A Perfect Amish Match. Vannetta Chapman

      “I do need to hear you say it. I can’t read your mind.”

      “Mamm suggested that if I give you three chances to find me a suitable girl, which I guess you’d be happy to do—”

      “Of course I would.”

      “And if by some chance those three girls don’t work out—”

      “No reason why one of them wouldn’t.”

      “Then she and Dat will leave me alone.”

      “Leave you alone to—”

      “Live my life in peace.” This last sentence he practically growled.

      Olivia Mae scratched the ewe closest to her between the ears, made her way out of the gate, being careful to latch it securely behind her, and finally turned her attention to Noah.

      “I’m not sure that will work.”

      “What?”

      “It sounds as if you’re being coerced.”

      “Coerced? Who uses words like that? Did you read them in a book?”

      “What book?”

      “I don’t know what book. I suppose you read Englisch romances. That’s why you’re so keen on this whole true-love business.”

      “I will admit to having a few sheep magazines as well as some books of knitting patterns. I don’t have a lot of time for reading, though I do enjoy it when I have the rare hour to myself. I might have read a novel or two last winter when the weather was too bad to accomplish any work outside.”

      “Look, I’m not being coerced. I’m being worn down.”

      “Is there a difference?”

      “I don’t know.”

      The look on his face was so miserable that Olivia Mae couldn’t help but feel a little pity for him.

      “Nice sorrel,” she said, walking up to the reddish-brown mare and allowing it to smell her. She then reached into her pocket for a carrot. “What’s her name?”

      “Snickers—like the candy bar.”

      She scratched the mare between her ears, causing it to nicker softly.

      “Do you do that a lot?”

      “What?”

      “Take care of things—sheep, horses, people.”

      He’d stepped closer and she could smell the soap he’d used, and other things probably from the auction house—old wood and leather and some kind of oil. What was that like? To spend your day selling off people’s memories? Maybe she was thinking of it wrongly. Maybe what he did was the ultimate recycling—making old things new again. She looked up at him and smiled, then took a step back.

      “What did you mean when you said you’re not sure it will work? Would I be such a challenge for you to match up?”

      “Most people come to me wanting to find a suitable husband or wife.”

       “Ya.”

      “You’re practically saying you hope it won’t work.”

      The smile on his face grew. She hadn’t known Noah Graber long, but already she knew him well enough to worry when he smiled that way. A girl could fall for that kind of charm, and she made it a point not to harbor romantic feelings about someone she was trying to match.

      “You don’t think you can do it.”

      “What?” Her voice came out like a screech owl. She smoothed down her apron and lowered her voice. “Why would you say that?”

      “I’m too big a challenge for you.”

      “Oh, please. I’ve matched worse—” She almost said misfits. “I’ve matched more stubborn bachelors than you.”

      “Is that so?”

      “It is.”

      “But younger, I’ll bet.”

      “Matched a thirty-two-year-old last fall.”

      “Widower?”

      “I don’t see what difference that makes.” She did. Of course she did. The widower had wanted a wife. He was desperately lonely, struggling to raise five children on his own and willing to do whatever she suggested. No need to share all of those details with Noah Graber, though.

      “Clearly this is what your mamm wants—”

      “And my dat, my bruders, my sisters-in-law—even the bishop.”

      “Lucas has spoken to you?”

      Instead of answering that, he said, “Dating may not be my primary concern, but I’ll play along.”

      “How do I know that you won’t sabotage my efforts?”

      “Because I’m giving you my word that I won’t.”

      The growl was back. Noah Graber was the full package—tall, handsome, hardworking and with just enough humility to care that he not be called a liar.

      She wiped her hands on her apron and then stuck them in her pockets.

      “Fine.”

      “You’ll do it?”

      “I will.”

      She began walking toward the house. Noah tagged along beside her, as she’d known he would. Just like teasing a fish with bait, she thought. Good thing Daddi had taught her how to fish.

      “What happens next?”

      She stopped suddenly. “I’ll call you.”

      “You’ll call me?”

      “Phone shack to phone shack, of course.”

      “I thought you’d just...give me a name or something.”

      “I need to think on it, prayerfully consider the situation. You wouldn’t want me to rush.”

      “Kind of, I do.” He rolled his eyes when she stared up at him. “As soon as this is over—”

      “You’ll be able to live your life in peace. I heard you the first time.”

      “I give you my word that I’m not going to sabotage anything, but you’ll see.” The grin was back. “I’m not the marrying type.”

      “You’re not?”

      “And as soon as this is over, I can get on with my life, establish my reputation as an auctioneer and hopefully make enough to buy a bachelor place.”

      She could have argued any one of those points. Instead she smiled again—what she hoped was a sincere smile and not one that conveyed how much she’d like to pick up the bucket of water sitting on the front porch and dump it over his head. Anything to erase that condescending grin on his face.

      “Great. I’ll call when I have some ideas.”

      And without a backward glance, she hurried up the porch steps and into the house.