Hide in Plain Sight
Marta Perry

This story is dedicated to my gifted editor,

Krista Stroever. 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

ONE

She had to get to the hospital. Andrea Hampton’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as that call from the Pennsylvania State Police replayed in her mind in an endless loop. Her sister had been struck by a hit-and-run driver while walking along a dark country road—like this one. They didn’t know how badly she was injured. Repeated calls to the hospital had netted her only a bland voice saying that Rachel Hampton was undergoing treatment.

Please. Please. She wasn’t even sure she believed any longer, but the prayer seemed to come automatically. Please, if You’re there, if You’re listening, keep Rachel safe.

Darkness pressed against the windows, unrelieved except for the reflection of her headlights on the dark macadam and the blur of white pasture fence posts. Amish country, and, once you were off the main routes, there were no lights at night except for the occasional faded yellow of oil lamps from a distant farmhouse.

If she let herself picture Rachel’s slight figure, turning, seeing a car barreling toward her…A cold hand closed around her heart.

After all those years she had protected her two younger sisters, Rachel and Caroline were independent now. That was only right. Still, some irrational part of her mind seemed to be saying: You should have been here.

A black-and-yellow sign announced a crossroads, and she tapped the brakes lightly as she approached a curve. She glanced at the dashboard clock. Nearly midnight.

She looked up, and a cry tore from her throat. A dark shape ahead of her on the road, an orange reflective triangle gleaming on the back of it…Her mind recognizing an Amish buggy, she slammed on the brakes, wrenching the wheel with all her strength. Please, please, don’t let me hit it—

The car skidded, fishtailing, and she fought for control. Too late—the rear wheels left the road and plunged down into a ditch, tipping crazily, headlight beams spearing toward the heavens. The air bag deployed, slamming into her. For an instant she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

As her head began to clear she fought the muffling fabric of the air bag, the seat belt harness digging into her flesh. Panic seared along her nerves, and she struggled to contain it. She wasn’t a child, she wasn’t trapped—

A door slammed. Voices, running feet, and someone yanked at the passenger door.

“Are you hurt? Can you talk?”

“Yes.” She managed to get her face free of the entangling folds. “I think I’m all right, but I can’t reach the seat belt.”

“Hold on. We’ll get you out.” A murmured consultation—more than one person, then. The scrape of metal on metal, and the door shrieked in protest as it was lifted.

“The buggy.” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t hit it, did I?”

“No,” came a curt male voice, and then a flashlight’s beam struck her face, making her blink. “You didn’t.”

Hands fumbled for the seat belt, tugging. The belt tightened across her chest, she couldn’t breathe—and then it released and air flowed into her protesting lungs.

“Take a moment before we try to move you.” He was just a dark shadow behind the light. In control. “Be sure nothing’s broken.”

She wanted to shout at him to pull her free, to get her out of the trap her car had become, but he made sense. She wiggled fingers, toes, ran her hands along her body as much as she could.

“Just tender. Please, get me out.” She would not let panic show in her voice, even though the sense of confinement in a small, dark space scraped her nerves raw with the claustrophobia she always hoped she’d overcome. “Please.”

Hands gripped her arms, and she clung instinctively to the soft cotton of the man’s shirt. Muscles bunched under the fabric. He pulled, she wiggled, pushing her body upward, and in a moment she was free, leaning against the tip-tilted car.

“Easy.” Strong hands supported her.

“Are you sure she is all right, Calvin Burke?” This voice sounded young, a little frightened. “Should we take her to the hospital?”

“The hospital.” She grasped the words. “I’m all right, but I have to get to the hospital. My sister is there. I have to go there.”

She was repeating herself, she thought, her mind still a little fuzzy. She couldn’t seem to help it. She focused on the three people who stood around her. An Amish couple, their young faces white and strained in the glow of the flashlight.

And the man, the one with the gruff, impatient voice and the strong, gentle hands. He held the light, so she couldn’t see him well—just an impression of height, breadth, the pale cloth of his shirt.

“Your sister.” His voice had sharpened. “Would you be Rachel Hampton’s sister?”

“Yes.” She grabbed his hand. “You know her? Do you know how she is? I keep calling, but they won’t tell me anything.”

“I know her. Was on my way, in fact, to see if your grandmother needed any help.”

“Grams is all right, isn’t she?” Her fear edged up a notch.

“Just upset over Rachel.” He turned toward the young couple. “I’ll take her to the hospital. You two better get along home.”

“Ja, we will,” the boy said. “We pray that your sister will be well.” They both nodded and then moved quickly toward the waiting buggy, their clothing melting into the darkness.

Her Good Samaritan gestured toward the pickup truck that sat behind her car. “Anything you don’t want to leave here, we can take now.”

She shoved her hand through the disheveled layers of her hair, trying to think. “Overnight bag. My briefcase and computer. They’re in the trunk.” Concern jagged through her. “If the computer is damaged…” The project she was working on was backed up, of course, but it would still be a hassle if she couldn’t work while she was here.

“I don’t hear any ominous clanking noises.” He pulled the cases from the trunk, whose lid gaped open. “Let’s get going.”

She bent over the car to retrieve her handbag and cell phone, a wave of dizziness hitting her at the movement. Gritting her teeth, she followed him to the truck.

He yanked open the passenger side door and shoved the bags onto the floor. Obviously she was meant to rest her feet on them. There was no place else to put them if she didn’t want them rattling around in the back.

She climbed gingerly into the passenger seat. The dome light gave her a brief look at her rescuer as he slid behind the wheel. Thirtyish, she’d guess, with a shock of sun-streaked brown hair, longer than was fashionable, and a lean face. His shoulders were broad under the faded plaid shirt he wore, and when he gave her an impatient glance, she had the sense that he carried a chip on them.

He slammed the door, the dome light going out, and once again he was little more than an angular shape.

“I take it you know my grandmother.” Small surprise, that. Katherine Unger’s roots went deep in Lancaster County, back to the German immigrants who’d swarmed to Penn’s Woods in the 1700s.

He nodded, and then seemed to feel something more was called for. “Cal Burke. And you’re Rachel’s older sister, Andrea. I’ve heard about you.” His clipped tone suggested he hadn’t been particularly impressed by whatever that was.

Still, she couldn’t imagine that her sister had said anything bad about her. She and Rachel had always been close, even if they hadn’t seen each other often enough in the past few years, especially since their mother’s death. Even if she completely disapproved of this latest scheme Rachel and Grams had hatched.

She glanced at him. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she was able to see a little more, noticing his worn jeans, scuffed leather boots and a stubble of beard. She’d thought, in that first hazy glimpse as he pulled her out of the car, that he might be Amish—something about the hair, the pale shirt and dark pants. But obviously he wasn’t.

“I should try the hospital again.” She flipped the cell phone open.

Please. The unaccustomed prayer formed in her mind again. Please let Rachel be all right.

“I doubt they’ll tell you any more than they already have.” He frowned at the road ahead. “Have you tried your grandmother’s number?”

“She never remembers to turn her cell phone on.” She punched in the number anyway, only to be sent straight to voice mail. “Grams, if you get this before I see you, call me on my cell.” Her throat tightened. “I hope Rachel is all right.”

“Ironic,” he said as she clicked off. “You have an accident while rushing to your sister’s bedside. Ever occur to you that these roads aren’t meant for racing?”

She stiffened at the criticism. “I was not racing. And if you were behind me, you must have seen me brake as I approached the curve. If I hadn’t…” She stopped, not wanting to imagine that.

His hands moved restlessly on the wheel, as if he wanted to push the rattletrap truck along faster but knew he couldn’t. “We’re coming up on Route 30. We’ll make better time there.”

He didn’t sound conciliatory, but at least he hadn’t pushed his criticism of her driving. Somehow she still wanted to defend herself.

“I’m well aware that I have to watch for buggies on this road. I just didn’t expect to see anyone out this late.”

And she was distracted with fear for Rachel, but she wouldn’t say that to him. It would sound like a plea for sympathy.

“It’s spring,” he said, as if that was an explanation. “Rumspringa, to those kids. That means—”

“I know what rumspringa means,” she snapped. “The time when Amish teenagers get to experience freedom and figure out what kind of life they want. You don’t need to give me the Pennsylvania Dutch tour. I lived in my grandparents’ house until I was ten.”

“Well, I guess that makes you an expert, then.”

