A Little Bit of Charm (23 page)

“You're scheduled to work on a Saturday night?” Sarah filled her bowl and Isaac's.

“It's not work. He's taking me to supper in Charm.”

“Then why are you eating?” asked Isaac—the man who seldom spoke and never asked questions of her.

She flushed. “Because I'm starving, but I don't want to eat like a brood sow in front of him.

Isaac's confused expression remained while Sarah snorted, perhaps in response to the porcine analogy. “Are you saying this is a
date
with him?” No one could mistake her opinion of that possibility.

“It's not exactly a date. I told him I'm willing to see friends who are Amish, Mennonite
or
English because I don't intend to get serious with anyone.”

Sarah swallowed a mouthful of salad. “I don't see the point of seeing
Englischers
socially. That's just wasting your time.” She speared a cherry tomato. “Will you take English clothes to change into later?”

“No, I plan to wear this all night.” Rachel was careful not to drip salad dressing on her outfit.

Isaac held up his bowl for a refill. “Because you don't see the
point,
fraa
, aren't you glad you married me and don't need to concern yourself?” His right brow arched.

“Of course I am.” Sarah remained silent from then on, but she glanced across the table at her young cousin surreptitiously.

Rachel finished as quickly as possible and washed her dishes. “I'll take my key in case you're already in bed.”

“Why would we go to bed early?” Sarah placed a hand on her hip.

“Just in case. Sounds like he's here.” Rachel grabbed her purse and sweater and sprang out the door at the first sound of a car.

Jake turned around and opened the passenger door. “You look awfully nice tonight,” he said when she climbed in.

“Which is it—awful or nice? And where are we headed?” She buckled her seat belt on the second try.

“Definitely nice. It's a restaurant you might like called Bread of Life. I hope you're hungry. They have a delicious buffet or you can order off the menu. The owners are Mennonite. And they have a sundae bar for dessert.”

“Good choice, not too far away. I've been there with my cousin.” Rachel regretted eating half a supper, borne of pride and vanity.

“I won't keep you out late because you're probably going to church tomorrow.”

She tried shifting under the restrictive belt but almost strangled herself. “Won't you attend your church? Or do you have services a different day?”

“I'll go if someone twists my arm.” Jake passed a car at high speed.

“Why would that be necessary?”

He wet his lips with his tongue. “It shouldn't be, I suppose, but let's talk about something else. My dad and I discussed a price for Calamity Jane if you're still interested.”

Rachel fought the seat belt to face him. “You bet I am! What price did you decide on?”

“She's a fine mare who gave us several nice colts, but now she's simply a gentle riding horse, not worth so much as in her younger years. We thought four hundred dollars would be fair.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Jake. Jane is worth far more than that. I have money from the sale of my parents' farm, so charge me what you would anybody else.”

Jake kept his focus on the road. “Her price is four hundred dollars. I suggest you accept the deal, Miss King, because Monday morning I'm posting an ad in the break room that Calamity Jane is for sale. Someone else will snap her up by noon.”

Crossing her arms, Rachel took less than a moment to decide. “I'll take her. You'll have my check on Monday.” He was being overly generous, but she couldn't take a chance of someone else buying
her
horse.

Jake's hand left the steering wheel long enough to shake. “You drove a hard bargain, Miss King.”

“And I believe I've taken advantage of our friendship.” Nevertheless, she couldn't sit still from her excitement.

Within ten minutes they pulled into a parking lot full of cars, a few buggies around back, and one bus. He opened her door and reached for her hand. “I'll put a sign on Jane's stall: Owner—Rachel King, Charm, Kentucky.” Jake dropped her hand and formed a square with his fingers.

“Don't tell her yet. I want to be the one to break the news that I'm her
mamm
.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Now that you mention it, I see the family resemblance in the long legs and silky hair.”

She flushed. “Because Jane is absolutely beautiful, I thank you for the compliment.”

Inside the restaurant they browsed among the gifts until someone called the name Brady. The hostess led them to a table in the back. “What looks good to you?” he asked once she left.

“The buffet, what else?” Rachel closed the menu and tried not to stare at her dinner companion. She had painfully little experience with courting.

“The buffet for both of us,” he said to their waitress. “With sweet tea.”

“Help yourself, folks.” The young woman had barely uttered the words when Rachel sprang to her feet, out of anxiety not hunger.

Neither took much time selecting food. Jake loaded his plate with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a huge serving of salad. Rachel bypassed the chicken, choosing ham and corn on the cob instead. Later, they opted to split a strawberry sundae for dessert, although she couldn't eat more than two bites.

When the sundae was nothing but melted cream in the bottom of the bowl, Jake set down his spoon. “Mark your calendar for four weeks from today—the second Saturday in November.” He wiped his sticky hands on a napkin.

