Married To The Mob. Ginny Aiken

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СКАЧАТЬ going to a safe place just outside Bird-in-Hand.”

      “Huh?”

      He shot her a smile. “So you don’t know everything. Bird-in-Hand is a sleepy little town with the best Amish bakery and a huge quilting shop.”

      “You know about bakeries and quilt shops?”

      “I’m a multifaceted kind of guy.” He turned just enough for her to see his wink. “Actually, my mom’s crazy about quilting, so she knows every one of those stores in the eastern half of Pennsylvania.”

      “So you’re from that area.”

      “I grew up in a suburb of Harrisburg.”

      “Okay. Sounds good.” By now he’d relaxed enough that his fingers didn’t remind her of the color of overcooked macaroni before the cheese was added anymore, a food group she now knew too much about thanks to her underground existence. “So how about you tell me where you’re taking me—exactly where you’re taking me? I mean, I have nothing against road trips, but really. This is just too weird.”

      “Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Carlie.” He slowed down for a red light. “But I’ll go ahead and tell you. My mom knows a Mennonite family who’s willing to let us stay at their farm.”

      “Farm, huh?”

      “Yes, the Millers own a dairy farm, and I remembered them when I tried to come up with a quiet, inconspicuous place to stash you. My mom and Mrs. Miller shop for their quilting supplies at the Bird-in-Hand store. Over the years they’ve become friends.”

      What was he getting them into? “The Mennonites, they’re not the ones with the buggies and no electricity, are they?”

      “No, those are Old Order Amish, but Mennonites are still very, very conservative.”

      She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out as I go. I can handle anything as long as I get a decent night’s sleep, a shower in the morning and a blow-dryer for my hair.”

      He squirmed in his seat, looked very, very uncomfortable. “We can do the sleep, and the shower shouldn’t be a problem. But the blow-dryer might not be so easy. Because the women wear their hair twisted up in the small white kapps, I’m not sure the Millers own one, and yours is…”

      Carlie’s stomach sank. “Mine’s a blob of melted plastic and a couple of blackened wires. So we need to look at this as a new life experience. Okay. I’m sure it’ll come in handy someday.”

      From the way Dan’s shoulders shook, she knew he was trying to hold in his laughter. At least she was good for comic relief. They had enough grim to survive. And Mennonites were Christians, so staying with the Millers couldn’t be too bad.

      They’d ditched the Pennsylvania Turnpike at around four o’clock. They pulled into the Miller farm at around six. The white farmhouse stood at the end of a long gravel drive. A huge oak tree spread its full, green branches in front of the home and shaded the wide porch. A big red barn flanked the rear of the house to the right. Various other smaller structures spread out toward the left rear. A bunch of black-and-white cows crowded each other on their way to what must have been dinner.

      “Speaking of dinner,” she said, “what are we doing for food?”

      “Trust me,” he answered with a smug smile.

      “Oh, fine. Have it your way.”

      “I’m planning an experience you’ll never forget.”

      Her stomach flipped. That easy smile made Dan look more human. And a million times more attractive. She wondered what he was like when not on the job.

      “Come on,” he said.

      Carlie blinked. Saved by the bell…or something like that. She really couldn’t afford to find her keeper appealing. So she’d better think about these people whose quiet life they were about to invade.

      The woman who opened the door looked like a storybook grandma. This one, though, wore an unusual gray dress with sleeves that poufed a little on the shoulders then snugged down to just above the elbows. The dress made Carlie think of something one might have seen decades ago, if not way more than that. The plain top had a flat-over thingy that ended at the waistline. A skirt generous enough for the woman to do just about any kind of farm chore came down to the shin, where legs covered with dark cotton stockings led to old-fashioned black lace-up shoes.

      Mrs. Miller shook her head when Dan told her a gas problem had left Carlie temporarily homeless. “So sorry to hear,” she said, her voice spiced with a slight accent. “But please, make yourself welcome.”

      Carlie was charmed, but she felt like an impostor, lower than a slug. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Miller. I do appreciate your hospitality.”

      Their hostess smiled and gestured for them to follow her. “Come, come. Supper is served.”

      “Pay attention,” Dan whispered close to her ear.

      On their way to the kitchen, Carlie asked Mrs. Miller about the farm. She learned all kinds of details the woman gladly shared. And when they entered the enormous kitchen, Carlie understood what Dan had meant. A huge oak table filled the center of the room. Spread out over its surface was a feast, a banquet, a smorgasbord of sights and smells. Carlie’s stomach growled.

      Dan chuckled. “Told you.”

      “No, Mr. Close-mouthed Secret Agent, you did not. All you said was another of your enigmatic ‘trust mes.’ That didn’t even give me a hint.”

      “You can’t fault a guy for wanting to surprise a girl.”

      “You surprised me, all right.”

      “This is Richard.” Mrs. Miller indicated the oldest boy. “Beside him is Jonas, then Ruth. On the other side, Rachel and Stephen…”

      In minutes, Carlie asked and learned the children’s ages, where they went to school and their usual chores around the farm.

      Finally, they joined the Millers, all seven of them, for the meal. Mr. Miller said grace in what sounded kind of like German, and after resounding amens, everyone dug in.

      Evidently, Mrs. Maddox had let her friend know she’d soon have guests, and Mrs. Miller had put on what she called “a little more” into the pots and pans. To Carlie, it looked like she’d gone a whole lot further than that. A gentle prod with her fork broke the pot roast into tender morsels. Parsley and butter coated the potatoes, a colorful variety of homegrown veggies filled another third of her gargantuan plate, home-baked bread melted in her mouth, and cinnamon-dusted applesauce tasted more refreshing than Carlie remembered from her childhood.

      “What do you think?” Dan asked.

      “Wow! Nothing but wow.”

      Just when Carlie was sure she couldn’t possibly swallow another mouthful, Mrs. Miller brought out two different pies. One was apple, and the other the well-known Pennsylvania Dutch shoofly pie.

      “Which one?” their hostess asked.

      “Oh, I’m going to try the shoofly,” Carlie answered. СКАЧАТЬ