Love Inspired Suspense September 2015 #2 (19 page)

EPILOGUE

Six months
later
National Finals
Rodeo
Las Vegas, NV

T
onya waited at the gate while Seth settled himself on the back of the bull. He'd made it. He'd been number fifteen in the lineup, but he'd made it into the finals and she was so proud. Her heart thudded and her adrenaline flowed as it always did. Butterflies swarmed in her belly and she pressed a hand against her middle. She couldn't deny that twinge of worry, that niggling of fear that she felt just before the gates opened.

But she trusted him. He was doing what he was called to do. And so was she. He caught her eye and blew her a kiss. She flushed under the makeup and the crowd cheered. The ring on her finger glinted under the lights, winking at her, a symbol of their love made complete by marriage. They'd become the circuit's rodeo sweethearts, and right now Seth was milking it for all it was worth. Tonya had to admit she didn't mind. It was a brief moment in time. A short fun stint that would eventually end, but there was no reason not to let everyone have their fun while it lasted.

She drew in a deep breath, said a short prayer and rubbed her palms down her jeans. There were four bullfighters in the arena for this ride and most people wouldn't question it. Three was the usual number, but Tonya had a reason for the extra person.

And now it was time. She and the bullfighter opposite her pulled the gates open. The angry animal shot out into the arena and Tonya let the other three bullfighters go to work. They stayed with the bull and her favorite rider, dancing out of reach of the hooves but ready to run in and intervene should he need it.

Seth rode, one hand wrapped tight, the other flung up beside him. The bull spun, bucked and landed hard. But Seth stayed on, his seat a good one, his grip strong like iron. She forced the air in and out of her lungs, knowing that holding her breath was not an option.
Breathe, Tonya, breathe.
The crowd roared; the clock ticked down.

And still Seth stayed on.

Three...two...one.

The buzzer sounded and Seth waited for the bull to land one more time before jumping off at the most opportune moment he could find.

The bullfighter to her right burst into action. She slapped the bull on his hindquarters and he spun from Seth to her. The other bullfighter distracted the animal and made it over the fence. A rope dropped over the bull's neck and he was led back to the pen. The crowd continued to roar and clap.

She raced to the rail, up and over and into her husband's arms. “You did it!” Four months she'd been married to this man and sometimes she had to pinch herself to believe it.

He lifted her up and swung her around, then planted a kiss on her upturned lips. “Yep. It was a good ride.”

“Are you kidding? It was as close to perfect as you could get.”

He cupped her chin. “What was the deal out there? You were hanging back, letting the other three work the bull.”

She grinned. “That's because I've got a surprise for you and I couldn't take any chances on getting hurt this time around.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Look at the screen.”

His brows furrowed. He shot her a wary look but did as she asked and turned to look.

Tonya lifted a hand and gave the announcer in the box a thumbs-up.

The screen flashed and the picture she'd taken early that morning hung suspended above the crowd. Seth gasped. The crowd roared and rose to their feet. The noise level was deafening, so she didn't even try to speak. The tears clogging her throat prevented it anyway.

The announcer waited. Finally, he began to speak. “All of us at the National Finals Rodeo offer our most sincere congratulations to Seth and Tonya Starke as they anticipate the arrival of their firstborn sometime this fall.”

Once again the decibel level rose. Seth simply stared at the screen. The picture of the pregnancy stick with the double lines posted there for all to see. Then he whooped and threw his hat into the air. He grabbed Tonya and buried his face against her neck. The screen flickered and she saw the camera was on them, sharing their joy with their rodeo family.

She clung to him and his grip tightened. Then he dropped to his knees to plant a kiss on her still-flat belly. He looked up, tears streaming down his rugged cheeks. “I love you, Mrs. Starke.”

“And I love you, Mr. Starke.”

“You're a crazy woman to announce it this way.”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad about you. This is pure genius. What a story we already have to tell our kid.” He flashed a grin. “And bless her, but now my mother will totally be over the whole way I asked you to marry me.”

She laughed and pulled him to his feet for another sweet kiss. The announcer was talking, but no one was paying attention. The crowd was enraptured by the best show a rodeo clown had ever performed.

Tonya sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the way everything had turned out.

He kissed her ear. “Told you everything would be all right.”

