Love at Pebble Creek Read online

  Books by Lisa Jones Baker

  The Hope Chest of Dreams Series

  Rebecca’s Bouquet

  Annie’s Recipe

  Rachel’s Dream

  Secret at Pebble Creek

  Love at Pebble Creek

  Anthologies

  The Amish Christmas Kitchen

  (with Kelly Long and Jennifer Beckstrand)

  The Amish Christmas Candle

  (with Kelly Long and Jennifer Beckstrand)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  LOVE AT PEBBLE CREEK

  Lisa Jones Baker

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Books by Lisa Jones Baker

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Lisa Jones Baker

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4746-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4747-6 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4747-1 (eBook)

  To my loving parents,

  John and Marcia Baker,

  and to my beloved late grandparents,

  Anna and Louis Jones and Edna and Merle Baker,

  who are the epitome of hard work and honesty,

  and whom I can only aspire to emulate in this life

  Acknowledgments

  First of all, thanks to my Creator for blessing me with this amazing opportunity to write inspirational stories. Nearly three decades of prayers were answered, and my wait time was definitely worth the reward.

  To Marcia, my reading specialist mother and my biggest fan for over thirty years, who has listened to me read thirty-something books out loud. Mom, you are the most patient person in the world!

  Beth Zehr, sister extraordinaire. I don’t know what I would do without your technical expertise and your full support. Having a business teacher in the family has its advantages.

  Aunt Velda Baker, you’re another blessing. I don’t take for granted the time you spent reviewing this story for accuracy. I truly believe you’d make a great investigator.

  Lisa Norato, true friend and critique partner for thirty years, I was fortunate to have met you years ago at my very first writing conference. From the commencement of our friendship, you’ve offered unconditional support while we both sought publication. Also, huge thanks for clarifying my questions about the Catholic faith for this book.

  My appreciation to Brittany Yoder, Village Square Real Estate, Arthur, Illinois, for helping me to fact check my real estate transaction between the Norrises and the Beilers.

  To Sadie Preston, Sales Coordinator, St. Louis Marriott Grand, for acquainting me with the Majestic Ballroom, where the story’s art contest takes place.

  To Lori Manning, Aquatics Director at the Decatur, Illinois, YMCA for taking time to discuss the scene that takes place at the Conrads’ pond.

  To the Bloomington Geek Squad, thanks!

  To hundreds of writers within the RWA who have reviewed my books and offered valuable feedback, THANK YOU!

  To agent of the year Tamela Hancock Murray, who spent numerous hours helping me to hone Rebecca’s Bouquet, my first Amish story, before it was even contracted. You invested in me when publication was no guarantee.

  To Joan Wester Anderson, thank you for helping me to launch my writing career. You’re my role model.

  Selena James, my brilliant editor, you’re the best.

  My sincere gratitude to publicist Jane Nutter and Kensington Books, and to everyone in Arthur, Illinois, who have so kindly answered my questions for the past decade. I went to many sources for information for this book. Any mistakes are mine alone.

  Last but not least, much appreciation to my Amish go-to friend, who inspires me and who helps me to make my stories consistent with how the Amish live in Arthur, Illinois. You are why it’s a great honor to write in this particular genre, about wondrous faith-driven people who have my utmost fascination and admiration.

  Chapter One

  A storm was about to hit. Thunder crackled, forcing twenty-year-old Anna King to work faster. As the wind howled and oak branches brushed against the sides of her family’s home in the countryside of Arthur, Illinois, she looked around and mentally ticked off her to-do list before the rain came.

  The windows are closed. Fertig. The horse tied outside needs to be taken to the stall. As soon as the livestock are inside, close the barn doors. At least, the front ones. The wheelbarrow’s by the garden; put it in the shed. The hoe, too. If time permits, put mesh over the garden plants.

  She looked down. And change aprons. With one quick motion, she removed the one she was wearing and replaced it with her larger work apron. Her parents were at King’s Bakery, so no one was home but her. Anna’s adrenaline rushed to an urgent speed as she considered everything needing to be done before the unforecasted downpour.

  As she pulled shut the large front door of her home behind her, the lock clicked into place. The wreath she’d made for her mother was hanging on its holder for dear life, so she quickly unhooked it, opened the front door, and set the decoration just inside.

  She closed the door again and stepped out on the front porch. To her surprise, the hot summer temperature had taken a sudden dip since early this morning, and an unusually cold breeze for the second week in July lifted her bangs.

  Her daed followed the weather closely, and he would have prepared and warned her if this storm had been in the forecast. But her keen instincts noted the red flags that indicated one was coming: the suddenly dark sky and the loud, eerie-sounding wind.

  For a brief moment, she imagined grabbing a phone from her pocket and dialing her eltern. She gave a quick shake of her head.

