than fifty yards from the riverbank. Too close to the water, but then Mr. Plank had never made good decisions about the way he managed his farm, or how he parented Ruthie after her mother’s death.

  A small boy with blond hair, not more than five or six, stood on the porch, ringing the dinner bell. Noah braked to a stop and lunged from the truck. A fire smoldered in the woodpile. Smoke trailed upward from what appeared to be a contained burn.

  Turning, his heart sped up.

  An older boy was kneeling over a woman who was lying facedown in the red Georgia clay. Noah recognized the dark hair and frail form.

  Ruthie!

  “Mamm,” the child whimpered as Noah neared. “Help her,” the boy pleaded. “Help my mamm.”

  Noah touched her slender neck, searched for a pulse and let out a relieved breath when he felt a faint but steady beat.

  She moaned and tried to turn over. Her neck and spine seemed uninjured, yet her eyes remained closed. Feeling her arms, he checked for breaks, then did the same to her legs and feet before he gently lifted her into his arms.

  “Let’s take your mamm inside.”

  The older boy hurried to the porch, where his younger brother held on to the bell rope as if his hands were glued in place.

  “It’s okay,” Noah assured the shivering younger child. “Come inside and get warm.”

  Following the boys into the house, he asked, “Where’s your mother’s bedroom?”

  “On the second floor.” The older boy locked the kitchen door behind them, then led the way up the stairs.

  Peering around the starkly furnished Amish home, Noah expected to see Eli. “Is your grandfather asleep?” he asked.

  “Dawdy died two months ago,” the young one said.

  “And your father?”

  “He died in the same buggy accident.”

  Noah’s gut tightened. “There are just you two boys?”

  They nodded.

  “And Mamm,” the younger one answered. His fingers latched onto his mother’s arm, which was hanging limp. Tears welled in his eyes.

  “She’s going to be okay.” Although Noah wanted to reassure the child, he wasn’t sure of any such thing. Ruthie had been used as a punching bag. Internal injuries could be deceptive and hard to diagnose. She needed a doctor, but knowing the Amish way was to treat first and use medical care as a last option, he would assess her injuries before he talked about taking her to the hospital in Willkommen.

  The boys led him into a small bedroom. The covers on the bed had been thrown back. Ruthie’s slippers sat on the floor. Carefully, he removed her muddy robe and laid her on the bed.

  “Datt said we deserved it whenever we were hurt,” the little one whispered. “But Mamm did not deserve to be beaten. Ever.”

  Had she been beaten before? “Did either of you see the person who hurt your mamm?”

  Both boys shook their heads.

  Noah touched her cheek. “Ruthie?”

  She moaned.

  “Talk to her, boys.”

  “Mamm, look at me. It’s Andrew.” The youngest one leaned over his mother and kissed her cheek.

  Noah’s heart tightened.

  The other boy, his face shadowed, touched her hair. “Open your eyes, Mamm. Simon wants to see your blue eyes.”

  Andrew started to cry.

  Noah put his arm around the young child and drew him close. “Shhh,” he soothed.

  The older boy turned to the nightstand. He struck a match and lit the oil lamp.

  With the sudden burst of light, Ruthie’s eyes blinked open. She stared at Noah, her brow furrowed with puzzlement.

  “Your boys are safe,” he assured her.

  “Andrew?” She tried to raise her head.

  “Here I am, Mamm.”

  “And Simon?” Slowly, she turned to look at her oldest child.

  Noah followed her gaze, seeing the boy more clearly in the lamplight. Tall and lean, he had a shock of brown hair about the same shade as Noah’s. Dark eyes, a strong nose and square jaw. One eyebrow arched slightly higher than the other. His lips were full. He offered his mother a weak smile, revealing dimples on each cheek.

  Noah’s gut tightened. He raised his hand to his own face. The realization hit him hard as he stared at the boy who looked surprisingly like him.

  “Why did you come back, Noah?” Ruthie asked, her tone bitter as she turned to stare at him. “You left once—why did you return to Amish Mountain?”

  Before seeing Simon in the light, he would have told her he was here to sell his deceased father’s house and farm. Now he realized something other than his father’s passing had brought him back to the mountain. Was it Divine Providence? Whether God was involved, he would never know, but one thing was certain—Noah had been led back to Amish Mountain to find his son.

  TWO

  Noah!

  Ruthie pushed aside the dream that troubled her slumber and opened her eyes to the light
streaming through her bedroom window. Her head pounded with confusion as she struggled to remember everything that had happened last night. Mentally, she flipped through a number of details until she stopped at the fire and the man who had attacked her.

  His words made her stomach roil. You don’t belong here. Leave before something happens to you and your children.

  Remembering the two notes with similar warnings that had been shoved under her door, she grimaced. Who was the hateful man and why had he beaten her?

  She rubbed her hand gingerly over her forehead, feeling the lump, and shivered. Her whole body ached. Ever so slowly, she crawled from bed and shuffled to the window. Peering down, she was overcome with relief when she saw Simon and Andrew in the chicken coop gathering eggs.

  Glancing toward the barn, her heart lurched. She grabbed the windowsill to steady her weak knees and stared at Noah Schlabach, carrying feed toward the barn. Evidently, her dream had been real.

  Moving as quickly as her groaning body would allow, she washed her face and hands and slipped into her dress. After sweeping her tangled hair into a bun, she covered it with her kapp, wiped her muddied feet clean and donned her shoes. She hurried into the hallway and inhaled the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Surely her imagination was playing tricks on her. The coffee tin had been empty for two weeks.

  She gripped the banister and descended the stairs, her aching muscles and strained back objecting to every step. The smell of fried bacon assailed her. Bacon was a luxury she had not tasted in months.

  Entering the kitchen, she stopped short as the back door opened and Noah stepped inside. Tall, muscular, more mature and even more handsome.

  She swallowed down the lump that filled her throat and stared at the man she had once loved. “I—I...” she stammered. “I thought seeing you last night had been a dream.”

  “How’s your head?” he asked, his voice warm with concern.

  Her head was throbbing with frustration, but she refused to let him know how much seeing him unsettled her. “I have a headache. Otherwise, I’m fine.”