A Simple Christmas

Book 3: Simple Gifts

by Charlotte Hubbard

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Christian Romance; Holiday books; Small Town & Rural; Clean & Wholesome Romance

Synopsis

The rustic beauty of a country Christmas fills the Simple Gifts crafts shop, while the Amish residents of Willow Ridge pull together in uncertain times — and in the face of an unexpected homecoming.

Nora Hooley's shop is abuzz with preparations for the holiday open house, and Rosalyn Riehl is handcrafting wreaths from evergreen boughs, pinecones, and other natural materials. The work is a welcome diversion for the only unmarried daughter of Cornelius Riehl. Her gruff dat has been receiving envelopes marked Past Due, leaving dutiful Rosalyn to manage the household's inexplicably shrinking budget. Then another distraction swaggers into Simple Gifts — blue-jeaned and leather-jacketed, with a reputation that precedes him.

Marcus Hooley hightailed it to Willow Ridge on a wing and a prayer — not that he's the praying type. He rejected his Amish roots long ago. But behind the bad-boy attitude is a gifted horse trainer who's counting on some bent-but-not-broken family ties to throw him a lifeline. He can't erase his past, but a sparking attraction with strong, spirited Rosalyn holds the promise of a second chance...and of shedding light on shadowy secrets to build a bright tomorrow.

Release date: September 25, 2018

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

As Rosalyn Riehl walked alongside the county highway pulling a cartload of Christmas wreaths, she gazed up at the sky in surprise. When she’d left home a few minutes earlier, the sun was shining, but now low, gray clouds were rolling in and the wind picked up—and for a brief moment tiny pellets of hail peppered her.

It’s going to be a tricky winter, she thought. The weather seems as crazy and mixed up as I feel.

Rosalyn adored the holidays—Thanksgiving was only a week away—yet the thought of the approaching winter made her sigh. Her youngest sister, Edith, lived across the road with her husband, Asa, and their twins, and her younger sister Loretta was sharing the bedroom down the hall with her new husband, Drew, so Rosalyn felt like the odd woman out. All her life she’d longed for a husband and a family, yet at twenty-eight she saw no probability of fulfilling that dream.

Her cheeks tingled when the season’s first snowflakes met her cheeks. It’s a gut thing I have my new job at Simple Gifts to look forward to, Rosalyn thought as she made her way up the hill toward the store housed in a huge red barn. Working for Nora on Wednesdays and Saturdays sure beats dealing with Loretta and Edith’s moony-eyed gazes and happy chatter about being married to the Detweiler twins whenever we’re all together.

It wasn’t that she begrudged her sisters their happiness. She just wanted some of her own.

When Rosalyn opened the door to enter Nora Hooley’s shop, however, the merry tinkle of the bell above the door and the rich scents of bayberry and vanilla candles drove away her gloomy thoughts. It was impossible to feel grumpy as she carefully pulled her wagon between the beautiful displays of glossy walnut furniture, sets of pottery dishes, unique three-dimensional quilts, and the other lovely merchandise that had been handcrafted by Plain folks from around central Missouri.

Nora called out to her from the loft, where she was arranging an evergreen garland along the railing. “Gut morning, Rosalyn! I can’t wait to see your wreaths and hang them around the store—not that we’ll have them for long!”

Rosalyn couldn’t help smiling. What a joy it was to work for Nora, whose encouraging words and freckle-faced smile always lifted her spirits. “I’ve got eight of them here,” she replied as she stopped beside the office door. “We sisters had a work frolic on Monday, so Loretta will have another rug or two and Edith will have some baskets ready to sell in time for the open house on Saturday.”

“You girls are amazing,” Nora remarked. She fastened the end of the greenery garland to the railing and then started downstairs, her feet tapping a happy rhythm on the wide wooden stairway. Her deep-orange corduroy dress was set off with a paisley apron of earth tones, perfect for autumn and Thanksgiving. “And how’s Cornelius? Is he accepting the way you and Loretta are trading off the days that you work for me?”

Rosalyn sighed. What good would it do to spoil Nora’s cheerful mood by repeating the lecture Dat had delivered at the breakfast table . . . or to mention that yesterday’s mail had brought them two more mysterious envelopes marked Past Due?

“He’s still cranky about us working for you, and I suspect that’ll never change,” she hedged. “Dat’s a man who hangs on to the past and the Old Order ways, after all.”

