Caught between her Amish past and Englisch future...

and in the crosshairs of danger!

Growing up Amish, Deputy Becky Spoth never fathomed she’d become the target of a relentless stalker. She left her Amish community to serve the people of her small hometown—not to become someone’s prey. Newcomer Deputy Harrison James is the only one who believes she’s in harm’s way. Now, her future is in the hands of this handsome stranger.

ALISON STONE lives with her husband of more than twenty years and their four children in Western New York. Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race motocross. Alison loves to hear from her readers at Alison@AlisonStone.com. For more information, please visit her website, alisonstone.com. She’s also chatty on Twitter, @alison_stone. Find her on Facebook at Facebook.com/alisonstoneauthor.

Also By Alison Stone

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Silver Lake Secrets

Plain Peril

High-Risk Homecoming

Plain Threats

Plain Protector

Plain Cover-Up

Plain Sanctuary

Plain Jeopardy

Plain Outsider

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Plain Outsider

Alison Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08450-5

PLAIN OUTSIDER

© 2018 Alison Stone

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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A flush of dread she couldn’t explain washed over her as she made her way through the parking garage.

She quickened her steps and glanced over her shoulder. The deck was empty, but her imagination was full of all sorts of crazy notions.

It’s just the stress.

When she reached the truck, she clicked the unlock button this time and heard a click-click. She reached for the door handle when footsteps rushed toward her. Before she had a chance to react, a solid body slammed her into the side of the truck. Pain ripped through her hip and ribs.

She opened her mouth to scream when a hand clamped over her mouth, making it impossible.

“You’re dead,” a deep voice growled.

As terror shot through her veins, the words of the bishop came slamming back into her brain, a cautionary warning she had refused to heed.

There is evil in the outside world. We must remain separate.

Becky should have listened. It was time for her to pay for her sins.

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him.

—Psalms 28:7

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Quail Hollow. When I start any new book series, I’m not always sure where I’ll end up. During the writing process is when I get most of my best ideas. So when Deputy Becky Spoth strolled onto the page in Plain Jeopardy to protect Grace Miller, I immediately knew I had to tell her story. Becky had left her Amish home to become a sheriff’s deputy in her hometown. It seemed like a tough path to follow, but she does it with grace and God’s guidance. I hope you enjoyed her story.

I think, like Becky, many people choose to follow a path in life that is neither easy nor popular, but they know it is the one God wants them to be on. And when doubt swamps them, they have to learn to rely on their faith to guide them. Even if the path isn’t difficult, some people struggle to know what God calls them to do. During my lifetime, I’ve prayed for guidance as I studied engineering, then became a full-time mom, then took up writing. Oftentimes I wondered if I was making the right decisions. But when I look around, I recognize my blessings and I am grateful. I also continue to pray for guidance.

As always, I truly appreciate my readers. Thank you. Please feel free to drop me a note at Alison@AlisonStone.com or Alison Stone, PO Box 333, Buffalo, NY 14051.

Live, Love, Laugh,

Alison

To Mom, with love

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

The headlights on Deputy Becky Spoth’s patrol car illuminated the lines on the deserted country road. Some of her fellow deputies complained about the overnight shift, but Becky had grown to like it. There was something calming about patrolling the quiet roads devoid of cars or horses, or more important, people. It gave her a lot of time for quiet reflection while still providing a means to pay the mortgage. She appreciated her job now more than ever when just a few days ago she wondered if she’d ever be out on patrol again.

That was the thing about this job. Things could change on a dime. The radio that had been silent most of her shift suddenly crackled to life as if to prove her point. “Report of a break-in on Robin Nest Road. How far away are you, Deputy Spoth?”

She didn’t have to give the location a moment’s thought. She had grown up in Quail Hollow and knew all the windy roads and farms, even the ones the town didn’t see fit to mark. That was the thing about a small town. Everyone knew everything about everything and everyone.

“I’m a mile out.” Despite a year as a deputy, her stomach bottomed out and her mouth grew dry. Would she ever get used to answering calls, especially alone at night? All the officers in the sheriff’s department traveled solo, but backup was usually only a moment away.

Backup. More than once over the past couple weeks, she wished she hadn’t been the first to arrive to help Deputy Ned Reich subdue a young Amish man, an incident that had turned the sheriff’s department upside down.

Had turned the small town of Quail Hollow, New York, upside down.

Forcing the distracting thoughts out of her mind, Becky weighed the pros and cons of turning on the patrol car’s lights and siren. She didn’t want to give the possible intruder a heads-up that a sheriff’s deputy was on the way, a chance to get away. But she didn’t want to surprise some unsuspecting driver. She stretched across to the control panel. Flick. Lights. No siren.

The engine revved under the weight of her foot on the accelerator. The power of the patrol car never failed to impress her, especially for a woman who didn’t get her driver’s license until she was twenty-five.

The first hints of pink and purple pushed into the black night sky as she drove toward Robin Nest. The only homes out this way belonged to the Amish. Perhaps a young Amish boy had been sneaking home after a night of shenanigans. A lot of the Amish youth went to Sunday singings and for some, the fun stretched into the early morning with unsuspecting parents who might glance outside at the most inopportune time and mistake their son for an intruder.

But that raised the question: Who called the sheriff? The Amish preferred not to deal with law enforcement. And there was the issue of a phone, but even Becky realized that some Amish were adapting to the modern world by allowing phones and cell phones in a limited capacity. Like a landline in a barn or a cell phone strictly for work purposes. She doubted she’d be seeing an Amish family sitting around the table at the diner in town all staring at their cell phones anytime soon. A bit of a slippery slope, all the same.

As Becky’s patrol car crested the hill, the headlights from an oncoming car blinded her. Instinctively, she jammed on the brakes as the approaching car veered into her lane. She gripped the wheel tightly and braced for impact, a prayer crossing her lips.

The tires skidded on the pavement. She swerved. The patrol car careened off the road and plowed into the nearby field, stalks of corn slapping at her windshield, her entire body jostling. The vehicle finally came to a hard stop and her seat belt dug into her chest. She let out a breath on a whoosh and slumped into the leather seat. She pried her fingers from the steering wheel and thanked God she was in one piece.

She contacted dispatch with her current predicament, then released the seat belt. She pushed open the door against the corn stalks. With heightened awareness, she stepped out into the field, her boots sinking into the soft soil. Her first concern was the other driver. Had he had a medical issue? Was he drunk?

The night air smelled thick, the combination of rich soil and burned rubber. She squinted against the glare of the red and blue patrol lights.

