What do you have in mind to do with the house? Ted asked.
Fiona pointed up the stairs. My living quarters will be up there. The old parlor will make a perfect waiting room, and Ill partition the other rooms to be an exam room, an office, and maybe space for birthing classes, if theres a demand for them, she said.
I wouldnt be surprised if there was, Ted said. Plenty of Amish women prefer home births. You should be able to build a good practice, if you stay.
If? Her eyebrows shot up. Im not going through all this trouble with the intent of leaving. Im not going anywhere. She stroked the intricate carving of the newel post. This is home.
Her voice trembled with emotion on the last word, touching him. It made him want to know what lay behind that emotion. But he didnt figure he had the right. Not yet.
MARTA PERRY
has written everything, including Sunday school curriculum, travel articles and magazine stories, in twenty years of writing, but she feels shes found her home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When shes not writing, shes probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book.
Marta loves hearing from readers and shell write back with a signed bookplate or bookmark. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at marta@martaperry.com, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.
Restless Hearts
Marta Perry
MILLS & BOON
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And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.
Romans 8:28
This story is dedicated to my granddaughter,
Estella Terese Johnson, with much love from
Grammy. And, as always, to Brian.
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
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
She was lost in the wilds of Pennsylvania. Fiona Flanagan peered through her windshield, trying to decipher which of the narrow roads the tilted signpost pointed to. Maybe this wasnt really the wilds, but the only living creature shed encountered in the last fifteen minutes was the brown-and-white cow that stared mournfully at her from its pasture next to the road.
Clearly the cow wasnt going to help. She frowned down at the map drawn by one of her numerous Flanagan cousins, and decided that squiggly line probably meant she should turn right.
She could always phone her cousin Gabe, but she shrank from having to admit she couldnt follow a few simple directions. Both he and his wife had volunteered to drive her or to get one of his siblings to drive her, but shed insisted she could do this herself.
The truth was that shed spent the past two weeks feeling overwhelmed by the open friendliness offered by these relatives shed never met before. Shed spent so many years feeling like an outsider in her fathers house that she didnt know how to take this quick acceptance.
The pastures on either side of the road gave way to fields of cornstalks, yellow and brown in October. Maybe that was a sign that she was approaching civilization. Or not. She could find her way around her native San Francisco blindfolded, but the Pennsylvania countryside was another story.
The road rounded a bend and there, quite suddenly, was a cluster of houses and buildings that had to be the elusive hamlet shed been seeking. Crossroads, the village was called, and it literally was a crossroads, a collection of dwellings grown up around the point at which two of the narrow blacktop roads crossed.
Relieved, she slowed the car, searching for something that might be a For Sale sign. The real estate agent with whom shed begun her search had deserted her when he couldnt interest her in any of the sterile, bland, modern buildings hed shown her on the outskirts of the busy small city of Suffolk. But she didnt want suburban, she wanted the country. She had a vision of her practice as a nurse-midwife in a small community where shed find a place to call home.
Through the gathering dusk she could see the glow of house lights in the next block. But most of the villages few businesses were already closed. She drove by a one-pump service station, open, and a minuscule post office, closed. The Penn Dutch Diner had a few lights on, but only five cars graced its parking lot.
The Crossroads General Store, also closed, sat comfortably on her right, boasting a display of harness and tack in one window and an arrangement of what had to be genuine Amish quilts in the other. And there, next to it, was the sign shed searched for: For Sale.
She drew up in front of the house. It had probably once been a charming Victorian, but now it sagged sadly, as if ashamed of such signs of neglect as cracked windows and peeling paint. But it had a wide, welcoming front porch, with windows on either side of the door, and a second floor that could become a cozy apartment above her practice.
For the first time in days of searching, excitement bubbled along her nerves. This might be it. If she squinted, she could picture the porch bright with autumn flowers in window boxes, a calico cat curled in the seat of a wicker rocker, and a neat brass plate beside the front door: Fiona Flanagan, Nurse-Midwife.
Home. The word echoed in her mind, setting up a sweet resonance. Home.
She slid out of the car, taking the penlight from her bag. Tomorrow she could get the key from the reluctant real estate agent, but shed at least get a glimpse inside in the meantime. She hurried up the three steps to the porch, avoiding a nasty gap in the boards, and approached the window on the left.
The feeble gleam of the penlight combined with the dirt on the window to thwart her ability to see inside. She rubbed furiously at the glass with a tissue. At a minimum she needed a waiting room, office and exam room, and if
What do you think youre doing? A gruff voice barked out the question, and the beam of a powerful light hit her like a blow, freezing her in place. Well? Turn around and let me see you.
Heart thudding, she turned slowly, the penlight falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. I was just 1-looking.
Great. She sounded guilty even to herself.
The tall, broad silhouette loomed to enormous proportions with the torchlight in her eyes. She caught a glimpse of some metallic official insignia on the car that was pulled up in front of hers.
The man must have realized that the light was blinding her because he lowered the beam fractionally. Come down off the porch.
She scrabbled for the wandering penlight, grabbed it and hurried down the steps to the street, trying to pull herself together. Really, she was overreacting. The man couldnt be as big and menacing as she was imagining.
