like you. You can’t tell me you haven’t found one pretty woman in Apple Creek who you’d like to take for a nice Friday fish fry.”
Spencer laughed, nearly choking on his coffee. “Is that what women like to do around here? Go to a fish fry?”
“That’s what they did in my day.” Mrs. Greene seemed to go somewhere for a minute before snapping out of it. “Nice crispy haddock and tartar sauce. Yum.”
Spencer watched the content expression on Mrs. Greene’s face. The look of a woman who had lived a good life and was now satisfied to sit back and watch the world go by—and to micromanage his.
“That girl you left behind in Buffalo hasn’t come to her senses yet?”
Why had he told Mrs. Greene about Vicki? Because she had a way of prying things out of people, that’s why. Spencer shook his head and rolled his eyes, feeling very much like a schoolboy under the inquisitive gaze of his grandmother, who always had an interest in everything he did. Unlike his parents, whose only interests involved all the things they required him to do.
“I’ve been here a year. I don’t think she’s suddenly going to show up at my door.”
Mrs. Greene thrummed the pads of her fingers on the arm of her wicker chair. “Country’s not her thing, you say?”
“Vicki was definitely a city girl.” And last he heard, she was engaged to a surgeon. So very Vicki. Looked like she was going to get everything she wanted out of life.
He and Victoria had both been in law school when they started dating. She told him she had signed up for one kind of life, and Spencer had turned the tables on her by signing up for the Buffalo police exam.
“Heard she’s engaged,” Spencer found himself saying.
“I’m sorry.”
He narrowed his gaze and stared at the long strands of grass growing up around the railing posts where the lawn service had forgotten to trim. “I’m not. Now I don’t have to feel guilty for stringing her along for so many years.”
Mrs. Greene made a disagreeable sound. “That’s not like you to string someone along. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
It was tough not to be hard on himself when even his own father claimed disappointment. His father had been a police officer, but he had wished something more for his son. Spencer was the first college graduate in the family. A lawyer—a nice, stable, safe profession.
Spencer grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. “Maybe it’s time I got back into the game.” Miss Wittmer’s pretty face came to mind. He smiled wickedly at Mrs. Greene. “Maybe I should find me a nice Amish woman.”
Mrs. Greene’s eyes flared wide. She waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t be getting any crazy thoughts. The Amish don’t take to the English. Not for datin’.”
Spencer felt a smile pulling on his lips. He walked over and tapped Mrs. Greene’s knee. “No, no crazy thoughts. I’ll just stick to my job.”
And his job was to make sure nothing happened to Miss Wittmer and her two nieces out there on the Lapp farm. Until he had John Lapp in custody, he feared he wouldn’t be getting much sleep.
He couldn’t screw this up. Not like he had let down Daniel, the teenage boy in Buffalo who had ended up another grim statistic. He wouldn’t let that happen again. Not on his watch.
Hannah slipped back into the house after visiting her mother in time to find Emma coming down the stairs in her sleeping gown, one hand on her doll, the other fisted and rubbing her eyes. Sarah came down only when it seemed hunger had gotten the best of her.
After feeding her nieces breakfast of, in their opinion, too-lumpy oatmeal and runny dippy ecks, Hannah had the girls get dressed then ushered them outside. She needed to check on the farm animals and thought perhaps the outdoors would brighten the young girls’ dispositions.
Hannah reached the door of the barn as the sun was haloing the roofline of the gray, weatherworn barn. Sarah and Emma seemed content to plop down on the slight incline leading toward the barn and drag long strands of grass through their fingers. As long as the young girls stayed close to the barn, there was nothing they could get into. The freedom the Amish children had to explore was far different than the constantly monitored existence of English children.
A little voice in her head warned her that her non-motherly way of thinking was likely to get her—or her new charges—into trouble. She considered taking each by the hand and advising them to stay close, then decided it was best not to draw attention to her slipping into the barn to check on the animals.
With two hands, she peeled back the door and stepped inside. The familiar smell of manure assaulted her nose even though the barn had been swept clean yesterday for her sister’s funeral. She lifted her apron to her nose, wondering how she had ever gotten used to such a foul smell. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Emma and Sarah kicking a volleyball back and forth. Their long blond hair dangled down their backs.
The morning light filtered through the slats of the barn. The cow mooed as if happy to see her. A neighborhood boy, Samuel, had come over both in the mornings and afternoons to milk the cow and feed the horse the past few days. Samuel had told her he couldn’t come this morning, but he’d be available this afternoon.
Planting her hands on her hips, she let out a heavy sigh. Even though John’s move away from farming for a living had been a point of contention for her sister, Hannah was grateful. Now she only had to worry about a few animals and no crops. Seemed a shame, though, considering all this land her family’s property sat on.
Hannah grabbed a milking stool and sat. She glanced at her soft hands, now foreign to the rigors of physical labor. A shadow crossed the open door, and Hannah’s hand immediately went to her head. She had taken the time to twist her hair into a messy bun, but she wasn’t wearing her cap.
“Gut morning.” The words flowed naturally from her mouth. She held up her hand to block the sun as a man strolled into the barn.
“Morning, Miss Wittmer.” The casual, warm greeting brought her up short.
“Sheriff Maxwell.” Hannah drew in a deep breath and found herself wishing she had on her English wardrobe complete with a little eyeliner and smoothing hair gel. She lowered her hand and forced a smile. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
“Call me Spencer.”
“Then you’ll have to call me Hannah.” She scrambled to her feet then looked past him to see her nieces hanging on to the door frame, studying the visitor.
“Go back to playing, girls. The sheriff won’t be here long.”
“No, I won’t.” Spencer shifted his stance. “Is there anyone who can take care of the animals for a while?”
“Why?”
“I think it would be safer if you and the girls left the farm for a while. Until we get this all sorted out.”
“I can’t pick up and leave.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “This is the only home my nieces have known. They lost their mother. And my mom lives next door...and I don’t know offhand who could care for the animals full-time.” Her brain swirled with all the responsibilities.
“Sounds like you have a lot of reasons to stay.”
“I have a lot to figure out.” Outside the barn, her nieces returned to their seats on the grassy incline and plucked long blades of grass and twisted them around their fingers.
“Maybe you can find other family to stay with the girls until we locate John and figure out what’s going on here.”
“My sister was all I had. As far as reaching