Danger in Plain Sight (37 page)

“Good.” His attention went to the others.

While he was greeting them, Libby had a small battle with herself. She would treat him as she always had—a sort of adjunct big brother. And sooner or later, it would stop hurting.

“I can’t stay,” Adam was saying, in answer to Mary Ann’s offer of coffee and shoofly pie. “But something has come up I thought you’d want to hear about right away. The investigators who are checking into the financial end of things have found several bank accounts Barclay opened since the resort scheme started—a couple in Lancaster and at least one in Harrisburg. It looks as if much of the money the two of them took is safe, and the district attorney is taking action to seal the accounts, so that Barclay can’t get access.”

“So that means we will get our money back?” Isaac couldn’t disguise the hope in his face.

“It looks promising that eventually that will happen. But you have to understand that it may take time.”

“That’s wonderful gut. We have plenty of patience.” Isaac’s grin split his face, making him look like the boy he used to be.

“Good.” Adam shifted his weight, almost as if he was uneasy. He glanced at Libby. “I hate to break up your visit, but I need you to come into town with me. We have to take a formal statement from you.” He gestured toward the door.

Every protective instinct she possessed rebelled at the thought of being alone with him. “Can’t that wait until later? I can have Link or my mother bring me to your office.”

“Now, please.” He sounded his most official. “The district attorney is very insistent.” He turned toward the door, not waiting for her agreement.

A few minutes later she was buckled into the seat next to him, shifting to get comfortable with the seat-belt strap over the cast. Adam didn’t speak as he drove out the lane, but he seemed to be making an effort to ease the vehicle over the rough spots.

Once they were out on the county road, he cleared his throat. “I had a little chat with Jason Smalley this morning.”

“You did?” Her thoughts scrambled after the memory of Jason’s apparent efforts to interfere in the investigation. “Did he admit to being involved with Owen Barclay?”

“Not exactly.” Adam’s smile was sardonic. “He danced all around the subject, but eventually he admitted that Owen had said he’d like to see the investigation into the accident ended. Jason claimed Owen didn’t tell him anything, but Jason supposed that he was trying to protect the inn from any bad publicity. Naturally Jason went along with it. Doing favors for important people is his method of operation.”

She studied his face. So upright himself, he couldn’t understand the shortcuts other people took to what they considered success.

“Things haven’t changed that much, have they?” she said. “I gather that was the reasoning behind that little group my uncle tried to start—influential people using their clout for other people like them.”

Adam’s jaw hardened. “It’s wrong, no matter who does it.”

“Of course it is. I guess I’m just not surprised when the old boys’ network rears its ugly head. They might not have secret meetings or hidden passwords anymore, but they’re still trying to bend the rules for themselves, without regard for other people’s interests.”

She studied his face, wondering what was going through his mind. “I trust you put the fear of God into Jason, even if you couldn’t charge him with anything?”

He grunted an assent. “We’ll see how long it lasts.” He seemed on the verge of saying more, but instead he pulled into a turnaround near a farm lane.

“What are you doing? I thought I had to rush into town to give you my statement.”

He swiveled in the seat so that he was facing her. “That was the only excuse I could think of to get you alone. If you haven’t been surrounded by your own family, you’ve been surrounded by Esther’s.”

She stared down at her hands, not sure how to react to that. “If you needed a statement…” she began.

Adam put his hand over hers, linked in her lap. “Forget the statement. I mean, I do need it, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t resist looking at him, and she found his face was very close.

“Yes.” He seemed to be struggling to find the words he wanted. “You said something to me the other night. Something I haven’t been able to get out of my head, about my family.”

“I shouldn’t have,” she said quickly. “I didn’t have the right to—” She had to stop, because he’d put his palm over her mouth. His hand was warm against her lips, and that warmth seemed to move through her.

“Don’t apologize. You were right.” He was frowning, as if what he had to say was too difficult. “All my life, no matter how I worked or what I tried to make of myself, I knew at bottom I was…trash. Just like my parents.”

“Don’t say that.” She snatched his hand away so that she could speak. “I wouldn’t try to judge your parents. I don’t know what drove them. But I know you. I know what kind of person you are, all the way through.” Grief had a stranglehold on her throat, and her eyes prickled with tears, but she was determined to get this said. “You’re honorable, and brave, and—”

He cut her short again, this time with his lips. The kiss was long and lingering and possessive, and she had a sense that he only drew back so that he could find the breath to speak.