Nora stopped a few feet away, her auburn eyebrows rising. “Puh! The trouble he’s gotten himself into has nothing to do with proper Amish living,” she said. “And I thought he was to begin some grief counseling with Bishop Tom this week.”

“Oh, the two of them talked at Tom’s place yesterday,” Rosalyn murmured, “but I suspect the bishop’s got a long row to hoe—uphill—before Dat lets go of his feelings for Mamm.”

“It’s one thing for him to love your mother, and another thing entirely for him to use memories of her to make you girls feel guilty,” Nora put in quickly. “I’m really sorry he’s thrown your family into such a tailspin with his deceptive activities, too. He’d be so much better off if he gave a full confession and made whatever amends Bishop Tom requires.”

“Well, he hasn’t made any more trips to Kansas City to buy clock parts,” Rosalyn pointed out. As she held Nora’s gaze, her curiosity flared like a piece of paper set aflame to kindle a fire. “Exactly what did he do—where did he go—that’s gotten him into such trouble?”

Nora smiled sadly, grasping Rosalyn’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I brought the subject up,” she said. “Bishop Tom and Preacher Ben have asked Drew and me not to reveal all the details because they want your dat to come clean of his own free will, without folks around Willow Ridge pressuring him.”

“That’s not fair! We have to live with him,” Rosalyn blurted out.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Nora agreed. “But the truth will come out in its own gut time, and right now we’re leaving the matter in God’s hands—and your dat’s. Now what’ve we got in this wagon? These bright red ribbons and greenery wreaths are just the ticket for our holiday open house, Rosalyn!”

With the blink of Nora’s mischievous green eyes the conversation had been redirected. Rosalyn sensed it would do no good to ask any more questions about Dat’s secretive wrongdoing, so she carefully picked up the wreath on the top of her pile. “I made a few of these fresh wreaths from evergreen clippings—and they should probably hang outside so they’ll stay fresh until Christmas,” she added.

“We’ll tag them and put one on the front door,” Nora said as she lightly ran her finger over a pinecone. “And the others can hang along the side of the door—or on the building where folks will see them first thing when they pull in to park.” She inhaled deeply. “Wow, nothing smells nicer than a live wreath.”

Rosalyn’s spirits lifted. Nora’s compliments bolstered her confidence and made the hours she’d spent making her wreaths feel worthwhile. “Here are two with silk holly and natural pinecones, and two made entirely of pinecones—”

“Oh, I love the way you tipped the pinecones with a little white paint and glitter,” Nora put in with a smile. “Most English women like a little sparkle on their Christmas decorations.”

“And this last one’s covered in nuts, outlined with bay leaves,” Rosalyn said, watching Nora’s face. “It’s not as colorful, so I only made one as an experiment—”

“A kitchen wreath! And look at the way the dark shells of the Brazil nuts contrast with the English walnuts and the pale almonds,” Nora exclaimed as she studied the piece. “And I love that it’s a star shape, too. I can tell you right now that you should load up on whole nuts next time you’re at the bulk store, so you can make more of these, Rosalyn. My customers love items that are different from what they’ll find at the other places where they shop.”

Rosalyn’s heart beat faster. “I bought a big bagful of those nuts last week, figuring we could always eat them if I didn’t make any more wreaths with them,” she admitted with a chuckle. “And I’m going to make a couple of wreaths from ribbon candies, too, because I love all the shiny colors—”

The bell jangled raucously as the front door flew open and hit the wall. “Hey—does anybody work here?” a young man called out. “You can’t tell me this town doesn’t even have a gas station.”

Nora turned quickly toward him, her eyes widening in recognition as she handed Rosalyn the star-shaped wreath. “This could get interesting,” she murmured.

Rosalyn watched as Nora took her time passing between the displays of handmade table linens and racks of hanging jackets, toward the fellow who’d entered with a gust of wind that had apparently blown the door out of his hand.

Or did he throw it open? Rosalyn wondered as she took in the man’s black leather jacket and the rakish way his dark hair dipped over one side of his face. Most English are at least courteous and they don’t come in before the store opens. This fellow looks like walking, talking trouble—with a capital T.