Plodding through the soil, she pushed the cornstalks out of the way. The other vehicle had stopped, positioned across the road, its extinguished headlights pointed toward her. A shadow of a figure sat motionless in the driver’s seat.

Is he watching me?

“Hello, are you okay?” she called, nerve endings prickling to life. Where was her backup?

The headlights flipped on and her hand instinctively came up to block the bright beams trained on her.

“Turn your headlights off, sir.” She cocked her head, straining to see past the blinding lights.

The high beams flashed on and she jerked her head back. What in the world?

Her other hand hovered over her gun. You’ve got this. You’re trained for this. She took a step back. Crops didn’t exactly provide protection, but they could provide a hiding place if necessary.

“Step out of your car,” she ordered, keeping her tone authoritative and even, like she had practiced. Becky was jacked up on adrenaline from nearly getting hit head-on, but the mood had shifted from apprehension to determination. She had a job to do.

The man was watching her. Toying with her. She planted her feet in the soil, ready to draw her gun. Her legs felt like jelly, but she ignored the sensation. Nerves came with the job. She had been trained to fire a gun and hit a target. She had never shot another human being and prayed tonight wouldn’t change that.

“Out of your car now!” she ordered, feeling her entire body tense.

The engine of the car fired to life, the sound rumbling through her chest. The tires spun, spewing the acrid smell of burned rubber. She fought back a cough, keeping her sharpened attention on the vehicle. The tires gained purchase and the car backed up, stopped abruptly, then raced down the road, back in the direction it had come.

Becky’s shoulders sagged and she drew in a few deep breaths. Staring toward the vehicle, she waited a moment, anticipating another drive-by. The early-morning chirping of birds seeped into her consciousness before she allowed herself to let down her guard. He’s gone. She strode back to the patrol car and flipped off the flashing lights. She pressed her shoulder radio and said, “ETA on the tow truck?”

“Five minutes,” the dispatcher asked. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, a not-exactly truthful reply, but a necessary one. A person couldn’t show weakness on this job. Not if they wanted to be seen as competent.

Becky gave the dispatcher what limited information she had on the car that ran her off the road. Maybe they’d pull him over, figure out what his problem was.

Becky leaned against the trunk of her patrol car and ran a hand across her clenched jaw. She didn’t know who ran her off the road, but she suspected he had known exactly who his target was.

Her.

* * *

This wasn’t exactly how Becky had envisioned her first shift back at work. The tow truck driver insisted he could drop her off in front of the sheriff’s station before taking the vehicle to the repair shop to make sure mud from her off-roading adventure wasn’t clogging anything up. She was pretty sure he had been more specific with some technical terms, but she had tuned him out after the second time he appeared to be hitting on her. Like that never happened before: a guy hitting on a female sheriff’s deputy.

Sorry, not interested.

“Stop. I’m going to get out here,” Becky said, growing impatient as he debated with himself whether he’d be able to weave the tow truck through the narrow parking lot adjacent to the employee entrance.

“No problem.” The young man stopped and gave her a silent stare while she scooted out of the cab. Her foot didn’t reach the ground and she almost missed the running board, which would have added insult to injury. It wasn’t exactly a good shift when a deputy returned with her patrol car trailing behind her.

She didn’t bother giving the tow truck driver instructions because she suspected her boss already had. After determining that his deputy was okay and that the call on Robin Nest was a false alarm, the sheriff had instructed her to report to his office the minute she returned.

On solid ground, Becky smoothed out her uniform shirt. She watched as the tow truck lumbered away, its engine chugging as the sun poked over the horizon. The day shift deputies had started to arrive.

Just great.

Becky might have been imagining it, but several seemed to give her the side eye as they strolled toward the employee entrance, and she suspected it had nothing to do with her going four-wheeling in the cornfields with a patrol car.

She sighed heavily. She had hoped her first day back on patrol was going to be a smooth transition after a rough week. Apparently not.

Fighting the urge to fidget with the cuffs of her sleeves, she approached the entrance. She had wanted to go straight home, take a hot bath and get some solid sleep. But she had strict instructions to report to the sheriff.

Becky walked at a steady pace. She squared her shoulders, determined to prove to anyone who might be judging her that she was confident and self-assured, despite the mud caked up in the wheel wells of her vehicle. She frowned, realizing her driving abilities weren’t the only thing her fellow officers would be questioning. Several had voiced their displeasure when she filed her official report last week against a fellow officer who had been placed on a long-term suspension while the department continued their investigation.

The memory of the sudden brightness of the headlights blinding her earlier this morning while she stood in the cornfields knotted her stomach. Could the anger of one of her fellow officers have turned to retribution? To show Becky just how wrong she had been to point a finger at another officer? To make sure she knew her place not only as one of the newer deputies, but also as a woman?

Support fellow deputies. Don’t testify against them.

Someone had left that note for her last week on her windshield, but she didn’t think it applied in this case. She couldn’t ignore when a fellow deputy crossed a line.

She brushed at her white uniform sleeves, convincing herself that yes, she had done the right thing. A law-enforcement officer didn’t have the right to beat up a young man, even if he had led him on a high-speed chase, barely missing a child crossing the street after getting the mail.

Becky slowed, allowing the first rays of morning sun to warm her face and the buzz of her nerves to settle a bit. An arm reached around her and grabbed the handle of the station door, surprising her.

“Oh, sorry,” Becky muttered, not realizing she had been blocking the entrance. She glanced up into the serious face of Deputy Harrison James, the only deputy with less time at the Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department than she had. But she wasn’t naive to assume his lack of time in this department meant he had less experience. Everything about him screamed skill, confidence and an “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me” vibe. Three qualities Becky admired.

Three qualities she would like to purchase in bushels right now. If only that was a one-click option online.

Harrison nodded in a silent greeting and pulled open the door for her. He was standing so close she could see the flecks of yellow in his brown eyes.

“Thank you.” Becky averted her gaze and stepped through the door and he followed behind her. The brief exchange had probably been the longest one she’d had with Deputy James. He wasn’t exactly the chatty type. More like tall, dark and brooding. Considering the mood she was in of late, she could relate.

“No problem,” he said, his voice low and gruff. They walked slowly across the small lobby, waiting to be admitted into the secure office area. Deputy James frowned as he pressed the buzzer. He looked like a man who hadn’t had his morning coffee. But at least he hadn’t had the kind of morning she’d had.

The interior door buzzed, and Harrison once again opened the door for her. “Tough shift?” His comment startled her.

“Um, yeah.” Heat fired in her cheeks as she smiled meekly and jabbed her thumb in the general direction of where she’d climbed out of the tow truck. “Someone ran me off the road.”