“What's going on?” Rachel took a sip of iced tea.

“It's the Twelve Elms annual rodeo to benefit juvenile diabetes. We've lined up professional riders who'll volunteer their talents. Then our students will put on a show, followed by a western barbecue during the late afternoon. In the evening, we auction off donated prizes and gift certificates to the highest bidder.”

Rachel pressed a hand down on her stomach. “The barbecue will sound great the day of the rodeo. Right now, not so much. Will I have mounted tours that day?”

“No, we don't schedule rides during our fund-raiser. You could take the day off, but I would love it if you showed up. I invited the school for the blind as our nonpaying guests. You could sit with Bethany and explain what's happening in the arena.”

“How much for a ticket?”

“Thirty bucks, except for Brady employees who work the show.
They get in for free.” Jake leaned back in his chair. “That goes for everybody, so don't get antsy.”

For the third time that night, Rachel caught a whiff of Jake's spicy aftershave. She loved the scent because it reminded her of baking day in
mamm
's kitchen. “I wouldn't mind paying the fee because it's for a good cause. Count me in! I will be happy to be Bethany's eyes for the day. I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon.” Rachel licked the last of the strawberry jam from her spoon and placed it in the empty bowl. Then she blushed, feeling Jake's gaze on her.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me along with Reuben and John.” His handsome face turned serious. “I haven't had this much fun in a long while.”

“Think nothing of it. I've enjoyed your company as well.”

As though her statement required proof, Rachel couldn't stop smiling, not at the table, not wandering the shop while he paid the bill, not even on the drive back to the Stolls'. But she knew she had better stop speaking the truth to Jake Brady or she would find herself beyond a point of no return with an
Englischer
.

Sunday morning

Jake turned over and buried his head beneath the goose down pillow, trying to return to his sweet dream about Rachel. In his dream, they were at some sort of a play or show. She had her arm affectionately looped around his waist with her head on his shoulder.

“
Jake
.”

Rachel called his name in her melodic voice, perhaps from across the room or better yet, from the kitchen of their first home together as newlyweds.

“Jake! Are you awake? I need to speak to you.”

He bolted upright and shook off the last pleasant vestiges of his dream. It hadn't been the gentle voice of his beloved Rachel, but the exasperated tone of his mother.

“Give me a minute,” he called, pulling on sweatpants. Jake opened the door a few inches.

His mom stood before him without makeup and with her hair damp from the shower. “Goodness, a freight train outside your window couldn't wake you.”

“What time is it?” He scratched his stubbly chin.

“Almost seven thirty. Time to get up.”

The dense fog slowly began to clear. “Wait a minute. It's Sunday, my only day to sleep in.”

Taylor nudged the door wider with her knee. “I suppose that's one way of looking at it. It's also the Sabbath, and your family goes to the nine o'clock service.”

“Thanks for the invite, Mom, but I'm bushed. This is my chance to catch up on beauty sleep.” He tried closing the door, but her foot was quicker than his slow reactions that morning.

“When was the last time you joined us at church? You always liked attending Sunday school and VBS when you were a little boy.”

Jake shook his head. “Mom, you've been working too many hours. I'm twenty-three years old, not seven.”

“So you've outgrown your faith? You don't consider yourself Baptist or even a Christian anymore?”

“I didn't say that. I'm just exhausted. It's been a tough week. Maybe next Sunday.” He started to close the door.

“That's not good enough, son.” She pushed the door open and
walked into his room. “While you live under our roof, you'll follow our example. This family worships on Sunday mornings. When you get your own place, you can make your own rules.” She crossed her arms.

“You must be joking. You're going to
make
me go to church? Force religion down my throat? I thought America was a free country.”

“America might be, but this is still your dad's household. And we'd like you to set a better example for Virgil.”

Jake scraped his face with his hands.
What has gotten into her?
She had never made a fuss about attending services. He went four or five times a year to keep them happy. When he met her gaze, she looked as determined as him. “Fine. I'll take a shower and meet you downstairs.”

Taylor turned on her heel and marched out the door. No “thank-you” or “atta-boy” or anything.

But he saw no point making this into a big deal—it was an hour out of his week beside the drive time. No one would know what he thought about while the minister droned on about turning the other cheek or the narrow road to heaven. Jake had nothing against religion, but at his age he felt he had plenty of time to worry about making amends. Of course he believed in God, but as far as an up-close-and-personal relationship? He had no time for that. He was too busy working to sin anyway. He didn't drink more than an occasional beer, never swore since the time his grandmother washed his mouth with soap, and never set foot inside one of those girly dance clubs. The two bachelor parties he attended had been at a racetrack, where they had eaten spicy nachos and made two-dollar bets all evening. He would worry about heaven when he was an old man.