Temptation. Karen Hopkins Ann

me.

      “Do you want to see our new puppies?” He directed the question mostly at Justin, who quickly nodded his head. The two broke from the group, running toward the barn.

      Interestingly enough, Rose touched Sam’s arm and she turned to follow the boys, with Sam joining her. How odd that an hour ago in the cellar they were behaving as if they couldn’t stand each other and now in unfamiliar territory they seemed close.

      I hurried to catch up to them, worried about what Mother must be thinking, seeing a girl go off with the boys. If Rose had been Amish, she would have joined my sisters. The fact that she had just chosen the boys worried me.

      That was the problem with English girls—they did what they wanted.

      But then again, maybe that was one of the things that made Rose so intriguing…and dangerous to me.

      3

      Rose

      A New World

      AS WE CROSSED the quaint little stone-and-white-fenced bridge, I worried about the way I was dressed. Lazy Sam had refused to go back and get my suitcase and instead had brought my duffel bag to the house, the only contents being the T-shirt and shorts I slept in, spare panties, flip-flops and an extra pair of jeans.

      Dad was impatient to be on our way to the neighbors’, and even though I was willing to trek back across the water myself, he wouldn’t allow it. He had insisted I just go take a shower and put on whatever I had in the bag.

      Men could be so brainless about stuff like that. I wanted to make a good impression. After all, we were going to have dinner at a place where the women all wore dresses, and here I was in my sleep shirt and faded jeans, wearing flip-flops. The day held a strange hazy quality that made me feel as if I were dreaming. The fact that I’d walked through a hay field to have dinner at our new neighbors’ house certainly added to the surreal feeling for me.

      In slight consolation, at least I had been able to take a shower and wash the mud out of my hair. The bathtub had been gross, with the remains of a lot of dried-up bugs in it, and I’d taken a few minutes to wash them all down the drain before I could even get started. But amazingly, the water pressure was strong and the temperature was almost scalding hot—just the way I liked it.

      Taking a breath, I paused to watch a gray-furred rabbit zigzag in front of us, finally disappearing into a clump of thick grass. I wished that I had as much energy as the little creature, admitting that I was a little winded from the trek across the thirty-acre field that separated our houses to reach the creek running behind the Millers’ barns.

      Following the creek toward the bridge, I watched as the water flowed swiftly over smooth stones that jutted out here and there. It all looked calm and quaint now, but I could see where the rushing water had overflowed, flattening the grass on both sides well up the banks from the storm.

      Once across the bridge, I focused my attention on the farm around us. It was absolutely immaculate. Everything about it was orderly and tidy. The grass was mowed to perfection, and there were several large flower beds overflowing with brightly colored petunias, gardenias and begonias. Dainty butterflies danced above the blooms in hectic motion. The huge vegetable garden we passed contained every kind of plant imaginable, the rows straight and freshly tilled. Not a weed in sight either. To our left was a massive barn and beside it was a large three-sided equipment shed. Both buildings were covered in bright white siding, with black roofs and trim, matching the house.

      Four-board white vinyl fencing surrounded the pasture and barnyard, and I shielded my eyes from the lowering sun to search out the horses in the lush field. I quickly counted nine: a couple of huge Belgians, four buggy-type horses and three cute pinto ponies. My senses were on overload, trying to take everything in, when three little boys ran out of the barn toward us.

      I gauged the age of the oldest boy to be eleven or twelve and the two smaller ones six and eight. They were so adorable in their light blue short-sleeved dress shirts and black suspenders. All three had thick, dark brown hair laced with golden highlights, just like Noah’s. I was guessing they were his little brothers.

      Funny, how when I’d met Noah earlier, I didn’t even notice what he was wearing. I guess I was too focused on his striking face and steamy eyes. Would he look as good to me the second time I saw him? I was willing to bet he would. Just the thought that I found a guy that attractive was unnerving to me. I didn’t really like the mushy, strange feelings I was experiencing, nearly popping with arousal at the mere idea of seeing him again.

      One of the little boys left the others, running to the two-story, neat-as-a-button farmhouse. The remaining two fell in walking with us, peeking up bashfully from time to time.

      “Hello, boys. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” Dad said to them.

      “Yes, sir, it’s a fine evening,” the older boy answered.

      So far the Amish I’d met sounded pretty normal. Just a hint of an accent, or maybe it was their vocabulary, very proper. Anyway, they weren’t too different after all. Well, besides the beards, dresses and no electricity. If these boys walking with us were wearing normal clothes, they’d look like any other kids.

      But then I heard the littlest boy shouting in a language I had never heard before. I glanced over to Dad questioningly. He answered, “They speak a form of German.”

      “It’s called Pennsylvania Dutch,” the younger boy corrected Dad. He seemed pleased with himself for being able to tell us something that we didn’t know. He sniffed, walking on a little straighter.

      I had to smile at that. He looked like such a little man with his clothes and manner. When I looked back up, my heart bounced at seeing Noah approaching with his father. He was actually a little taller than his dad, and this time I did notice what he was wearing—the same blue dress shirt and black suspenders that the little boys had on.

      Most guys wouldn’t be caught dead dressing exactly like their brothers, but hey, it seemed to be expected with these people. I also observed for the first time that the pants the boys were all wearing were extremely dark navy blue and homemade. They all had matching haircuts, too, with their hair left full on top and trimmed neatly at the ears and neck. I decided that these boys were good-looking enough to pull the hairdo off very well.

      Noah’s eyes met mine, and the way he was gazing at me made me glance away quickly. It was almost as if we already had a thing going on. He sort of looked at me in a possessive way, making me blush. I definitely didn’t want him to see that. But maybe he liked me, too. At least that’s what his eyes were saying. I could only hope, I thought, not willing to acknowledge just yet that I actually had a crush on him.

      While I was getting all hot and bothered by Noah’s eyes, a woman and two teenage girls came out of the house. They were all wearing blue dresses, in varying shades. The mother was in navy and the girls a lighter sky-blue. They also wore identical stiff white caps on their heads, with dangling narrow ribbons on each side, and black old-fashioned tennis shoes on their feet. What I could see of their hidden hair, the girls had lighter brown locks than the boys. I could tell nothing at all about their personalities from their outfits, and their faces were emotionless. Without having made a quick mental note about their slightly differing facial features and the freckles dotting the taller one’s nose, I would have been hard-pressed to tell the two sisters apart.

      After inspecting them from head to toe, I decided that it must be extremely uncomfortable to dress like that all the time. Being a dancer, I was accustomed to having my hair in a tight bun, with a dozen bobby pins holding my wild mane in place—and I hated wearing my hair up on performance days. The bun always gave me a headache, and these poor girls had to endure that pain every day.

      As I gazed at the women, noticing that they wore no makeup at all and that the clothes concealed their figures completely, I felt a strong sense of pity for them. It seemed they weren’t allowed any individuality at all.

      It was then that I caught the tiny girl staring up at us. Her cap was jet-black and her dress a tiny replica of her mom’s. She was without