But at ground level with him, she realized that her imagination wasnt really that far off. He must have stood well over six feet, with a solid bulk that suggested he was as immovable as one of the nearby hills. In the dim light, she made out a craggy face that looked as if it had been carved from rock. A badge glinted on his chest.
She rushed to explain. Really, I didnt mean any harm. I understand this building is for sale, and I just wanted to have a quick look. I can come back tomorrow with the real estate agent.
She turned toward her car. Somehow, without giving the impression that the mountain had moved, the man managed to be between her and the vehicle.
Her heart began to pound against her ribs. She was alone in a strange place, with a man who was equally strange, and her cell phone was in her handbag, which lay unhelpfully on the front seat of the car she couldnt reach.
Not so fast, he rumbled. Lets see some identification, please.
At least she thought he said pleasethat slow rumble was a little difficult to distinguish. She could make out the insignia on his badge now, and her heart sank.
Crossroads Township Police. Why couldnt she have fallen into the hands of a nice, professional State Trooper, instead of a village cop who probably had an innate suspicion of strangers?
My drivers license is in my car, she pointed out.
Wordlessly, he stood back for her to pass him and then followed her closely enough to open the door before she could reach the handle. She grabbed her wallet, pulling out the California drivers license and handing it to him.
Ca-li-for-ni-a. He seemed to pronounce all of the syllables separately.
Yes, California. Nerves edged her voice. Is that a problem, Officer?
She snapped her mouth shut before she could say anything else. Dont make him angry. Never argue with a man whos wearing a large badge on his chest.
Could be.
She blinked. She almost thought there was a thread of humor in the words.
He handed the ID back. What brings you to Crossroads Township, Ms. Flanagan?
Im looking for a house to buy. Someone from the real estate office mentioned this place. I got a little lost, or Id have been here earlier.
She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other as she said the words. That steady stare made her nervous. He couldnt really detain her for looking in a window, could he?
She looked up, considering saying that, and reconsidered at the sight of a pair of intense blue eyes in a stolid face made up entirely of planes. Dont say anything to antagonize him.
I see. He invested the two words with a world of doubt. You have anyone locally who can vouch for you?
Finally she realized what she should have sooner. Of course she had someone to vouch for her. She had a whole raft of cousins. Family. Not a word that usually had much warmth for her, but maybe now
Ted Rittenhouse saw the relief that flooded the womans face. Shed obviously come up with a solution she thought would satisfy him.
Im staying with a cousin, Gabe Flanagan. She was so relieved that the words tripped over each other. She snatched a cell phone from her bag. Look, you can call him. Hell vouch for me. Heres my cell phone. You can use it.
Seems to me Ive heard of those newfangled gadgets, he said dryly, pulling his own cell phone from his uniform pocket. You have his number?
Even in the dim light provided by the dome lamp of her car, he could see the color that flooded her fair skin at that. He assessed her while he punched in the number she gave him. Slim, erect, with a mane of strawberry-blond hair pulled back from a heart-shaped face.
A pair of intelligent gray eyes met his directly, in spite of the embarrassment that heightened her color. Something about the cut of her tan slacks and corduroy jacket suggested a bit more sophistication than was usually found in Crossroads Township, where the standard attire was jeans, except for the Plain People.
Mr. Flanagan? This is Ted Rittenhouse, Crossroads Township Police. Ive got a young lady here who says shes staying with you. Fiona Flanagan, her name is.
Fiona? Shes my cousin. Quick concern filled the mans voice, wiping away some of Ted Rittenhouses suspicion. Potential housebreakers didnt usually come equipped with respectable-sounding relatives. Has she had a car accident? Whats wrong?
Nothing wrong. She maybe got a little lost is all. Ill guide her back to your place all right. The Pennsylvania Dutch cadence, wiped from his voice during his years in the city, had come back the instant hed moved back home to Crossroads. If youll just give me directions.
As Flanagan gave him the directions, Ted realized he knew exactly where that farm was. The next township over, but he knew most of the back roads and landmarks in the county, even if that area wasnt his jurisdiction. Somehow you never forget the land that meant home when you were a kid. Maybe that was especially true of a place like this, where the same families had owned farms for generations.
When he slid the phone back in his pocket, he realized Ms. Flanagan was watching him with wariness in those clear eyes.
Its not necessary for you to guide me anywhere. I can get back to my cousins on my own.
No problem at all. Its not out of my way. Ill guide you there.
Id prefer to go alone. She enunciated the words as if he was a dumb hick who couldnt understand.
Well, fair enough. In her eyes, he probably was. But he wasnt going to let her just disappear, not until that last faint suspicion was cleared up. As the law in the township, he was responsible and he took it seriously.
Sorry, maam. You heard me tell your cousin Id guide you home, and Im not about to let you get lost. Again.
For a moment longer she glared at him, sensing he was poking mild fun at her. Then she jerked a nod, as if to admit defeat, and rounded her car to slide into the drivers seat.
He paused, flashing the light around the old Landers place and then over Ruth Mosers general store next door. Be a good thing if someone bought the Landers place. It had been standing empty too long. But Ruth wouldnt appreciate it if someone up and put a phony Pennsylvania Dutch tourist trap right next to her shop.
Course he didnt know what the Flanagan woman had in mind for the building. He didnt think anyone who dressed like she did would sell plastic Amish dolls made in some third world country.