the noon rush in the restaurant. She wished Doreen would quit chattering so she could hear Jack better.
“Have you seen the new deputy who came over from Wooster?” Doreen asked with a roll of her brown eyes. Her reddish-tinted hair—a much wilder color than Ray-Lynn’s—was in tight ringlets that bounced as did her full breasts. “He’s absolutely gung ho about working here—and absolutely darling,” she said in a stage whisper. “Winston Hayes, but goes by Win, and he is a winner! Not married, either.”
“I heard he was coming but haven’t met him.”
Ray-Lynn could tell Jack was giving Agent Armstrong a bad time. “So why did you recommend to Branin sending someone who was a hit magnet to the Home Valley?” Jack demanded. “That’s a fine way to say thanks after what we been through around here lately!”
Now what in tarnation was a “hit magnet,” Ray-Lynn wondered.
“And now that you’ve taken early retirement,” Jack went on, “forget coming anywhere near Hannah. She’s marrying Seth this Friday. Yeah, that’s what I said, so just keep clear.”
Wow, Ray-Lynn thought, cocking her head to concentrate on his voice while Doreen rambled on about Win Hayes. Linc Armstrong had retired from the FBI he seemed to love so much? She dare not tell Hannah, because she’d also have to tell her where she got the info and no way was she admitting to eavesdropping on Jack Freeman, even if she was desperate to know everything she could find out about him—about them. Drat her memory loss. She had to keep calm; she had a lot to be grateful for, to look forward to and live for.
“In other words, Win’s really a good name for him,” Doreen was saying in her southern Ohio twang, which could not hold a candle to a real Georgia drawl. “He’s built real muscular, a little short for a guy—like maybe my height—but he’s got big ideas. I can tell, he’s going places, wants to be a sheriff someday. Does he ever look great in a uniform! I get the vibe of you’re-safe-with-me, but he gives me the shivers at the same time, know what I mean?”
“I do indeed,” Ray-Lynn said as she heard Jack hang up. “Nice chatting with you, Doreen.” As she went down the hall, Jack swept open the door of his office, which had been ajar.
“Hey, didn’t know you were here!” he said with a smile.
“It’s one-thirty. Actually, after. I was waiting in the main office with Doreen.”
“Wish we had time to drive out somewhere nice, ’cause it’s a pretty day, but I ’preciate your bringing this here,” he said, ushering her in and closing the door firmly. He gave her a hug and a quick kiss. Would he guess she’d overheard him? If so, it wasn’t her fault. “Too much going on for us to really connect sometimes,” he muttered as she took the food items out of the sack and placed them on the edge of his desk.
“And that’s something I want—feel I’m ready for,” she said as they sat in his two guest chairs. He had repositioned them in front of his desk so they were facing each other. Jack reached over and put a big, warm hand on her knee.
“I’d like that, honey. I been trying to give you some space and time, but you bet I’d like that, picking up where we left off.”
She almost blurted out the question that had been haunting her: But where did we leave off? Were we sleeping together? Talking marriage? The Ray-Lynn who was rebuilding her memories and confidence after her brain trauma wasn’t ready for any of that, was she? Because she needed to know where they’d been to trust where they were going.
“Let’s do dinner soon,” Jack said as he unwrapped the sandwich she’d made for him herself in the restaurant’s kitchen. “Not around here unless it’s a private picnic somewhere really pretty. You know, my new deputy—”
“Oh, yes, I heard about him just now from his fan club groupie Doreen,” Ray-Lynn said, thinking he was going to talk business now.
“Yeah, real ambitious, doesn’t quite know yet that he doesn’t know much. But I’m glad to get the extra manpower with the crimes we’ve had around here lately. He was fairly new on the Wooster force but volunteered to come here when he heard there was an opening—likes smaller towns and rural folks, he said. Anyhow, I was going to say, Win told me that if you stand on the hill above Ella Lantz’s lavender field, the scent is great and there’s a stunning view of the valley. How about we do wine, cheese, a loaf of bread and thou up there some evening as the sun sets—maybe tonight, if I can get away. It’s short notice, but how about it? I’ll take a radio, bring a blanket, just like in the old days.”
“You know the old days for us are new days to me, Jack. But it sounds wonderfully romantic.”
“That’s what I mean it to be. I think we’re more than friends again. We’ve rebuilt that a different way from what we did the first time, but now we can move on by going back.”
He looked so intent. His sandwich was halfway to his mouth, but he seemed not to know it, and she saw that as a great compliment.
* * *
Ella knew Andrew needed some horse skills, especially hitching and handling a buggy. She was disappointed when Daad told Aaron at midday dinner that he should take an hour and give their guest his first buggy lesson. She’d been planning to take a back road through a field to the mill today and teach Andrew herself along the way. Though it wasn’t her regular day for it, she’d also planned to make lavender deliveries to Amanda Stutzman’s Plain & Fancy B & B and to the Dutch Farm Table Restaurant in town, all excuses to show Andrew around a little more. And, she admitted to herself, just to have more time with him. She had never been so passionately curious about anyone in her life.
Daad called to Aaron as he and Andrew headed out the back door, “Harness up in the barn, so no outsider can see you teaching him.” Mamm and Ella got up from the table and began to clear dinner dishes while Aaron walked out to the road to get the mail. “So,” Daad said, turning toward Ella, “what do you think about those footprints Andrew spotted? You got a secret come-calling friend who’s too eager?”
“I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t know what to make of those prints, made by Western cowboy boots, I think. Maybe Aaron’s ready-for-rumspringa friends came after him or were playing a prank. Some of them don’t have much sense about sneaking out.”
Amidst the clink of flatware and dishes, Mamm put in, “Though you’ve changed your ways, that’s the pot calling the kettle black, my girl. I believe you and your friends used to sneak out once or twice.”
At that, Ella kept silent. She’d been pleased she’d somehow thrown off the black mood that was threatening her yesterday, and she didn’t want it circling back. Just because she couldn’t teach Andrew to handle a horse and buggy, just because he couldn’t go with her to get ground oyster shells from the gristmill today, so what, she tried to buck herself up.
Also she didn’t say anything back to Mamm, because it would be a lot worse for her if her parents ever learned she’d almost drowned on one of those nights she’d sneaked out, had suffered the attacks of black moods ever since—and had never told them one thing about it. Shouldn’t someone Amish just be able to trust in the Lord for healing? It should work to just pray fears away. A good Amish soul would confess to the bishop or the entire church to cleanse her conscience, yet Ella was certain that would not change a thing for her. In a way, she felt afraid of life now. The sampler Grossmamm Ruth had on her bedroom wall upstairs seemed like good advice, but it just didn’t work for Ella: Do Not Fret. It Only Causes Harm.
“You’re