And it definitely was.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
PLAIN THREATS
by Alison Stone

Dear Reader,

I hope you've enjoyed this second installment of the Wrangler's Corner series. I had a lot of fun researching rodeos and bull riders and bullfighters. I watched several rodeos and interviewed numerous rodeo participants to make the story as realistic as possible. Truthfully, it would be very hard for someone to really sabotage the rope of a bull rider, but I took some artistic license in order to make the story work. Thank you for allowing me to do that. Seth and Tonya both had quite a bit of emotional baggage to deal with even while they found themselves falling in love. Tonya came to understand that God was there for her no matter what, and Seth came to realize that he couldn't fully rely on himself to keep Tonya safe. Only God could do that. But they were a team and by working together were able to defeat evil and find their happily-ever-after. I pray if you're facing a hardship, you will place your troubles in God's hands and trust Him to lead you out of the valley and onto the mountaintop.

Until next time,

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Plain Threats

by Alison Stone

ONE

“I
won't be long.” Rebecca Fisher scooted forward on the vinyl seat in the van and raised her voice over the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of the worn wipers scraping against the windshield.

“I have another pickup.” The driver's words were clipped, as if a return ride hadn't been understood. He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and checked his wristwatch. “Meet you back here in thirty minutes?”

“Yah.”
Gathering the folds of her skirt and her tote bag, Rebecca climbed out of the van, popped up her umbrella and slammed the van door closed. She cast one last glance at the driver, who seemed oblivious to her indecision. Not as chatty as some, the young driver was one of several employed in the heavily Amish community of Apple Creek, New York, to cart the Amish around when they didn't want to be bothered with a horse and buggy.

Standing on the sidewalk under her black umbrella next to the brick building, Rebecca watched the red brake lights of the van as it slowed, then disappeared around the corner. She tugged on her black bonnet, trying to shut out the brisk wind and the whipping rain. It was late September, too early for snow, but the cold and rain were a hint of the winter to come in western New York.

Rebecca checked the address for Professor Jacob Burke on the slip of paper in her hand. Then she squinted at the name of the building carved into the stone above the nearest doorway. Her heart sank. It wasn't the building she was looking for and all the buildings looked the same.

If Rebecca didn't hurry, she might miss the professor. The college student she had talked to at the Apple Creek Diner where Rebecca worked as a waitress had assured her that Professor Burke had office hours on Monday and Wednesday from four until six-thirty.

Rebecca clutched the collar of her coat and turned down the first brick path leading between a row of buildings.
Oh, so many buildings.
A male college student strode toward her, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his hood pulled up against the rain and his eyes straight ahead.

“Excuse me. Do you know where...?”

The young man continued past without as much as a sideways glance.

She squeezed the handle of the umbrella tighter and looked down at the piece of paper as it flapped in the wind, the writing smeared from the rain.

“Can I help you?” An older woman stopped and gestured with her umbrella toward the young man who hadn't bothered to stop. “Don't take it personally, dear. The young people today walk around with those thingies—” she pointed to the side of her head “—in their ears. They don't hear anything except whatever it is they're listening to on their phones.”

“Oh,” Rebecca said, feeling completely out of her element on the college campus. “I'm looking for the Stevenson Building. Room 214. Professor Jacob Burke's office.”

“The anthropology building,” the woman said, as if suddenly everything made sense. It was no secret the professor of anthropology studied the local Amish. Perhaps the woman thought Rebecca was availing herself to his research, but that was the furthest thing from her mind.

Smiling, the woman spun around and pointed across a wide courtyard with her free hand. “You're close. It's right over there.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca tucked the piece of paper into the tote she had draped over her arm. Drawing in a deep breath, she pulled back her shoulders and strode across the courtyard to the arched doorway of the brick building. Her pulse whooshed in her ears in competition with the drops pelting her umbrella.

Rebecca pulled open the heavy wooden door and held it for a second with her foot. After wrestling to close her umbrella, she stepped into the marble entryway. The door slammed, echoing in the cavernous space, startling her. She adjusted her wind-whipped bonnet and smoothed what little hair was visible near the crown of her head.

Dragging her fingers along the cool metal railing, she climbed the stairs and walked down the empty hallway until she found room 214. Professor Burke's office.

