Love Finds You in Sugarcreek, Ohio (20 page)

Joe watched from the front door as Rachel got into her squad car and drove away. In some ways, it was a relief having Rachel know his identity. Life would be much easier without having to sidestep Rachel’s suspicions. He was proud of her for not getting all weird and fawning when she discovered who he was.

On the other hand, someone else knowing his identity was a worry. Although he desperately wanted to trust her, he had no real assurance that she would not confide in someone else. It would only take one slip of the tongue.

He closed the door behind her and locked it. Unlike the Troyer sisters, he felt strongly about locking doors. Then he scooped up Bobby, who had fallen asleep in front of the DVD player. He carried him into his bedroom, tucked the covers around his sleeping child, and then wound up Abraham’s old Regulator wall clock that he’d brought from the kitchen to Bobby’s room. Its
tick-tock
and hourly chimes seemed to soothe the child.

It was only seven o’clock. Too early to go to bed and too late to work outside. With Bobby asleep, an entire evening stretched before him—plenty of time to finally delve into Abraham’s library. He was surprised how much he was longing to do so.

He went into the study, lit a lamp, and stood before the bookcase, deciding what volume to choose. A fat tome on biblical archaeology caught his eye. Archaeology had been a favorite subject of his back in college. He pulled the book off the top shelf and lost himself in uncovering the layers of Jericho.

For a few blessed minutes, his mind escaped the memories of Grace and his worries about the future. He was in ancient Jericho, hearing the trumpets blasting and the shouts of the Israelites, and experiencing the triumph of the Lord. He turned the page…and stopped. Between the pages lay a worn twenty-dollar bill.

Had someone used it as a bookmark? That seemed odd. He started to lift it out and discovered a minuscule drop of rubber cement holding it to the page. He removed the money and rubbed off the rubbery substance with his thumb. Had Abraham deliberately glued money to the page?

At that moment, he heard what sounded like a scratching noise coming from near the window. He glanced up and saw nothing there. Then he heard the noise again.

An animal? A branch?

There weren’t any branches touching the windows, that he had noticed. He blew out the kerosene lamp and went over to the window hoping to see what was making the noise.

In the moonlight, he could make out the figure of someone standing near the wooden bench in the rose garden. It was a young girl, and she appeared to be pregnant.

He opened the back door and stepped outside.

She jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, and, in spite of her pregnant bulk, she quickly put the bench between them.

Her hair was long and falling into her face. Her eyes were huge, staring at him in what appeared to be near-terror.

He stood very still. “Can I help you?”

“Are—are—you Amish?” She took two steps back, putting even more distance between them. “Amish don’t hit people, do they?”

She was terribly young, no more than fourteen or fifteen. He hoped she wasn’t younger. She held her arms protectively around her stomach.

“The women who live in the farmhouse are Amish,” he said. “I’m just the handyman, but I don’t hit people either.”

Her panic was evident. She cast glances around her as though preparing to flee.

Joe used his gentlest voice. “I’ll help you if you’ll tell me how.”

She shook her head, as though dismissing the idea of help from him.

Her face was swollen and bruised. There were black and blue marks up and down one arm. He felt a slow rage building but was careful to hide it. Anger of any kind, even anger on her behalf, would send this girl running off into the night—possibly back to whoever had done this to her.

He remembered a young dog that had come into his yard once, abused and half-starved. It had craved help but had kept its distance. It had taken several hours before the dog trusted him enough to let him pet it. He had won that trust by slow movements, a low voice, and food. This girl’s actions reminded him of that abandoned dog.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Her eyes darted to the window and then back to him. She nodded, slowly.

“Why don’t you sit on the bench. I’ll fix you a sandwich and”—his mind searched his refrigerator—“some milk. Maybe you’d like some cookies?”

She stared at him, longing and fear warring in her eyes.

“I won’t come near you,” he promised. “I’ll just bring it out and set it down.”

She hesitated but nodded again.

He went back into the house and rushed to the refrigerator, afraid the girl would disappear while he was inside.

He considered running next door to the aunts but was afraid the girl would bolt at that too. Besides, they retired early. He was also reluctant to bring such pain into the aunts’ lives.

