Promise 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

  Promise 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

  PROMISE AT PEBBLE CREEK

  Lisa Jones Baker

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  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

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Lisa Jones Baker

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  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.

  BOUQUET Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4748-3

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4749-0 (eBook)

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-4749-8 (eBook)

  To John and Marcia Baker,

  my two dearest friends

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First of all, I visited numerous sources to acquire information for this book, and any errors are mine and mine alone. Much love to my mother and father for their unconditional support the past sixty years. My wonderful, reading specialist mother has helped me to edit over thirty books, and without her, I would only be dreaming of becoming a writer.

  To Vince Conlee for patiently assisting with this story’s welding details. We are blessed to have you in our family. Thanks so much to June Morris of Salem, Illinois, for sharing your quilting talent with me. Huge appreciation to Margaret at Stitch and Sew in Arthur, Illinois, and to Elizabeth Chupp for sharing insider details on quilting. You are talented ladies. I’m greatly appreciative of Nolan Recker, Adult Ministries Pastor at Vale Church, for helping me to clarify my Scripture questions and for all you do for our church! I owe my junior high and high school English teachers, the late Helen Foltz and Dave Eatock, for sharing their valuable knowledge and for their superb ability to convey that information; your teaching trumped every college writing instructor I ever had. Thank you to my Amish go-to girl who carefully reads my books from start to finish to ensure I adhere to the Amish practices in Arthur, Illinois, and who prefers to remain anonymous. I’ll never forget meeting you over a decade ago. Since then, you have shared your life and your beliefs with me, and I’m blessed to know you. Lisa Nortato, true friend and confidante for thirty years; what would I do without you? Thanks to sharp Aunt Velda Baker in Lincoln, Illinois, who’s always up for reviewing my stories before they go to edits, and to the Bloomington Geek Squad for salvaging my laptop issues. I’m grateful to my dedicated street team members and all my readers for your support and for constantly offering me valuable input to help my characters float off the pages and into the hearts of those waiting to see what’s next. To New York Times bestselling author Joan Wester Anderson; you’re a tremendous, unexpected blessing, who helped to launch Rebecca’s Bouquet and my Hope Chest of Dreams Series, and I’m so grateful to you. I can only aspire to write as well as you. To my sister, Beth, and brother-in-law, Doug, I love you for everything you do!

  Many of you are aware that my writing journey took twenty-four years to see my stories in print, but during that long, challenging time frame, I always believed that God tests our faith and our tenacity, and when I finally signed with Kensington Publishing in New York, the pieces that had taken years to cultivate were finally in the right places, especially fantastic editor Selena James, the entire Kensington team, and agent of the year Tamala Hancock Murray of the Steve Laube Agency, who worked with me for years when there was no guarantee of publication. Now, enjoy Promise at Pebble Creek!

  Chapter One

  Who is he? Hannah arched a curious brow as she hid her adventure book near the cash register and stepped to the entrance of Amish Edibles. Of course, I don’t know all my customers. Why would I be surprised that I’ve never seen him?

  The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside. Outside, she glimpsed a white car. She certainly wasn’t an expert on vehicles, but what he drove resembled a Chevy Malibu she’d ridden in with a neighbor to her doctor.

  Lifting her chin a notch, she silently ordered herself to remember her manners. She smiled a little while she motioned him in and offered the taller-than-average man a warm welcome. In response, he nodded and gave a soft, friendly hello. His voice had a low timbre mixed with an odd combination of gentleness and ruggedness.

  When he glanced to his side, she motioned to the shelves of edibles. Homemade breads, jelly, egg noodles, spices, dolls without faces, and miniature hand-carved hope chests made by Amish workers prompted a satisfied smile.

  Horses, buggies, and delicate-looking sachets created by Rebecca and Mary Conrad filled the shop with pleasant floral scents.

  “Feel free to look around, and if I can help, let me know.”

  He narrowed his dark brows. “I’d like something for lunch sandwiches. Peanut butter and jelly?”

  The request automatically lifted the corners of her lips. So, this rugged-looking man likes peanut butter and jelly. She quickly decided on a response. “There’s a store in town that sells peanut butter. But . . .”

  When he eyed her to continue, gray flecks danced on beautiful jade-green eyes. The shade reminded her of summer grass after the first mow.

