A Deputy in Amish Country--A Clean Romance Read online

  “I wish you’d stop referring to me as a job,” Annabelle said.

  Conrad paused, then nodded. “Sorry. You’re a person, and you have a life of your own. It’s a law enforcement trick to help us keep our emotions in check.”

  “Maybe I feel safer with a bodyguard who actually experiences his emotions,” she said.

  “You shouldn’t.” He met her gaze soberly. “I’m faster on my feet when I do things my way. This is for your benefit.”

  “I take it you’ve guarded witnesses before?”

  “Yup.” That was a good thing, wasn’t it? He’d done this before. She wasn’t a trial run.

  “And everything went smoothly?” Annabelle paused next to him. She had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye.

  “You’ll be safe,” he said. “I’m going to get changed, and then we’ll get you saddled up.”

  It wasn’t exactly an answer, was it? For a split second she saw something deeper flicker behind that professional gaze—regret.

  Dear Reader,

  I have written cowboy romances for years, but more recently I have delved into Amish stories. My readers have said they loved my Amish romances, and some of those books even hit the Publishers Weekly bestseller list. What an honor!

  This story combines everything I love—rugged, protective cowboys, a light mystery and the down-home charm of Amish neighbors who bring a whole new perspective on simple living. I truly hope you enjoy this story.

  If you’d like to connect with me, you can find me on my website at patriciajohns.com, on Twitter and on Facebook, where I hold continual giveaways. Pop by and enter to win some free books—we have a lot of fun!

  Patricia Johns

  A Deputy in Amish Country

  Patricia Johns

  Patricia Johns is a Publishers Weekly bestselling author who writes from Alberta, Canada. She has her Hon. BA in English literature and currently writes for Harlequin’s Love Inspired and Heartwarming lines. She also writes Amish romance for Kensington Books. You can find her at patriciajohns.com.

  Books by Patricia Johns

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  The Second Chance Club

  Their Mountain Reunion

  Mountain Mistletoe Christmas

  Rocky Mountain Baby

  Snowbound with Her Mountain Cowboy

  Home to Eagle’s Rest

  Her Lawman Protector

  Falling for the Cowboy Dad

  The Lawman’s Baby

  Her Triplets’ Mistletoe Dad

  Love Inspired

  Redemption’s Amish Legacies

  The Nanny’s Amish Family

  A Precious Christmas Gift

  Wife on His Doorstep

  Snowbound with the Amish Bachelor

  Blended Amish Blessings

  Montana Twins

  Her Cowboy’s Twin Blessings

  Her Twins’ Cowboy Dad

  A Rancher to Remember

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To my husband and son. Without your support, I’d never have been able to follow my dreams this way. I love you both.

  Contents

  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

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM THE COWBOY MEETS HIS MATCH BY MELINDA CURTIS

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE OHIO COUNTRYSIDE was a patchwork of green and gold, and Annabelle Richards watched the summer wind bend the crops in the fields, rippling across the heads of wheat and oats like waves on a lake. The hot scent of grain baking in the sun came into the SUV through their air-conditioning vents, and Annabelle found her gaze moving back to that side mirror. No one followed them, the stretch of black asphalt winding out behind them reassuringly empty.

  The Amish farms slipped past them, laundry fluttering on clotheslines and flourishing gardens stretching out beside neat white houses. Every once in a while, a buggy would come trundling by, the muscular quarter horses plodding along at an even pace. The drivers didn’t look at them as they passed.

  Annabelle used to come out to Amish communities to wander through shops and buy some local produce, but she’d never come in this direction before. These roads were far from the tourist attractions, the corn mazes, restaurants, craft shops... Here were just Amish people living their lives, and this gas-powered SUV seemed like an intrusion into their world. It felt almost rude to be coming here to disappear, a stranger in their midst.

  Conrad Westhouse, the bulky, muscular sheriff’s deputy who was assigned to her protection, wasn’t exactly a stranger. They knew each other a little bit from volunteering at the Wooster, Ohio, soup kitchen that provided free hot meals for needy families three times a week.

  Annabelle forced a smile. “So...do we keep this professional and I call you Deputy Westhouse? Or are you Conrad, like at the soup kitchen?”

  “Conrad is fine.” He cast her a smile. “I’m the same guy, you know.”

  “The uniform does change things,” she said.

  “It’s supposed to, I guess,” he agreed. “But I’ll try to keep this whole process as painless as possible. I promise.”

  “I’m curious about the ranch,” she said. “You said it’s family land? Were you raised there?”

  Conrad shot her a look, and for a moment, he was silent.

  “The thing is, this is all really intimidating,” Annabelle said. “Three days ago, I was just a bank teller doing my job and wondering if I should get a rescue dog. Today, I’m in protective custody so I can be a witness in a murder and robbery trial. This is a lot!”

  “You look really scared,” he said, his voice softening.

