A Marriage of the Heart (4 page)

“I’ll go when I’m ready.”

“Suit yourself. Oh, and by the way, thank you for the pies.”

She heard him step through a layer of dried leaves. “Wait!” she called.

“What?”

“I—do you—do you need some more?” She could have bitten her tongue at the desperation in the inane question, but he replied with seriousness.

“Apple. Any time.”

Of course, apple . . . his favorite
.

“All right. Do you . . .” She broke off when she sensed that she was alone, and only the sound of the wind through the trees touched her. She shivered in the dark before turning back toward home, wondering who in the world this man was that she was to marry.

Chapter Five

T
HE RAIN PELTED IN EARNEST AGAINST THE BARN ROOF AS
Luke stripped off the
Englisch
clothes. He stuffed them into the back of his buggy before changing in the chill air of the barn to his usual Amish wear. All the while, the beauty of Rose’s pale face, the warmth of her skin, pulsed through his mind as he recalled the heart-stopping moments in the woods. He was sure that she would have recognized him, but she hadn’t.

He was two steps outside when the thought stopped him. He stood stock-still, heedless of the rain soaking him. She’d gone
looking
for the thief . . . she had thought to find something out there, in the woods, with a perfect stranger, more compelling than she found in her own betrothed. The idea shook him to his core, but then he remembered why he was doing what he was and decided that
Derr Herr
might have plans beyond what he could see himself. He sloshed on through the mud and gained the back porch. He wiped his work boots against the ragged rug
with the habit of his
mamm
’s long training and entered the empty kitchen.

T
HE STORM LEFT THE AREA, LEAVING BEHIND AN ALMOST
luminous clarity to the following day. Squirrels hurried to replenish nut supplies across leaf-strewn grass as the neighborhood cows greeted their fodder with tail flicks and echoing bellows.

“What are you thinking of, Rose?” Luke asked the question in what she considered an idle fashion as they were out driving to survey the damage the storm had wrought. He navigated the buggy down one of myriad country roads, sending the horse around a fallen tree branch with a light touch of the reins.

“Same as usual.” Her shrug was noncommittal, but in truth she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him all night—him and his secrets.

“Which is?” He grinned, and she frowned.

Tired and confused, she wondered if she should just admit the truth to him, but something restrained her. She’d rationalized her way through a hundred possible reasons why Luke would resort to disguising himself and thieving from his own people. But after a lot of prayer, she’d decided that she had to trust him until he trusted her enough to tell her his secret.

“Shouldn’t you know what your betrothed is thinking, Luke Lantz?”

“What you’re thinking?
Nee
—who can ever know what’s in a woman’s mind?”

Well, after last night . . . you should know
, she thought in irritation. “Take me home.”

“What? I just picked you up fifteen minutes ago.”

“I don’t care.” And she didn’t. She did not care one bit for Luke’s sensibilities, not when she knew that he could be someone like the stranger in the woods who’d noticed her even in the dark. The Luke Lantz in the buggy today hardly seemed the same man. It wasn’t just his Amish dress and calm tone; it was also his detached demeanor.

But then, to her surprise, Luke drew the buggy to a halt. She saw that they were in Glorious Grove—the childish name she’d given to the copse of maples that towered over the dirt road. She was pleased to see that nothing but a stray branch here and there seemed to have been hurt by the storm.

“What are you doing? I told you to take me home.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, unused to his not doing as she asked.

He laughed low, and the sound caught in her mind. She blinked. She was definitely thinking too much about the thief . . . the thief in the night who’d stolen her dreams. Luke ran a hand down her shoulder to the bend in her elbow, and she snapped back to the moment.

“I’ll take you home, Rose, but I’ve been thinking about what you said—about kissing more.”

She opened her mouth in shock. “Now? Now you want to kiss more?”

“Maybe. What do you mean by
now
? Aren’t we nearer still to our wedding day?”

She shook her head, confused, and he leaned closer. Against
her will, she was intrigued. Luke had rarely been the initiator of kisses in the past.

“Unclasp your arms,” he murmured, sliding his hat off.

She lifted her nose in the air. “
Nee
—why?”

He smiled. “So you’re not all tense.”

“I’m not tense.”

“What happened here?” He touched the pinkish burn on the back of her hand with care, and she had to look away from him.

“I made blueberry pies last night.”

“Really?”

She’d never have guessed that he knew more than enough about her pie baking. And she didn’t like his teasing tone, even if it was feigned. Sometimes there was no fun in having someone know you well enough to understand even your baking weaknesses.

“
Ya
, really,” she snapped.