Rachel could handle the situation, though—and well.

He checked his cell phone. The battery was low, but there was enough to make a phone call or two. He made a mental note to start the truck and recharge his phone with the truck battery before the night was over.

He dialed Rachel’s number, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he slapped Trail bologna on bread and poured a glass of milk.

“Come on, Rachel, pick up. I need you,” he muttered.

“Hello?”

The sound of her voice made him close his eyes in relief. “I have a pregnant, abused girl over here behind the daadi haus. She’s scared to death, and I think she might run if I get near her. Could you come over? She might trust a woman more. I hate to involve your aunts in this unless I have to.”

“Where did she come from?”

“I don’t know, but she said she had heard that the Amish don’t hit people.”

“I wish that were always true,” Rachel mused. “I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks.” Joe didn’t have a tray in his kitchen, but he did have a wooden cutting board. He put the girl’s sandwich on it and added a handful of chips along with some of Lydia’s sugar cookies and a large glass of milk.

He balanced the cutting board against his chest as he opened the back door and eased out into the garden. The girl was still there. She had seated herself on the bench but half rose as he approached her.

He stopped. “If you want to move away while I lay this on the bench, I’ll understand.”

She scooted to the very end of the bench, as far away from him as she could get without falling off.

He set the food down and stepped back while she fell upon it. She gobbled the sandwich, devouring it in four bites. He eased down onto the far side of the bench as the girl lifted the glass of milk and drained it without taking a breath.

“My name is Joe,” he said.

The girl crunched a potato chip and seemed to think that over.

He tried again. “What’s your name?”

She took a bite out of a sugar cookie. He knew she was debating whether to tell him anything. He waited in silence, letting her sort it out.

“Stephanie.” She brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “Those are really good cookies.”

“I think so too. Stephanie is a pretty name.”

She peeked through her long bangs at him. “I was named after my papaw.”

“Where
is
your papaw, honey?”

At that the girl began to cry. She cried like the child she was, with total abandon.

He was afraid to touch her, to comfort her. And yet it seemed calloused not to. It was a relief to hear Rachel’s car pulling into the driveway.

The girl’s head lifted at the sound, like a little animal preparing to run. With all his heart, he hoped Rachel wasn’t in uniform. He didn’t think she would be, but he wasn’t sure. She hadn’t mentioned if she’d be working tonight. He also hoped she hadn’t driven her squad car. He felt that any sign of authority would terrify this girl.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I called a friend of mine to help you. She’s very kind.”

The girl’s eyes were huge as she waited for Rachel to appear—but she didn’t bolt.

“Thank You, Jesus,” Joe whispered when he saw Rachel. She wore old, ripped jeans and a soft-looking lavender sweater. Her hair was down, and she wore sneakers. She looked as though she could be anyone’s big sister.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said to the girl. “My name is Rachel. Looks like you could use a friend.”

It was exactly the right thing to say. Stephanie immediately fell into Rachel’s arms. Rachel rocked her and smoothed the girl’s hair with her hand.

“It’s okay,” she crooned. “It’s going to be okay.”

“He threw me out of the car,” the girl said. “Like I was garbage. He said he loved me. He said he would take care of me. He had a place over in Pennsylvania where we could be happy.”

“Who did this to you, sweetie?”

“Last night?” The girl answered her with what sounded like a series of questions. “We got into an argument? And he hit me and then he stopped the car and made me get out? Then he drove off….”

She buried her head in Rachel’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Rachel said.

“No! I’m fine.” She had cried so hard that she began to gag. She doubled over, put both hands on her knees, and retched.

“Shh, it’s all right.” Rachel patted her back. Her eyes locked onto Joe’s. Pity and concern for this girl formed a palpable bridge between them.

“Where’s your folks, honey?” she asked when Stephanie had calmed down.

“I—I don’t have any.”

Once again a telepathic look passed between Rachel and Joe. Maybe the girl was lying. Maybe she was telling the truth. The one thing both of them were certain of was that she was so upset, she was on the verge of going into a complete meltdown.

