Brush of Angel's Wings (20 page)

He skirted around her to the mound of hay. “Let me work so I can finish this before I leave.”

“I thought you weren't Amish!”

He looked over his shoulder and caught sight of her scowl. “Maybe I have more Amish in me than I thought.”

“My father wants to offer you a permanent position.” She shifted her weight to her other hip. “Are you staying or not?”

Chapter Fourteen

J
ordan entered the Hartzlers' barn and followed the lamplight to the new calf pen. He sneezed as he came up to the railing of a stall where a large cow shifted about.

Rachel spun around, her hand clutching her chest. “I didn't hear you
kumm
in.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I stopped at the house, but no one answered the door.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “
Daed's
still in the hospital.” She ran her hand over the cow's back and spoke softly. “
Mamm
won't be home until after his surgery.”

“Surgery?” He figured her father's injury was serious enough considering how desperate she was to hunt him down, but something as serious as surgery had never crossed his mind. Jordan sneezed again and looked around the immediate area.
Where is that cat?
He scanned the rafters with no success. Jordan eased into the stall. “Why are you in here? Is something wrong with the cow?”

“Wendy's pregnant.”

“Yes, I know. So don't you think you should leave her alone?” The cow bellowed and Jordan backed into the gate. His eyes were trained on the cow as she moved to the other side of the pen. “They can be unpredictable.”

Wendy craned her neck in his direction and mooed. He opened the gate. “Let's go. The cow's restless.”

Rachel shot Jordan an aggravated look. “If she's annoyed, it's because you keep talking.”

He couldn't leave Rachel in there. The gate hinges creaked as he reentered. Wendy kicked at him but missed. He lunged toward Rachel and grabbed her arm. “Come with me.”

Once he had her outside the stall, Jordan cornered her against the wall. “Don't you know to leave a pregnant cow alone?”

She hunched over to duck under his arm, but he shifted and stopped her.

He tilted his head to look into her eyes. “Are we going to argue or get along?”

She just looked at him.

“You asked me to come back. Tell me if that's what you still want.” He waited patiently, staring into her stubborn eyes. When she didn't reply, he dropped his arms and went to the door. “I'll ask Timothy and
Onkel
Isaac to round up some men.”

“
Nay
, wait.” She took a step forward and grasped his arm.

Her touch caused a spasm to travel over his muscles to the tips of his fingers. His chest swelled. For sure if she moved any closer, she would discover the effect she had over him.

“I want you to stay. But . . .”

Jordan's smiled faded. “But . . . ?”

She moved back to the birthing pen. “Wendy had problems with her last pregnancy. The calf was stillborn.” She looked him hard in the eye. “I want to help. This was
mei bruder's
cow.”

“And you know what to do?” He certainly didn't. Another reason to ask his
onkel
for help.

“Maybe. I felt the calf kick so I know it's alive right now.”

Jordan grinned. “I almost felt the mom's kick. She missed me by a few inches.”

Rachel held back a laugh.

“You think that's funny?” he teased.

Her expression sobered. “I would've felt awful.”

The lamplight's glow softened her skin tone and rendered him speechless. He noticed the light flickering in her eyes. Why hadn't one of the unmarried men spoken for her?

“
Denki
for
kumming
back.” She drew a deep breath. “I'm sorry I treated you so badly that you left.”

He swallowed. He wasn't sure he could keep a safe distance from her with this sudden transformation. It'd be easier if he stirred up some friction between them. But with Micah injured, he couldn't possibly provoke her intentionally. He tended to do enough of that unintentionally.

“I had other reasons for leaving.”

“
Ach
,” she whispered. “Kayla?”

He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to talk about Kayla. Especially with Rachel. He yanked the barn door open, then placed his hand on her back between her shoulder blades to direct her outside. “What's for supper?”

“I made chili and cornbread earlier. It just needs warming.”

“Oh, so you can cook more than just eggs?”

She elbowed him. “Of course I can.”

“Wait.” He stopped abruptly. “There's something I want to show you before it gets dark.” He beckoned her to follow.

Curiosity lit her face. “What is it?”

He directed her to the corner of the
grossdaadi haus
. “Look.” He pointed to the nest on the windowsill. “They hatched. I saw them when I dropped off my stuff.”

Cautiously she moved forward, climbed the steps of the stoop, and leaned toward the window. Turning back to him, she smiled. “Three. They all made it.”

He came up beside her. “We shouldn't bother them. The mama bird must be hunting worms close by.”

“They don't look like robins. Instead of being red, they're spotted.”

“I think the red coloring comes later.”

He stepped off the porch and Rachel followed, still sporting a wide smile. A shudder spread along his nerves.

“I, um . . . I should . . .” He pointed to the pile of firewood when he couldn't stop stammering. “Firewood.”

Her smile widened.
“Jah?”

He grinned. How did he buckle so easily under a simple smile? The setting sun didn't help. The golden glow highlighted her freckles.

“I'll bring some wood and meet you in the house.” He hoped to regain some of the strength that her smile had drained from him.

“Okay.” She walked away, and glancing back, she said, “Supper will be ready in a few minutes.”

Something had sparked between him and Rachel. He faced the woodpile trying to focus on something else. Kindling. There wasn't much cut that was small enough to fit inside the cookstove. Taking the ax in his clammy hands, he barely held a grip on it as he began to split the wood, chopping more than was needed. A good bit more.

After loading his arms, he headed to the house. As though an unseen presence met him as he stepped through the door, his soul filled with warmth.