Rosalyn started slowly toward the front door, in case their unexpected guest caused Nora problems. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if this brash young man behaved improperly, but she knew Nora would be coming to her assistance if the situation were reversed. She wasn’t sure what to think, however, when the redheaded storekeeper walked quickly around the newcomer to shut the door against the wind. Nora faced their visitor, confidently crossed her arms, and gazed directly at him, unfazed by the fact that he stood head and shoulders taller than she did.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Cousin Marcus from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania,” Nora said as she looked him up and down. “Did you finally show up to check out Wyatt McKenzie’s job offer? Or did another girlfriend get smart and kick you to the curb for using her credit cards on the sly?”

Rosalyn gasped. Was this Marcus Hooley, the horse trainer Wyatt had called in October, hoping to hire an Amish man to manage the draft-horse farm he’d recently established? Everyone in Willow Ridge was wondering why the cousin whom Luke, Ira, and Ben had recommended hadn’t bothered to provide the references Wyatt had requested. As Rosalyn looked more closely, she saw the resemblance this young man bore to Luke—and she couldn’t miss the rebellious flare of his pale green eyes as he stared at Nora.

“And just how would you know who I am?” he challenged. “I’ve never met you or—”

“I’m married to your cousin Luke,” Nora replied without missing a beat. “And so you’ll know, I’d recognize the Hooley attitude from a mile away, Marcus. The first thing you’ll learn about living in Willow Ridge is that news travels fast. Your reputation has preceded you.”

Marcus tilted his head, his eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? Folks here already know I’m the best horse trainer on the face of the earth? Or at least in America?” he challenged.

Nora shook her head, unimpressed. “Lots of men from around town were in the room when Luke and Wyatt talked to you on the phone a few weeks ago,” she replied. “They know all about the references you haven’t provided, and they know that Wyatt graciously offered to hire you on probation as well as to help you clear up the credit card debt you’ve run up. You’re already off to such a bad start, maybe you should just gas up your car in Morning Star or New Haven and keep on driving. I certainly wouldn’t hire you.”

Marcus let out an incredulous laugh. “That makes us even, because I wouldn’t work for you,” he retorted. “When I see Luke, I’ll have to quiz him about why he ever hitched up with such a mouthy woman. Sheesh. Must’ve been desperate.”

Spots of color rose into Nora’s cheeks. “I suggest you talk to Luke at the mill store next door rather than showing up unannounced at Wyatt McKenzie’s farm,” she said in a voice tight with irritation. “But then, why should you listen to me?”

Marcus laughed, flashing even white teeth. He dismissed Rosalyn with a brief glance and turned toward the door. “I’ll see myself out. I’ve had enough advice for one conversation.”

The bell jangled loudly and Marcus shut the door behind him with more force than was necessary. Rosalyn let out the breath she didn’t realized she’d been holding. “That was the rudest person I’ve ever met—even though I really didn’t meet him, as such.”

Nora shook her head. “Full of himself,” she muttered. “Luke had an attitude when I met him, too, but he knew better than to shoot off his mouth and act like a spoiled brat—especially when he wanted things to go his way.” When a car engine backfired next to the building, she glanced toward the window. “I predict we won’t be seeing hide nor hair of Mr. Smart-Mouth after this morning. Wyatt won’t give Marcus the time of day, much less hire him.”

Rosalyn brushed off the front of her apron, as though wiping away any residue from Marcus’s presence. As a member of the Old Order Amish church, she had absolutely no interest in a man who, according to his cousins, had jumped the fence—and who’d apparently used his English girlfriends’ credit cards and hadn’t paid his bills.

But did you see those dimples? And the way he filled out the back of those tight jeans?

Appalled at such thoughts, Rosalyn resolutely followed Nora back toward the office. After they tagged her wreaths and displayed them, she needed to dust and be sure the store was as tidy as Nora liked it before customers arrived. She was a twenty-eight-year-old maidel, but she wasn’t nearly desperate enough to give Marcus Hooley another thought.

But what would it matter if you thought about him just a But what would it matter if you thought about him just a little, to pass the time? To Marcus, you’re invisible, so nothing will come of it.

Marcus backed out of the parking space, steered his car toward the road—and then stopped to take in the panoramic view of Willow Ridge from his hilltop vantage point. The farmland had a gentle roll to it, and he spotted black-and-white dairy cows in one of the pastures, along with a small herd of sheep on the acreage just south of it. The gardens behind the neat white homes had been cleared for the winter. Stacked, white beehives were visible among the trees of an orchard, and the deep orange and gold foliage of maple and sweet gum trees shimmered after the morning’s brief bout of freezing rain. A few buggies and cars were parked at Zook’s Market, which sported a blue metal roof. A café called the Grill N Skillet was doing a brisk business—and the aroma of roasting meat had made his stomach growl when he’d driven past it a short while ago.