No doubt about it, the man was annoying, but she hadn’t exactly been all sweetness and light in the past half hour, either. And he was taking her to the hospital.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I guess I’m a little shaken.”

He glanced at her. “Maybe you should have them check you out at the hospital. You had a rough landing.”

She shook her head. “I’ll probably be black-and-blue tomorrow, but that’s it.” She touched her neck gingerly. Either the air bag or the seat belt had left what felt like brush burns there. The bruises on her confidence from the fear she’d felt wouldn’t show, but they might take longer to go away.

Apparently taking her word for it, he merged onto Route 30. The lights and activity were reassuring, and in a few minutes they pulled up at the emergency entrance to the hospital.

“Thank you.” She slid out, reaching for her things. “I really appreciate this.”

He spoke when she would have pulled her bag out. “I’m going in, too. May as well leave your things here until you know what you’re doing.”

She hesitated, and then she shrugged and let go of the case. “Fine. Thank you,” she added.

He came around the truck and set off toward the entrance, his long strides making her hurry to keep up. Inside, the bright lights had her blinking. Burke caught her arm and navigated her past the check-in desk and on into the emergency room, not stopping until he reached the nurses’ station.

“Evening, Ruth. This is Rachel Hampton’s sister. Tell her how Rachel is without the hospital jargon, all right?”

She half expected the woman—middle-aged, gray-haired and looking as if her feet hurt—to call security. Instead she gave him a slightly flirtatious smile.

“Calvin Burke, just because you’ve been in here three or four times to get stitched up, don’t think you own the place.” She consulted a clipboard, lips pursing.

Andrea stole a look at him. It wasn’t her taste, but she supposed some women went for the rugged, disreputable-looking type.

Ruth Schmidt, according to her name badge—another good old Pennsylvania Dutch name, like Unger—picked up the telephone and had a cryptic, low-voiced conversation with someone. She hung up and gave Andrea a professional smile.

“Your sister has come through surgery fine, and she’s been taken to a private room.”

“What were her injuries?” She hated digging for information, as if her sister’s condition were a matter of national security. “Where is my grandmother? Isn’t she here?”

The woman stiffened. “I really don’t know anything further about the patient’s condition. I understand Mrs. Unger was persuaded to go home, as there was nothing she could do here. I’d suggest you do the same, and—”

“No.” She cut the woman off. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen my sister. And if you don’t know anything about her injuries, I’ll talk to someone who does.”

She prepared for an argument. It didn’t matter what they said to her, she wasn’t leaving until she’d seen Rachel, if she had to stay here all night.

Maybe the woman recognized that. She pointed to a bank of elevators. “Third floor. Room 301. But she’ll be asleep—”

She didn’t wait to hear any more. She made it to the elevator in seconds and pressed the button, the fear that had driven her since she left Philadelphia a sharp blade against her heart. Rachel would be all right. Grams wouldn’t have gone home unless she was convinced of that. Still, she had to see for herself.

A quick ride in the elevator, a short walk across the hall, and she was in the room. Rachel lay motionless in the high, white hospital bed. Both legs were in casts, and hospital paraphernalia surrounded her.

Light brown hair spread out over a white pillow, dark lashes forming crescents against her cheek. Rachel looked about sixteen, instead of nearly thirty. Her little sister, whom she loved, fought with, bossed, protected. Her throat choked, and the tears she’d been holding back spilled over.

Cal picked up a five-month-old newsmagazine and slumped into a molded plastic chair. The dragons guarding the third floor wouldn’t have let him in, obviously, so he’d just wait until the sister came back down again. Maybe tonight wasn’t the time, but he had a few things he’d like to say to Andrea.

He frowned, uninterested, at the magazine, seeing instead the face of the woman who’d just gone upstairs. On the surface, she’d been much like he’d expected from the things her sister and grandmother had said and from the photo on Katherine’s mantel.

Glossy, urban, well dressed in a rising young executive way, with silky blond hair falling to her collarbones in one of those sleek, tapered cuts that every television newswoman wore now. Eyes like green glass, sharp enough to cut a man if he weren’t careful.

Well, he was a very careful man, and he knew enough not to be impressed by Ms. Andrea Hampton.

Not that her sister or grandmother had ever bad-mouthed her, but the picture had formed clearly enough in his mind from the things they said, and from her absence. Her elderly grandmother and her sister were struggling to get their bed-and-breakfast off the ground, and Ms. Successful Young Executive couldn’t be bothered to leave her high-powered life long enough to help them.

Not his business, he supposed, but despite his intent to live in isolation, he’d grown fond of Katherine and her granddaughter in the time he’d been renting the barn on the Unger estate. He’d thought, when his wanderings brought him to Lancaster County, that he just wanted to be alone with his anger and his guilt. But Katherine, with her understated kindness, and Rachel, with her sweet nature, had worked their way into his heart. He felt a responsibility toward them, combined with irritation that the oldest granddaughter wasn’t doing more to help.

Still, he’d been unjust to accuse her of careless driving. She’d been going the speed limit, no more, and he had seen the flash of her brake lights just before she’d rounded the curve.

Her taillights had disappeared from view, and then he’d heard the shriek of brakes, the crunch of metal, and his heart had nearly stopped. He’d rounded the curve, fearing he’d see a buggy smashed into smithereens, its passengers tossed onto the road like rag dolls.

Thank the good Lord it hadn’t come to that. It had been the car, half on its side in the ditch, which had been the casualty.

Come to think of it, somebody might want to have a talk with young Jonah’s father. The boy had said he’d just pulled out onto the main road from the Mueller farm. He had to have done that without paying much attention—the approaching glow of the car’s lights should have been visible if he’d looked. All his attention had probably been on the pretty girl next to him.

He didn’t think he’d mention that to Andrea Hampton. She might get the bright idea of suing. But he’d drop a word in Abram Yoder’s ear. Not wanting to get the boy into trouble—just wanting to keep him alive.

Giving up the magazine as a lost cause, he tossed it aside and stared into space until he saw the elevator doors swish open again. Andrea came through, shoulders sagging a bit. She straightened when she saw him.

“You didn’t need to wait for me.”

He rose, going to her. “Yes, I did. I have your things in my truck, remember?”

Her face was pale in the fluorescent lights, mouth drooping, and those green eyes looked pink around the edges. He touched her arm.

“You want me to get you some coffee?”

She shook her head, and he had the feeling she didn’t focus on his face when she looked at him. His nerves tightened.

“What is it? Rachel’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”

“They say so.” Her voice was almost a whisper, and then she shook her head, clearing her throat. “I’m sure they’re right, but it was a shock to see her that way. Both of her legs are broken.” A shiver went through her, generating a wave of sympathy that startled him. “And she has a concussion. The doctor I spoke with wouldn’t even guess how long it would be until she’s back to normal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice roughened. Rachel didn’t deserve this. No one did. He could only hope they caught the poor excuse for a human being who’d left her lying by the side of the road. If he were still an attorney, he’d take pleasure in prosecuting a case like that.

Andrea walked steadily toward the exit. Outside, she took a deep breath, pulling the tailored jacket close around her as if for warmth, even though the May night didn’t have much of a bite to it.

“I’ll just get my things and then you can be on your way.” She managed a polite smile in his direction.

“How do you plan to get to your grandmother’s? I called to have your car towed to the Churchville Garage, but I don’t imagine it’ll be drivable very soon.”

She shoved her hair back in what seemed to be a habitual gesture. It fell silkily into place again. “Thank you. I didn’t think about the car. But I’m sure I can get a taxi.”

“Not so easy at this hour. I’ll drive you.” He yanked the door open.

“I don’t want to take you out of your way. You’ve done enough for me already, Mr. Burke.” Her tone was cool. Dismissing.

He smiled. “Cal. And you won’t be taking me out of my way. Didn’t you know? I’m your grandmother’s tenant.”

He rather enjoyed the surprised look on her face. Petty of him, but if she kept in better contact with her grandmother, she’d know about him. Still, he suspected that if he were as good a Christian as he hoped to be, he’d cut her a bit more slack.

“I see. Well, fine then.” She climbed into the truck, the skirt she wore giving him a glimpse of slim leg.