  That wasn’t about to happen. The Amish didn’t use cell phones, not in this neck of the woods anyway, and the wall phone was out in the barn, so getting things done was all up to her.

  Without help, no doubt, closing things up so fast would be a challenge. Still, there was plenty to smile about. The clipping she’d found while cleaning up at King’s Bakery that morning. A customer had left a St. Louis newspaper on a tisch.

  She’d picked it up from the table and torn off the part of interest and stuffed it in her satchel. And the clipping would stay her secret. This entry could give her longtime dream a chance to come true. Which she wanted more than anything. The number-one thing on the list sh
e kept inside her hope chest.

  Outside, a few unruly tendrils of jet-black hair broke free from her kapp, and she didn’t bother to shove them back under her tight head covering. By the fierce-looking sky, she was sure there wasn’t much time to act.

  The old chain that held the painted, light-blue wooden front porch swing to the ceiling creaked as the wind moved it back and forth in an uneven motion. Automatically, she grabbed the metal and hiked up one side to hook the middle part to the ceiling and stepped to the other side to repeat the action.

  It came automatically to her because she and Maemm routinely did this together after any weather advisory in order to prevent the swing from being blown against the front of the house or, even worse, from colliding with and breaking the large front window. She lifted the heavy bench on one side as high as she could. Just enough for the chain to hook.

  Fertig. As she caught her breath, she took in the sky in the distance, which had quickly become an uglier shade of dark gray. The color reminded her of charcoals in her daed’s grill after they’d burned.

  The air smelled of rain. She pressed her lips together in a straight line, realizing that time was of the essence. She hiked up her dress and rushed down the front porch stairs. At the bottom, she continued to hold both sides to avoid tripping and falling.

  She glimpsed Blaze, their beloved horse, tied to a post. Automatically, her eyes followed the path to the large, open barn doors. A drop of cold rain landed on her forehead, and she ran a hand over it.

  As the ruthless, unforgiving wind continued to pick up speed, tall oak branches banged the roof of the two-story family dwelling. Bolts of lightning sparked in the sky. Some let out a loud crack, while others were silent.

  Ominous-sounding thunder. She could hear loud neighs, whinnies, and moos as their livestock proceeded into the barn’s back entrance.

  As she took in the healthy distance that needed covering fast, she straightened and let out a determined sigh before traversing the long stretch of jade-colored grass that her daed kept mowed short. She took quick, small steps, fully aware that her sturdy black shoes and her long navy dress weren’t conducive for running.

  As she made her way to Blaze, she passed her summer garden, filled with produce that Anna would freeze for the winter. Bright red tomatoes. Red and green peppers. Green beans. Zucchini. Pumpkin plants.

  Cucumber vines lined the ground like a map of the world. Tall stalks of corn stood in the back, accompanied by a row of large, yellow sunflowers. The wind moved the faux snake across the yard.

  As Anna stepped around a dip in the lawn, she felt sorry for the plants. Because right now, they fought for survival against Mother Nature as they swayed back and forth and dipped helplessly with the wind. Anna hoped that their stems would be able to withstand the power of the storm that, by the sound of it, was only getting started.

  The urgent noises of livestock competed with a loose shutter banging against the house. Metal pans tied throughout the garden to scare off birds made a light, tinny sound as they bumped one another.

  As dirt blew into her eyes, she stopped for a moment to cover her face with her hands. She blinked at the sting and teared up. She blinked again, uncovered her eyes, and continued forward.

  The fake owl perched on top of the clothesline post fell to the ground. From her peripheral vision, she glimpsed the empty dawdy house. Two brown and white goats skipped across the large backyard to the barn, where they entered with three chickens through the large front doors that had blown open.

  Blaze clomped his right hoof and let out a loud whinny. Not long after, he repeated the action.

  “I’m coming!”

  As she got closer to the horse, she remembered that she’d left her satchel on the buggy, which was parked next to the house. Losing the satchel to the brewing storm didn’t worry her, but what was inside of it did. The newspaper clipping. But it would have to wait.

  A rooster darted in front of her, and Anna made an abrupt stop to avoid tripping over it. The bird eventually made his way into the hen coop. As charcoal-gray clouds moved toward the west, a duo of light raindrops hit the back of her neck.

  No rain yet, please. On both sides of her, purple coneheads dipped in the direction the wind blew them. Tin pans tied to wooden posts in the garden jumped up and down with the breeze, making a light sound as they met with the metal stakes they were attached to.

  When she dropped the sides of her dress, she quickly yanked them up again to avoid tripping. Finally, she reached Blaze and untied him. “C’mon, Blaze. Let’s get you inside.” She grabbed his lead.