“Jordan, you're experiencing a portion of God's peace. There is rest in His arms,” Nathaniel reassured in a whisper.

A sulfuric vapor crept inside from under the threshold, and Tangus materialized from the floor planks. His laugh expelled a putrid vitriolic stench. Eight sets of rhombic-cut eyes roamed the room, recording any infractions. Later, in the midnight hour, he would broadcast the accusing images over Jordan's subconscious. Creating a mind-set to cultivate self-condemnation was a powerful tool. If Jordan crumbled and Rachel continued to move toward her selfishness and pride, he would own both their souls.

Tangus attached himself like a bush brier onto Jordan. He cupped his hands around Jordan's ear. “You don't want to stay here. There are so many new things to experience, places to go. You've gone without all your life; follow me and I'll equip you to soar. Go back to Kayla—her companionship will keep you warm and happy.”

Nathaniel hummed, blocking the piercing frequency and interrupting the fallen angel's hypnotic flow, but he couldn't force Tangus to retreat. Only his charge could make such demands, and only in the name of Jesus were strongholds loosened and souls set free.

Jordan set the larger pieces of wood in the firebox next to the stove in the sitting room. Noticing the filled ash tin, he walked it outside and emptied it in the garden. His mother always insisted the ashes helped lessen the acidity of her tomatoes.

He glanced at the staked-out section of Rachel's garden and recalled the long hours he spent with his mother. Most of their meals came out of the garden they planted. Some nights supper wasn't much more than fried tomatoes or cucumber sandwiches.

His mother used to say that people paid a lot of money in fancy restaurants for cucumber sandwiches and fried green tomatoes. But those fancy restaurants didn't pay his mother much for the produce she sold them. At one time, his mouth watered for a juicy hamburger. Now he would give anything for another one of his mom's sandwiches.

Jordan glanced over the rows in Rachel's garden. It looked as though she'd planted plenty of cucumbers if the seed packages on the stakes were any indication.

He tapped the bottom of the ash pan before bringing it back into the house. Since most nights in May were historically cool, he made a fire to keep out the chill. Then he gathered the smaller pieces of wood and brought them into the kitchen.

Rachel stood in front of the stove, trying to stir and dodge splattering chili at the same time.

“How's it coming?”

“Oh. It's fine.”

She obviously didn't know what the term
simmer
meant. Sauce had splattered on the counter, even the wall. He tossed the kindling into the metal tin box next to the stove and swept the loose oak bark off his shirtsleeves.

“Here, let me help,” he said, taking a pot holder from the counter. He lifted the pot and placed it on a wire cooling rack, then stirred the chili as it finished sputtering.

Rachel pulled a clean spoon from the drawer. “Want a taste?” She dipped it into the chili, held her other hand under the spoon to catch the drippings, and offered it to him.

Sampling the spoonful, his eyes watered. He fanned his mouth.

“Spicy?”

He shook his head while grabbing a cup from the cupboard. Turning on the tap, he filled the cup with water, then gulped it. His throat cooled.

“It's still too hot to eat. Let's give it a minute or two,” he said hoarsely.

Rachel picked up the pot holder. “I warmed the cornbread too.” She opened the oven and pulled out the loaf pan. Her anticipatory smile turned to disappointment.

Jordan craned to see the contents. “It looks good.”

“It burned.”

“That part can be cut off.” He turned to the counter.
Salt. Pepper
. “Where's your sugar?”

Rachel opened the pantry door. With her brows slightly askew, she handed him the container.

“Do you mind?” He held it over the chili. “Sugar will offset the acidic tomatoes.”

“I don't think you can hurt it.”

He added the sugar, studied the pot, then sprinkled another layer of sugar. As he stirred the mixture, Rachel came up beside him with a spoon.

She dipped out a sample and took a bite. “Not bad.”

The tip of her tongue darted out from her mouth to clean the residue off her lips.

Without thinking, he placed his hand on her cheek and slowly traced the crease of her mouth with his thumb. “You missed . . .” Suddenly aware of their closeness, Jordan blinked, forcing himself to pull away.

“I like it.” Her great big eyes looked up at him. “The sugar was a
gut
addition.”

He spun to face the stove. “What do you think? Has it cooled enough? I think so. Let's eat. Do you have bowls?” Of course she had bowls. His heart clamored inside his chest.

“I'll get them,” she said.

She bumped into him and he nearly tripped trying to get out of her way. “I'll just—” Jordan pulled out a chair at the table and sat.

Rachel set the dishes and silverware on the table. After placing the pot of chili on a pot holder and a few slices of white bread on a plate, she sat with him.

He lowered his head.

“Jordan.” Her voice soft.

He glanced up. “Yes?”

“Will you say a prayer for
mei daed
too?”

“Of course.” The depth of her blue eyes bored into his soul and he couldn't turn away. Nor did she. And then he realized what she was asking. “Oh. Do you want us to pray together?”

She nodded and bowed her head.

He cleared his throat. “God, we give you thanks for the food, and we ask that you be with Micah in the hospital. Amen.”

Nathaniel extended his wings, lifting the sweet aroma of Jordan's prayer. “Your supplication has gone before the Master's throne.”

Tangus recoiled as Nathaniel's manifested glory intensified. Tangus hated retreating almost as much as he hated when people prayed together.
A force not easily broken. He would wait. Other opportunities would arise—they almost always did.

Rachel smiled.
“Denki.”

“You're welcome.” He picked up his spoon, thinking that he hadn't prayed aloud for a meal since long before his mother passed away.

He took a bite and smiled. “It's good. I've never had chili with potatoes in it.”