He wasn’t interested in any woman right now, least of all a woman like Andrea Hampton, but that didn’t mean he was dead. He could still appreciate beautiful, and that’s what Andrea was, with that pale oval face, soft mouth and strong jawline. Come to think of it, she’d gotten the stubborn chin from her grandmother, who was as feisty a seventy-some-year-old as he’d met in a long time.

She didn’t speak as he drove out of the hospital lot. He didn’t mind. God had been teaching him patience in the past year or so, something he’d never thought of before as a virtue. He suspected she’d find it necessary to break the silence sooner than he would.

Sure enough, they’d barely hit the highway when she stirred. “You said you were my grandmother’s tenant. Does that mean you’re living in the house?” Her hands moved restlessly. “Or inn, I guess I should say, given Grams and Rachel’s project.”

She didn’t approve, then. He could hear it in her voice.

“I rent the barn from your grandmother. The newer one, behind the house. I’ve been there for six months now, and in the area for nearly a year.”

Healing. Atoning for his mistakes and trying to get right with God, but that was something he didn’t say to anyone.

“The barn?” Her voice rose in question. “What do you want with the barn? Do you mean you live there?”

He shrugged. “I fixed up the tack room for a small apartment. Comfortable enough for one. I run my business in the rest of it.”

“What business?” She sounded suspicious.

He was tempted to make something up, but he guessed she’d had enough shocks tonight. “I design and make wood furniture, using Amish techniques. If you pick up any wood shavings on your clothes, that’s why.”

“I see.” The tone reserved judgment. “Grams never mentioned it to me.”

“Well, you haven’t been around much, have you?”

He caught the flash of anger in her face, even keeping his eyes on the road.

“I speak with my grandmother and my sister every week, and they came to stay with me at Easter, not that it’s any of your concern.”

They were coming into the village now, and he slowed. There wasn’t much traffic in Churchville, or even many lights on, at this hour. The antique shops and quilt stores that catered to tourists were long since closed.

He pulled into the drive of the gracious, Federal-style Unger mansion, its Pennsylvania sandstone glowing a soft gold in the light from the twin lampposts he’d erected for Katherine. He stopped at the door.

He wouldn’t be seeing much of Andrea, he’d guess. She’d scurry back to her busy career as soon as she was convinced her sister would recover, the anxiety she’d felt tonight fading under the frenzied rush of activity that passed for a life.

“Thank you.” She snapped off the words as she opened the door, grabbing her bags, obviously still annoyed at his presumption.

“No problem.”

She slammed the door, and he pulled away, leaving her standing under the hand-carved sign that now hung next to the entrance to the Unger mansion. The Three Sisters Inn.

TWO

Andrea had barely reached the recessed front door when it was flung open, light spilling out onto the flag-stones. In an instant she was in Grams’s arms, and the tears she didn’t want to shed flowed. They stood half in and half out of the house, and she was ten again, weeping over the mess her parents were making of their lives, holding on to Grams and thinking that here was one rock she could always cling to.

Grams drew her inside, blotting her tears with an unsteady hand, while her own trickled down her cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here, Dree. So glad.”

The childhood nickname, given when two-years-younger Rachel couldn’t say her name, increased the sensation that she’d stepped into the past. She stood in the center hall that had seemed enormous to her once, with its high ceiling and wide plank floor. Barney, Grams’s sheltie, danced around them, welcoming her with little yips.

She bent to pet the dog, knowing Barney wouldn’t stop until she did. “I went to the hospital to see Rachel. They told me you’d already gone home. I should have called you….”

Grams shook her head, stopping her. “It’s fine. Cal phoned me while you were with Rachel.”

“He didn’t say.” Her tone was dry. Nice of him, but he might have mentioned he’d talked to Grams.

“He told me about the accident.” Grams’s arm, still strong and wiry despite her age, encircled Andrea’s waist. Piercing blue eyes, bone structure that kept her beautiful despite her wrinkles, a pair of dangling aqua earrings that matched the blouse she wore—Grams looked great for any age, let alone nearly seventy-five. “Two accidents in one night is two too many.”

That was a typical Grams comment, the tartness of her tone hiding the fear she must have felt.

“Well, fortunately the only damage was to the car.” She’d better change the subject, before Grams started to dwell on might-have-beens. She looked through the archway to the right, seeing paint cloths draped over everything in the front parlor. “I see you’re in the midst of redecorating.”

Grams’s blue eyes darkened with worry. “The opening is Memorial Day weekend, and now Rachel is laid up. I don’t know…” She stopped and shook her head. “Well, we’ll get through it somehow. Right now, let’s get you settled, so that both of us can catch a few hours sleep. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

“Where are you putting me?” She glanced up the graceful open staircase that led from the main hall to the second floor. “Is that all guest rooms now?”

Grams nodded. “The west side of the house is the inn. The east side is still ours.” She opened the door on the left of the hall. “Come along in. We have the back stairway and the rooms on this side, so that’ll give us our privacy. You’ll be surprised at how well this is working out.”

She doubted it, but she was too tired to pursue the subject now. Or to think straight, for that matter. And Grams must be exhausted, physically and emotionally. Still, she couldn’t help one question.

“What was she doing out there? Rachel, I mean. Why was she walking along Crossings Road alone after dark?”

“She was taking Barney for a run.” Grams’s voice choked a little. “She’s been doing that for me since she got here, especially now that things have been so upset. Usually there’s not much traffic.”

That made sense. Rachel could cut onto Crossings Road, perpendicular to the main route, without going into the village.

She trailed her grandmother through the large room that had been her grandfather’s library, now apparently being converted into an office-living room, and up the small, enclosed stairway. This was the oldest part of the house, built in 1725. The ceilings were lower here, accounting for lots of odd little jogs in how the two parts of the Unger mansion fit together.

Grams held on to the railing, as if she needed some help getting up the stairs, but her back was as straight as ever. The dog, who always slept on the rug beside her bed, padded along.

Her mind flickered back to Grams’s comment. “What do you mean, things have been upset? Has something gone wrong with your plans?”

She could have told them, had told them, that they were getting in over their heads with this idea of turning the place into an inn. Neither of them knew anything about running a bed-and-breakfast, and Grams was too old for this kind of stress.

“Just—just the usual things. Nothing for you to worry about.”

That sounded evasive. She’d push, but they were both too tired.

Her grandmother opened a door at the top of the stairs. “Here we are. I thought you’d want your old room.”

The ceiling sloped, and the rosebud wallpaper hadn’t changed in twenty years. Even her old rag doll, left behind when her mother had stormed out of the house with them, still sat in the rocking chair, and her white Bible lay on the bedside table. This had been her room until she was ten, until the cataclysm that split the family and sent them flying off in all directions, like water droplets from a tornado. She tossed her bags onto the white iron bed and felt like crying once more.

“Thanks, Grams.” Her voice was choked.

“It’s all right.” Grams gave her another quick hug. “Let’s just have a quick prayer.” She clasped Andrea’s hands, and Andrea tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d prayed before tonight.

“Hold our Rachel in Your hands, Father.” Grams’s voice was husky. “We know You love her even more than we do. Please, touch her with Your healing hand. Amen.”

“Amen,” Andrea whispered. She was sure there were questions she should ask, but her mind didn’t seem to be working clearly.

“Night, Grams. Try and sleep.”

“Good night, Dree. I’m so glad you’re here.” Grams left the door ajar, her footsteps muffled on the hall carpet as she went to the room across the hall.

Andrea looked at her things piled on the bed, and it seemed a gargantuan effort to move them. She undressed slowly, settling in.

She took her shirt off and winced at the movement, turning to the wavy old mirror to see what damage she’d done. Bruises on her chest and shoulder were dark and ugly where the seat belt had cut in, and she had brush burns from the air bag. She was lucky that was the worst of it, but she shook a little at the reminder.

After pulling a sleep shirt over her head, she cleaned off the bed and turned back the covers. She’d see about her car in the morning. Call the office, explain that she wouldn’t be in for a few days. Her boss wouldn’t like that, not with the Waterburn project nearing completion. Well, she couldn’t make any decisions until she saw how Rachel was.

Frustration edged along her nerves as she crossed to the window to pull down the shade, not wanting to wake with the sun. This crazy scheme to turn the mansion into a bed-and-breakfast had been Rachel’s idea, no doubt. She hadn’t really settled to anything since culinary school, always moving from job to job.

Grams should have talked some sense into her, instead of going along with the idea. At this time in her life, Grams deserved a quiet, peaceful retirement. And Rachel should be finding a job that had some security to it.