But it’s still a two-bit horse and buggy town—just a spot in the road. Even more rural and impossibly straitlaced than Bird-In-Hand, Marcus thought with an impatient sigh. Bird-In-Hand, Marcus thought with an impatient sigh. Maybe that redhead was right about gassing up and driving on. This place is already making you crazy.

But where else can you go?

Marcus shifted into Park. When he pumped the accelerator hard to stop his old car from idling too fast, the engine backfired and the tailpipe belched exhaust. He’d burned his bridges at the last horse farm he’d worked on, and it galled him that Luke’s bossy wife had pegged him right: he’d worn out his welcome with his most recent girlfriend. He wanted to believe that living English was his ticket out of plodding along in broadfall pants and suspenders all his life, doomed to manual labor without electricity or technology. But opportunities for training horses were none too plentiful outside of Plain communities—especially considering how he’d been fired from his three most recent jobs.

Better to move on before Ben, Luke, and Ira get wind that you showed up. You don’t need the Hooley brothers preaching at you about going straight to hell unless you join the Old Order.

Marcus gripped the shift knob, ready to roll down to the road, yet he paused. He could see Ben’s farrier shop a short distance away, tucked behind one of the nicest, newest houses in town. And from all appearances, Luke and Ira’s mill on the Missouri River was thriving only a couple of years after they’d come to Willow Ridge with little more than the clothes on their backs and some big ideas about growing specialty grains.

Truth be told, when Luke and his younger brother had still been living in Pennsylvania, they’d raised a lot of Amish eyebrows because in their late twenties they’d shown no sign of giving up rumspringa—yet they’d come to Missouri and made good. And Ben had been roaming the Plain countryside in his farrier wagon at thirty-five. He’d joined the church before that, but he’d been blowing around like dandelion fluff until he’d landed in this little town and taken root.

See there? They can’t say a thing about your refusal to settle down just yet. All three of them were older than you— and bucking tradition—when they came here. And Luke went Mennonite rather than joining the Old Order!

Marcus reconsidered his options. His online research—and the fact that several of the local Plain businesses had websites—had suggested that there was more to this town than met the eye. The new barns and stretches of white plank fence pictured on Wyatt McKenzie’s website had made Marcus’s pulse race, and seeing the place from the road this morning had been the closest thing he’d had to a religious experience in years. McKenzie obviously had big bucks to spend, so why not make nice and play the game? Introduce himself to Wyatt and apologize profusely for not emailing the references he’d requested . . .

But McKenzie sounded way too nosy and superior during that phone call, delving into your credit business—and saying you’d have to bunk above the stable until you proved yourself. Really? Who does he think he is, acting like he’d be doing you such a big favor?

Marcus despised sitting in a car that rattled and shook, with the sum total of his earthly belongings in a suitcase in the trunk. He was a top-notch trainer—everybody he’d worked for was impressed by his ability to make their horses behave . . . at least until they chastised him for boozing it up too much and asking for advances on his pay.

Clean up your act, Hooley. Three strikes and you’re out, his last employer, Enos Keim, had ranted. So Marcus hadn’t stayed around long enough for old Keim to hear about his most recent brush-up with the county sheriff. He’d left Lancaster County at sunset and driven all night to reach Willow Ridge. Wasn’t that a sign of his commitment to starting fresh? To turning over a proverbial new leaf?

Marcus laughed at himself, aware that he was exhausted from the long drive. Who are you kidding? When these Amish guys—especially your cousins—learn of all the stuff you’ve pulled, they’ll want you roped and tied, bound and gagged by all their rules, and sitting on a pew bench for three-hour church services—

But McKenzie’s not Amish.

Marcus shifted the car into gear and eased it toward the road. The longer he sat in the parking lot, the more chance his cousins had to spot him. He at least wanted to see the McKenzie place—the training facilities as well as where he’d be bunking—before he decided to drive away for good. He’d stayed awake all night by talking himself into coming here, practicing all the right lines to use with McKenzie, so it’d be a waste of his time and effort if he didn’t at least scope the place out.

At the bottom of the hill, Marcus turned left toward the county highway and jammed his foot on the brake. A chill went up his spine when a sea-green sedan pulled away from the shoulder of the road and sped down the blacktop—a car he’d occasionally seen in his rearview mirror as he’d crossed Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. It couldn’t be coincidence that someone had driven such an odd-colored car along the exact route he’d taken.

