Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I t turned out that the pair of bedrooms in the back of the barn were just as nicely appointed as any of the ones in the sprawling main house. The floor was rough-hewn wood, the walls were painted a creamy white, and the bed and bedside table were solid oak and stained a dark honey-walnut color. There was also a simple white ladder-back chair next to a small cabinet with doors across the front. Inside were a pair of towels, a washcloth, soap, and two bottles of water.

The focal point of the room, however, was a gorgeous quilt in a Texas star pattern. It just happened to be sewn in shades of red and green. The room looked festive and yet perfectly plain and neat all at the same time. His grandparents would have loved it.

"Knock, knock."

Brandt turned to find a man of about forty-five dressed like a model out of an L.L. Bean catalog. Thick khaki pants, flannel shirt, rag wool socks and Bean boots. "Hey."

"Hi. I just wanted to introduce myself." Striding forward, he held out a hand. "Carter Winscott."

"Hi. I'm Brandt Holden."

"Since you look as much a part of the outside world as I do, I'll ask the obvious question. How do you know the Troyers?"

"I'm a friend of Mark's. He's their youngest son."

"I know Mark. I played ball with Abel's older cousin Doug."

It took a second, but Brandt was able to place Doug. While a few of the Troyers' extended family were Englisch, he was pretty sure Doug was Old Order Amish. "Ball?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "We played baseball together in high school."

He still didn't understand. "Doug didn't grow up Amish?"

"He did, but he was also a wicked good first baseman." Looking nostalgic, Carter added, "He had the best instincts of anyone I've ever seen play the position. He could tag a kid out faster than David Ortiz and seemed to have eyes in the back of his head." He shook his head, looking fond. "If he'd had the mind to do it, he could've gone far. I know he could've played Double-A ball at the very least."

Brandt knew he was staring at the guy, but he was shocked. "I had no idea."

"That Doug was so talented or that an Amish kid would play ball in high school?"

"Both."

"I've never heard of another boy doing it either, but at the time I don't recall its seeming so strange. He asked his parents to let him continue his schooling, with a promise to decide about getting baptized when he graduated."

"I guess that's what he did?"

"Yep." Looking thoughtful, Carter folded his arms over his chest. "I remember when Doug made the decision. His grandfather talked to him about faith and pride and family and community. Next thing I knew, he was finishing the season with us but ignoring all the recruiters from college and even some minor league talent scouts."

"It must have been hard for him to give all that up."

"I must admit that I thought so, but I've seen him from time to time over the years, and he's never acted as if he's had a regret. He told me once that he was grateful the Lord gave him that experience but is glad that he's gotten to spend the rest of his life looking after his family and living the life he leads."

"I'll look forward to talking to him this weekend."

"I'm sure you'll get a chance if things aren't too different from two years ago."

"I don't think I remember seeing you here last year. It was my first time to attend the gathering."

Looking a little pensive, Carter said, "I spent last Christmas with a cousin's family. It wasn't the same as being here."

"The Troyer family is wonderful." Realizing that his fifteen minutes were almost up, he said, "Excuse me. I promised a friend I'd help her hunt for pine cones."

Carter laughed. "Sounds like an important task if I ever heard one. Have a good time."

"Thanks. And thanks for sharing that story about Doug. I hope to hear more about the two of you playing ball in high school."

"I'm here for the full two nights. You?"

"The same." Though if things were going well with Tricia, he might try to stay one more night.

"Then we'll have another chance to talk, I'm sure."

To his surprise, Tricia wasn't already standing in the foyer when he entered the house. Pleased that he hadn't kept her waiting, he stared at the big grandfather clock gracing the space next to the large staircase that led up to the second and then the third floor. Like his bedroom furniture, the clock looked sturdy and was built of oak. But that was where the similarities ended. While his bedroom set looked new and polished, the clock looked as if it had been around for generations.

He hoped that was the case.

"Brandt! You beat me," Tricia called out.

"Just barely." He smiled at her, trying his best not to let her see how much her appearance affected him. She was so pretty. Her hair, though pulled back under her kapp , still escaped in a few wisps. He loved the shade of it. Halfway between blond and brown, the exact shade seemed to change depending on her mood.

Her brown eyes were bright and striking. Allowing his gaze to linger longer, Brandt decided that Tricia's hair made her eyes appear a deeper, richer shade of brown and her brown eyes made her hair seem even more fine and angelic.

But, as always, it was her happy spirit that made her special. Well, that and the way she wrote letters. He was starting to believe that she could write about almost anything. He'd looked forward to every one.

Portions of ice and snow, mixed with piles of dry, brittle leaves, crackled under their feet with each step they took. Here, some of the snow had melted or blown away. Instead of a picture-perfect blanket of fluffy white snow, they were greeted with patches of brown earth, brown, bare tree limbs, and shrubs instead of the vibrant grasses surrounding the area in May and June.

"It's a shame that it's so cold, isn't it?" she asked.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it doesn't look like winter. I wish the snow still covered everything."

"It feels like you read my mind. I was just thinking the same thing." He shrugged. "Then I reminded myself that lots of snow wouldn't make this mo—I mean, this weekend—any better."