His brow furrowed. “Did he stop?”

“At first, but he took off once I got out of the vehicle.”

Harrison looked like he was going to say more when Becky heard a stern voice calling her name.

“Looks like the sheriff’s looking for me.”

The corners of her fellow deputy’s lips turned down. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

Reflexively, Becky checked her collar, making sure her uniform was in place. Sheriff Thomas Landry tapped the door frame before disappearing back inside his office. No deputy made the sheriff call them twice.

Becky forced a cheery demeanor for Anne Wagner, the sheriff’s administrative assistant, as she passed. They had been peers before Becky had finished her training and become a deputy. Anne raised her eyebrows and returned a smile, a cross between friendship and I hope everything’s okay. No one liked to be on the new sheriff’s bad side. He had only been elected six months ago, and by all accounts, he was tough. All his officers toed the line or paid the price.

Exhibit one: Deputy Ned Reich, the deputy Becky had testified against.

“Good morning, Sheriff.” Becky lingered in the doorway, hoping this would be a quick chat along the lines of “How was your first day back?”

“You’ve had better mornings, I’m sure,” the sheriff responded, his tone calm and even. In the short time she had worked with him, he seemed unflappable. As cool as his demeanor in the ubiquitous political commercials that littered the airways: “Vote for me, Thomas Landry, for sheriff. The kind of transparent leader Quail Hollow needs.” The department was still trying to reshape its image after one of their own had been convicted in a twenty-year-old murder of a young Amish mother.

“Yes, but it’s all part of the job,” she said. “Anyone find the car?”

“We haven’t located the vehicle that ran you off the road yet, but everyone has the description.”

“It was hard to see. Sedan. Early model. Maybe a B in the license plate. Isn’t very descriptive, I know, but it was dark.”

He waved his hand. “Glad you’re okay. Probably some punk on a dare. Turns out the call to Robin Nest was a dead end, too.” He shook his head. “Like we have nothing better to do than respond to crank calls.”

“You think someone was dared to play chicken with a patrol car?” Becky asked in disbelief.

The sheriff leaned back and crossed his arms. “Or someone had too much to drink. Or maybe someone thought our country roads would make a great speedway. Easy to lose control.” He shrugged. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Still standing in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. The deputies were still wandering in for the start of the day shift. “I’m not exactly the most popular person around here.” But how could she suggest that one of her fellow deputies might be out to get her without sounding paranoid, or at the very least, like someone who wasn’t a team player?

The moment to offer a possible culprit passed and the sheriff gestured at her to come farther into his office. “Close the door.”

Becky’s heart sank. Close the door. Nothing good was ever said behind closed doors, unless it involved a raise or a promotion, neither of which she was in line for.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” the sheriff said.

TWO

“Bad news?” What more could possibly go wrong?

Sitting behind his mahogany desk, the sheriff forced a tight smile and held his hand out to Becky. “Have a seat.”

Becky wanted to refuse the seat, hoping that whatever he had to tell her could be said while she was standing, but her knees felt warm and wobbly. Swallowing hard, she moved around to the front of the chair and lowered herself into the seat as he requested. “What’s going on?” She hoped her crossed ankles, hands politely folded on her lap and her square shoulders exuded outward confidence. Inside she felt like puking.

The sheriff tapped the pads of his fingers together and seemed to be looking right through her, as if collecting his thoughts. “I know you’ve been having a hard time since the Elijah Lapp incident.”

“Yes.” Short of leaving her Amish family, the past week had been the hardest of her life. When she took the oath to uphold the law, she never thought it would include speaking out against one of her fellow deputies.

“You’ve been under tremendous pressure,” the sheriff said with a reassuring tilt to his mouth.

“Yes.” Becky swallowed hard, feeling a bit like she was being interrogated again. Like she had when she answered questions about The Incident. That was how she had begun to think of it. A young Amish man had led Deputy Ned Reich on a high-speed chase and only stopped when he bailed out of his car in the hopes of making a getaway on foot. Fueled by adrenaline and a well-known bad attitude, Deputy Reich had quickly caught up with the man and beaten him to within an inch of his life. By the time Becky—Reich’s backup—arrived on the scene, the young Amish man was on the ground and Ned was driving his fist into his face. Becky had stared at the ceiling each night wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t come by to put an end to the beating.

Even now she wondered how she had been able to stop the fight. The events of that afternoon blurred into an adrenaline-fueled haze. She thanked God she had the strength and inclination to do something.

Becky bent back her fingers on one hand in a nervous gesture. Once she became aware of it, she dropped her hand, only to absentmindedly pick it up and start again.

She had left the Amish because she felt like she had a bigger calling—to help people outside the small Amish community. But she was beginning to think this job was going to be the death of her. She never imagined small-town policing could be such stressful work.

The sheriff picked up a cell phone that had been face down on his desk, then put it back down again. “New evidence has come to light.”

“New evidence against Deputy Reich?” A part of her was relieved. The more independent evidence against Ned, perhaps the less they’d have to rely on her testimony when it came to his trial. For now she had only testified in the confines of the department, providing enough information to keep Reich out of uniform for the foreseeable future. Maybe forever, depending on what additional evidence the sheriff had found. She hated this situation, but if she could find a spark of hope, this was it. Maybe her life would get back to normal and her fellow officers wouldn’t treat her like a traitor.

The sheriff shot her a subtle gaze that chilled her to the core. She had misread this entire situation. “What is it?” Her body seemed to be hovering over her.

The sheriff touched the corner of his computer screen, adjusting its angle so she could see it. He clicked a few keys on his keyboard and a video frame popped up. The sheriff clicked the arrow button and an image of Ned pummeling the Amish kid while he was down on the pavement came into focus. The familiar uneasy feeling swept over her. The video had been taken from her dash cam on her patrol car. She wanted to look away, but didn’t. Couldn’t. There was a reason the sheriff was showing her this video, the same video she had seen play over and over again during her testimony against the man.

Her heart raced, just as it did the afternoon the events unfolded. Just as it did every time she had to relive the moment. She ran her hands up and down the arms of the chair. “I’ve seen this video more times than I can count, sir. Are we looking at something new?”

The sheriff cut her a quick gaze. “Hold on.” He moved the mouse and scanned over a few files. Perhaps he had shown her the wrong video. “Here it is.”

This time when he clicked on the arrow, another video played. She slid to the edge of her seat as the familiar scene played out from a new angle. One she had never seen before. She shot a quick glance to her boss, then back to the video. This time she appeared on the screen. She had out her baton. Nausea swirled in her gut.

