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  Fact was, he didn’t deserve to be in the same room with her, let alone be with her at Christmas.

  Still looking out of sorts, she gazed at him. “It’s getting late. I think I will leave you now.”

  “Please don’t.” He needed to make amends, to make her feel more comfortable around him.

  Selfishly, he wanted to find out what she’d been up to since he’d left. Did she have a man in her life now? Was there anyone who would be visiting? And would there be anyone who would notice that she had taken in an Englischer for Christmas?

  That sudden thought made his voice harsher than he’d intended when he spoke. “Beth, sit down and talk to me,” he rasped as he tried to scoot up against the headboard. “Please. Just for a few moments.”

  Her eyes widened at the spot on the bed he’d patted. “I should find you a new shirt. Luke might have one he could spare. . . .”

  Feeling a bit silly, he pulled the sheet up, tried to cover most of his bare chest. “I’ve got fresh clothes in my truck,” he said in what he hoped was a more soothing tone. “I’ll get them later. Sit and talk to me. Please.”

  “Um, all right.” Reaching behind her, she curved her fingers around the top rung of the oak ladder-back chair and pulled it closer. Then, after smoothing the skirt of her dress, she sat.

  Bracing himself, he sat up a bit. “So . . . quite a bit of time has passed since I last saw you.”

  “Almost ten months,” she corrected. Letting him know that she’d felt their separation as much as he had. “The last time I saw you, I mean, when we saw each other . . . was in March.”

  With a slight frown, she looked out his smallish window. “The crocuses were just starting to bloom. As were the daffodils. Now, the streets are lit with tiny white lights and the air smells like pine and fresh snow.” She shrugged. “But it doesn’t really matter how much time has passed, does it? All I really remember is you telling me that you never wanted to see me again.”

  He saw the hurt on her face. “I only said that because staying away from me would keep you safe.”

  “But you’ve come back.”

  “I never meant to.” Of course, as soon as he said that, he ached to take his words back. He hadn’t wanted to see her again because he still thought about her in the middle of the night. Or when time dragged during a stakeout.

  Or when he was eating by himself in a restaurant. Or when he happened to drive by a sign with a buggy and horse on it.

  “I see.”

  Her obvious disappointment in his answers stung. He’d been proud of himself when he’d walked away from her, and from the longing he’d seen in her eyes. He’d done the right thing for her, and that had made him feel like maybe he was a better person than he’d ever imagined himself to be.

  And yet, he’d still returned.

  Obviously he still wasn’t the man he wished he could be. He cleared his throat. “So . . . what have you been doing with yourself? Watching children?”

  “Jah. I’ve been babysitting a lot. And caring for my mother.”

  He remembered that Beth’s mom suffered from multiple sclerosis and was confined to a wheelchair. “How’s she feeling?”

  “Right now, she’s good enough for me to be here. Some of her new medicines are helping, which is a blessing. She hasn’t seemed so tired.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “We have some neighbors who we’re close to. They’ve been checking up on her several times a day. And my aunts . . . my aunts will be paying her a visit soon.” Lifting her chin a bit, she said, “I am grateful to have people who care about us.”

  Against his will, a burst of jealousy shot through him as he imagined one of her “close” neighbors being tall, dark, and single. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

  A line formed between her brows. “Seeing?”

  “A man.” He swallowed. “Has any man finally gotten up the nerve to court you?” He remembered asking her about the men in her life the last time they were together. She’d playfully mentioned that she was a little too strong-willed of a woman to be a perfect Amish wife.

  But instead of smiling at the remembered conversation, she scowled. “Chris, we shouldn’t be talking about that.”

  Jealousy—that petty emotion he had no right to feel—made his cheeks flush. “What does that mean?”

  Visions of Beth riding in some mystery man’s Amish buggy popped in his head. And who knew what had been happening there? Amish or not, Beth was too much of a temptation for any man to ignore.

  Her voice hardened. “My personal business is none of your concern.”

  “Yet I am concerned.” Feeling like a fool, he said, “I hope whoever you’re seeing is a nice guy. And that he knows that you’re a good woman.”

  “Good?”

  “Um . . . virtuous?” When her expression stayed just as frozen, he cursed himself and his limited vocabulary. Now he sounded like a fool.

  When she said nothing, merely glared at him, he backtracked quickly. “I’m sorry. You’re right, and I was right months ago, too. Who you’re dating is none of my business. I was simply trying to figure out if we were going to have company,” he lied. “If you had a man who was going to be calling on you here.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  Ironically, her good news made him sad. “I see.”

  “Chris?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Um . . . what is your real last name?”

  Her voice was soft, her eyes searching. Suddenly, the air between them felt thicker, and all those months between them melted away. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. There was so much he wanted to share with her . . . and just as much that he knew better than to even mention aloud. “It’s probably better if you don’t know.”

  “I’m giving you refuge. I stitched your wound.” She leaned forward, bracing a hand on the edge of the mattress. “Now you’re telling me that you’re worried about me receiving other visitors. I think I deserve to know the real name of the person I’m hiding. I deserve that, at the very least.”

