Restless Hearts. Marta Perry

my home.”

      Her voice actually trembled with emotion on the last word, touching him, making him want to know what lay behind that emotion, but he didn’t figure he had the right.

      He was here because it was his duty to protect and serve all the residents of his township, he reminded himself. Not because he had a personal interest in a woman like Fiona Flanagan, with her quick tongue and urban manners.

      “Well, if that’s what you plan to do with the house, I guess you’re going to need someone to do the carpentry work, won’t you?”

      She nodded. “Is there any chance you might be able to recommend someone?”

      “There are a couple of possibilities among the Amish carpenters, it being fall and the harvest is in. I’ll see what I can do.”

      “Amish,” she repeated, and he couldn’t tell what emotion tightened her face for an instant.

      “They’re good carpenters, and this is an Amish community. I’d think you’d want an introduction to them.”

      “Yes, of course, that would be perfect.” Whatever the emotion had been, it was gone. “Do you think they’d be able to start soon?”

      She looked up at him with such appeal that for a moment he’d do most anything to keep that hope shining in her eyes.

      “I’ll see if I can get hold of Mose Stetler. Maybe he can come over today or tomorrow.”

      “Thank you so much.” All her wariness was washed away by enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

      “No problem.” He took a reluctant step toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”

      And while he was at it, he’d best give himself a good talking to. Fiona’s blend of urban sophistication and innocent enthusiasm was a heady mixture, but he couldn’t afford to be intrigued by a woman like her. If he ever decided to risk himself on love again, it would be with a nice, ordinary woman who understood the balancing act between two worlds that he maintained every day of his life.

      By midafternoon, Fiona had finished cleaning the room intended for her bedroom and even hung some clothes in the closet. It wasn’t going to take much more than elbow grease and a little furniture to make her upstairs apartment livable. Now, if Ted came through on his promise to contact the carpenters, she could actually have an opening day in sight.

      She’d already gone through the arduous process necessary to get her certification in order, and she’d contacted several obstetricians and the hospital in Suffolk, as well as a birthing center in the city that could use her services on a part-time basis until she got her practice on its feet. Now all that remained was to complete the office and find some clients.

      Nolie, who knew the area well, had advised her to build word of mouth by meeting as many people as possible, and she might as well start on that today. After a shower and a change of clothes, she went outside, hesitating for a moment on the porch. She’d much rather be judged on her professional expertise than her personality, but if she planned to build her own practice, this had to be done.

      Taking a deep breath and straightening her jacket, she headed for the general store. She’d already noticed how busy it was, and since it was right next door, it was a logical place to start.

      The sign on the front door read Ruth Moser, Proprietor. Maybe Ruth would be the friendly type of neighbor who’d let her post her business card where people would see it. Another deep breath was necessary, and then she opened the door and stepped inside.

      The store was bigger than she’d thought from the outside—extending back into almost cavernous depths where aisles were stocked with what she supposed were farming supplies, as well as hardware and tools she couldn’t begin to identify. The front part of the store carried groceries, and through an archway she glimpsed what must have been the tourist section—quilts, rag rugs, cloth dolls with blank faces—all the souvenirs a visitor to Pennsylvania Dutch country might want to take home.

      “Welcome.” The woman who came toward her wore a print dress with an apron over it. A white prayer cap was perched on abundant gray hair pulled back into a bun. Her smile echoed the welcome. “I’ll spare you the usual Penn Dutch spiel. You’re not a tourist.” She held out her hand. “I’m Ruth Moser.”

      Fiona found her hand caught in a grip as strong as a man’s. “I’m Fiona Flanagan. I just bought the house next door.”

      “And you’re a nurse-midwife,” Ruth finished for her. “We already know that about you, we do. Hard to keep any secrets in a place like Crossroads, believe me.”

      The woman’s smile was contagious. Bright blue eyes in a weathered face inspected Fiona, but it was a friendly inspection that she didn’t find intimidating.

      “I guess I don’t need the explanation I’d planned to give you then, do I?”

      “Ach, well, you’ll have to forgive us. Folks who live in an area like this all know each other so well that an incomer is a nine days’ wonder. Everyone in the township knows about the new midwife, and welcome news it is. The closest Amish midwife is nearly twenty miles away, and folks out here don’t like going clear into Suffolk, either.”

      “I’m certainly glad to hear that.” This was going better than she’d imagined. “I’d hoped you might be willing to post one of my business cards where your customers would see it.”

      “Give me a whole stack of them, and I’ll pass them on to anyone who might be thinking of babies,” Ruth said promptly.

      “That’s wonderful.” She pulled a handful from the side pocket of her bag. “I’ll bring some more over later, if you can use them.”

      “Sure thing.” Ruth took the cards and slipped them into an apron pocket. “I suppose Ted Rittenhouse told you how short of medical help we are around here, unless we want to go into Suffolk.”

      Why would she suppose anything of the kind? “Ted Rittenhouse?”

      Ruth seemed oblivious to the edge in her voice. “Ted certainly is a nice fellow. Born and bred in the township, and glad we were to have him come back home again after that time in Chicago. You like him, don’t you?”

      “I—I thought he was very helpful. When I got lost, I mean, the first time I came to see the house.”

      “Helpful, yes. Kind, too. Why, I’ve known that boy since he was running around barefoot. There’s not a mean bone in his body.”

      “Yes, well—I’m sure that’s true.” And why on earth did the woman think she needed to know that? “Do you mind if I look around your store?”

      “I’ll show you around myself. Not exactly busy on a weekday in the fall, though weekends we still get the rush of tourists trampling through, oohing and aahing over the Amish and blocking the roads every time they spot a buggy. Still, their money helps keep me afloat.”

      “You seem to carry just about everything anyone could want in here.” A cooler marked Night Crawlers sat next to a rack filled with the latest celebrity magazines.

      “That’s why it’s a general store.” Ruth looked around with satisfaction at her domain. Apparently she felt the same way about her store as Fiona did about her practice. “I have something for everyone from the Amish farmers to the senior citizen bus tours. No good Pennsylvania Dutchman ever turned down profit.”

      Fiona glanced at the woman’s print dress. “You’re not Amish, I take it?”

      “Mennonite. First cousins to the Amish, you bet.” She brushed the full skirt. “You can tell by the clothes. You’ll soon get onto it.” The bell on the door tinkled, and she gestured toward the archway. “I’ll just get that. Go on through and check out the other section. I’ve got some lovely quilts and handmade chests if you’re looking to furnish your house local.”

      She hadn’t thought of that, but obviously it would