“Stop. Stop. Stop.” Her terrified voice could be heard in the video. She had her baton raised, much like Ned had his fist raised moments ago in the other video.

“What is this?” Her voice cracked.

“Someone took a video with their cell phone.”

She stared at the screen as if watching someone else. A million memories from that day assaulted her, but this particular one escaped her. As she approached, Ned dragged the man behind his patrol car. This was when her dash cam lost coverage. But this video caught more, like a second camera on a movie set. This time Becky could be seen marching toward where the two men had disappeared.

The sheriff stopped the video and pointed to a part with the tip of his pen. “What are you doing here?”

“Um—” she stared at the computer screen until it went blurry “—I’m raising my baton.”

“What did you do with your baton?” The sheriff moved the pen away from the screen and covered the mouse with the palm of his hand. He clicked on Play. On the video, she was commanding that they stop.

Who? Her fellow officer? The man getting beat?

She blinked rapidly. “I needed to help...” The next word got caught in her throat. Did she need to help Ned? Her fellow officer? Or had she been determined to save the young Amish man?

“Who were you going to help, Deputy Spoth?” He hit Pause again.

Becky sat ramrod straight on the edge of her seat and squared her shoulders. She had the answer. The question was easy, right? “I had to stop the fight. I had to get the driver safely into custody and away from Deputy Reich. The situation had turned out of control.”

“Would you say you’d do whatever it took to stop the fight?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking.” She flinched, then turned to stare at the screen, her digital form frozen with an anguished expression on her face. Becky may have been fairly naive because of her upbringing, but she studied people, knew how to respond. She was a quick learner and she wasn’t going to allow the sheriff to get her to say something that could jeopardize her career.

The sheriff clicked Play. Video Becky walked authoritatively toward Reich’s patrol car. She could be seen with her baton raised. To hit someone? Then she saw nothing.

On the video, someone muttered and then gravel came into view as the person took off running through what looked to be cornfields while still recording on their phone. Then the video came to a quick stop and the screen went black.

“I don’t understand.” A hot flush of dread blanketed her skin.

The sheriff sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. It groaned under his weight. “This video was submitted to Deputy Reich’s lawyer.”

“Who?” The single word came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Who turned it in? Why not turn it in to the department?”

“We’re working on that. The lawyer said it was from an anonymous source. The witness claims you hit Elijah Lapp on the head with your baton, thus ending the fight and potentially leading to the young Amish man’s cracked skull.”

Cold dread washed over her and she thought she was going to be sick. “Wait...what? No. That’s not...” The memories of that day were disjointed, but she didn’t hit Elijah. No way.

“Deputy Spoth,” the sheriff said in a soothing voice, but she was having none of it.

“This is all a misunderstanding. I didn’t hit anyone with my baton. I used it to pry the men apart. That’s why I had the baton out.” It was all coming back to her now in a flood of formerly suppressed memories. Or was she grasping for the truth? Was she confused? Had she done something regrettable in the heat of the moment? She blinked slowly. The walls of the room closed in on her. She tugged on her collar. “You can ask Ned.” As soon as the words spilled from her lips, she realized the futility of it. Why would Ned help her after she testified against him? Cost him his job? She looked up and met the sheriff’s even gaze and knew she didn’t stand a chance to talk her way out of this.

“Ned’s lawyer insists that you landed the final blow that cracked Elijah Lapp’s skull. Ned’s lawyer provided the video.”

“But...”

“Reich’s been with the sheriff’s department for twenty-five years.” The sheriff glanced at the closed door behind her, as if to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “Between you and me, he’s a hothead, but he’s never gone this far.”

“We can interview Elijah.” Becky leaned forward on the edge of her chair, feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

“Elijah has no memory of the incident.” The sheriff’s calm, cool demeanor only served to morph her initial fear to white-hot anger. “He’s recovering at home and his family isn’t allowing anyone from the sheriff’s department to speak with him.”

“I can’t believe this.”

The sheriff held up his hand. “I don’t believe you hit the young man.”

Hope straightened Becky’s backbone, only for her to be immediately deflated with the sheriff’s next words. “Despite what I think, I can’t ignore this video. I ran for sheriff on the pledge that this office would be transparent and not allow any wrongdoing. This community has a reason to mistrust the sheriff’s department after one of our own was arrested for murder.”

Becky grew dizzy. “That was so long ago.”

“But the perception that the sheriff’s department protected him has hurt us.” The sheriff shook his head. “We must regain the trust of the community.”

“But—” Her world was sputtering out of control.

“Until we can clear you, you’re suspended.”

Becky stood to leave when the sheriff held out his hand.

“I’ll need your gun and badge.”

* * *

Deputy Harrison James climbed behind the wheel of his patrol car and turned the key in the ignition. He took a minute to adjust the AC vents, directing them toward his face. It was going to be a scorcher today. But hot in the country was never the same as hot in the city.

Fighting crime in the city was a whole new ballgame when the temperatures rose. Tempers spiked in direct proportion. And the concrete buildings held the heat. Here, the soft wind had a chance to reach a person across the large open spaces giving him time to think before he threw a punch or pulled the trigger.

Most of the time.

He thought about the deputy he had chatted with on his way into the building at the start of his shift. He wondered if her shell-shocked expression was a result of being run off the road or if the tight lines around her eyes were the aftereffects of the incident splashed all over the news. It was probably a combination of the two.

Harrison knew what it was like to have personal business laid out for public consumption. That was a big part of why he had taken a job with the sheriff’s department in Quail Hollow. He never thought the small-town sheriff’s department would be dealing with a case of excessive force. But he supposed people were people and bad decisions could happen anywhere. He had come here to get his head on straight and he hoped he could keep his distance from any interoffice drama. He wanted to do his job and go home at night with a clear conscience.

Such as it was. He carried a lot of guilt with him regardless.

As Harrison pulled out of the back lot of the sheriff’s department, he noticed Deputy Spoth standing next to her personal vehicle. The petite blonde had caught his eye more than once, and not because she had arrived in a tow truck at the end of her shift this morning. And not simply because she was a woman—he had worked with plenty of female law-enforcement officers before. He noticed her because she seemed different. Almost too meek to do this job. Too nice. Yet she had somehow broken up a fight on the side of the road that, by all accounts, could have led to the death of a young Amish man. That was how he had interpreted the reports. Mumblings suggested other deputies thought differently. Not that he was willing to get involved in a heated debate.

Didn’t concern him anyway.

Harrison didn’t envy Deputy Spoth’s position. Not all law-enforcement officers could understand how a fellow officer could testify against them. Some would silently support their fellow officer no matter what.