Slowing her pace, she fumbled with the hook and eye on her coat, feeling the heat gathering. Finally, her trembling fingers released the hook and she slipped off her coat and draped it over her arm. Through the narrow window on the office door, she noticed a young man sitting at the desk and talking on the phone.

Rebecca turned and looked down the hallway; a trail of water had dripped from her umbrella. If she lost her nerve now and left, she'd have to stand in the rain for close to thirty minutes waiting for the driver.

You've come this far.

When Rebecca finally turned the handle and stepped into the narrow entryway, the young man was watching her with a curious expression, something Rebecca would never get used to. Sometimes she wished she never had to leave the farm. She missed the quiet life she'd led before her deceased husband's actions had drawn her into the limelight.

Now most every day she had to venture away from the solitude of farm life to work at the diner, where she often felt like a character in a play, expected to act out a role when the tourists stopped in for a meal. Some even had the nerve to talk really loud to her, as if she were deaf.

However, the end of summer had meant the departure of the bulk of the tourists and their curious gazes. They had been replaced primarily by less generous college students; vacationers tended to leave her an extra dollar or two at the diner after they had tasted her shoofly pie. Money she could ill afford to lose now that she was a single mother.

“Hello?” the dark haired young man said, his lilting voice making it more a question than a genuine greeting.

Rebecca worked her bottom lip. “I'm looking for Professor Burke.”

The boy at the desk, who couldn't be much older than her Samuel, turned toward the open door a few feet away. “Is Professor Burke expecting you?”

Under her bonnet her scalp tingled. She had obviously made a misstep. She should have found a way to reach the professor before showing up unannounced.

“I...um...” She smoothed her hand across the coat draped over her arm. The umbrella bounced against her leg when she took a step backward.

“Hello, I'm Professor Burke.” A tall, clean-shaven man appeared in the doorway, an inquisitive smile in his warm brown eyes.

Rebecca took a confident step forward but kept her hands securely wrapped around the coat she was carrying, her tote and umbrella clasped underneath. “I'm Rebecca Fisher. I'm Samuel Fisher's
mem
...” She let her voice trail off, hoping he'd acknowledge that he knew Samuel before she went on much longer.

Professor Burke's eyebrows raised and his eyes darkened. “Yes, I know Samuel well. Is something wrong?”

Rebecca felt the young man's eyes on them. “Perhaps we can talk in private?”

“Of course.” Professor Burke held out his arm, gesturing to his inner office. When she hesitated, the professor entered his office first and sat behind the large desk.

Rebecca followed him and sat at one of two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. She would have felt claustrophobic in the small space if it hadn't been for the large windows overlooking the courtyard.

The young man appeared in the doorway. “I finished collating the test papers. If there's nothing else, I'm going to blow this joint.” His gaze traveled the length of her. Rebecca dropped her umbrella, then she bent over to snap it up, happy for the distraction.

“Thanks, Tommy. Have a good night.”

“Night.”

The door to the main hallway clicked shut. Rebecca shifted in her seat, relieved to not have an audience. “I'm sorry to bother you this late, but I'm worried about my son. Actually, he was my husband's son, but I claim him as my own.” She was telling this man information he already knew.

Professor Burke threaded his fingers and rested his elbows on the desk. She felt as if he was studying her like a farmer inspects a calf before making his bid at the auction.

“I'm very curious why you've come to me, Mrs. Fisher.”

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

* * *

“Nowhere else to go?” Jake stood, then walked around to Mrs. Fisher's side of the desk. When he sat next to the young Amish woman, she angled her knees away from him, creating as much distance between them as possible. He looked down and stifled a smile.

“I need to talk to you about Samuel.” Mrs. Fisher placed her tote and umbrella on the floor and folded her coat over them. She straightened her back and hiked her chin in a gesture that seemed forced. “I may come across as—” she seemed to be searching for the right word “—
backwoods
to you, but I know you spend time researching the Amish and you know a lot of the
youngie.
You knew Elmer King. And you know my son.”

