Her Amish Christmas Choice. Leigh Bale

yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

      —Ecclesiastes 9:11

      To my very own Rose, who has brought me more joy than I ever thought possible.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       About the Author

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

      Note to Readers

       Introduction

       Dear Reader

       Bible Verse

       Dedication

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Epilogue

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      “Hallo?”

      Julia Rose jerked, startled. The two nails she’d been holding between her pursed lips dropped to the wooden planks of the front porch and bounced off into the weedy flower bed.

      She swiveled around on the rickety ladder and caught a glimpse of a tall man standing directly behind her. She didn’t have time to return his greeting. The leather gloves she wore were overly large and caused her to lose her grasp on the heavy hammer. It followed the nails, thudding to the wooden porch below. The ladder wobbled and she fought to retain her grip on the tall post she’d been holding upright with her left hand. For fifteen minutes, she’d struggled to get it in just the right spot so she could nail it into place. Now, it slid sideways. Without its support, the heavy canopy above sagged dangerously near her head. The overly stressed timbers gave a low groan and she widened her eyes.

      “Acht gewwe!” the man called in a foreign language.

      A sickening crack sounded above and Julia scrambled down the ladder. Like a zipper coming undone, the nails holding the awning to the side of the building pinged into the air as the canopy tore away from the outer wall and knocked her to the ground. She gasped in pain as the ruined wood continued its descent toward her.

      With a cry of alarm, she curled against the side of the wall, protecting her head with her arms. She was vaguely aware of the man shielding her, taking the brunt of the weight against his own back.

      “Oof!”

      She glanced up and found his face no more than a breath away. She gazed into his eyes, catching the subtle scent of licorice. His muscular arms held her tight as another piece of the canopy bludgeoned him with a shocking thump. He jerked at the impact but made no sound. For several seconds, they both held perfectly still. She felt uncomfortable with his close proximity but couldn’t move away just then.

      “Alles fit? Are you all right?” His voice sounded low and calm, like the approach of thunder off in the distance.

      “I think so.” She stared in fascination, captivated by his piercing blue eyes… The kind of eyes that could see deep inside a person’s heart and know exactly what they were thinking. In those brief moments, she took in his plain clothes, his angular face, short auburn hair and a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. No doubt he spent hours working outside in the sun.

      “Mar-tin! Mar-tin, are you okay?”

      Julia looked up and saw a boy of approximately fifteen years standing in front of the ruined porch. Dressed identical to the man, his short, stocky build was accented by plain black pants, a blue chambray shirt, black suspenders and a black felt hat.

      They were Amish!

      “Ja, I’m okay, Hank.” The man holding onto Julia let her go and moved back with a slight grimace.

      She scurried to safety, standing beyond the reach of the broken canopy. With her out of the way, the man jerked to the side and let the remaining boards sag to the ground. They hung there like a great, broken beast.

      “It’ll be all right now. You’ll be okay.” The boy named Hank patted Julia’s arm, looking directly into her eyes as he earnestly searched her expression for distress.

      Hank was a stranger and again she felt uncomfortable by the invasion of her personal space but saw no guile in his dark eyes. He looked genuinely concerned for her welfare. His brown eyes slanted upward and he had an open, childlike expression. As she took in his reddish-blond hair and small, flat nose, she recognized instantly that Hank must have Down Syndrome.

      “Y-yes. I’m fine,” she said.

      He smiled wide, pushing his wire-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He looked so innocent and sincere that she had to return his infectious smile.

      “Mar-tin, she’s okay. How about you? Are you okay?” Hank asked, his accent heavy.

      “Ja,