One side was right. One was wrong. Clear lines.

He had done that with his brother. Harrison had only seen his side of things. Had let his brother know of his disapproval under no uncertain terms. Had purposely alienated his brother in hopes that he’d realize the error of his ways. Had seemed like a good idea.

Everything had always been clearly black-and-white—until life served him up some bleak gray.

Harrison squeezed the steering wheel and shifted his focus to the female deputy standing by the open driver’s side door. She had her hands planted on her hips and a frustrated expression on her face. At first he thought she was still carrying the weight of her rough shift in her posture until he dropped his gaze to the two flat tires on her personal vehicle.

He pulled up alongside where she was parked, jammed the gear into Park and climbed out, allowing the engine and the AC to run. The deputy glanced up at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

The woman held out her hand toward her car. “Someone slashed all four tires.” Her cheeks filled with air, then she huffed in frustration. “Apparently, the number of people I’ve managed to irk has grown.”

Harrison crouched down and ran his finger along the clean slice in the rubber. “Man...” He angled his head toward the row of patrol cars across the parking lot. The heat was pulsing off the blacktop surface and he could feel the sweat forming under his uniform shirt. “I can put a call in to a local garage.”

“I already did. They’re on their way.” She dropped down on the curb and rested her arms on her knees, letting her hands hang limply. “Looks like bad things really do come in threes.”

He narrowed his gaze, not sure what she meant.

“Patrol car towed in. Flat tires.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “Got suspended.”

“Suspended? Why?” He thought she had come out smelling like a rose after her testimony against the other officer.

“New video.” She didn’t need to elaborate; her participation in the most talked about case was well known. “Apparently enough to make them question my involvement.”

“Really?” He ran a hand across his chin, reminding him that he should have shaved this morning. “How so?”

“The video’s not clear-cut, but a person with something to gain could suggest I used my baton on Elijah Lapp.” She shook her head, clearly dejected. “That’s exactly what Deputy Reich’s lawyer is doing. He’s using the video to spread the blame. It’s a mess.”

“Who sent the video in?”

“Good old anonymous.” She closed her eyes briefly and drew in a long breath, before finally meeting his gaze. “And now I’m out of a job.”

She pushed to her feet and pulled out her cell phone from her duty belt. She walked around to the back of the vehicle and snapped a photo. “Don’t let me hold you up. Pretty sure it won’t do you much good to hang out with me.”

He walked around to where she was standing to see what had caught her attention. He raised his eyebrows, surprised she seemed so calm. Is fattgange was written in soap on her back window. Gibberish as far as he could tell.

“What does that say? Anything?”

“It’s Pennsylvania Dutch. You know, the language the Amish speak.”

He hitched a shoulder. He had been here for less than a year, but other than a few bits and pieces here and there, he mostly heard the Amish speaking English, perhaps with a touch of an accent. “What’s it mean?”

“Go away.” Her tone was flat.

“I’m just trying to help.” Harrison held up his palms and took a step back, not sure what he had said to offend her.

For the first time, the young woman’s mouth curved into a grin and she laughed, adding to his confusion. “No, that’s what is fattgange means. Go away. In Pennsylvania Dutch.”

Harrison scratched his head and couldn’t help but laugh at himself. “Sorry, I haven’t picked up much Pennsylvania Dutch yet, beyond the basics.”

“You’ll learn a little here and there, but most of the adults speak English. That is, when they want to talk to you. The Amish, as a rule, don’t care to deal with law enforcement. The only problem you might run into is with little kids. Most of them don’t learn English until they start school. But it’s not likely you’ll run into an Amish child without one of their parents or older siblings around.”

Harrison nodded. “Yes, they mentioned that in my training.” What little training the small-town sheriff’s department had provided. He frowned. “You think an Amish person vandalized your car?”

“I don’t know what to think. The car has been parked here all night on the edge of the parking lot by the trees. Pretty easy for someone to sneak in and out without being seen.” She ran a hand across the top of her head. Her long blond hair had been braided, then pinned over her head, almost like the Swiss Miss girl. Something told him she was holding back, as if she had her suspicions as to who had vandalized her car.

“Go inside and report this. I’ll wait. Give you a ride home.”

“Are you sure?” Skepticism flickered in her eyes as she glanced toward the sheriff’s station, then at him.

“Yes, go.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out his business card and handed it to her. “My cell phone number’s on here. If you come out and I’m not here, call me. I’ll swing by and pick you up.” He had no idea how long the report would take.

She took the card and slipped it into her back pocket.

Harrison watched the deputy cross the parking lot to the station. He sensed, rather than saw, another patrol car approaching. He tugged open his patrol car door and the cold air from the AC hit his legs. The car inched past, coming awfully close to his open door, and stopped. Harrison squinted, unable to see the officer’s face due to the brim of his hat.

The window slid down. Harrison tilted his head to see inside. The officer had his wrist casually slung on top of the steering wheel, blocking the name tag on his chest. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

“A little advice for the new guy.”

Harrison wondered how long he had to be here before he was no longer the new guy. He gestured toward the driver to get on with it even though he didn’t want his advice.

“Stay away from the chick. She’s toxic.”

Harrison crossed his arms and glared at the deputy, struggling to place him, then finally remembering his name: Colin. Colin Reich. Ned’s son. No wonder he had it in for Deputy Spoth.

“Thanks for the tip.” Harrison’s tone was even. He had seen office politics take down the best of them. He had no plans to stir the pot. A noncommittal answer was best.

Behind the wheel, Colin saluted him in a mocking gesture, as if he suspected Harrison was going to do his own thing regardless. The man wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the deputy muttered before closing the window and driving away.

THREE

“Where do you live?” Harrison asked Becky as he put the patrol car into Drive.

“Out on Asbury Road past the Millers’ farm.”

He cut her a sideways glance. “Mind telling the new guy where the Miller farm is?” Before she had a chance to answer, he lifted his hand in resignation. The locals often gave directions by landmark and if he didn’t want to be forever known as the new guy, he had better figure it out. “Why don’t you just holler when I need to make a turn? Sound good?” He gestured with his chin toward the road. “A left out of here?”

“Yeah.” Her tone sounded as flat as the four tires on her car still awaiting the tow truck in the parking lot. A part of him wondered if whoever was taking their frustration out on her was doing it not just because she testified against another deputy, but because she was a woman. Despite the calendar year, a lot of guys still believed in the good old boys’ club.

Harrison drummed his fingers on the top of the steering wheel as he slowed to look both ways before he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Everything go okay when you reported the incident?” The sheriff seemed like a pretty solid guy, determined to make a strong showing in his new position.