Could it?

“So who are you and what do you want?” Marcus muttered. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs of sleep deprivation that curled in his brain. If he’d been thinking, he would’ve followed the sedan to get its license plate number. But thinking didn’t seem to be one of his dominant personality traits—which explains why you’re usually out of a job and out of money. Time to fix that.

Marcus rolled down his window and inhaled deeply to bolster himself. Once again he caught the aroma of the meat roasting in the huge grills behind the café, and he decided to check out the restaurant after he’d seen what McKenzie had to offer. Folks there might notice his resemblance to Luke and figure out who he was, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe if they associated him with the Hooley brothers, whom they apparently respected, they’d give him a chance.

Most of these people have no idea what you left behind you, Marcus reminded himself with a smile. He turned and drove slowly along the county highway. You’re the top-notch horse trainer McKenzie’s bringing in from Lancaster County, so you must be one special dude. Live up to that rep, and show these yokels how fabulous you really are.

After he passed the picturesque gristmill that was churning the river with its wooden wheel, he spotted an opening in the white plank fence that marked the McKenzie property. He was surprised that there was no gate with a code to punch in—nothing to keep curious folks from entering at will, the way he was. Marcus drove slowly along the packed dirt track, visualizing how impressive the place would be once the private drive was paved and the lawn was landscaped and McKenzie’s mansion was built.

When he spotted a fancy double-wide trailer, he instinctively followed the trail that led toward the barns instead. No reason for McKenzie to know you’re here until you’ve looked around. If you don’t like what you see, you can be on the road and gone before Wyatt’s any the wiser.

Instinct told Marcus to park the car behind some cedar trees that had grown wild around an outcropping of rock. Missouri farmland was more rugged and untamed than the manicured farms where he’d come from, and he liked that. He walked past a large pond where a few migratory Canada geese floated, watching him. By following the tree line toward two of the largest barns he’d ever seen, he figured he’d avoid detection.

In a paddock near the barn farthest from him, five sleek bay Thoroughbreds came to the fence to follow his progress. He’d read on McKenzie’s website that he planned to train retired racehorses to pull Amish buggies, and the beautiful animals would bring top dollar once Marcus had finessed them into their new purpose. The muscled black Percheron foals he spotted near the other barn would take more effort, but he’d soon have the massive horses pulling wagons, plows, and other farming equipment—and they would be the envy of their owners’ neighbors.

Marcus smiled as he drew near to the corral where the young draft horses stood munching on hay. “Hi, guys,” he called to them, delighted by the way their ears perked up. “You and me, we’re gonna be real good friends.”

Wyatt pulled his cell phone from his pocket and smiled at the name he saw on the screen. “Nora, how’s your day going?” he asked. “If I remember correctly, you’ve got a big open house coming up this weekend.”

“I do,” Nora said. “Say, Wyatt, my day got off to an interesting start. Marcus Hooley breezed in about ten minutes ago and did not make a good first impression, so I thought I’d give you a heads-up. I suggested he talk to Luke rather than just showing up at your place, but he didn’t impress me as the sort who’d take a hint from the mouthy woman his cousin Luke must’ve married because he was desperate.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened. “He said that to your face?” he asked as he walked toward the console of the security system sitting on his office credenza.

“He did—a real charmer, Marcus is, and quite impressed with himself,” Nora put in. “But then, why wouldn’t he be, when he’s the greatest horse trainer on the face of the earth?”

Wyatt groaned inwardly as he focused on the screen that was split into quadrants. More than once in the past couple of weeks he’d been tempted to call Marcus and tell him to look elsewhere for employment if he couldn’t supply three references or follow the simple instructions Wyatt had given him. “And there he is, approaching the Percheron barn. Thanks for your call, Nora. I’m on it.”

“You’re welcome. We can hope he’s matured since he left my store—but I wouldn’t count on it.” Click.

Wyatt watched the screen for a few moments, considering his course of action and waiting for the alarm to sound on the console and his cell phone. Within moments a duet of insistent beep-beep-beeps filled his small office, reassuring him that his previously untested security system worked the way it was supposed to. Marcus appeared unaware that he was on camera, and the alarm didn’t sound around the stables or paddocks because Wyatt didn’t want the horses to be spooked.

“But you, young man, are about to find out who you’re dealing with,” Wyatt muttered.

By the time he . . .