  “I am.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “We protect our witnesses, I promise you that.” He cleared his throat and said, “I live with my brother.”

  “Oh?” Annabelle still wasn’t comfortable around this big man, although he seemed to be trying to help her to relax.

  “His name is Wilder. You’ll meet him when we get there. He does a lot of the ranching work while I’m away at my job, so... You’ll see him. He’s a decent guy.”

  He tapped his hand on the top of the steering wheel. He didn’t look inclined to say more.

  “And I’ll be living with two men for three weeks?” She’d assumed that she and Conrad would be alone. That was the implication—out there in the country, tucked away from any undue attention. But if she decided to slip out of Conrad’s custody, how difficult was that going to be?

  Annabelle had agreed to testify, but she had good reason to rethink that now. She’d seen the robber’s face, yes. And she’d picked his photo out of a series of mug shots easily. But it had been that easy because she knew him, a fact she hadn’t shared with the deputy taking her statement.

  Conrad cast her a sympathetic look. “I could see if a female deputy could be assigned to you as well, if that would be more comfortable. We were working pretty fast to figure out a solution until the trial—there wasn’t a lot of time to plan, and the sheriff figured you’d be safer right under my nose than anywhere else.”

  “Is this really necessary?” she asked. “I mean, how bad is Stephen Hope?”

  “He’s got connections to some gangs, and in the past, witnesses have disappeared.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.” He cast her an apologetic look. “And others have simply declined to testify. So we’re going to take this very, very seriously, and nothing will happen to you.”

  She considered that. If the sheriff thought that Conrad’s ranch out in Amish country was the safest place for her, who was Annabelle to quibble? She wanted the same thing—safety. But what was the best way to stay safe? With the police, or on her own as far from Ohio as she could get?

  “This is pretty overwhelming,” she said.

  “Yeah, I get that.” His tone softened again.

  “And I’m about to spend three weeks with you,” she said. “I know that you’re a pretty good cook from the soup kitchen, and we’ve chatted a bit, but I don’t know you very well. So if I could get to know you a little bit better, it would go a long way to calming my nerves.”

  “This is pretty different for me, too,” he said. “I’ve never had a witness in my home before. The thing is, I normally try to keep my professional and personal lives completely separate.”

  “Why did you change your mind for me?” she asked.

  “You’re a good person.”

  “What makes you so sure?” she asked.

  He smiled faintly. “I have a good sense of these things. And I’ve watched you, too. You work hard at the soup kitchen. You treat everyone with respect. You’re decent, Annabelle.”

  He’d been noticing her? She stol
e a look at him, but his gaze was locked on the road in front of them.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “And I can see that this is weird for both of us. So in the spirit of making it less weird...” Conrad slowed for an intersection and came to a stop. He glanced over at her. “The land belonged to my great-grandfather and then my grandfather. My uncle inherited the place when he died. He ran the ranch for the last forty years or so. He and my dad were estranged for a lot of my childhood. My dad bought a large acreage, but there were hard feelings about that inheritance. He and my uncle didn’t get along real well.”

  He signaled a turn and stepped on the gas.

  “That happens sometimes,” she murmured.

  “Anyway, Uncle Gray never did have any kids, and when he found out he had lung cancer, he wrote my brother and me into his will. I guess the rest is history.”

  “Did he reconcile with your dad before he died?” Annabelle asked.

  Conrad shook his head. “Nope. We didn’t even know he was sick. That’s part of the reason why I’m willing to work the ranch with my brother. We’re pretty different, but family has to count for something. So I’m trying to have fewer regrets than the generation before us.”

  “How...um...different is your brother?” Annabelle surveyed the big man next to her—his clean-shaven face, strong jaw and bulky muscles. He looked relaxed enough, but there was something about him that felt like a coiled spring. He wasn’t like this at the soup kitchen. The uniform definitely changed him.

  “I’d trust him with my life, if that’s what you’re asking,” Conrad replied. “He’s the free spirit, where I’m...” He angled his head to one side. “I guess I’m the stickler for doing things right. You’re safe with the two of us—I can guarantee that.”

  If it came down to a fistfight, she had no doubt that she’d be well protected. Conrad was an intimidating-looking man—the human equivalent of steel and concrete. But even a muscle-bound cop was vulnerable to bullets. An image flashed in her mind of the security guard slumping to the ground and the masked man with his finger still on the trigger. The two masked accomplices had looked surprised and started hollering at each other. It had only taken a second. She hadn’t known then who the shooter was. It had only been later, after everyone was on the floor with their hands behind their heads, that she’d seen him lift his mask, just for a moment, and she’d known who he was. Stephen had met her gaze and winked. He’d pulled out her key—one from the set with the Snoopy key fob that had gone missing two days earlier—opened up the door that led into the vault, and her heart had almost stopped. Where had he gotten her keys? She’d been searching everywhere for the set. Had it dropped from her bag? Had he lifted it off her in a store or something? In that moment, she knew that life as she knew it was over.