  She was right. He’d already put her in danger simply by being here. Even though he didn’t think anyone was tailing him, he could never be sure. And if something did happen? She deserved to know his real identity at the very least. “Hart.”

  She raised a brow. “Hart?”

  “Yeah. Hart, like the deer, not the organ.” He laughed when her eyebrows rose even farther. “Sorry, it’s an old joke of mine and my brothers. Anyway, Beth, I’m Christopher Randall Hart.” He was amazed at how unfamiliar his name felt on his lips. He’d been someone else for so long, he’d almost forgotten how it felt to be himself.

  “Christopher Randall Hart,” she murmured, as if she were trying it on for size. “Why, that’s a fine name.”

  He almost smiled, the comment was so like her. He wondered if she was always so generous with her compliments or if it was something she’d picked up while caring for her preschoolers. “My mother thought so, too.”

  “Where is your family? Where do you come from?”

  “My parents and brothers, um, live in Lexington.”

  “That’s not terribly far from here, just a few short hours’ drive. Chris, why didn’t you go there? It’s Christmas. I bet your mother would have loved to see you.”

  She would have . . . if he’d been the man she’d raised. But since he was far from that, it was best to stay away. Fond memories had to be better than the stark disappointment of reality. “There are reasons I can’t go home.”

  “Such as?”

  He knew he should ignore her question. His answers weren’t easy to share, or easy to think about. But he supposed he owed her something more than one- or two-word vague answers. She’d given him shelter, sewn up and tended his wounds. He knew there was little he would deny her. “I can’t go home, Beth. I’ve had to keep a lot of secrets from my family. Years ago I burnt some bridges with my parents. I didn’t come home when my mother was in the hospital. I didn’
t even call—I couldn’t because I was deep undercover.” It was amazing how regrets could still feel so sharp. “Anyway, when I did finally stop by, my brothers let me have it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Not a thing. There wasn’t a way for me to defend myself. Even if they did know that I worked for the DEA, I don’t think that would have made much of a difference. They wouldn’t understand my job or my decision to put a job before family. It’s too late now for our relationship to be repaired.”

  She shook her head. “It’s never too late to make amends.”

  “I’m not one of your preschoolers, Beth,” he retorted, his voice harsh.

  When she flinched at his tone, he attempted to soften his voice. “The things I’ve done?” He glanced at her, then looked back at his clenched hands instead of the wide wonder in her blue eyes. “Well, suffice it to say they can’t easily be forgotten. Or forgiven.”

  “What have you done that is so terrible?”

  He noticed that her hand was still curved around the edge of the mattress. So close to his own. It would be so easy to grasp her hand. To run a finger along her knuckles, to try to ease her fears.

  To alleviate his own regrets.

  “Nothing good. All you need to know is that I’m a far different man from what I was brought up to be.”

  “I’m sure you’re still the same person inside.”

  Her voice was so sure, so certain, it warmed him. “Maybe. But that doesn’t really matter. In my world, perception counts for a lot. And their perception of me is pretty bad.” Recalling the last argument he’d had with his father and two brothers, remembering the tears in his mother’s eyes, he shook his head. “The worst part is that a lot of what they think about me is actually true.”

  “Oh, Chris.”

  His eyelids felt heavy; he knew he was weakening. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to start telling her too much. “You know, you’re right. It is awfully late. We should talk later. I’m kind of tired.”

  Immediately, she got to her feet. “Jah. Sleep would be good for both of us. Please rest. I’ll come in and check on you during the night.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself.”

  “It will be no trouble.”

  “Listen, I’m good. I just need to sleep. Thanks for patching me up.” He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see her look of concern or accept anything more from her that he shouldn’t.

  He kept them firmly closed until he heard the rustle of her dress as it brushed against her legs when she stepped away from the bed. He caught the faint whiff of lemon and lavender before she turned and walked out the door.

  Only when the door clicked shut did he dare open his one good eye. Then, he stared at the door and cursed himself for being ten times a fool. Here, against his best of intentions, he felt himself falling for Beth all over again.

  Worse, he felt himself opening up to her, letting Beth hope that there was something special between the two of them.

  After Christmas, he would go. And she’d be abandoned all over again.

  His behavior was shameful.

  He really had become everything his mother had never wanted him to be.

  Chapter 4

  It’s not what you see that lets you know that Christmas is just around the corner. It’s that special feeling of expectation that suddenly fills the air.

  BETH BYLER

  Despite his protests, Beth had checked on Chris during the night. But he had been as good as his word. Each time she’d slowly peeked into his room, he’d been lying on his back, resting peacefully.

  While he had slept, she’d tossed and turned. Thinking about his return. Thinking about him.

  Christopher Randall Hart. Finally, she had a name—a real name—for the man who’d consumed far too many of her dreams.

  The fancy, three-part name suited him, she decided. Suited him far better than Chris Ellis. Chris Ellis was blunt and to the point. This new name was long and complicated, complex.

  Far more like him.

  Not that she should be thinking of him at all, Beth reminded herself as she pinned together the front of her blue dress and slipped a black apron over it. Chris represented everything she wasn’t and had never intended to be. He was a secret government worker, pretending to be mixed up in the drug and gun trades in order to catch bad people.