Rachel looked into her eyes. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I have a really good idea. Why don’t you come home with me? I was just getting ready to watch a movie and was wishing I had someone to watch it with. We’ll make some popcorn, you can take a bubble bath, I’ll let you sleep in my guest bedroom, and we’ll sort all this out in the morning after you’ve rested. Okay?”

“A movie?” There was longing in the girl’s voice.

“I probably have a couple of Snickers in the fridge too. Looks to me like you could use some chocolate. I’ve heard that chocolate makes happy babies. When are you due, honey?”

The girl shyly laid a hand on her protruding stomach. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen a doctor.”

Another look of concern passed between Rachel and Joe. She turned her attention back to the girl.

“Okay, then. Joe, do you have a shirt or something she could wear to sleep in? I don’t think any of my tops will fit her.”

“Absolutely.” Grateful for an errand, he ran into the cottage and grabbed one of his extra-large T-shirts. As petite as the girl was, he thought his shirt would envelope her—even pregnant. He came back out as Rachel was tucking the girl into her Mustang.

“Here.” He handed the shirt to Stephanie through the window.

“Thanks.” She struggled to buckle the seat belt around her stomach.

“You’re welcome.” He reached in and held the belt strap out away from her until she could fasten it. “I’m glad you came to my house for help.”

“Me too.” She gave him a shy smile.

He ducked his head lower so he could see Rachel. “I’ll call you later.”

She glanced up at him with her hand on the ignition key. “I’d appreciate that.”

As he watched the silver blue Mustang drive away, he thought about how well it matched its owner. Classic, quick, sleek, unique, dependable. And although he would never have believed it the first time he met her, he was enormously grateful to have Rachel in his life.

Stephanie nibbled on a hangnail and stared out the car window as they drove through Sugarcreek. Rachel could see that the bruises on the girl’s face and arms were fresh. By tomorrow they would be even deeper colors. She would take pictures in the morning to use against the creep who had beaten her.

If they could find him.

“Does your boyfriend have a name?” she asked.

Stephanie looked up from her hangnail and blinked.

“Uh-huh. Mack.”

“Mack who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know your boyfriend’s last name?”

“He said it wasn’t important.”

Rachel’s heart sank.

“How long have you known him?”

“Since the spring fair. He ran the booth where you throw darts at balloons.”

Rachel’s heart sank even further. A “carney” with no last name. The chances of finding him were slim.

“What’s
your
last name, honey?”

Stephanie looked out the window. “I don’t remember.”

Rachel was skeptical. “Really?”

“I—I think I have amnesia or something. I saw that once on a soap opera.”

“Tell me more about Mack.”

“He stayed behind after the rest of the guys left. He was sweet to me at first, but he couldn’t find a job, so he decided to go back on the circuit. He didn’t want me to go with him.” The girl laid her hand on her stomach. “But I’m having his baby! What else could I do?”

About a hundred other things,
Rachel thought.

“How old is this ‘Mack’?” she asked.

“Twenty-two.” Stephanie nibbled again at the hangnail. “I think. Maybe a little older.”

Probably pushing thirty,
Rachel thought. If she looked past the bruises, the tearstained face, the tangled hair, and the pregnant belly, Stephanie was a beauty. Her eyes tipped slightly at the edges, her lashes were lush and long, and her skin was slightly tinged with olive. She had an exotic beauty that had probably turned more than one man’s head.

The childlike quality that also clung to her, in spite of the pregnancy, broke Rachel’s heart.

“How old are you, honey?”

Stephanie looked out the window. “Eighteen.”

Rachel was silent. They both knew that Stephanie was lying.

“You sure about that?”

Stephanie slid her gaze toward her, sighed, and confessed. “I’ll be sixteen in October.”

Fifteen. Jailbait. No wonder “Mack” dumped her.
Rachel was surprised he’d stuck around as long as he had.

“What make of car was he driving?”

“Red.”

“You don’t know what kind it was?”

Stephanie picked at her fingernail polish. “I don’t know a lot about cars.”

“Was it old or new?”

“Kinda old.” Stephanie brightened. “He stole it. Does that help?”

“It could.” Rachel mentally wagged her head at the girl’s ignorance. “Do you remember who he stole it from, or what city?”