  Could you describe the man you saw?

  A little over six feet tall, dark hair, kind of a long nose. He looks friendly—but he’s not. You know?

  Even after shooting a man, Stephen had that cordial look about him that made her blood run cold. Death meant nothing to him, and apparently money was worth a life.

  I wonder if you could look at some mug shots for us...

  Annabelle hadn’t known that Stephen had a criminal history when she met him two years ago. He’d just been a guy she’d briefly dated who’d had a scary temper. But his picture had been on the fourth page of the mug shots.

  There. That’s him.

  How sure are you?

  A hundred percent. That’s him. I looked him right in the face. Can I go now?

  She’d figured she would head to Texas, where she had an aunt, to hide out, and she’d find a job down there. She’d change her hair and put on some weight...but the sheriff’s department hadn’t let her leave.

  I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to stay with us until we have the suspect in custody. And then it was I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re in a vulnerable position right now, and it’s our job to protect you. And now she was headed out to Amish country with a deputy and a suitcase.

  How safe was she while she remained in Ohio? Because Stephen had texted her before Conrad picked her up to hide her in the country. He’d said if she said anything, he was bringing her down, too. And now Conrad had her cell phone, and she was being hustled off to some farm outside of town.

  “Annabelle?”

  She startled. “Sorry—what was that?”

  “I asked if you enjoy visiting Amish country,” he said.

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Yeah, I do. To check out the shops and just relax. It’s a slower pace.”

  “It is,” he agreed. “It’s like a different world out here.”

  “Are there many non-Amish farms and ranches in this area?” she asked.

  “Not too many,” he replied. “In fact, I get the feeling that the Amish are just waiting for us to sell. They run smaller farms than the rest of us do, because they have to do all the work with horses and wagons. So our ranch could probably be split up into two or three Amish farms.”

  “Do you know your neighbors well?” she asked.

  “My brother and I have only had this ranch for two years, so we haven’t been around long in the local estimation,” he replied. “But we’re on friendly terms. They’re nice people.”

  The Westhouse ranch had a big wooden sign over the drive, and wooden rail fences stretched out on either side. Conrad turned into the drive and she noted how he watched his mirrors, his attention fixed on a truck that went rumbling past.

  Would anyone outside of law enforcement know where she was for the next three weeks? Well, besides her best friend, Theresa. She’d told her where she was going, but Theresa could be trusted.

  Several trees, leafy and heavy with large green apples, hunkered down along the gravel drive. Beyond the trees and past a vast lawn that looked like it needed mowing was a low ranch-style house. Three pickup trucks were parked beside it, two in various states of disrepair, and a man in a grease-streaked white T-shirt stood next to the open hood of one of the more beaten-up vehicles.

  The man turned, looking mildly surprised to see her in the front seat of the SUV. He shoved a tool into his back pocket and eyed them as Conrad pulled to a stop.

  “I wasn’t going to trust this to a phone call,” Conrad said. “Give me a minute to fill my brother in, would you?”

  She nodded, and Conrad hopped out. He headed over to his brother, and she watched the silent conversation for a moment. Then she looked out her window. There was a small red barn with a corral. On the far side of the farmyard was a squat stable with its own corral, where a glossy chestnut horse stood with a colt beside her. The colt looked young—gangly, slender, sticking close to his mother. And beyond that corral and a few yards of long grass there was another property that looked Amish—a two-story white house, a clothesline with Amish dresses and pants rippling as the wind strummed across them. She’d never been quite this close to an Amish home before, and she was intrigued.

  The SUV was getting stuffy, so she opened her door and got out into the fragrant summer air. There were some fruit trees in the Amish front yard, and a black buggy was parked next to the house. The shafts that would attach to a horse’s breeching were resting on blocks of wood. A window had been raised and the front door propped open with another piece of wood. She could hear a child’s laughter from inside. The difference between these two properties was immediately obvious, from the style of house to the mode of transportation sitting outside. But she had to admit that she was intrigued to spend some time here.

  The horse in the corral nickered, and Conrad looked up at the sound of her door shutting.

  “I want to introduce you to my brother,” Conrad called.

  Annabelle headed over to where the men stood, and the second man eyed her with a curious expression.

  “This is Wilder,” Conrad said. “I’ve filled him in on the basics—you witnessed a crime, and we’re keeping you under wraps until the trial.”

  But he wasn’t telling his brother which crime, it would seem. Wilder wiped his hand on his jeans, then shook hers.

  “I’m Annabelle,” she said, and when he released her fingers, she resisted the urge to wipe her hand off.

  “Wilder,” he replied, then looked down at her hand. “Sorry.” He grabbed a rag and gave it to her. “I didn’t know we’d have company, so I didn’t clean the place up. But you’re very welcome to stay as long as you need. Make yourself at home.”