“Yeah, I guess.”

His gut told him not to ask, not to get involved. But he couldn’t help himself. “What does that mean?”

“Apparently, I’ve attracted some unwanted attention, including getting run off the road this morning.”

This kind of behavior really ticked him off. Negligent drivers. Probably out drinking.

“The sheriff wanted to dismiss it as reckless driving on some back country roads, but now this...” She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Here, turn at the next road. It’s quicker.” She tugged on her seat belt and continued on about the sheriff. “If he hadn’t already suspended me, he probably would have after my car was vandalized. I’m attracting the wrong kind of attention. The sheriff would probably claim a few more days off would be for my own good. Department morale seems at a low.”

“Does the sheriff think it’s someone in his department?” He scrubbed a hand across his face.

“Not that he’d ever say. But I wouldn’t put it past Reich himself. He’s a loose cannon.” Becky ran the palms of her hands up and down the thighs of her uniform pants.

“His son works here, too.” Harrison thought back to the officer who drove by slowly, warning him to avoid Becky.

“Doesn’t help. All the other deputies will feel more loyalty to the Reich family than to me, unfortunately.”

“You going to be okay?” He stared straight ahead as fields of corn whipped by on either side of them.

“Yeah.” What else could she say? She wasn’t exactly going to pour her heart out to him. He was a stranger.

“You need to hire a lawyer,” he said matter-of-factly.

She shifted in her seat to partially face him. “You really think so? Isn’t that expensive?”

“It might be too costly not to hire a lawyer. You need someone looking out for your best interests.” He wished he had seen that his brother had got the help that he had needed instead of allowing his anger and embarrassment to put a rift between the two of them. “The sheriff’s department has had a publicity nightmare after the beating incident. The video from your dash cam made it onto all the news stations from Buffalo to Cleveland. If this new video gets out, depending on what’s on it, this story is going to grow legs and find its way into all the news cycles again. The sheriff’s department will do anything to get out of the spotlight, even if that means throwing you under the bus.”

“You can’t be serious.” She swept her hand across her mouth and eyed him wearily. “This is a small-town sheriff’s department, not some big city.”

“Office politics are office politics.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Does the latest video support that statement?” His gut told him she couldn’t be violent, but in an altercation, you never knew. Adrenaline and fear did things to people.

“Yes... I used the baton to separate the men.” Becky tugged on the strap of her seat belt. “Reich’s lawyer gave the sheriff a video of me approaching the men with my baton raised.” She cleared her throat. “The rest of what happened is unclear. Whoever recorded it took off running, but...” She paused, rubbing her temples vigorously as if reliving the moment. “I used the baton to brace Reich and pull him off the kid. I didn’t hit anybody. I mean, if I hurt anyone with the baton, it would be when I forced it against Reich.” She blinked a few times. “I can’t believe this mess. I only became a deputy because I wanted to help people. Now everyone is going to think I’ve turned evil.” Her turn of expression sounded odd.

“Take a deep breath.” He wanted to reach out and touch her hand, but decided against it. “Hiring a lawyer is a good idea, especially for the innocent.” Well, for anyone. “Don’t fight this alone. Reich has a lawyer,” he added, if she needed more convincing.

“I don’t know,” Becky muttered. Before he had a chance to respond, her cell phone chimed. She yanked the phone from her duty belt and checked the number. “I should get this.”

Harrison listened to a one-sided conversation. Obviously, someone Becky knew personally was in distress.

He reached over and touched her arm and mouthed. “What’s going on?”

“Hold on, Mag.” She held the phone to her chest. “My sister wants me to stop over. She’s concerned about a neighbor’s dog. Again.”

“Where does she live?”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to impose on you any more than I already have.”

“I don’t mind. I haven’t had any calls anyway.”

“Um, okay.” Then into the phone. “Hang tight. I’ll be right there.”

Becky directed Harrison toward a house nestled among a cluster of Amish homes. “Right up here. Park on the road along the cornfields. Better if they don’t see the patrol car.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Becky scratched her head. “My sister. She’s worried about a neighbor’s dog that ran onto the property. It’s been an ongoing concern. The dog is hungry and not well cared for. We’ve suspected abuse, but I’ve handled it unofficially, returning the dog to his owner after they promised they’d take better care of it.” She frowned. “Obviously, that’s not working.”

“Wait.” Harrison angled his head to look up toward the home. A buggy was parked by the barn. An Amish family obviously lived here. “Your sister?”

“Yah, my sister.” A twinkle lit her eyes. He had a feeling the amplified Amish inflection was for his benefit.

“Oh...” It was his turn to sound confused. “You grew up Amish?”

She pointed to her nose and said, “Ding. Ding. Ding.”

“Oh... Do you want me to wait here, then?” Harrison asked, suddenly feeling a little discombobulated. Amish? Really?

Becky hesitated for a moment. “That would probably be best.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. I’ll be right here.” Now he was repeating himself, completely caught off guard by her revelation.

Becky climbed out of the patrol car and strode along the road and cut in between the cornfields, as if to go in undetected. He had read somewhere that the Amish shunned those who left their ranks. Perhaps Becky was sneaking in because she wasn’t welcomed.

Harrison rubbed the back of his neck, replaying in his mind all the events that had transpired since he had held the door at the station open for Becky this morning. He hadn’t had much interaction with the deputy since he’d moved here less than a year ago, but he would have never guessed former Amish worked as deputies. Were there others?

Now the warning in Pennsylvania Dutch to “go away” made a little more sense. But how a woman went from Amish to sheriff’s deputy was beyond him. Maybe it was time he finally learned a little more about the Amish. And maybe Becky was just the person to teach him.

* * *

Becky strode up the dirt path between the cornfield and the neighbor’s property. She undid the buttons on her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves, hoping to look a little less official in her sheriff’s uniform. It was early enough that perhaps her parents would be too busy with chores to notice their wayward daughter had snuck in to meet with her younger sister out back by the shed.

She hoped.

But if she did run into them, she wanted to downplay the fact that not only had she jumped the fence, but she had also joined the sheriff’s department. Her parents didn’t need to voice their displeasure. It was a given, not that either of them had even discussed it directly with her. It was kind of hard to confront someone when you didn’t talk to them.

When Becky got to the shed without being discovered, she heaved a sigh of relief. She didn’t think her day could get any worse.

Until it had.

Mag—short for Magdaline—was sitting with her back pressed against the shed, a mangy dog in her lap. At seventeen, Mag was the youngest of the Spoth family children. Three brothers separated the bookend sisters, two of which were already married. Only Abram and Mag still lived at home.