Andrea didn’t like risky gambles. Maybe that was what made her such a good financial manager. Financial security came first, and then other things could line up behind it. If she’d learned anything from those chaotic years when her mother had dragged them around the country, constantly looking for something to make her happy, it was that.

She stood for a moment, peering out. From this window she looked over the roof of the sunroom, added on to the back of the house overlooking the gardens when Grams had come to the Unger mansion as a bride. There was the pond, a little gleam of light striking the water, and the gazebo. Other shadowy shapes were various outbuildings. Behind them loomed the massive bulk of the old barn that had predated even the house. Off to the right, toward the neighboring farm, was the “new” barn, dating to the 1920s.

It was dark now, with Cal presumably asleep in the tack room apartment. Well, he was another thing to worry about tomorrow. She lowered the shade with a decisive snap and went to crawl into bed.

Her eyes closed. She was tired, so tired. She’d sleep, and deal with all of it in the morning.

Something creaked overhead—once, then again. She stiffened, imagining a stealthy footstep in the connecting attics that stretched over the wings of the house. She strained to listen, clutching the sheet against her, but the sound wasn’t repeated.

Old houses make noises, she reminded herself. Particularly her grandmother’s, if her childhood memories were any indicator. She was overreacting. That faint, scratching sound was probably a mouse, safely distant from her. Tired muscles relaxed into the soft bed, and exhaustion swept over her.

She plummeted into sleep, as if she dived into a deep, deep pool.

Andrea stepped out onto the patio from the breakfast room, Barney nosing out behind her and then running off toward the pond, intent on his own pursuits. A positive call from the hospital had lifted a weight from her shoulders and she felt able to deal with other things. She paused to look around and take a deep breath of country air.

Not such pleasant country air, she quickly discovered. Eli Zook must be spreading manure on his acreage, which met the Unger property on two sides. How were the city tourists Rachel expected to have as guests going to like that? Maybe they’d be pleased at the smell of a genuine Amish farm.

They’d have to admire the view from the breakfast room. The flagstone patio had stood the years well, and now it was brightened by pots overflowing with pansies and ageratum. The wide flower bed dazzled with peonies and daylilies. She had knelt there next to Grams, learning to tell a weed from a flower.

Moving a little stiffly, thanks to her bruises, she stepped over the low patio wall and followed the flag-stone path that led back through the farther reaches of the garden, weaving around the pond and past the gazebo with its white Victorian gingerbread. When she glanced back at the house, morning sunlight turned the sandstone to mellow gold, making the whole building glow.

Rounding the small potting shed, she came face-to-face with the new barn. An apt expression, because she’d always thought the barn had more character than a lot of people. Lofty, white, a traditional bank barn with entries on two levels, it had the stone foundation and hip roof that characterized Pennsylvania Dutch barns. More properly Pennsylvania Swiss or German, her grandfather had always said, but the name stuck.

It hadn’t seen much use since her grandfather had stopped farming and leased the fields to the Zook family, but the stone foundation showed no sign of deterioration, and the wooden planks looked as if they had a fresh coat of white paint.

A small sign on the upper level door was the only indication that Cal Burke did business here. And how much business could he do, really? The only way into his shop was via the rutted lane that ran along a hedge of overgrown lilacs that bordered the house. She glanced toward the road. Yes, there was a tiny sign there, too, one that could hardly be read from a passing car. The man needed a few lessons in marketing.

She walked up the bank to the door and tapped lightly. Stepping inside, she inhaled the scent of wood shavings and hay. Music poured from a CD player that sat on a wooden bench. Cal apparently liked Mozart to work by. He bent over a pie safe, totally absorbed as he fitted a pierced tin insert to a door.

He obviously hadn’t heard her, so she glanced around, wanting to see any changes before she spoke to him. There weren’t many. In the center threshing floor he’d installed a workbench and tools, and the rest of the space was taken up with pieces of furniture in various stages of construction. The mows and lofts on either side already held hay and straw, probably stored there by Eli Zook.

She took a step forward, impressed in spite of herself by his work. They were simple oak pieces, for the most part, done in the classic style of Pennsylvania Dutch furniture. There was a three-drawer chest with graceful carving incised on the drawer fronts, a chest stenciled with typical tulips and hearts, a rocking chair with a curved back.

Cal did have a gift for this work, and he was certainly focused. Sun-bleached hair swung forward in his eyes, and he pushed it back with a sweep of one hand, all of his movements smooth and unhurried. He wore faded jeans and a blue plaid shirt, also faded, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A shaft of sunlight, beaming down from the open loft door, seemed to put him in a spotlight, picking out gold in his brown hair and glinting off tanned forearms.

She moved slightly just as the music stopped. The sole of her loafer rustled stray wood shavings, and he looked up. The pierced tin clattered to the floor, the sound loud in the sudden stillness.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s all right.” He straightened, leaning against the pie safe, and watched her approach.

She hadn’t noticed his eyes last night. The light had been too dim, for the most part, and she’d been too upset. Now she saw that they were a light, warm brown, flecked with gold like his hair.

He waited until she stopped, a few feet from him, before he spoke again. “Any news from the hospital?”

“We called first thing. Rachel had a good night, and she’s awake and asking for us.” She couldn’t stop the smile that blossomed on the words.

“Thank God.” He smiled in return, strong lips curving, lines crinkling around his eyes, his whole face lighting. For an instant she couldn’t look away, and something seemed to shimmer between them, as light and insubstantial as the dust motes in the shaft of sunshine.

She turned to look at the furniture, feeling a need to evade his glance for a moment. She wouldn’t want him to think he had any effect on her.

“So this is your work.” She touched a drop leaf table. “Cherry, isn’t it?”

He nodded, moving next to her and stroking the wood as if it were a living thing. “I’ve been working mostly in oak and pine, but Emma Zook wanted a cherry table, and Eli had some good lengths of cherry that I could use.”

“It’s beautiful. Emma will be delighted, although if I remember Amish customs correctly, she won’t say so.”

A faint smile flickered in his eyes. “‘For use, not for pretty,’ she’ll say. Anything else might sound like pride.”

“That’s Emma, all right.” Nostalgia swept through her. Emma Zook had helped Grams in the house for years, and her sturdy figure, always clad in a long dress and apron, was present in Andrea’s earliest memories.

As children, they’d played with the Zook youngsters, so used to them that they never saw the Amish clothing or dialect as odd. She’d caught up a bit with Emma over breakfast. As she’d expected, all the children except Levi were married and parents by now. Levi—well, Levi would always be a child, no matter how old he was.

“The Amish have the right idea,” Cal said. “No reason why something can’t be both useful and beautiful.”

She traced the scalloped edge of the drop leaf. “This certainly qualifies.”

“Two compliments in as many minutes.” He drew back in mock surprise.

“I believe in giving credit where credit is due. You make lovely furniture. I just can’t help but wonder why you’re doing it in my grandmother’s barn.”

Where did you come from, and why are you here? That’s what she was really asking. How could this man have made such inroads into her family when she hadn’t even known about him?

He shrugged. “I came to this area to learn Amish furniture techniques. When I needed a place to set up shop, she had an empty barn. We came to an agreement.”

She’d like to ask what that agreement was, but he could answer that it wasn’t her business. Which it wasn’t, but anything that affected her grandmother and sister mattered to her, whether she’d been back recently or not.

“You’re not from around here,” she tried.

“No. I’m not.”

Most people liked talking about themselves. Cal Burke seemed to be the exception.

“You’re a little hard to find. How do you market your work?”

He shrugged again. “There are plenty of machine-made copies out there, but if people are asking around for good, handmade furniture done in the old Amish style, they’ll find me or one of the others who do it.”

“That’s no way to do business.” His marketing strategy, if that’s what it was, exasperated her so much that she couldn’t stop the words. “You have something people want, so make it easy to find you. You could probably double or triple your business if you did a little advertising.”

“I don’t want to double my business. There are only so many pieces I can make by hand in a month, and they sell okay. What am I going to do with more customers than I can satisfy?”

She blinked, looking at him. As far as she could tell, he was serious. “If you hired a few people to help you—”

“Then it wouldn’t be my furniture people were buying.”

“But you could make more money—”

He shook his head with an impatient movement that made the hair flop in his eyes again. “I make enough to get by, and I enjoy my work. Your corporate approach wouldn’t work for me.”