  As she and the family horse approached the large, old structure, rain came down. First, at a light dose. Then, the volume increased.

  She blinked open and closed to avoid getting dirt and debris in her eyes. As rain dampened her clothes, a chill swept up her spine, and she shivered, realizing how very cold it had gotten. Between the rain and the wind, it was becoming increasingly difficult to see. And to breathe.

  Sounds of protest floated through the air. A loud chorus from the cattle eventually morphed into one solid sound, competing with whinnies from their field horses.

  As they got closer, Blaze jerked his long, braun neck up. Anna struggled to catch her breath, but the wind was against her, and she still had quite a distance to cover.

  She started to lose her balance and stopped for a moment. When a large bolt of lightning crackled, a downpour started, and Anna tasted dirt on her lips. Smelled it. Her eyes felt gritty, and the speed of the wind became so fierce, it took her kapp. “C’mon, boy. Let’s get inside.” She could feel her long mass of thick hair drop to her shoulders.

  As Anna and Blaze hurried to the barn, all sounds became one: rain, thunder, the animal chorus, and her own breathing. It became so difficult to see, she held on tightly to the lead and slowed her pace, moving in the direction of the clanging of heavy doors being blown open and shut.

  For a moment, the rain let up just enough for her to glimpse the barn. “C’mon, boy! We’re almost there!” Just then, something hit her with such great force, it knocked her down. Jagged ends of a heavy broken oak limb that had cracked in the middle stuck in the ground on both sides of her and pinned her entire body.

  As she closed her eyes a moment, she tasted blood and realized it was coming from her forehead. I have to get Blaze inside and close the doors to protect the animals.

  “Dear Lord, please keep us safe. Amen.”

  The moment she whispered her prayer, there was an additional sound that she hadn’t noticed before. She heard the whinny of a new horse in the distance. Surely her parents hadn’t attempted to make it home from the bakery in this storm. When the clomp-clomping of hooves and another loud whinny sounded, Blaze responded with his own and made his way into the barn.

  At that moment, the sky opened up even more and drenched her. Clumps of leaves covered her face as she tried to move the tree parts off of her. But it was impossible. Between the fierce wind and the heavy downpour, Anna struggled to get her breath.

  She was drenched. She coughed. It was hard to believe that just a short time ago, she’d enjoyed the sun’s warm rays, which had beaten down on her face.

  But now, thanks to the branch that pinned her, she couldn’t get up, and there was a severe pain in her head. Warm blood oozed from the place she’d been pierced. Yet even with her injury, all she could think about was getting to the barn and closing the doors so the animals would be safe from blowing debris. But would it happen?

  * * *

  It was Jesse Beiler’s first day of work for one of the owners of King’s Bakery. Never had he imagined that the morning would start like this. He’d pictured his initial task as having something to do in the large barn. Like sharpening tools. Or raking animal stalls. Or working in the hayloft. Or, best of all, farming the one hundred and some acres behind Paul King’s home.

  But it was nothing of the sort. To his surprise, John King’s brother had assigned him the responsibility of ensu
ring that his only daughter was safe, which, to Jesse’s mind, was a far cry from farming.

  But here he was, in the countryside of Arthur, Illinois. He leaned forward as Serene, his beloved Standardbred, which had been adopted from Dr. Jared Zimmerman, picked up speed, pulling him and his buggy down the desolate blacktop that led to the two-story dwelling of Paul King, his wife Naomi, and his only child, Anna. And according to the sky, the gusty wind, and the severe temperature drop, time was of the essence.

  In the past half hour, Jesse had given his word that he’d ensure Anna was inside the house, safe and sound, from the unexpected storm. Now, he was second-guessing his promise.

  When he’d committed, he hadn’t known that the storm would progress so quickly. Unfortunately, its unexpected nature hadn’t given him much time.

  But he was almost there. The combination of fierce wind and rain made it difficult to see. Fortunately, he and Serene were familiar with the blacktop they traveled. And from where they were, it was a straight shot to their destination.

  To his relief, the rain let up just long enough to offer enough time to check his whereabouts. A quick, clear glance at the familiar landscape told him that he was within close range of the King farm.

  Even so, as the downpour restarted, Jesse was fully aware that the remaining half mile to the farm wouldn’t be easy. It was still late morning, yet the sky was as dark as it would be after sunset.

  He straightened, praying to get there in time to make sure Anna was okay. As he said “Amen,” a large bolt of lightning charged the sky. To Jesse’s dismay, Serene reacted by rearing her front legs in the air.

  “Whoa!”

  Jesse gritted his teeth, still determined to keep his word. Although today was his first day as a farmhand, he and the Kings had been friends and fellow church members for years, and he couldn’t count the number of times they’d gotten together here.