“Hi, Mag.” Becky crouched down and her heart dropped when she saw the pain in her sister’s eyes. Becky gingerly touched the dog’s matted hair. An unpleasant aroma wafted off the unwashed dog in the summer morning heat. Becky had to stifle a groan. “This poor dog found his way over here again, didn’t he?”

Mag nodded, her lower lip trembling, making her appear much younger than her seventeen years and reminding Becky of the preteen she had left behind almost six years ago when she decided the Amish life wasn’t for her. But now Mag was straddling childhood and the woman she would soon become. Would she choose to be baptized Amish or break their parents’ hearts as Becky had done? Mag was a big part of the reason Becky chose to stay in Quail Hollow. Sure, she left the Amish, but she couldn’t abandon her sister completely. Her three brothers had each other. Mag had no one.

Becky inspected the dog; open sores covered the pads of his paws. “He needs medical care.”

“I know.” Mag sniffed. “Are you going to make me return him, like last time?”

Becky looked toward her childhood home. She didn’t see any sign of her parents. “Dat and Mem would want you to return him. He’s not ours.” Even as she made the argument, she wasn’t convinced, especially since the owner had obviously ignored her warning to take care of his pets.

“But he’s just a little puppy,” Mag said, her words trembling as she fought back tears.

“No one can treat an animal like this. There are laws against it.” Rage thrummed through Becky’s ears as she grew more convinced that she couldn’t hand over this dog to their neighbors. Not again. “Let’s go talk to the Kings.” The culmination of a few very bad weeks had suddenly reinforced Becky’s spine with steel. At this exact moment, she didn’t care about the consequences, not if it meant protecting this puppy.

“Dat won’t like that.” Mag suddenly had cold feet despite her fierce need to protect the dog. “I’ll get in trouble for being disobedient.” Their father had told Mag to stop meddling in their neighbor’s business the last time the dog had wandered over. Becky heard the story secondhand when the sisters met in town for a quick cup of coffee. Their father wouldn’t have liked that, either, but he had never expressly forbidden it.

“I’ll take the blame. There’s nothing they can do to me,” Becky said. A look of admiration crossed her sister’s delicate features, something Becky both cherished and dreaded. She didn’t want to be a negative influence on her sister. Their parents also worried about her influence. Becky wasn’t welcome at her childhood home. Shoving the thought aside, she held out her hand and helped her sister up. “Let’s go.”

Magdaline walked alongside Becky, holding the dog in her arms, the fabric of her long dress swishing around her legs as she rushed to keep up.

Becky slowed and held out her arms. “Hand me the dog. I’ll confront Paul. You don’t have to get in trouble.”

Paul King, the owner of the farm next door, and Becky weren’t strangers. Far from it. But with their vastly different lifestyles now, they easily could have been. Not so long ago, he had driven her home in his courting wagon more times than she could count from Sunday singings. He confidently laid out the plans for their future, while silently she made plans for her own.

Their more recent exchanges had been over this very same dog. Paul obviously wasn’t caring for the animals on his farm. Perhaps since his father had died and Paul had become the sole man of the house, he had let things slide. However, this time she wouldn’t hand over the dog and leave. She wanted to see for herself what was going on at her neighbor’s farm.

“It’s okay, I’ll take the dog over and talk to him,” Becky repeated.

Mag held the dog closer, reluctant to let him go.

“Mag, I don’t have all day.” The sun rising higher in the sky was making her sweat in her deputy uniform. “Give me the dog and I’ll handle the situation.”

Mag lowered her eyes to the puppy nestled in her arms. “But if he takes the dog back, he won’t be cared for. Even dogs are God’s creatures.”

A sense of pride filled Becky. Her sister had far more spunk than she had at that age. However, she feared that kind of grit would get an Amish youngie in trouble more often than not.

Becky tugged on the hem of her untucked uniform shirt. She’d hate to see what she looked like after the day she’d already had.

And it was still early.

Becky touched her sister’s sleeve. “The truth is, since the dog belongs to Paul, it’s very possible that we’ll have to give him back. But there are laws against inhumane treatment of animals. I can...”

Her suspension. What could she really do while suspended?

“We’ll figure this out. But first, I need to see what’s going on next door. Give me the dog.” She smiled encouragingly. “Go home. I don’t want you to get in trouble with Dat.”

Mag jutted out her chin and pressed her lips together, the picture of defiance. “No, I’ll go with you. I’ll get back before Dat and Mem find out I’m gone.”

A little twinge of guilt zipped through Becky. She didn’t mean to encourage her sister to disobey her parents, but deep in her heart, she couldn’t imagine her parents would want to let the treatment of this dog to continue unchecked. Animal cruelty was the only way this dog could have sores on his body and matted fur. “Let’s hurry up, then, so you can get back to your chores.”

“Okay.” Her sister seemed to cheer up a bit. Big sister to the rescue.

Becky hoped she didn’t look as ruffled as she felt, but she wanted to make a serious impression on Paul. He needed to take better care of his animals. Maybe the threat of interference from law enforcement would make him fall in line, but somehow she doubted it. He’d seemed unfazed the last couple times she stopped over. The sheriff’s department walked a very fine line when it came to dealing with the Amish. They wanted to respect their right to live separately while making sure laws were followed.

Becky followed the small path that led through a crop of trees to the Kings’ house. Memories of a life lived so long ago came floating back. Memories she’d rather forget because they made her nostalgic. As a teenager, she used to run along this path to visit her friend Amy. And later when she started dating her friend’s older brother, Paul, back when she thought her life would be like her mem’s and all the female ancestors before her.

Now, Paul, and his wife, Mary Elizabeth, owned the farm, his mother living with them in the dawdy haus. Paul’s brother Amos still lived there, too, but was rumored to be getting married soon. And her friend Amy had married an Amish boy and moved across town like a good Amish girl. Actually, Amy’s husband was the cousin of Elijah Lapp, the Amish boy who had been beaten by Deputy Reich. Elijah had ditched his car in front of Amy’s house in hopes of taking cover in their barn, or so the gossip went.

Such was life in a small town.

Becky shook away all the memories pelting her as she came to a clearing on the Kings’ property. She slowed and turned to look for her sister, who had fallen behind. The dog seemed content curled up in Mag’s arms despite being jostled as she ran to catch up.

When they reached the barn, Becky held up her hand. “Wait here while I look inside. I’m not going to hand the dog over this time without seeing the living conditions.” Most Amish kept their pets outdoors.