“What movie are we going to watch?” Stephanie asked.

She was either tired of the conversation, protecting “Mack,” or simply acting her age. Probably a combination of all three, Rachel decided. Rachel hoped that popcorn and frozen Snickers would loosen Stephanie’s tongue.

“We’re here.” She turned off the ignition when they arrived at her house.

“There’s a cop car in your driveway,” Stephanie whispered. “Are you in trouble?”

“Nope.” Rachel answered. “That’s mine. I’m a policewoman.”

“You
are?”

Rachel hoped Stephanie wouldn’t try to run. She really didn’t feel like chasing a pregnant teenager down the street.

“Yes.”

“A girl cop? Like in
Charlie’s Angels?”

“Kind of.”

“That is
so
cool!”

Stephanie’s reaction pleased her. “I think so too.”

“Do you know kung fu and all that stuff?”

“Some. Enough to protect myself. Usually.”

“Wish I did,” Stephanie said.

“It’s good knowledge for a woman to have.”

“Maybe after the baby comes, I could take a class or something.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Rachel said. “Let’s get you inside. You can take a bath and we’ll clean up some of those cuts.”

Stephanie gingerly touched a cut on her forehead.

“Did he hit you in the stomach?” Rachel asked.

“No. Just my face and arms. I—I tried to protect my baby.”

“Good for you.”

“He didn’t want to hit me. He’s really a good guy at heart. He just wanted me to get out of the car, and when I wouldn’t, he had to make me.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Rachel sighed as she unlocked her door and ushered Stephanie inside. Making excuses for the abuser had already started. The chance of Stephanie testifying against him, assuming they ever found him, wasn’t good.

“Oooh. This is pretty.” Stephanie looked around.

“Thanks. What do you think? Bath first, then the movie?”

“Yeah. That would be nice,” Stephanie said. “What movies do you have?”

“Since you mentioned
Charlie’s Angels,
how about that one?” Rachel would never admit it, but she had watched that particular DVD at least ten times. She knew it was all Hollywood, but still—Lucy Liu had some amazing moves.

“I’d like that. Can I have butter on my popcorn? My grandma always puts melted butter on it.”

“No problem.” So she
did
have relatives. “What’s your grandma’s name, honey?”

“Um, I don’t remember. I think it’s that amnesia acting up again.”

“Uh-huh. What does your boyfriend look like?” Rachel asked. “Can you describe him?”

“He has a tattoo and a pierced tongue and blue eyes. Does that help?”

“Not much.”

“Look,” Stephanie said, “I know I shouldn’t have done what I did, getting pregnant and running away and all, but it’s just that… I fell in love.”

“Perhaps your memory will return after a good night’s sleep. You think that might happen?”

Stephanie toed the ground. “Maybe.”

Rachel showed her to the bathroom, helped her start the bath water, gave her a bathrobe and towels, and left the child in privacy.

She went into her bedroom, where Stephanie couldn’t hear. Pacing the floor, she called the county sheriff’s office, letting them know the small bits of information Stephanie had given her and asking them to be on the lookout for a stolen red car or bulletins for a missing girl by the name of Stephanie.

She had just hung up when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hi. This is Joe. Are you okay?”

She hadn’t expected what the sound of Joe’s voice would do to her knees. She sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed.

“I’m fine.”

“What about our girl?”

“She’s taking a bath,” Rachel said.

“Did she tell you anything?”

“Not much. Evidently she lives with a grandma but can’t seem to remember the woman’s name. I’m hoping popcorn and soda will loosen her tongue.”

Joe chuckled, and she smiled at the sound. Now that she knew who he was, she allowed herself to acknowledge what she’d resisted for so long—Joe was an amazing man, and she enjoyed his company tremendously.

“Never heard of popcorn and soda loosening anyone’s tongue before, Officer,” he said. “But I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

Somehow that title on his tongue sounded intimate—a private joke between them.

“Actually,” Rachel said, “I’m kind of making this up as I go along. I might have to use my ultimate weapon.”

“What’s that?”

“Frozen Snickers.”

“Did they teach you that technique at the police academy?”

