Jan Drexler - The Prodigal Son Returns

Returning To His Amish Past

From her first glimpse of his big-city suit, Ellie Miller knows Bram Lapp is trouble. The handsome Englischer says he wants to reclaim the life he left long ago. Even if his smile disarms her, all of Ellie’s energy must go to her children and their struggling farm…and to atoning for her mistakes.

A criminal’s trail has brought FBI informant Bram to Ellie’s warm and welcoming Indiana community. Now he’s posing as the kind of man he once hoped to be. Someone steadfast and upright. Someone who might be worthy of Ellie. Because no matter how much she claims she doesn’t want a second chance at love, he knows he’s found the home they were meant to share.

“Last night you told me

you never intended to stay here.”

Ellie kept her eyes on the far side of the lake, where a heron stalked in the shallows. “I know I said I’d trust you, Bram, but I don’t know what to think. You’re like two different people sometimes—sweet and tender one minute, and then harsh and almost frightening other times.”

“Ja, I know, and I’m sorry.” Bram paused, his own eyes on the motionless heron. The bird was nearly invisible in the shadow of the trees, his gray-blue coloring a shadow within a shadow. Living undercover. How did a man stop living a lie?

“I want to stay, Ellie. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to.” He took her hand in his, and she looked at him.

“Even if you stay, we can never be more than friends.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, her blue eyes reflecting the water.

“Aren’t we already more than friends, Ellie?”

JAN DREXLER

A recent graduate from Homeschool Mom-hood, Jan Drexler devotes her time to the voices in her head who have been clamoring for attention during the past few decades. Instead of declining Latin nouns and reviewing rhetorical devices, her days are now spent at the computer, where she gives her characters free rein.

She lives in the Black Hills of South Dakota with her husband of thirty years, their four adult children, an extremely furry Husky, and Maggie, the cat who thinks she’s a dog. If she isn’t sitting at her computer living the lives of her characters, she’s probably hiking in the Hills or the Badlands, enjoying the spectacular scenery.

The Prodigal Son Returns

Jan Drexler

www.millsandboon.co.uk

He shall cover thee with his feathers,

and under his wings shalt thou trust:

his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

—Psalms 91:4

To the storytellers in my life, especially

my grandmother, Ethel Sherck Tomlonson Rupel, and my parents, John and Veva Tomlonson.

To my dear husband and children,

who never stop believing in me.

And to the ladies of Seekerville.net. Without you, I’d still be typing away, alone in my writer cave.

Soli Deo Gloria

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Dear Readers

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

LaGrange County, Indiana

May 1936

A high-pitched scream forced Bram Lapp’s feet into a run even before his mind could identify the source. He raced up the dusty farm lane between a garden and a plain white house at the top of the sloping yard, and when the next scream sounded, ending in a terrified child’s voice yelling, “Ne, ne!”, adrenaline rushed in, pushing him faster. He knew that sound all too well—a child was in danger, terrified. Grim possibilities flashed through his mind.

Rounding the corner of the barn, Bram’s slick leather soles skidded sideways in the gravel. His feet found purchase, and he focused on the little girl crouched in front of him. A chicken flapped at the end of her outstretched arm, but her eyes were on the four draft horses looming over her. He dived toward her, letting his momentum carry him beyond the horses. Grabbing the girl in his arms, he rolled them both past the

dinner-plate-size hooves and slid to a halt at the edge of the grassy backyard.

Bram shoved the child off his chest onto the grass, spitting feathers from his mouth, trying to see past the squawking red hen in his face. Where was she hurt? She screamed even louder as he wrenched the protesting chicken out of her hands and tossed it behind him.

Wide brown eyes cut from the horses to his face and then back again, her screams turning to ragged crying. She tried to pull away, but he kept her close with a firm grip on her arm. If she was hurt, or bleeding, the worst thing she could do would be to run and hide somewhere. He’d seen enough of that with kids on the Chicago streets.

He brushed at the feathers caught in her disheveled brown braids. She no longer looked like a copy of the chicken that still scolded him from a distance, but the tears running down her face clenched at his stomach. He turned her to one side and then the other. No blood that he could see. She ignored his touch; her eyes were fixed on the horses behind his shoulder.

The rattle of the harness told him the horses were moving. Her eyes widened even more as she tried to pull out of his grasp, sucking in a deep breath. Before she could let loose with another scream that might panic the horses further, Bram did the only thing he could think of to prevent it. He clapped his hand over the girl’s mouth.

“What are you doing?”

The fury in the young woman’s voice registered at the same time as the pain in his hand as the little girl sank her teeth into him. He bit back a curse and released her. With a flurry of skirts, a slim Amish woman descended on them from nowhere and snatched the girl up in her arms. Holding the child close, she fixed her blue eyes on Bram, flashing a warning as she watched him scramble to his feet.

He’d rather face the wrong end of a tommy gun than this... Wildcat seemed to be the only word for her.

A wildcat who had no business being angry with him.

His answer barked out in Deitsch before he thought about it. “I was just saving that girl from being trampled by these horses, that’s all. What did you think I was doing?”

Was that a smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth?

“Those horses?”

Bram turned to look at the draft horses and noticed for the first time they were tied to a hitching rail. The near horse flicked a lazy ear at a fly, a movement that did nothing to quell his rising irritation. He spun back to the young woman and the little girl, who stared at him with one finger in her mouth.

“Ja, those horses. No matter how docile they seem, she could be hurt playing around them like that. She was screaming so loudly I assumed she had been.”

The woman caught the edge of her lower lip between her teeth and hitched the little girl around to her hip. The self-righteous soothing of Bram’s prickled temper stopped short at her nod.

“Ja, you’re right. She shouldn’t be near the horses at all. She panics like this every time she gets near them, but you didn’t know that.” She drew a deep breath that shuddered at the end. “Denki for helping.”

That shaky breath got him. Bram straightened his jacket and dusted off his gabardine trousers to give his eyes something to focus on. Her steady gaze demanded his apology, but he wasn’t about to admit he was sorry for saving the girl, was he?