Janice Johnson - Her Amish Protectors

She had wanted a simpler life in Amish country...

The caring community in her new Missouri small town was a healing salve for Nadia Markovic’s wounded spirit...until someone broke into her apartment above her Amish quilt shop and robbed her while she was sleeping. The thief made off with all the funds they’d just raised through the sale of her neighbours’ handmade quilts. And police chief Ben Slater can’t rule her out as the prime suspect. Only her Amish friends are willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. People are angry enough to even target her with violence... But while Ben might not trust her, he’s committed to protecting her, confusing her feelings for this man who’s pulling her apart!

“I regret having had to put you through this search,” he said stiffly. “I can only tell you I was doing my job.”

“I’ve lost everything.” She looked at the store’s disarray in despair.

“You haven’t.” Ben wanted to grip her upper arms and make her meet his eyes, but knew better. “You have supporters. People will realize you would never have stolen that money. Just...give them time.”

“I can’t afford to give them time,” Nadia said drily. “And...do I want people who condemned me without a second thought to become good customers? They would have to pretend, and I’d have to pretend...” She shook her head. “I can’t stay in Byrum, not after this. And I’ll never dare call the police again, I know that.”

“Nadia—”

She took a step back. “You’ve worn out your welcome.”

He hesitated, but recognized he couldn’t make this better. Not now, maybe not ever.

He dipped his head. “Things will look better tomorrow.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

When he walked out, she immediately locked the door behind him.

Dear Reader,

The story that became Her Amish Protectors sneaked up on me while I was writing Plain Refuge. First I became intrigued by a character, then by an idea.

Ben Slater came to life only because Daniel, the hero in Plain Refuge, needed a friend, someone he connected with on a deep level. Thus we got Ben, who had inexplicably left an urban police department in New Jersey to take a job as chief of a small-town department in rural Missouri. The “why” didn’t matter in Plain Refuge, but it began to bug me. I’d created the guy. Why would he do something like that?

And then there was the quilt auction. I chaired a large charity auction (benefiting a no-kill animal shelter) for fifteen years. It was a huge amount of work. The week leading up to the auction was insane. Auction day, I started with setup first thing in the morning and kept going through wrap-up at eleven o’clock or so at night. Then the drive home, and I’d topple into bed, so exhausted I slept like the dead for twelve hours. And here’s the thing: someone had to take all that money home. Of course, that was me. It always made me just a teeny bit nervous to keep it from Saturday night through Monday morning. What I had in a box in the bedroom were mostly credit-card slips. But the Amish deal primarily in cash, so the proceeds of the quilt auction...are a temptation!

Janice

Her Amish Protectors

Janice Kay Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

An author of more than ninety books for children and adults (seventy-five for Harlequin), JANICE KAY JOHNSON writes about love and family—about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have on us throughout life. A USA TODAY bestselling author and an eight-time finalist for a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, she won a RITA® Award in 2008 for her Harlequin Superromance novel Snowbound. A former librarian, Janice raised two daughters in a small town north of Seattle, Washington.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

PROLOGUE

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

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

HEARING HIM TALKING on the phone behind her, she risked opening her eyes a slit. Her best friend still looked back at her with the shock and vacancy of death, a line of blood drying where it had trickled from her mouth. Without moving, she could see only Colin’s legs and feet where he lay sprawled on creamy plush carpet. Carpet splashed with scarlet splotches, as was the glass-topped coffee table. Keenan, now...

His fingers twitched. His shoulders rose and fell slightly with a breath. In. Out.

Her terror swelled. If his father saw any hint of life, he’d pump another bullet into his eight-year-old son. He thought they were all dead—Paige, eleven-year-old Colin, Keenan and the baby of the family, six-year-old Molly.

And Paige’s friend, who had happened to drop by this evening with a book of quilt patterns that Paige had wanted to look through. Wrong time, wrong place.

Except, she’d managed to inch over when Damon’s back was turned so that she could shield Molly’s small body. Molly was breathing. Damon couldn’t be allowed to see. Once she’d laid a hand over the little girl’s mouth to stifle a moan.

She ached to whisper reassurance to Keenan, who wasn’t within reach. To beg him to stay absolutely still.

Every breath was agony, searing pain flaring from her abdomen. Blood had spurted when the bullet struck and she had gone down with that first shot. She vaguely remembered hearing Colin’s terrified scream. Damon had turned away to shoot his son and forgotten her. Probably, she thought dully, her wound would be fatal. But she desperately wanted Molly and Keenan to live. All three of them might survive if the police stormed the house soon.

There’d been a bullhorn earlier, before Damon answered his cell phone. That could have been fifteen minutes ago, or two hours ago. She floated in a dreamlike state. Only the pain anchored her here.

No. Not only pain. Molly and Keenan.

It took an enormous effort to comprehend what Damon was saying.

“Hell, no, I’m not going to let that bitch talk to you! If you don’t quit asking, that’s it. Do you hear me?” The savagely angry voice bore little resemblance to the smooth baritone she knew from phone calls and the times Paige had invited her to dinner with her family.

Pause. “They’re with their mother. No, I’m not going to upset them by putting them on the phone, either.”

They’re dead or dying. Paige is dead. Please, please. We need you.

Time drifted. Occasionally, she heard him talking.

“I lose my job and she’s going to leave me?”

Molly was still breathing. Keenan...she wasn’t sure.

Whoever was on the phone with Damon listened, sympathized, gave him all the time he wanted to air his furious grievances.

While we die.

She quit listening, quit peeking at a dying boy. She let herself float away.

CHAPTER ONE

“NOW, WE BOTH know you want that quilt.” The auctioneer had strolled down the aisle between folding chairs until he was only a few feet from one of the two bidders on a spectacular album quilt. “And for a cause this important, you can spend a little extra. Isn’t that right?” He thrust the microphone toward the woman next to the man holding the bid card.

She giggled.