Becky pulled open the door and slipped through the small opening. It took her eyes a few minutes to adjust to the shadows. The smell of hay and manure, although unpleasant, wasn’t unfamiliar. She was grateful she was no longer responsible for mucking out the stalls. A little pang of guilt poked her because she had left her sister and brother behind to do her chores.

The guilt ebbed away as curiosity took hold. From the far end of the barn, she heard mewling sounds, as if a small animal or animals were in pain. Blinking, her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Something moved in the shadows.

She pulled her flashlight from her belt and directed its beam toward the heartbreaking sound. The eyes of at least a dozen dogs in a small cage glowed under the light. She reeled back on her heels with a gasp.

“What are you doing in here?”

Becky spun around. Paul lifted his hand to block the light that hit his hardened expression under the wide brim of his straw hat. He gritted his teeth. “Get that out of my eyes, woman.”

Instinctively, Becky lowered her hand, but didn’t turn off the flashlight. Paul had a short fuse when things didn’t go his way. She remembered the sinking feeling she had as they discussed something regarding their future and his anger when she disagreed. He had fully expected her to be subservient as his wife. And why not? They both had grown up with similar role models in their homes.

Becky didn’t see that for her future. She had her own ideas. And from somewhere deep within, she had mustered the courage to leave. Sometimes she wondered how.

Resisting the urge to shine the beam back into his eyes to make a point, she gestured toward the door. “Come with me.”

She strode past him into the bright sunlight and around to the back where Mag was standing out of sight. “Why is this dog—any of those dogs—not being cared for?”

Some of the bluster disappeared as his mouth worked, but no words came. The uncertainty in his eyes made her believe that he didn’t know what to say. Perhaps he actually felt shame for the condition of the dogs.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” Paul tried to regain the upper hand.

Surprisingly, Mag spoke up. “Your dog wandered over to my farm again. He came through the woods.” She spoke so softly she was difficult to hear above the dogs that had started barking in earnest at the commotion.

“This one keeps escaping.” Paul reached out to grab the dog from Mag’s arms. Mag pulled away and gave him her back, obviously determined not to relinquish the dog.

“I see stubbornness runs in the Spoth family.” Paul huffed and crossed his arms. “Give me my dog. You said yourself it came from my property.” It didn’t seem to register with him that this was the very same dog they had previously returned on two separate occasions. How many dogs did he have in that cage? How had this one been fortunate enough to escape on more than one occasion?

A look of terror—of realization—crossed her sister’s eyes and she took off running down the driveway, the awkward gait of someone holding on to something dearly as her gown slapped at her skinny legs.

“Mag!” Becky called out to her. She shared a brief exchange with Paul and an idea hit her. “I’m not going to hand over the dog like last time.”

Paul smirked, as if her threat was meaningless. “I think you have enough trouble not to go borrowing more.” His hard-edged stare made her speechless. “I read the papers. What are you going to do, beat me up?” He laughed, the sound scraping across her nerves. He held out his hand as if to touch her, and Becky stepped back, out of his reach. “You must be scrappier than I thought.”

Rage roiled in her gut, helping her find her voice. “Let me buy the dog,” Becky offered.

“What are you talking about?” Paul said, growing angrier. “Just leave. That’s what you wanted from the beginning, to leave the Amish, so don’t come back here in your uniform and try to tell me what to do. You have no say over me. You, of all people, should know that.” Paul strode down the driveway toward her sister. “She better give me that dog.”

Protective instincts kicking in, Becky rushed after Paul. “You will not take that dog from my sister. Do you hear me?”

Paul spun around and glared at her. Seizing the moment, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the two twenties she had stuffed in there before the start of her shift last night, before her world was once again upended. She never knew when cash would come in handy, for lunch, for someone down on his luck, or for offering her former boyfriend forty bucks for his dog.

“I’m buying the dog.” She jammed the money in his direction. “Isn’t that why you have so many dogs in a cage? To sell them? I’m buying this one.” That had to be the reason. The sheriff’s department had answered complaints regarding suspected puppy mills among the Amish, but she had never come across one. Mostly, she had hoped the reports were false. How could a kind and gentle people be anything but loving toward God’s creatures?

With a sour expression on his face, Paul swiped the money out of her hand. “Keep the dog. Now, get out of here.”

Becky stared at Paul for a long moment, as if trying to decide her next move. She didn’t have too many options legally right now because of her suspension, but he didn’t know that. Maybe the threat of intervention by the sheriff’s department was enough for him to clean up his act.

“Take care of those dogs. They need a clean, warm place to stay.” Becky pointed to the barn. “Someone will be out to inspect the animals in the next day or two.”

A muscle jumped in Paul’s jaw. “What did I ever do to you?” Like always, he tried to turn things around. Cast the blame elsewhere.

“Take care of those dogs,” she repeated, not bothering to soften the hard edge of her tone. The sun beat down on her, making her sweat. Becky hustled to catch up with her sister at the end of the driveway. Once there, she touched her sister’s shoulder. She could feel her trembling. “Come on, sweetie. The dog is ours.”

“Really?” Mag lifted her watery eyes. “But, what’s Mem and Dat going to say when I show up with a dog?”

“Don’t worry.” Easy for Becky to say when, in fact, Mag had a very good point.

Just then, she noticed Harrison’s patrol car pulling up on the side of the road. He must have been watching for them. He climbed out of the patrol car.

“Everything okay?” With a concerned look on his face, he gently petted the dog in her sister’s arms, as if inspecting it for injuries. This tender gesture touched Becky’s heart.

“Yes, it is for now.” She shot him a “we’ll talk about it later” look. Then she gently scooped the dog out of her sister’s arms. “I’ll take care of the dog. Once he’s all better, maybe Dat and Mem will let you keep him. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mag repeated quietly, not seeming so sure. Becky understood the feelings of helplessness and lack of control while on the cusp of adulthood, especially among the Amish.

“I promise I’ll talk to our parents about the dog.”

Mag looked up with wide eyes. “Might be hard if they’re not willing to talk to you.”

Becky ran a hand down the dog’s matted fur. “One step at a time.”

Becky turned to steal one last glance at the Kings’ property. Paul had disappeared, but his wife, Mary Elizabeth, stood on the porch and stared at them, clutching something to her chest. A light breeze ruffled the Amish woman’s long dress. A whisper of something—nostalgia, déjà vu, relief, maybe?—made Becky tremble as a vision of what most certainly would have been her future flashed before her eyes. But it wasn’t her life. She had broken up with Paul. She had left the Amish, her family.

Yet, still, on this sweltering day, she couldn’t help but feel shadows of her past stretching out to claim her.

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