“Nobody’s as good as all that,” he murmured, his lips against her cheek so that she felt his breath with each word. “But you were right about one thing.”

He drew back a few inches, maybe so that he could see her face, but his arm was secure around her, and with his free hand he stroked her face.

“What was that?” Her heart seemed to be beating somewhere up in her throat.

“It’s not who your parents were that count. It’s who you are.” He shook his head, frowning a little. “This investigation led me places I didn’t want to go. It showed me things I didn’t want to know about people I’d looked up to, people I thought had the status I’d never had.”

She touched the lines between his eyebrows, wanting to ease the hurt away. “As you said. It’s who you are that counts.”

“Yeah.” He captured her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “I guess it doesn’t matter what other people think, as long as I know who I am.”

She let herself believe, let herself smile. “I’m glad you finally came around to my way of thinking. So who are you, Adam Byler?”

He smiled, his face relaxed and open to her, so that she could see his heart. “I’m the man who loves you, Libby Morgan. And don’t you forget it.”

There was no chance of that, she thought, as he kissed her again. She’d come home after all this time and found what she’d been looking for, and she wasn’t going to let him go.

EPILOGUE

JUNE, WITH roses spilling over the hedges and the last of the lilacs blooming. June was also the month of Esther’s birthday, and the Zook family had decided that a picnic was the way to celebrate both her birthday and the fact that she was doing so much better.

Libby helped Mary Ann and the girls carry trays of desserts and plates out to the picnic table under the trees in the Zook yard.

“Ach, Libby, do you think there is enough here?” Mary Ann frowned at the pies she was carrying. “Maybe I should have made another dried apple pie, ain’t so?”

“If we had any more desserts, we will probably burst.” Libby set her tray on the picnic table and placed the birthday cake in front of Esther. “There. You have to have the biggest piece, Esther.”

Esther’s answering smile warmed her heart. “I will, since my sweet sister-in-law made my favorite.”

Her speech had improved enormously over the past few months, and if she hesitated in finding a word now and then, no one thought anything about it. Esther even talked about returning to her classroom in the fall, and Libby didn’t doubt that she’d manage it.

Mary Ann blushed at her words, her rosy face a little rounder these days with the expectation of her next baby. In true Amish fashion, no announcement had been made, but of course all the women knew.

“It made me very happy to bake,” Mary Ann said. “And the kinder like chocolate cake with buttercream icing, too.”

Libby glanced at Trey and Jessica, deep in conversation with Bishop Amos. Jessica was expecting, as well, even though she wasn’t showing yet, but Mom had already told the immediate world about the new little Morgan who’d be arriving.

That news, combined with Link and Marisa’s plan to marry next month, would keep Mom busy and out of mischief for quite some time, Trey had declared.

Libby stepped away from the table to give Rebecca space to put the candles on the birthday cake. As Esther healed, her mother had, as well. Her face was serene now, and the worry was gone from her eyes.

Adam put his hand on her shoulder, and she leaned back against him. “Happy?” he asked.

“Who wouldn’t be? Esther is herself again, and the community has finally settled down. I think Mom would be pleased if no member of the Morgan family appeared in the newspaper for some time to come, though.”

The revelations of the investment scheme and the attacks on her and Esther had provided the newspapers with fodder for the front page issue after issue, it seemed. In contrast, the revelation of Sylvester’s attempt to improperly influence the planning commission had barely made a dent in the news.

Judge Waller had resigned with a letter of censure, Tom Sylvester had been heavily fined, and word had it the property would be going up for auction sometime soon. More importantly, Owen Barclay and Eli Bredbenner were both going on trial in the fall court term.

“Well, I think maybe your mother would like to see one more news item,” Adam said. His hand found hers and squeezed. “Maybe the announcement of her only daughter’s engagement. What do you think?”

She looked up at him, knowing love for him shone in her eyes. “I think that would be absolutely perfect,” she said.

* * * * *

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ISBN: 9781459230071

Copyright © 2012 by Martha Johnson

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.