Chapter One

      The country road was as familiar as Aaron King’s own body, even after all these years away. Here was the spot where his brother, racing a buddy in the family buggy, went into the ditch. There was the bank where they’d picked blackberries, and there the maple tree where he’d stolen a kiss from Becky Esch when they were both fifteen. The maple’s leaves were scarlet now that fall was here, but it had just been budding out that spring.

      One more bend in the road, and he’d be able to see the family farm. The realization was like a rock in his stomach.

      What was he doing? Did he really want to accept the role of the prodigal, returning to the Amish fold in Lost Creek after failing in the Englisch world? That was what they’d think, surely—his two brothers and his uncle. They’d assume he’d messed up, and they’d also assume he’d come back to stay.

      They’d be right on the first count—he had to admit it. The memory of the scene that had destroyed his job and the tenuous place he’d made for himself still scalded.

      As for coming home to stay...that he wasn’t so sure of. To give up modern life, to sink back into the restrictions he’d once left behind, to kneel before the brothers and sisters of the church and confess his wrongs...

      The lead weight in his belly grew heavier. He didn’t think he could do it. But how many choices did he have left?

      He rounded the bend, and the sight ahead of him chased his fruitless thoughts away. A horse reared between the shafts of a buggy, heedless of the efforts of the Amish woman struggling with the lines. Dropping his backpack to the ground, Aaron raced forward. If the horse bolted—

      When he reached the animal’s head, it was making a determined effort to kick the buggy to pieces, but at least it hadn’t run. Sucking in a breath, he lunged, dangerously near the flailing hooves. He caught the leather strap of the headpiece and held on tight, all the while talking in the low, steady voice that could calm the most jittery beast.

      “Get away from him before you’re hurt. I don’t want help.” The woman spoke in English, not dialect. She thought him an Englischer, and why not? That’s what he was now.

      Ignoring her, he focused on the animal, watching the flicker of the ears, the shudders that rippled the skin. He kept his voice low, saying soothing, meaningless words. Slowly, very slowly, the kicks grew half-hearted. They stopped, and the gelding stood, head drooping, shivering a little, but starting to relax.

      “There now,” he crooned in the still-familiar cadences of Pennsylvania Dutch. “You’re all right. Something scared you, yah?”

      “Nothing more fierce than a paper cup blowing across the road. Could be he wasn’t ready to venture out of the farmyard yet.” The light amused voice startled him out of his preoccupation with the animal.

      He took a cautious look, his hand still smoothing the gelding’s silky neck. The woman set the brake and secured the lines. She jumped down with a quick, agile movement that told him she wasn’t much more than a girl.

      “Denke. If I’d known it was Aaron King coming to the rescue I wouldn’t have told you to go away, that’s certain sure.” A hint of laughter threaded through her voice.

      He frowned. Who was it that knew him right off the bat, even in his jeans and denim jacket? But looking did him no good. Foolish, since she recognized him, but he hadn’t the faintest notion who she was.

      “Ach, you don’t know me, do you? That’s a blow to my self-esteem, all right. Here I thought you’d never forget me.” A teasing voice, a lively, animated face and laughing blue eyes confronted him. Her silky blond hair was parted in the center and drawn back under a snowy kapp, but... Then she smiled, showing the dimple in her right cheek, and he knew her.

      “It’s never Sally Stoltzfus.” Aaron had to shake his head, even knowing that after nearly ten years away folks would have changed. “You grew up.”

      “People do.” She patted the gelding. “Though I’m beginning to wonder about Star.”

      “Your daad never picked