She stiffened. “If you mean I’m practical, I don’t consider that an insult. Although I suspect you meant it that way.”

“Just recognizing a difference in how we see things, that’s all.” His voice was mild, but his eyes had turned frosty. “If you came out here to tell me how to run my business, I thank you for your interest.”

“No.” She bit off the word. The world needed practical people like her. They kept the dreamers afloat. But she didn’t suppose it would do any good to tell him so. “My grandmother wants you to know that we’ll be going to the hospital shortly. She asks if you’ll keep an eye out for the painters and let them in.” Somehow it seemed important that he know the favor was for Grams, not her.

“I’d be glad to.”

“I thought she could call you, but she said you never answer your phone.”

“Really bugs you, doesn’t it?” His expression suggested internal laughter. “I don’t like to jump when the phone rings. If anybody wants me, they leave a message.”

She bit back another comment about his business methods. Or lack of them. Why should she care if the man frittered away his prospects for want of a few sensible steps?

“I see.” She kept her tone perfectly polite. “Thank you for taking care of the painters. My grandmother will appreciate it.”

She turned and walked away quickly, suspecting that if she looked back, she’d find an amused smile on his face.

“But I can’t. I really can’t.” Andrea looked from her grandmother to her sister. Both faces were turned toward hers, both expectant, waiting for an answer she couldn’t possibly give. “I’m extremely busy at work right now.”

“Surely your employer will give you the time off.” Grams was serenely confident. “Your family needs you.”

Rachel didn’t say anything. She just leaned back against the raised head of the hospital bed, her face almost as white as the pillow.

She’d tell herself they were ganging up on her, but that wasn’t true. They were depending on her, just as Rachel and baby sister Caroline had depended on her during those years when Mom had relocated the family from place to place, nursing her grudge against Grams and Grandfather and depriving her children of the only stable home they’d ever known.

Andrea was the oldest. She was the responsible one. She’d take care of it.

The trouble was, she was responsible to her job, as well, and there couldn’t possibly be a worse time for her to take off. Gordon Walker would not understand his right-hand woman requesting a leave to help her family. He hadn’t even taken time away from work when his wife was in labor with their twins.

Of course, he and his wife were now divorced, and he saw his daughters once a month if he was lucky.

She tried again. “I’m in the middle of a very important project, and I’m on a deadline. I couldn’t take time off now. It wouldn’t be fair to the company.”

It wasn’t fair to her, either. Maybe that thought was unworthy, but she couldn’t help it. The promotion her boss had been dangling in front of her for the past year would be hers when this project was completed. Her position with the company, her stable, secure life, would be assured.

“Can’t someone else take over for you?” Grams’s brow furrowed. “We’ve already accepted reservations for our opening weekend. All the rooms are booked. We can’t turn those people away now.”

Grams’s sense of hospitality was obviously offended at the thought, even though these would be paying guests. Andrea could see it in her eyes. An Unger didn’t let people down.

I’m a Hampton, too. She thought bleakly of her father. They’re pretty good at letting people down.

Rachel tried to push herself up on the bed a little, wincing, and Andrea hurried to help her.

“Take it easy. I don’t think you should try to do that on your own. Those casts must weigh a ton.”

“If they don’t, they feel like it.” Rachel moved her head restlessly on the pillow.

Looking into Rachel’s eyes was like looking in a mirror. Green eyes, cat’s eyes. All three Hampton girls had them, even though otherwise they didn’t look at all alike.

She was the cool, conservative blonde. That was how people saw her, and she didn’t find anything wrong with that. It fit with who she wanted to be.

Rachel, two years younger, was the warm one, with her heart-shaped face and her sunny-brown hair. She had the gift of making friends and collecting strays everywhere she went. Sweet, generous, she was the family peacemaker, always the buffer.

And they’d needed a buffer, she and Caroline. Her youngest sister had been born an exotic orchid in a family of daisies. She certainly looked the part. In her, the green eyes sparkled and shot fire. Her hair, a rich, deep red, had been worn in a mass of curls to below her shoulders the last time Andrea had seen her. Currently, as far as she knew, Caroline was making pottery in Taos. Or maybe it was turquoise jewelry in Santa Fe. Andrea couldn’t keep up.

“I could come home in a wheelchair. We could get some extra help and I could supervise.” But the tears that shone in Rachel’s eyes belied the brave words, and she thumped one hand against the side rail of the bed, making the IV clatter.

“Honey, don’t.” Andrea caught the restless hand, her heart twisting. “It’ll be all right.”

But how would it be all right? How could she be true to herself and yet not let them down?

Rachel clung to her, much as she had when Mom had taken them away from Grams and Grandfather so many years ago. “You mean you’ll do it?”

“We’ll find some way of handling the situation. I promise.”

Rachel gave a little sigh, relaxing a bit, though worry still puckered her brows.

“Good,” Grams said. “I knew we could count on you.”

She’d told her boss she couldn’t be back until Monday, though she’d continue working while she was here. She was only a phone call or an e-mail away, after all. By then, she’d somehow convince Grams and Rachel that with Rachel laid up for who knows how long, starting a bed-and-breakfast didn’t make sense.

A glance at Rachel’s face assured her that now was not the time to mention that. Rachel was far too fragile.

She’d discuss it with Grams later. Giving up the inn was the best thing for everyone, especially Rachel. Once she was healed, she could get another restaurant job in a minute with her skills, and if she needed help to get through until then, Andrea or Grams would certainly provide that.

Right now she had to do something to wipe that strained expression from Rachel’s eyes. “Did you hear about my adventure getting here last night? Rescued from a ditch by your handsome tenant. Hope you don’t mind my using your car while mine’s in the body shop.”

“Grams told me Cal brought you to the hospital. He is a hunk, isn’t he?” Some of the tension eased out of the pale face. “So, you interested, big sis?”

“I wouldn’t want to tread on your territory.” She smiled. “We made a deal a long time ago, remember? No boyfriend poaching.”

“Sad to say, Cal doesn’t see me as anything but little-sister material.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have to admit, when I first met him, I thought there might be something, but the chemistry just isn’t there.”

Andrea didn’t bother to analyze why she was relieved. “I understand he’s been around for about a year?” She made it a question for both of them.

“Just about,” Grams agreed. “He stayed over at the Zimmerman farm for a while, I think, when he first came to the area.”

“You never mentioned renting the barn to him when we talked.” Grams and Rachel had come into the city for dinner just a month ago, but in all their talk about the inn, they hadn’t brought up their resident tenant.

“Didn’t we? I thought you knew about him.”

The vagueness of it got under her skin. “Where did he come from? What did he do before? What does Uncle Nick think of him?” Her grandfather’s business partner had a solid, no-nonsense attitude that Grams lacked.

“I don’t know. Does it matter?” Grams frowned a little, as if Andrea had said something impolite. “And it’s not James Bendick’s business.”

Rachel moved slightly. “He’s a nice guy. That’s all we need to know.”

It wasn’t all she needed to know. Perhaps the truth was that Grams hadn’t mentioned him because she’d known exactly the questions Andrea would ask and didn’t want to answer them. Grams did things her own way, and she’d never appreciated unsolicited advice.

“I believe I’ll get some coffee.” Grams stood, picking up her handbag.

“I’ll get it for you, Grams,” she offered.

Her grandmother shook her head. “You stay here and talk to Rachel. I want to stretch my legs a bit.”

Andrea watched her leave, her heart clutching a little. Grams wouldn’t admit it, but she was slowing down. Grams had always been so strong, so unchanging, that age had sat lightly upon her. It had seemed she would never let it get the better of her. But that had been an illusion.

A weight settled on Andrea’s shoulders. She had to make the right decisions now. Rachel, Grams—she was responsible for both of them.

“Are you okay, Dree?”

She shook off the apprehension before she turned to look at her sister. “Sure. Just worried about you. Did the police talk to you about the accident?”

Rachel nodded. “The township chief was in before you got here. It doesn’t sound as if they have much evidence. He wanted to know if I remembered anything.”

“Do you?”

Rachel moved restlessly. “I don’t remember anything that happened after about noon yesterday.”

THREE

Cal let himself in the side door of the Unger mansion, toolbox in hand. He’d told Katherine that he’d fix the loose post on the main staircase, but that wasn’t his only reason for being there.