  And no, Chris hadn’t actually revealed that, either. He’d been too secretive to ever be so forthright. Instead, it had been Frannie’s husband, Luke, who’d told her so much of what she knew about Chris.

  One evening, long after the investigation surrounding Perry’s murder was over, she’d admitted to Luke and Frannie that she couldn’t stop thinking about Chris.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Luke had told her what he knew about him.

  But instead of that scaring her off, she’d secretly become more intrigued with the mysterious Chris Ellis. There was something about a man risking everything, even his reputation for a greater good, that appealed to her.

  She’d only ever lived in Marion, Kentucky, and had only ever visited a few places. Most of her time was occupied with caring for her mother and watching other people’s children. In many ways, she’d never risked anything.

  Chris? It seemed he’d risked everything he had, his family, his reputation . . . his life.

  Unable to stop thinking of him, she finished dressing as quickly as she could, then half listened for him to call her name while she washed her hands at the kitchen sink and put the kettle on the stove. She was wondering if he would be able to eat some eggs and toast while the tea was steeping. She was debating whether she should go check on him again when there was a knock at the back door.

  Imagining the worst, Beth peeked through the sheer white curtains, then felt silly when she saw it was only Lydia Plank staring back at her, a tote bag in hand.

  Not wanting to reveal too much, Beth opened the door halfway. “Lydia, what are you doing here?”

  “It is verra nice to see you, too,” she said with a bit of humor lighting her face.

  While Beth warily stood sentry at the door, Lydia stomped one of her boots, making bits of ice and salt fly up. “It’s pretty cold out here. Yesterday’s sunshine has left us, and more snow is on the way. Are you going to let me come in?”

  “Sure. Of course.” Reluctantly, she stepped back. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “I just happened to be nearby and wanted to check on you.”

  “Why?” Her stomach knotted. Had she forgotten to wipe away some of Chris’s blood on the sidewalk?

  Lydia looked at her curiously. “Because I promised Frannie I would.” After sitting down in one of the chairs that surrounded the kitchen table, she said, “Beth, what in the world is going on with you? You seem nervous.”

  “I have a new guest,” she blurted. “He’s sleeping and I don’t want to wake him up.”

  “I could have sworn Frannie said she only needed you to house-sit.”

  “Well, he’s here. And he’s asleep, so we must stay quiet.”

  Lydia’s brows rose. “I didn’t realize we were being loud.”

  Flushing, Beth realized that she did sound a bit paranoid. Oh, she was going to do a horrible job of keeping Chris’s visit a secret!

  “I’m kind of surprised you’ve got a guest here so close to Christmas.”

  “It’s not my place to question guests’ behavior.”

  If Lydia was taken aback, she didn’t show it. “Frannie would say it’s not your place to guess what your guests are doing in their rooms. But we can still wonder about them, right? I mean that’s human nature.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So, what’s he like? Is he handsome?”

  Feeling like a gnat caught in a spider’s web, Beth shrugged.

  Since her lies weren’t working, she decided to be evasive. “Let’s not talk about him. He doesn’t matter. How is Walker?”

  Luckily, Lydia let herself be sidetracked. She smiled sweetly. “Perfect.
He’s doing well on his Deutch, and enjoying life on the farm.” She leaned forward. “And guess what? The bishop has given us permission to marry at the end of January.”

  “That’s wunderbaar!” Beth knew just how many obstacles Walker and Lydia had gone through over the past year. Not only had they both been friends of Perry’s, they’d both been suspects during his murder investigation. In addition, Walker was English, while Lydia was Amish. Even after they fell in love, neither knew if they were supposed to be together.

  “I’m so excited, and so anxious to start my married life with him.”

  “I bet. I can’t wait to help you with the wedding.”

  “Danke. I knew I could count on you.” Lydia stretched out her hands. “We’ve all been through so much, it’s hard to grasp it all. I’m almost married to Walker; Frannie and Luke are married and are in Cincinnati for the holiday; and Deborah and Jacob are celebrating their first Christmas as a married couple.”

  “Yes, much has changed,” Beth echoed, trying not to feel sorry for herself, since her life seemed exactly the same. She was alone, the only one in their close circle of friends without love in her life. “I haven’t been to Schrock’s lately. How are Deborah and Jacob?”

  “Not so well.”

  “They have a lot of burdens.”

  “I think so. I’m not sure how they are going to get through everything. I mean, we were all surprised when they insisted on marrying despite her parents’ protestations. . . .”

  Beth nodded. Deborah and Jacob had had a difficult path, for sure. Not only did Jacob’s father kill Deborah’s brother, but Deborah’s parents still blamed Jacob—and to some extent Deborah—for much of what had had happened to Perry. They were never able to see the faults in their firstborn son, despite the trouble he’d brought to the entire community.

  “It’s so sad. I heard that, despite it being Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Borntrager have been ignoring them both,” Lydia said.

  Beth sat down next to her friend. “Though they didn’t attend the wedding, I had thought their hurt and anger would have softened by now.”