“It was in all the handbooks. They taught us to never
ever
underestimate the power of chocolate on a female.”

“Is that so?”

“If someone had waved a Hershey bar in front of Bonnie at the right time of the month, she’d have given up Clyde in a heartbeat.”

This time he laughed out loud. Her heart warmed at the sound. She couldn’t remember hearing him truly laugh before. Perhaps knowing that someone else understood his situation was helping him relax a little. He’d been alone with Bobby and his secret for so long.

“Thanks for calling me when you found her, Joe.”

“I’m grateful that I had you to call. You handled the situation beautifully. I was afraid she was going to run away if I made the slightest move.”

“She probably would have.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to be kind to her, let her get some rest. She’s only a kid. I’m betting she’ll let down her guard by tomorrow. I’ve made a call to the sheriff to keep a watch out for the guy who did this. There’s not much to go on, though. Tomorrow I’ll take her to the clinic—that’s my first priority.” Rachel sighed. “She’s only fifteen, Joe.”

“What will happen to her if she won’t tell you who she is or where she came from?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Rachel?” a young voice called. “Rachel?”

“In here, Stephanie,” Rachel called. “Gotta go, Joe.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

A wave of tropical scents hit Rachel as soon as Stephanie entered the room. The girl had obviously helped herself liberally to the inexpensive bath salts Anna bought Rachel each and every Christmas. They’d been accumulating for a while. Rachel figured she’d finally found a good use for them.

“Feel better?” she asked the girl.

Stephanie’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah. I’m ready for the movie now.”

Rachel tucked her into the corner of her couch with an afghan and started the movie. Stephanie divided her attention between the movie and detangling her mass of curly black hair.

The girl is beautiful,
Rachel thought as she went to make popcorn. As she waited for the microwave to finish, she glanced into a mirror over the kitchen sink. What she saw when she looked in the mirror was…just okay.

She knew she could attract more male attention if she bothered with makeup or a fancier hairstyle, but most of the time she’d rather spend her free time at the shooting range.

Joe’s wife, however, had been truly gorgeous. A woman didn’t become a Miss Texas runner-up without knowing her way around a mascara wand. Grace probably wouldn’t have been caught dead in the clothes Rachel habitually wore.

Caught dead. Was she jealous of a dead woman?

Grace was evidently the kind of woman Joe preferred. She was probably the kind of woman who had her nails done on a regular basis and owned shoes to match every outfit. She probably even wore underwear that matched—every day.

Rachel’s mouth quirked at that thought. Her underwear matched. It was white. All of it.

The microwave’s bell went off, and she dumped the contents of the bag into a large bowl.

She was who she was. A small-town police officer whose beauty routine consisted of soap, water, and whatever shampoo was on sale when she ran out. She kept her nails short and her shoes low, and her off-duty clothes—even with the new ones she had just purchased—could fit into a large suitcase with room to spare.

She put a half stick of butter into a bowl and watched it melt in the microwave.

Joe’s good looks had probably made a whole lot of women’s hearts flutter. He was probably accustomed to women falling at his feet. She’d have to make certain their relationship stayed on a friendship-only basis. Not a problem for him. More of a problem for her.

Someday he would leave Sugarcreek and go back to his former life. Just because he was keeping a low profile and she was the only woman his age in his life right now, it wouldn’t be smart to start thinking she could ever be anything more to him than a friend. Men like him probably had to fight women off in every city they went. They married movie stars and fashion models. They did
not
fall for women who carried guns and locked up drunks for a living.

Although, deep down, she wished they did.

She squared her shoulders. So, okay. She would value their new relationship for what it was—a friendship—and when she was in her dotage, she’d be one of those old people who would tell people who didn’t really want to hear how she had once known the great baseball player Micah Mattias.

She saturated Stephanie’s popcorn with melted butter and then popped a low-fat bowl for herself. Her figure wasn’t a huge factor in her decision to forgo the calories, but her speed and endurance as a law officer were. As a woman, she had to have every advantage she could—and staying at peak form was part of the tools of her trade.

She would
need
to be in peak form if she was going to watch Joe’s back as she had promised. A man like him couldn’t hide from the public forever.