  “I’d recommend that you buy the bread and jelly here.”

  He offered a nod. “I’ll take that recommendation.”

  She lifted her chin with sudden confidence and pointed to the selection of homemade loaves. She repeated the motion of her hand when she turned to the shelves of jelly. “Over here.”

  The soles of his worn leather boots made a light sound against the cement floor as he strode to the part of the shop where different flavors of jel
ly were lined up. As he bent to check out the lower shelf, her curiosity kicked into higher gear.

  No, I shouldn’t be surprised I’ve never seen him, but he just doesn’t look like other customers who come here. She considered her realization and added, In fact, he’s far from it.

  As the battery-powered fan’s large metal blades whipped around and offered relief from the hot, early July temperatures, Hannah stepped closer to him while he pulled a container of strawberry spread from the shelf.

  “Strawberry’s gut. But if you want my honest opinion. . .” He looked up at her while she tapped the toe of her sturdy black shoe against the floor. “Raspberry is my utmost favorite. And this year, they have an unusually sweet flavor.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” He winked, grabbing the raspberry. “My decision’s made.”

  As he smiled at Hannah, she automatically smiled back. But to her dismay, it was hard to look away. She was fully aware that her last intention was to stare, but her unusually keen curiosity took over while she took in the set of broad shoulders and the fit build of the above-average-height stranger.

  She’d always been taught to focus on a person’s heart and not their physical appearance. But she couldn’t help but appreciate his handsome ruggedness.

  A short silence ensued until he offered her a half smile and extended his hand. “Marcus Jackson.”

  In embarrassment, she tried to stop the warm blood that rushed to her face. Obviously, she’d been staring, even though her intention had been not to. “Hannah Lapp.” She shook his callused hand.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Trying to hide her keen interest, she forced her most casual voice. “You’re new to the area?”

  A quick nod provided her answer. “I just came into town. From Chicago. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be working at a chemical company near here.”

  She looked at him, waiting for him to go on.

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, it’s a long story. I won’t bore you with it.”

  She tried to hide her disappointment that he didn’t offer more details and spoke the first thought that came to mind. “Country life must be far different from what you’re used to.”

  Hannah knew about everyone in the Arthur-Arcola area, even the Englisch. At one time or another, most had come to her shop for her renowned jelly, especially around Thanksgiving and Christmastime.

  She had a knack for recalling faces and names, and she was sure she would have remembered this soft-spoken Englischer, whom she guessed to be about twenty-five, five years her senior. His gray T-shirt fit his body loosely, revealing muscular, tanned arms.

  His blue jeans were a loose fit, too. But what piqued her interest was the way he smiled at her. His expression had seemed genuine enough, but his dark jade-colored eyes hinted at excitement and adventure. At the same time, she thought she noted a shadow of sadness in the haze around them.

  Automatically, she tried to imagine what could have brought him so far from Chicago. There I go again. I wish my imagination would rest. I’m being nosey. Maemm’s always reminding me to mind my own business.

  His attention suddenly turned to the back room. She followed his gaze, which landed on her quilt in progress. The door was opened, offering a glimpse of her work.

  He softened his tone. “You quilt?”

  “Jah.” She offered a quick nod. “It’s one of my passions.” She deliberately neglected mentioning that her other was reading The Adventures of Sydney and Carson, her favorite book series.

  When he didn’t inquire about the others, she sighed relief. Of course, there wasn’t anything wrong with enjoying adventure stories. Not that she knew of, anyway. But she loved them so much, and the way they challenged her imagination, that she preferred to keep her secret.

  Oftentimes, Maemm had voiced her disapproval . . . that perhaps Hannah could do something more productive with her time . . . so Hannah kept her stories out of sight.

  When his gaze lingered on the quilt, she stepped closer to him. “Would you like a better look?”

  He nodded. “That would be nice.”

  With a wave of her hand, she led him into the back, where he stood very still and took in the material that was stretched out on top of a wooden frame. The pieces of material showed the back side. Multiple pins around the sides attached it to the stand. Spools of thread lined the end of the table. There were thimbles. A sewing box. A ruler.

  She suddenly realized how unkempt the scene in front of them must look. “Sorry for the mess.”

  “No need to apologize. It looks like a lot of work. But it’s already beautiful. Even with the wrong side showing.” He let out a low whistle. “I can only imagine what it will look like when it’s done.”