He’d been mulling it over, praying about it, most of the day. Prayer was still new enough to him that he wondered sometimes whether he ought to be asking for guidance about simple everyday things. Still, it was comforting to feel that Someone cared.

And this wasn’t a selfish thing. He wanted a sense of whether he should speak to Andrea about her grandmother. Seemed to him the answer was yes, although that might just be his need to do something.

Two years ago, he’d have found it laughable to think he’d be so concerned about an elderly woman who wasn’t even a relative, but he hadn’t been much of a human being, either, back then. Now—well, he cared about Katherine Unger.

Katherine was kind, proud and too stubborn to ask for help even when she needed it. She’d be appalled, probably, if she realized how much he’d learned about her concerns just by listening. If she knew he intended to talk to Andrea, she’d be outraged.

But someone had to. Emma Zook could, but she might be too much in awe of Katherine to do it. So he would. He reached the stairs and pulled out a hammer. He’d been watching for an opportunity to speak to Andrea alone since she’d returned from the hospital, but she’d been holed up in the second-floor family quarters. Maybe a little noise would draw her out.

Sure enough, it didn’t take more than a few hearty blows with the hammer before Andrea appeared at the top of the stairs, looking annoyed. She marched down to him.

“What are you doing?” She’d exchanged the pants and jacket she’d been wearing this morning for a pair of dark jeans and a green top that matched her eyes. “I’m trying to do some work upstairs.”

“Sorry. You brought work with you?”

“Of course. I couldn’t just walk out in the middle of the week.”

Even when rushing to her sister’s side, she hadn’t left the job that seemed so important to her. She reminded him of himself, the way he used to be. That probably went a long way toward explaining why she annoyed him so much. He wasn’t too fond of that guy.

He rested his elbow on the banister. “Wouldn’t your boss give you a break under the circumstances?”

For a moment she hesitated, and he could almost read her thoughts. She had the kind of superior who wouldn’t, as a matter of fact, and she didn’t want to admit it.

“I didn’t ask,” she said finally. “I have responsibilities, and I meet them.” She frowned. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Katherine asked me to take care of this loose place in the banister.” He wiggled the carved wood gently, mindful of its delicate reeding. “I had time to get to it this afternoon.”

“I didn’t realize you work for my grandmother.”

“I don’t. I’m just being neighborly.” He still hadn’t figured out the best approach. “Look, I know this is none of my business—”

“But it’s not going to stop you,” she finished for him. “All right. You won’t be content until you have your say, so get it over with.” She planted one hand on the railing, standing up a step so that their faces were level.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“I try not to.” A slight frown appeared between her brows. “Does that bother you?”

“On the contrary, it makes it easier.” If she wanted it straight from the hip, she’d get it. “Your grandmother and sister have been running themselves ragged, trying to get the inn ready. They needed help even before Rachel was hurt, but now it’s worse. With Rachel in the hospital, your grandmother shouldn’t be in the house alone. Did she tell you she’s spotted a prowler out in the grounds recently?”

She sent him a startled glance, hand tightening on the railing. “No. Did she call the police?”

“By the time they got here, the person was long gone.” He shrugged. “They didn’t take it too seriously, figuring it was just someone curious about the inn. Still, there have been some minor incidents of vandalism in the area lately and a few break-ins. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on things. But she shouldn’t be staying here at night by herself.”

“You’re right about that.” She sounded faintly bewildered that she was agreeing with him. “As for the rest, I’m not sure how best to help her.”

He was surprised that she was taking it so well, but perhaps she’d been giving some thought to the problem. She just hadn’t come to the right conclusion yet.

“Move in, take over for Rachel, get the inn up and running,” he said promptly. “Your grandmother can’t do it by herself.”

“My job—”

“—can get along without you for a while.”

“You don’t know that.” If her glare had been a blow, it would have knocked him over. “I’d be risking a lot to stay here now.”

“I get it. I had bosses like that once.” He had a feeling he’d been that kind of a boss.

“Then you should understand. Maybe I can hire someone to help out.”

He shook his head. “I’m not saying more workers wouldn’t make things go faster, but what’s needed is someone to oversee the whole project. Your grandmother isn’t up to that anymore.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She fired up instantly. “She shouldn’t be attempting something so ambitious at her age. She ought to just relax and enjoy life.”

“How is she supposed to do that? What’s she going to live on, air?” He clamped his mouth shut. He’d gone too far, even though his intentions were good.

“What are you implying?” She grabbed his arm to keep him from stepping away. “My grandmother doesn’t need to worry about money.”

Was she putting on a front?

“Maybe you ought to have a serious conversation with your grandmother.”

Her grip tightened. “Tell me what you meant. What do you know, or think you know?”

Fine, then. “I know I offered to lend her the money for the renovations, but she took out a loan on the house instead. I know Emma works for free half the time. I know the signs of financial trouble. If someone doesn’t step in, namely you, your grandmother could lose this place that means the world to her.”

He yanked his arm free and grabbed the toolbox.

“I’ll come back later and fix this.”

Andrea was actually shaking. She watched Cal’s broad back as he retreated down the hall. She should talk to Grams—no, she should find out first from someone she trusted if there was any truth to Cal’s allegations. Emma. Emma knew everything that went on here.

But even as she thought it, there was a tap on the front door, followed by a quick, “Anyone here?”

“Uncle Nick.” She hurried to the door, to be swept into a hug. Soft whiskers and a scent of peppermint—that was Uncle Nick.

He held her at arm’s length. “Well, if you’re not a sight for sore eyes, Andrea. You’re looking beautiful, as always.”

“And you’re the biggest flatterer in town, as always. You haven’t aged a bit.”

She made the expected response automatically, but it was true. Maybe the beard and hair were a little whiter, his figure in the neat blue suit just a bit stouter, but his cheeks were still rosy and firm as apples. He had an aura of permanence and stability that was very welcome.

“Ah, don’t tell me that. I know better.” He shook his head. “This is a sad business about Rachel.”

She linked her arm with his. “She’s going to make a complete recovery—the doctors have promised. Come into the library. We have to talk.”

He lifted bushy white eyebrows. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Taking a nap, thank goodness. She needs one, after yesterday’s upsets.”

He nodded, glancing around the room and taking in the computer setup and file cabinets. “It’s sad to see this fine old room turned into an office. What your grandfather would have said, I don’t know.”

There didn’t seem to be an answer to that. She gestured him to a chair, sitting down opposite him.

He was surveying her with shrewd, kind blue eyes. “You’re worried, aren’t you? Tell Uncle Nick about it.”

She had to smile. He wasn’t really their uncle, nor was his name Nick. Caroline had called him that when she was three because to her eyes, James Bendick, Grandfather’s junior partner, looked like St. Nicholas.

“That’s what you always said. And you solved our problems with chocolate and peppermints.”

“It’s a good solution.”

“Not for this problem.” The worry, dissipated for a moment in the pleasure of seeing him, weighed on her again. “Tell me the truth, Uncle Nick. Is Grams in financial trouble?”

“Who told you that? Not your grandmother.” His voice had sharpened.

“No. Cal Burke told me. He seems to think she could lose the house.”

“I’d call that an exaggeration.” He frowned. “And I’m not sure what business it is of his, in any event.”

“Never mind him. Tell me what’s going on. I thought Grandfather left her well-off. I’ve never questioned that.”

“Your grandmother never questioned it, either. Sad to say, maybe she should have.”

“But the properties, his investments…” She couldn’t believe it. “Explain it to me.”

Uncle Nick’s lips puckered. “I’m not sure I should. Your grandmother—”

“Grams is depending on me.” Normally she’d appreciate his discretion, but not now. “I have to know what’s wrong in order to help her.”

He hesitated, looking distressed. Finally he nodded. “Your grandfather decided, a few years before his death, to sell most of his properties. He didn’t want to take care of them.”

“I thought he enjoyed that.” One of her earliest memories was of riding along with Grandpa when he went out the first day of every month to collect the rents from his tenants. That had been her first taste of business, and she’d wanted to be just like him.

Uncle Nick shrugged. “People change. He wanted to invest the money himself.” His gaze dropped. “He wasn’t very good. If only he’d held on to the property until the real estate market went up, your grandmother would be sitting pretty.”