Jake's heartbeat slowed as he remembered Elmer, the outgoing young Amish boy who had died in a car wreck over the summer. The image on the front page of the small-town paper of Elmer King's old red Chevy Camaro wrapped around a tree and his straw hat on the pavement said far more than a tidy quote the journalist had tried to elicit from the professor who studied the Amish. Jake was suspicious that some opportunist had placed the straw hat there for added effect.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Jake tried to shake the image, but his stomach pitched at his guilt for not having known how to help the boy. Elmer had been one of the youth he had gotten to know over the past three years as a professor at Genwego State. Jake felt strongly that his missteps had led to Elmer racing off in a rage that fateful night.

Dragging a hand across his hair, Jake let out a long sigh, buying time to formulate his thoughts. “Yes, I knew Elmer. What does this have to do with your son?”

“Samuel and Elmer were friends. My son is not the same young man he was before Elmer's death.”

“Samuel's had a rough go of it.”

Rebecca nodded slowly and wrung her hands in her lap, seemingly growing more agitated. When she didn't seem as though she was going to speak, Jake asked, “How can I help you?”

She gave him a measured stare before dropping her gaze to her hands clutched in her lap. “Professor Burke, I'm worried about Samuel.”

Jake rested his elbow on the armrest. He waited for her to continue. As a researcher, he often went into the Amish community and performed a delicate balancing act between developing authentic friendships and fostering relationships in the name of research. It was unusual for an Amish person to stroll into his office, never mind a young Amish woman.

“You've become friends with Samuel and his gang,
yah
?” The Amish referred to the groups of somewhat like-minded young adults who hung around together as gangs. The term lacked the negative connotation that it held in the English world.

“Yes, I've gotten to know your son.”

“Is he...” Again, she seemed to be searching for the right word. “Is he okay?”

He studied her face. Myriad emotions played on her features.

“He seems to be okay. I know you both have experienced some backlash from the community after Willard was arrested.” Rebecca's husband, now deceased, had been convicted for killing two of his Amish neighbors.

“Backlash.” Rebecca seemed to be trying on the word. “
Yah
, we have had issues from graffiti on the barn to smashed eggs on our windows. The sheriff never made any arrests.”

“Samuel told me it had stopped.” He studied the woman, estimating her to be in her late twenties, early thirties at the most.

“It had. Then more recently, it started up again. Someone took all four wheels off Samuel's wagon...” Her voice trailed off. “I am grateful they took them off and didn't just loosen them. I hate to think—”

“It sounds like a police matter,” Jake interrupted. “I'm not sure why you're here... I'm a professor.”

Rebecca rubbed her flattened palms together. “It's twofold, really. I called Sheriff Maxwell once... I'm friends with his wife. We grew up together.” She waved her hand, as if that part of the story was inconsequential. But any time someone left the Amish community, it scarred those that remained.

Rebecca drew in a deep breath and continued. “Samuel became very agitated when I called the sheriff. He holds himself partially responsible for his father's arrest, even though we all know...well, we all know what his father did.”

“Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry for your troubles. Sorry for your loss.”

“Me, too. This is not the life I imagined for me or for my children.”

“It took a lot of courage for Samuel to work with law enforcement to aid in his father's arrest.”

Rebecca ran a shaky hand across her lips. “Maybe he wouldn't be taking this all so hard if his father was simply in prison.” Her shoulders rose and fell on a heavy sigh. “When Willard was killed in prison, I think something inside Samuel broke. I don't know how to reach him anymore.”

“I'm not sure how I can help, Mrs. Fisher.”

“Please, call me Rebecca. I no longer feel like
Mrs.
Fisher.”

“Okay...” He hesitated, waiting for her to continue.

“I've watched my son talk to you at the diner. He's confided in you. I need...” She closed her eyes briefly. “...I need to know what you know about my son so I can reach him before I lose him for
gut
. Like the Kings lost their son, Elmer.”

Jake ran a hand across his chin. “What is it you're worried about?” A niggling suspicion told him why she was here, but he didn't dare say.

Rebecca's gaze lingered on his. “I need to know if Samuel's involved with drugs like his friend was.” Her voice was strained, as if it took every effort to get out the words.

“Samuel's a young adult.” Jake measured his response, trying to distance himself from the pain on Rebecca's face. Her son—her stepson, actually—was enjoying his running around years with the usual bending of Amish rules. If Jake broke the young man's confidence, the young Amish men wouldn't talk to him. On the surface, it would jeopardize his research at the college.