  “Denki.” When he continued gazing at it, she decided to tell him a bit about it. Her heart warmed at his obvious interest. At the same time, she was even more curious about the Englischer.

  It was unusual for men, especially someone so outdoorsy-looking to express such a sincere interest in something that was so feminine.

  The expression on his face was so endearing, she felt compelled to tell him as much as she could. In a soft voice, she fixed her attention on the squares that had already been sewn together.

  “I helped Maemm with them when I was little. When I got older, I started doing my own. Usually, I make them for newborn babies. Or newlyweds. Oh . . .”

  She gestured with her hands. “The last one was for a lady who goes to our church who was hospitalized.”

  “Who’s this for?” He ran a finger gently over one of the squares.

  She lifted her palms to the ceiling and offered a slight shrug. “I’m not sure.”

  He looked at her and smiled appreciatively. “I don’t know a thing about quilting, but there’s one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty.” The corners of his lips curved in a combination of amusement and seriousness. “Whoever gets this will love it.”

  Hannah beamed and drew her hands to her chest with great affection. In a voice that was barely more than a whisper, she said, “Denki, Marcus.”

  He continued to look at the quilt, slowly bending to run his tanned hand over the soft cotton fabric. While he did so, she took the opportunity to study him. When he stretched out his arm, his T-shirt revealed more muscle.

  Short, jet-black hair framed a confident-looking face. She couldn’t see his eyes now, as he bent to study her project, but she’d noticed the unique shade as soon as he’d entered the shop.

  Finally, he drew in a breath and smiled a little. “Thanks for the look at your project.” Automatically, she began to return to the main area of her shop, and he followed. “Nice shop.”

  “Denki.”

  His lips curved in an amused smile. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m so intrigued with your quilt.”

  She lifted a brow for him to go on.

  “My mom used to sew. My late mom,” he corrected.

  She softened her voice to a sympathetic tone. “I’m so sorry.” She hadn’t missed the emotional catch in his throat.

  “Thank you.” He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s been about six years since I lost her. But there’s one thing I’ll never forget about my childhood, and that’s the blanket she sewed for my sixth birthday. It was three shades of blue that are nearly identical to your quilt.”

  Right then and there, Hannah knew why Marcus Jackson was so interested in her quilt. It was because it struck a happy chord. Apparently, the memory was a strong one.

  Immediately, Hannah experienced a strange connection to this man. Oddly, she’d never felt such an emotion. But no matter where he came from, no matter his circumstances, she wished him the very best. In fact, tonight she would begin praying for Gott to bring him happiness.

  He paid cash; she gave him change, which he accepted in the large palm of his hand. His attention shifted to the metal horse to her right that was separated from the buggy.

  He picked up the two parts and eyed her. “I can
fix this for you.” After a slight pause, he added, “Do you mind if I take these with me?”

  “Of course not. In fact, I’d very much appreciate it.”

  “One more thing. I was wondering: you don’t know of anyone who needs a renter, do you?”

  She offered an eager nod. “Jah. My brother.” She quickly went for a piece of paper, wrote down his name, and handed it to him.

  He eyed it. “Is there a number where I can reach him?”

  “He has a phone in his barn.”

  A surprised expression filled his eyes.

  She quickly explained. “We Amish usually have phones in our barns or sheds.”

  She took the paper from him, wrote down the number, and handed it back to him. “But it might be easier to reach him at work. He’s a welder at Cabot. Not far from here.”

  Marcus flashed her a smile. “I’m headed there next.”

  When she parted her lips in surprise, he added, “After several phone interviews, they hired me.” A sigh of relief escaped his throat. “Everything seems to be falling into place. Thanks, Hannah.”

  She offered a nod and added, “It’s my pleasure. I hope you like the jelly.”

  As the door shut, the plastic sign hanging on it moved up and down, making a clicking sound, until it finally landed back in place. Hannah glanced at the wall clock inside Amish Edibles.

  The time showed ten thirty. So far, only one customer this morning. Marcus. Of course, it was always quiet this time of year. For some reason, customers were few and far between at the start of July.

  But today, that was fine with Hannah. She smiled a little and shoved a loose strand of hair back under her kapp. The welcome free time offered her the opportunity to sew some more on her most exquisite project: her king-size quilt.