“As it is…” She could hardly take it in. Still, she’d certainly known how determined Grandpa was to do as he chose. Something chilled inside her. She, of all people, knew just how stubborn he could be.

“She has this place left, but not enough to maintain it.” His voice was brisk, as if he didn’t want to dwell on what had been. “I’m not sure how you feel about this idea of theirs to turn the place into an inn.”

“I think it’s a bad move,” she said promptly. “Rachel is a great cook, but she doesn’t know anything about running an inn. And Grams doesn’t need the stress at her age.”

Nick beamed at her as if they were the only two sensible people left on earth. “The practical course is for your grandmother to sell. She could pay off the home equity loan she took for the renovations and have enough to live very comfortably for the rest of her life.”

“I wish she agreed.”

He nodded. “She has her own stubborn streak, that’s for sure. I was worried about her living here alone since your grandfather died, but she’d never listen to me. It was a little better after Rachel moved back, but even so…”

“Cal Burke is out at the barn.” With the phone he never answered. What good did that do?

“Burke.” He repeated the name. “I suppose he’s better than nothing, but what do we know about him?”

Not much. She shared his concern.

“And there have been a rash of thefts. People breaking into isolated farmhouses. You know what this area is like—folks have lived here for generations, never giving a thought that Great-aunt Eva’s dough box might be worth a small fortune to a crooked dealer.”

She almost wished she hadn’t asked, but it was better to face the facts, no matter how unpleasant.

“What are we going to do?” It was good to feel that she had an ally. “Rachel and Grams want me to stay and open the inn. They don’t seem to understand that I have a position I can’t walk away from.”

He patted her hand. “If you make it clear you can’t, they’d have to face facts.”

“I’ve tried. Without success.”

“You’ll have to keep trying.” He rose. “Give my best to your grandmother, and tell Rachel that I’ll see her later.” He gave her a quick hug. “I know you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

“Can I carry that for you, Andrea?”

Andrea stopped reluctantly. She’d noticed Cal down the block when she’d left Snyder’s General Store to walk back to the house, but she hadn’t been eager to talk to him. Just because he was right about her grand-mother’s finances didn’t mean she had to like it.

He caught up with her, and she handed over the shopping bag, taking in the dress shirt and neat gray slacks he wore. She blinked, exaggerating her surprise.

“You didn’t know I’d clean up this well, did you?” He smiled, apparently ready to forgive and forget.

“Have a hot date?”

“No, just out for supper at the Dutch Inn. It’s chicken and dumpling night. What about you?”

She gestured toward the bag he now carried. “Grams needed a few things from the store, and I didn’t want to drive to New Holland to the supermarket.”

“So you went to Snyder’s, where you get a hot serving of gossip with every bag of groceries.”

She couldn’t stop a smile. “Some things never change.”

“Did you get the latest popular opinion on who I am and why I’m here?”

She was surprised that he spoke so easily about it. “Opinion is divided. You’re either a famous author hiding from a deranged fan or a bank robber sitting on his loot until it cools off. That one came from Etta Snyder’s ten-year-old son. Her teenage daughter considers you a tragic figure recovering from a terrible loss.”

She felt a sudden qualm. What if any of them proved true?

But he didn’t seem affected. “I’ll let you guess which it is.” They walked past the Village Soda Shop and Longstreet’s Antiques, their steps matching. “Did you get the whole scoop from Bendick? I saw him come in.”

She stiffened. Her family troubles weren’t his affair. Didn’t he understand that?

His eyebrows lifted. “Okay. Right. I’m interfering.”

She fought with herself for a moment. Interfering. Aggravating. But he already knew, so who was she kidding by refusing to answer him?

“Uncle Nick confirmed what you said.” She bit off the words, resenting the fact that he’d known what she should have.

“Sorry. I wish I’d been wrong.” His voice had just the right degree of sympathy.

Some of her resentment ebbed away. This wasn’t his fault. “I can’t grasp it. When I was small, I thought my grandfather was the wisest, kindest man in the world.”

Her opinion about the kindness had changed when Grandfather let them go without a word, writing them out of his life except for the college funds he’d provided. Surely he could have mended the quarrel with Mom if he’d really cared about them. But even so, she’d never doubted his business acumen.

“You can still have good memories of him.” His tone warmed.

She could only nod, her throat choking up. She would like to remember Grandfather as she’d once seen him, without thinking about how he’d let her and her sisters down. Or how he’d apparently failed Grams.

“Why didn’t my grandmother tell me? I would have helped.”

She could feel his gaze on her face. “Maybe it doesn’t matter why. Now that you know, you’ll do the right thing.”

He sounded like an echo of Uncle Nick, except that they didn’t agree about what that right thing was.

“Uncle Nick told me he’s been worried about Grams. He said there have been problems with antique thieves. That prowler you mentioned—” She came to a stop, frowning at him.

He stopped, too, leaning an elbow on top of the stone wall that surrounded the church across the street from Grams’s house. “Could be connected, I suppose.”

“Nick said they hit isolated farmhouses. Grams’s place is right on the edge of the village.”

“It’s also big, concealed by plenty of trees and out-buildings, and for the most part has had only one elderly woman in residence. There aren’t any houses to the east, and in the back, the farms are too far away for troublemakers to be spotted.” His frown deepened as he looked across the road toward the house.

She shivered a little at the thought. He was right—the mansion was isolated in spite of the fact that it fronted on the main road. Crossings Road, where Rachel had been injured, snaked along one side, leading toward distant farms and making it easy for someone to approach from the back. “Surely no one would try to break into the house.”

“They wouldn’t have to. The outbuildings are crammed to the roof with stuff. Furniture, mostly. And that’s not including the attics of the house itself. No one knows what’s there.”

“You mean there’s no inventory?”

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “I’m sure you’d have a tidy inventory, with the approximate value listed for every item.”

“Of course I would.” Her voice was tart. He didn’t need to act as if efficiency were a sin. “For insurance purposes, if nothing else.”

“That’s how your mind works, but not your grandmother’s.”

“I suppose not.” Her grandmother was an odd mixture—clever about people, but naive about business, which had been her husband’s prerogative. “You’re trying to give me nightmares, aren’t you?”

He gave a rueful smile and shoved away from the wall. “Sorry about that.” He touched her hand in a brief gesture of sympathy. Warmth shimmered across her skin and was gone. “I figured I shouldn’t be the only one.”

Andrea was still wrestling with the difficulties when she went up to her room that evening, hoping to concentrate on some work. A half-dozen times she’d nearly confronted Grams about the financial situation, but each time a look at her grandmother stopped her. Grams looked so tired. So old.

She’d never thought of her grandmother as needing someone to take care of her. Now she’d have to, even though she suspected Grams wouldn’t take kindly to any suggestion that she couldn’t manage her own affairs.

Well, she’d let the topic ride until tomorrow, at least. Maybe by then she’d have come up with some tactful way of approaching the subject and Grams would, she hoped, have had a decent night’s sleep.

She opened her laptop. In an instant she was completely engrossed in work.

Finally the numbers began to blur on the screen. She got up, stretching, and walked to the window. Full dark had settled in, and her attention had been so focused on the computer screen that she hadn’t even noticed. Maybe she’d been trying to shut out the human problems that she found so much more difficult to deal with than figures.

Her eyes gradually grew accustomed to the darkness. She could make out the pond now, the forsythia bushes along it, and the pale line that was the flagstone path.

She stiffened. There—by the toolshed. That wasn’t a bush—it was a person. She froze, watching the faint gleam of a shielded light cross the door of the shed.

He was breaking in. She whirled, racing out of the room and across the hall to burst in on her grandmother, who sat up in bed with a Bible on her lap. Barney jumped up, ears pricking.

“Andrea, what—”

“There’s someone prowling around by the toolshed. Call the police and alert Cal. I’m going to turn the outside lights on.”

She could hear Grams protesting as she bolted down the stairs, the dog at her heels.

FOUR

Andrea reached the back door and slapped the switch that controlled the outside lights. They sprang up instantly, bathing the area with soft illumination. The yellow glow was probably intentional on Rachel’s part. It fit well with the style of the two-and-a-half-century-old building, but at the moment, Andrea would rather have harsh fluorescents that lit up every shadowy corner.

She peered through the glass pane in the door, shivering a little. The dog, pressing against her leg, trembled, too, probably eager to get outside and chase whatever lay in the shadows.