“I would have liked a taste,” he whispered, and she turned to look at him in surprise. Was there some undercurrent of meaning in his words? She searched his familiar face; his blue eyes were as innocent as always. She almost sighed. She was definitely confused by the encounter in the woods.

Then he let his fingers play up along her shoulder to the nape of her neck and slid a curl free from beneath her
kapp
. He moved to press his lips against her hair and gave a soft exhalation of pleasure.

She drew a sharp breath. “Luke!”

“What?” He bent his head, her hair still in his fingers, and tilted forward so that his mouth hovered a bare inch from her own. “What, Rose?” He trailed the tendril across her lips and waited.

Her breath caught, and she felt a near dizzying sense of his
closeness. She wanted him to move—to start, to finish the kiss. But he held back, as if he were searching for something in the depths of her eyes. She felt his weight rock against her for a moment, and he placed a very soft, almost brotherly kiss on her forehead, dropping the strand of hair. She blew out a breath of frustration when he picked up the reins with an enigmatic smile.

“We’ve made a start,” he observed as he turned the horse.

Rose wasn’t sure why she felt such a loss at his idea of a beginning.

Chapter Six

I
T WAS A WEEK LATER WHEN
R
OSE SANK DOWN AT THE
Kings’ kitchen table to visit with her friend Priscilla. There was a palpable excitement and energy in the air, and Rose wondered if her own home would feel this way when her wedding was only a short few weeks away.

“So, Rose—you’ve been
baking
?” Priscilla smiled and nodded toward the pie sitting on the table. “I thought you’d rather add up a page of sums than make a pie!”

“As a matter of fact, I would,” Rose said flatly. “Just take it and enjoy. It’s actually not half bad.”

“Okaaay.”

Rose took a sip of the tea Priscilla had offered her and tried not to dismiss the past few days from her mind. But a blur of brown sugar, cinnamon, flour, and apple peels swirled in her head until she thought she’d never want to taste another pie again as long as she lived. “How are the wedding plans coming along?” she asked, hoping to dislodge her sugary vision.

Priscilla was engaged to marry in just a few weeks, and Rose was to be one of the attendants. It was a great honor, considering that Priscilla’s sister should have served in the position, but Hannah was due to deliver on the day of the ceremony.

Unlike Rose, Priscilla usually glowed with satisfaction over her impending wedding, but now she shook her head. “We’ve had a few—incidents, little glitches in our plans, but I’m sure everything will be perfect from here on out. I do think, though, that you and Luke have the right idea in marrying later in the season. It seems I can barely plan, with all of the weddings we have to attend on the weekends.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rose murmured, breaking a piece of crust from the pie before her and crumbling it between her fingers.

“Rose, what’s wrong?”

Rose swallowed. Priscilla was her best friend, and keeping things from her was even more difficult than evading
Aenti
Tabby, but she just couldn’t bring herself to tell her Luke’s secret. More than that, she knew that her friend would never have gone looking for someone in the night, because she’d found the love of her life—it radiated in her face and convicted Rose’s heart.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Rose—I’ve wanted to ask . . . does it—well, scare you a little to take on a household of four men? Is that what’s bothering you?”

Rose sighed.
If only it were that easy .
. . It wasn’t the responsibility of caring for a ready-made family she feared, but her own treacherous thoughts, and her mixed-up attraction to the man she thought she knew so well.

“Sometimes I’m afraid. But it’s just work. I’ll delegate. They’re managing fine without me now, so one extra pair of hands has got to be a help. Luke would never just let them dump all the housework on me.”

Priscilla nodded. “No, he cherishes you far too much for that.”

Rose stood up abruptly. “Priscilla, I’d best be going. I just wanted—to give you the pie. Besides, I promised Luke I’d stop by the office and see him for a few minutes. I suppose I should do it.”

“
Bensel
. . . you sound like you don’t really want to!”

Rose summoned a smile. “That’s silly—of course I do.”

T
HE
ENGLISCH
SEEMED TO HAVE AN EVER-GROWING FASCINATION
with all things Amish, and Luke considered wryly that he’d much prefer to be wrestling with accounts than doing the other part of his job—dealing with customers.

He blinked from the throbbing in his temples and refocused on the woman across the desk from him. She was young and blond and had bright, carefully made-up blue eyes. She was also spoiled rotten by her husband, as far as he could tell. Mrs. Matthews had very distinct ideas about what she wanted for her own birthday gift, and apparently had even more particular thoughts about men in general falling under the spell of her obvious beauty. Luke had spent a mind-numbing half hour trying to verbally sidestep her, finally deciding that humoring her was the best possible recourse.

“So, let’s go over this again, Mrs. Matthews.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “A carved headboard.”