She frowned, obviously curious about what he'd almost said. He hoped she wouldn't find out because it felt as if it was asking too much. He already had more than he'd imagined. He had wanted to see Tricia again, but mainly to prove to himself that she wasn't everything he remembered.

But she was. And now, just an hour after they'd seen each other for the first time in a year, here he was, walking alone with her in the woods. God really was so good.

"So, are there any special qualities you look for in your place-card pine cones?"

One eyebrow lifted. "Excuse me?"

"Do you want them all to be the same size? Do they need to be able to rest on top of the table in a certain way?"

She grinned. "Brandt, you've been thinking about this."

"Well, yeah. I don't want to mess you up."

"You'd never do that. They're just pine cones."

He didn't think they were just anything. "How about I hold the tote bag and you choose the cones?"

"That's perfect."

"Do you have paint already?"

"Of course I do. I bought some gold spray paint at the hardware store in Wooster."

"I should've known."

"Indeed you should've, since we're going to need these on Christmas Eve."

Instead of reminding her that he had no experience preparing for a monster Christmas Eve supper, he pointed to the ground. "Here's two."

Tricia bent down, inspected the prospects, but only put one of them in his sack.

He pointed to the rejected cone. "What was wrong with that one?"

"It was lopsided."

"Really?"

"Come on, Brandt. You had to have noticed that."

He couldn't decide if she was serious or just determined to give him a hard time. "I really didn't." He held up the sack. "That's why I'm just the muscle."

She bit back a laugh. " Jah . At least you are blessed with strength." Stopping, she pointed to two cones on the ground that looked just like any of the others they'd passed up. "Oh, Brandt. These are perfect, don't you think?"

"I do. They look like perfect pine cones." He struggled to keep a straight face as she picked up another three.

Tricia looked pleased with his assessment. "I think so, too. And . . . now we have six."

"Tiger, are you planning to keep a running tally of all fifty?"

"But of course."

He couldn't help his smile. But of course . She really was kind of adorable.

"Stop teasing, Brandt," she said with a soft pout. "I'm being practical. I don't want to come back out if I don't have enough."

"If you run short, I'll go back out and get you more."

Her smile faded. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Of course." Tricia looked so pleased, one would have thought he'd offered to fetch her the pine tree from which the cones came, too.

On they continued, tromping through the snow, searching for half-hidden pine cones, analyzing them for size and ability to hold a place card, and then moving on. Minutes passed. Then a half hour. Then an hour. It was a task he'd never imagined doing with a woman he'd only hoped to have a real conversation with.

"How long have we been out here?" she asked after he tossed two more cones in the canvas bag.

"A little over an hour."

"Oh, dear."

"What's wrong?"

"I just . . . well, once again I feel like I'm overextended. I promised to do a lot of other things. Plus, you probably have a lot more important things to do than to wander through the woods with me."

"I'm good with anything. Don't worry about me."

"Brandt, of course I'll worry. You're our guest."

"No, I'm your friend." Of course, he wanted to be more than that, but he was trying not to push too hard. "There's a difference, right?"

Looking taken aback, she nodded slowly. "Jah."

"As far as I'm concerned, friends help each other out. I would've hated the idea of you being out here doing this chore on your own."

"I would've been able to handle it."

"That's not the point." It really wasn't. He was feeling a little protective of her. Not only did he want to spend time with her, but he wanted to make her life easier. He wanted to be important to her and to make her feel like she had an ally, whether it was handling a bunch of houseguests or gathering pine cones or simply having a sounding board for her ideas.

He wished it was possible to do all those things for her.

"Brandt?"

He'd been so lost in thought, he'd kept walking. He hadn't even realized that she'd stopped. "Sorry." He turned on his heel. "Do you have more cones?"

"Jah." She tossed two more in the bag.

"I think that's number forty-nine and fifty. We have them all now."

"Then we can head back." She pointed to a fork in the path. "If we go left, it will loop back to where we started."

"Sounds good. I'll follow you." Looking shy all of a sudden, she led the way to the fork.

The snow had started to fall again. At first it was nothing more than a few stray flakes here and there. But that changed rather quickly. Soon, it was snowing hard enough that the flakes were sticking to her bonnet and his coat.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

He smiled at her. "It is." And yes, he was looking at her instead of the snow. It was such a corny thing, but what could he do? Mark would call him smitten.

He would be right.

It was also so wrong. He was Englisch. She was not. She had a wonderful, loving family. He did not.

Her aunt and uncle had invited him to their house and included him in all their festivities. The proper way to repay them was not to kiss her in the middle of a snowstorm in the woods.

That would really be a bad idea.

But when she stopped again . . . gazing up at him with such perfect happiness, he couldn't help himself. He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. Then kissed her again.

This one lasted longer than was proper, if there was anything about kissing in the woods that was proper at all.

There wasn't.

He knew that. He also knew he should apologize, but he couldn't do it. He wasn't sorry for kissing her. It was too sweet. Too special.

And, well, he was no saint.

Not even close.