the conversation going. But he could try. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. “I’m John Weaver.”
“Jayne Donovan.” She smiled, revealing beautiful white teeth. The perfect match to her beautiful eyes. Her hand was slim and cool in his.
He stopped himself from rubbing his thumb over her smooth skin.
Oh, brother. John felt his cheeks heat. “I just moved here.”
“Why?”
Who asked questions like that? “I once lived here. I decided to come back.” Yep, that was definitely the short answer.
“Going home again, huh?”
“No. Well, maybe.” How did he explain how it felt to be living in his childhood home? To be back in an Amish home . . . and though he loved his sister-in-law and her family dearly, he knew, without a doubt, that in time he would have to get out of there.
She smiled again. This time, he noticed lines around her eyes and mouth. She was older than he’d thought.
And then he caught himself again. “I should probably get going.”
“All right.” She bit her bottom lip. “And . . . John?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I almost ran into you. I should have been paying more attention.”
“Hey, if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have met.” Mentally, he rolled his eyes. Could he sound any cheesier if he tried?
“I work at the library, if you ever need a book.”
She turned and walked away before he could process that. No, Jayne Donovan walked away before he could think of anything else to say.
And he couldn’t help standing there for a moment and watching her walk.
“Move along now, son,” a man said, passing him. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself, standing and gawking like you are.”
Embarrassed, John darted into the first place of business he could find—a somewhat down-on-its-luck donut shop.
A man who looked to be seventy years old stood behind the counter, eyeing him with interest as he approached. “Can I help you?”
John didn’t really want anything, but he was obligated to get something. “How fresh is your coffee?”
“Fresh.” The man glared at him—almost looking like he’d love for John to pick a fight.
“I’ll have a cup of coffee and one of those glazed donuts.”
“Three dollars.”
As John pulled out three singles, he looked the old guy over. The man was only a few inches over five feet. He had a stooped posture and dark eyes and was almost bald. “Thanks,” he said when the man handed him a cardboard cup and donut in a white sack.
“You new here in town?”
“I am, more or less. I’m moving back.”
“You look just like Jacob Weaver.”
“That’s because I’m his brother.”
Something flickered in the old guy’s eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked around the bakery case and gestured to a table. “Have a seat.”
The man looked a little too intent. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get going . . .”
“Where?” Before John could make up something, the man pointed one bony finger at the table again. “Have a seat. We’ll catch up.”
This time John sat. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t know. But I sure knew your father.” After a pause, he held out a hand. “Name’s Amos House.”
“House?”
Amos winked as he sat. “Yep, just like a home, but not. Now, tell me what you’ve been doing for so long.”
Fingers curved around the cup of coffee, John started talking. And before he knew it, he felt completely at ease for pretty much the first time since he’d returned to Jacob’s Crossing.
O nce every few weeks, Calvin or one of his brothers took their mother to the Wal-Mart in Middlefield. No matter whose turn it was, the chore was always looked upon as a labor of love.
Their mother loved Wal-Mart. Her eyes positively lit up at the sight of the giant store.
Because of that—and because she’d always been so eager to make her children happy—they made sure one of them was always available to take her there.
Calvin jingled Beauty’s reins as their sturdy horse plodded along the back
“Jayne Donovan.” She smiled, revealing beautiful white teeth. The perfect match to her beautiful eyes. Her hand was slim and cool in his.
He stopped himself from rubbing his thumb over her smooth skin.
Oh, brother. John felt his cheeks heat. “I just moved here.”
“Why?”
Who asked questions like that? “I once lived here. I decided to come back.” Yep, that was definitely the short answer.
“Going home again, huh?”
“No. Well, maybe.” How did he explain how it felt to be living in his childhood home? To be back in an Amish home . . . and though he loved his sister-in-law and her family dearly, he knew, without a doubt, that in time he would have to get out of there.
She smiled again. This time, he noticed lines around her eyes and mouth. She was older than he’d thought.
And then he caught himself again. “I should probably get going.”
“All right.” She bit her bottom lip. “And . . . John?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I almost ran into you. I should have been paying more attention.”
“Hey, if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have met.” Mentally, he rolled his eyes. Could he sound any cheesier if he tried?
“I work at the library, if you ever need a book.”
She turned and walked away before he could process that. No, Jayne Donovan walked away before he could think of anything else to say.
And he couldn’t help standing there for a moment and watching her walk.
“Move along now, son,” a man said, passing him. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself, standing and gawking like you are.”
Embarrassed, John darted into the first place of business he could find—a somewhat down-on-its-luck donut shop.
A man who looked to be seventy years old stood behind the counter, eyeing him with interest as he approached. “Can I help you?”
John didn’t really want anything, but he was obligated to get something. “How fresh is your coffee?”
“Fresh.” The man glared at him—almost looking like he’d love for John to pick a fight.
“I’ll have a cup of coffee and one of those glazed donuts.”
“Three dollars.”
As John pulled out three singles, he looked the old guy over. The man was only a few inches over five feet. He had a stooped posture and dark eyes and was almost bald. “Thanks,” he said when the man handed him a cardboard cup and donut in a white sack.
“You new here in town?”
“I am, more or less. I’m moving back.”
“You look just like Jacob Weaver.”
“That’s because I’m his brother.”
Something flickered in the old guy’s eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked around the bakery case and gestured to a table. “Have a seat.”
The man looked a little too intent. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get going . . .”
“Where?” Before John could make up something, the man pointed one bony finger at the table again. “Have a seat. We’ll catch up.”
This time John sat. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t know. But I sure knew your father.” After a pause, he held out a hand. “Name’s Amos House.”
“House?”
Amos winked as he sat. “Yep, just like a home, but not. Now, tell me what you’ve been doing for so long.”
Fingers curved around the cup of coffee, John started talking. And before he knew it, he felt completely at ease for pretty much the first time since he’d returned to Jacob’s Crossing.
O nce every few weeks, Calvin or one of his brothers took their mother to the Wal-Mart in Middlefield. No matter whose turn it was, the chore was always looked upon as a labor of love.
Their mother loved Wal-Mart. Her eyes positively lit up at the sight of the giant store.
Because of that—and because she’d always been so eager to make her children happy—they made sure one of them was always available to take her there.
Calvin jingled Beauty’s reins as their sturdy horse plodded along the back
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