The flowers were mere shapes that moved restlessly in the breeze, as if they sensed something wrong. She strained to see beyond the patio. There was the pale outline of the pond, and beyond it nothing but angular shadows.

She heard a step at the top of the stairs behind her.

“I tried Cal, but there was no answer. Perhaps it’s him you saw outside.”

If so, she was going to feel like an idiot for overreacting. “Does he usually look around the grounds at night?” He’d mentioned looking for the prowler, and after their conversation, that seemed likely. The tension eased.

“Sometimes. But I called the police anyway. Now, don’t start worrying about it.” Grams seemed to be reading her mind. “I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

But she couldn’t help the chagrin she felt. City-dweller, jumping to conclusions at the slightest thing.

Well, if so, Cal was the one who’d spooked her, with his talk of prowlers and thieves. He and Uncle Nick had done the job between them.

A heavy flashlight hung on the hook next to the back door, just where Grandfather had always kept one. Clutching the collar of the excited dog, she opened the door, then reached up and took the flashlight.

“Andrea, don’t go out,” Grams said. “I’m sure it’s fine, but wait for the police. Or Cal. He’ll come to the house when he sees all the lights on.”

Obviously Grams wasn’t worried. A little embarrassing, to have her elderly grandmother reassuring her.

“I’ll just step outside and flash the light around. See if I can spot Cal. Or anyone.”

The dog surged forward, tail waving, apparently welcoming this change in his usual routine. Did the waving tail indicate he sensed a friend?

She edged down the two steps to the patio, lifting the flashlight to probe the shadows beyond the pond. Even as she did, the wail of sirens pierced the night.

She must have relaxed her grip at the sound, because Barney pulled free and darted off toward the lane, letting out an excited bark. Turning, she caught a glimpse of what might be a dark figure. Her heart jolted. She swung the light toward it, but the beam didn’t reach far enough to show her anything suspicious.

The dog barked again, a high, excited yip.

If it had been an intruder, he’d be thoroughly scared away by the dog, the lights and the sirens. The lane led to the road—if he went that way, he might run straight into the arms of the police, although he’d hardly be so foolish.

She swung the light back toward the shed where she’d first glimpsed the figure. Everything was still. Reassured by the wail of the police car as it turned in the drive, she crossed the patio, flashing the light around. Nothing seemed to be disturbed.

Cal had said the outbuildings were stuffed to the rafters with furniture. She focused the flashlight on the toolshed. Nothing moved now. The shed was a dark rectangle, with a darker rectangle for the door.

She frowned, trying to pick out details in the shaft of light. Memory provided her with an image of the door as she’d seen it earlier, and tension trailed along her nerves. There had been a padlock on the door. If it was open, someone had been breaking in.

She glanced toward the house. Grams stood in the lighted doorway, peering out.

“Grams, I’m going to check the toolshed. Please don’t come out.”

“Be careful.” Grams sounded a little shaky.

“I will. But if anyone was here, he’s long gone by now.” She called the words back over her shoulder, moving toward the shed. If something had been stolen on her second night here, she was going to feel responsible.

A mental list began to take shape. Get better outdoor lighting, whether it enhanced the ambience or not. Ask the police to make a regular swing by the property. New locks on any building that held something of value. If what Cal had said was right, that could be any of the half-dozen or more outbuildings.

Every building should be properly inventoried. If it hadn’t been done when her grandfather died, it should be done as soon as possible.

Grams and Rachel hadn’t thought of that—their minds didn’t work that way, as Cal had pointed out. Hers did. He hadn’t intended a compliment, but she considered her organizational skills an asset. If her mother had been a bit more meticulous, maybe they wouldn’t have spent so much time evading the bill collectors.

She shook that thought off, because remembering those days gave her a queasy feeling in her stomach and an inclination to check her bank balance, just to be sure she was all right.

Hardly surprising. Other children’s bogeymen had been monsters and snakes. Hers had been collection agencies.

“Barney! Come, Barney.” Her grandmother’s voice fluted over the dark garden.

She glanced back the way she’d come to see the dog’s pale coat as he bounded toward Grams. Apparently Barney hadn’t been in time to take a piece out of their intruder.

Ahead of her, the entrance to the toolshed yawned open, sending a faint shiver of fear across her skin. She hadn’t been imagining things. Someone had been here.

A few steps took her to the shed door. With a vague thought of fingerprints, she didn’t touch it. She’d shine the light inside, that’s all. There was no way of knowing if anything was missing, but at least she could see if it looked disturbed. And get an idea of what she had to deal with.

She leaned forward, light piercing the darkness, giving her a jumbled view of wooden pieces—straight chairs, tables, shelves, even an old icebox, jammed on top of each other…

A quick impression of movement, a dark figure. She couldn’t react, couldn’t even scream as a hand shot out, shoving her into the toolshed.

She barreled into the edge of a table, cracking her head on something above it. Stars showered through the darkness. She stumbled, hitting the floor just as the door banged shut.

For an instant dizziness engulfed her, followed by a wave of sheer, uncontrollable panic. She was shut in, she was alone in the dark—

She bolted to her feet, grabbed at the door, fumbling for a handle, a latch. “Let me out!”

Shout, don’t cry, don’t let yourself cry or the panic will take over.

“Help! Help me!”

The door jerked open, and she hurtled out. She caught back a sob, her hands closing on the soft fabric of a shirt and solid muscle. She knew him by instinct before she could see him.

“Cal—there was someone here. Did you see him?”

He pulled her clear of the door and slammed it shut. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” They’d had this exchange before, hadn’t they? “I’m fine. Did you see him?”

“I saw him.” He sounded grim. “Not enough to describe him, unfortunately. You?”

She shook her head. “Just a blur of movement when he pushed me into the shed. I’m sorry.”

He grunted, a frustrated sound. “I was following him. If you hadn’t sounded the alarm, I might have caught him.”

Cal shook his head in response to Katherine’s repeated offer of another cup of chamomile tea. “No, thanks, I’ve had plenty.” One cup of the pale brew was surely enough to satisfy the demands of politeness.

“I think that’s everything we need.” The young township cop sat awkwardly at the kitchen table, looking half-afraid to touch the delicate Haviland cup and saucer that sat in front of him.

“Do you think you’ll catch the thief?” Katherine was as much at ease in her kitchen, wearing a fuzzy red bathrobe, as if she sat in the parlor.

“That might be too much to expect, Grams.” Andrea spoke before the cop could come up with an answer. “None of us actually saw the man, and he didn’t take anything, as far as we know.”

While the cop’s attitude toward Katherine was one of respect bordering on awe, the glance he turned on Andrea was simply admiration.

Cal understood. Even casual and disheveled, wearing jeans and a loose blue shirt, Andrea was cool and elegant.

And frosty, when she looked at him. Apparently his comment about her interfering with his pursuit of the intruder still rankled.

“I’d best be on my way, ma’am.” The cop rose, settling his uniform cap over a thatch of straw-colored hair as he headed for the back door. “We’ll do the best we can to keep an eye on the place.”

“Thank you, Officer.” Katherine was graciousness itself. “We appreciate that.”

Once the door closed behind him, Cal shook his head. “That won’t be often enough. The township cops have too much territory to cover and too few men. What you need out there is better lighting.”

“That’s just what I was thinking.” Once again Andrea looked faintly surprised to find herself agreeing with him. “I’ll call about it in the morning.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. If we leave on the lights we have, that should suffice.” Katherine set a cup and saucer in the sink, the china chattering against itself, betraying her emotion.

“I can install them,” he said, knowing she was probably worrying about the cost, “if Andrea gets the fixtures.”

Andrea nodded. “Of course.” Her gaze crossed his, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. “It’ll be my contribution to the renovations.”

“I don’t want you to spend your money on this.” Katherine’s eyes darkened with distress. “After all, you didn’t think the inn was a good idea.”

She probably still didn’t, but she managed a smile. “I have to take part. The sign does say The Three Sisters Inn, after all.” She put her arm around her grandmother’s waist and urged her toward the stairs. “You go up to bed, Grams. I’ll just talk to Cal about the lights, and then I’ll see him out.”

“Thank you, dear.” Katherine patted her cheek, and then came over to touch him lightly on the shoulder. “And you, Cal. I don’t know what we’d have done without you tonight.”

“No problem,” he said easily. “Have a good night’s sleep.”

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