Marta Perry - When Secrets Strike

Preston was the real estate agent who had an office on the second floor, and she couldn’t help a natural curiosity about Aaron’s business with him. “From your expression, you weren’t happy with his answer, ain’t so?” She smiled up at him. “We’re friends, remember? You can tell me if something’s troubling you.” She repeated his words back to him.

Aaron started to shake his head and then broke off, his lips moving in an answering smile. “Guess I can’t say it’s not your concern, ain’t so? You remember that I talked to Matthew Gibson before he took off for Florida last fall?”

“You offered to buy his place if he was thinking of selling.” Gibson’s property was across the road from that of Aaron’s family. It would make a nice addition to the farm, probably doubling the size.

“He hadn’t made up his mind then, but he promised me that I’d have the first chance at it when he was ready to sell.” Aaron’s clear gaze clouded. “Well, I just found out that Preston was handling the sale for him, and the place is already sold without a thing being said to me.”

“Aaron, I’m so sorry.” She almost reached out to touch him before realizing that might not be the best of ideas. “It’s hard to believe Matt Gibson would do that to you after giving you his assurance.”

“Ja.” Aaron ground out the word, his strong jaw tight under the chestnut beard. “It was his business, but I certain sure never thought he’d go back on his promise like that. Still, he’s old and he’s been sick. Maybe he just forgot about it.”

“Is it really too late?”

“Preston says the papers are already signed. He apologized, but said Matt never mentioned a word about giving me first refusal. The place went to somebody from out of state.” He shrugged again, managing a smile. “Well, it’s God’s will, ja?”

It was the normal Amish response when life didn’t go according to their plans. It was God’s will. “Maybe you’ll find a place for sale that’s even better.”

“Nothing else is likely to be for sale along our road.” He didn’t sound optimistic. “Daad’s place isn’t big enough to support all of us, but with Gibson’s land we’d have been okay, and my mamm and sister could keep watching my girls.”

“I know,” Sarah said gently. Aaron’s two little girls, Anna and Lena, were the center of his life since Mary Ann’s death, and of course Esther King was delighted to take care of them. It would be difficult for all of them if Aaron had to move farther from his folks to make a living.

“Well, there’s no point in crying over spilled milk, I guess.” The finality in his tone made it clear the subject was closed. Aaron glanced at the soiled fabric she had crumpled in her hand. “Are you going to try and salvage that piece?”

She could wash it and add it to the box of remnants she kept for people who needed just a small amount of one color. But the dirty streak on the pale color seemed to remind her of the discomfort she’d felt at being alone in the shop with Gus.

“Not worth it,” she said, and tossed it into the trash. There was an end to it. She’d never felt uncomfortable being alone in the shop before, and she wouldn’t start now. The shop was her creation and her haven, and it occurred to her that if she hadn’t lost Aaron, she’d never have had the shop.

“Gut. I’ll put this back for you.” He started to pick up the bolt, but then stopped and grinned, looking for a moment like the boy he’d once been. “If you think my hands are clean enough.” He held them out, palms up, as if for inspection.

She couldn’t help looking. They were good, strong hands—hands that could do a hard day’s work and yet be gentle enough to soothe a troubled child. For an instant she imagined them touching her, imagined having the right to hold them close against her—

Sarah yanked her mind away from such dangerous thoughts, hoping the warmth in her cheeks didn’t mean she was blushing.

“You’ll do,” she said briskly. “Mind you put it back in the right place.”

“Bossy,” he said with a smile, and moved away.

By the time he’d completed that small task, Sarah had her breathing under control again. Aaron headed for the door, and she followed him with a question.

“Is there any news about the fire marshal getting involved yet?” As a volunteer, Aaron would probably know as quickly as anyone.

“Nothing I’ve heard. Since there wasn’t any significant damage, it’s not likely the state police marshal would get involved.” Aaron stood frowning, his hand on the doorknob. “I have a bad feeling about these fires, though.”

She nodded. “My daad must have gone out six times to check the barn last night. He’s trying not to let the younger ones see that he’s upset, but...” She let that trail off, knowing Aaron would understand.

“Anybody old enough to remember the last time we had a firebug has to feel that way.” He rested his hand on the door frame.

“It’s strange, isn’t it, that the fires were during the day?” she said. “From the little I remember, all the ones before started at night.”

“Maybe it means the firebug is getting bolder,” Aaron said.

“You think it’s the same person, then?”

He frowned, looking older for an instant. “I didn’t at first, but I’m starting to wonder. Still, it’s funny he’d be quiet all these years and then start up again.”

“Unless something happened to set him off.” She shivered. “That’s what troubles me the most—the thought that there’s somebody who’s not right in the head getting pleasure out of seeing people’s property burn.”

“Ach, we shouldn’t be talking about it.” He seized her hands in a warm, strong grip. “We’ll be giving ourselves nightmares, that’s what’ll happen.”

“Better to be prepared than pretend it’s not happening. And I told Daadi that I’ll be doing some of those nighttime trips of his to have a look around, so don’t you bother telling me anything different.”

Aaron’s fingers tightened at that, but finally he shrugged and released her. “I guess if your daad can’t talk you out of it, there’s no use my trying. Just be sure you call for help if you see anything, and don’t rush in on your own.” His gaze held hers, even though they no longer touched. “Promise me that, please, Sarah.”

She could try telling him that her welfare wasn’t his concern, but that would be a waste of breath, wouldn’t it? “All right. I promise.”

Aaron gave a short nod, brushed her fingers lightly with his and went out. Sarah stood for a moment, watching his tall, sturdy figure silhouetted by the light pouring through the glass panes in the door, and then turned back to the shop.

This was the life she’d chosen, she reminded herself. She had to be satisfied with it.

CHAPTER THREE Contents Cover Back Cover Text In Laurel Ridge, Pennsylvania, a community once united must suspect one of their own Amish quilter Sarah Bitler’s dreams no longer feature a husband and family. Instead, she searches for success in the quilt shop within Blackburn House, a place once tarnished with deadly secrets. She refuses to let the past influence her future...until an ominous fire forces them to collide. Firefighter Aaron King was the first to touch Sarah’s heart—and the first to break it. Now a widower and father of two small girls, his return to Sarah’s life brings her buried feelings to the surface. As a string of horrific incidents tears apart their community, an arsonist’s wrath threatens to destroy them all. With Aaron as the only suspect, Sarah must follow her instincts to find the truth. But to protect an innocent man, she might risk her heart to Aaron again...and risk her life to an unknown killer. Praise Title Page When Secrets Strike Marta Perry www.millsandboon.co.uk Dear Reader Dedication This story is dedicated to my husband, who always believes in me, with much love. Epigraph In nature there are neither rewards nor punishment. There are only consequences. —Amish proverb 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 CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE EPILOGUE Extract Copyright