Courting Her Secret Heart. Mary Davis

of photos taken of her, relief washed over Deborah when the shoot was over. After changing into her own Englisher clothes and scrubbing off the makeup, she left the dressing room.

      Hudson gathered the five models around him. “A mostly great shoot today.” He gave Deborah a pointed look.

      Her performance was in the part not included in the “mostly great.”

      “I need all of you back here tomorrow and for the rest of the week. The client wants the photos this weekend to present to his marketing department Monday.”

      The other models grabbed their coats and purses and headed out.

      Deborah hung back. “I don’t know if I can come every day.”

      He gave her a hard look. “Debo, I need you. You have to come.”

      “I’ll try.”

      * * *

      Surprisingly, she did manage to escape the farm each day, although some days were more of a challenge than others.

      On Friday, Hudson praised them all for their hard work.

      Deborah headed for the exit with aching feet and a tired body. Her body from constantly moving, and her feet from being shoved into impractical shoes. Her brain hurt as well from repeatedly forcing Amos out of her thoughts.

      “Debo, hold up.” Hudson trotted over to her. “You want to grab a cup of coffee?”

      How many times in the past had she hoped for just such an invitation? She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Hudson. I need to get home.”

      “But we ended early. Certainly you don’t have to rush off so soon.”

      “I have been gone too much from home this week.” Not that her family noticed her absence. “And you have photos to edit for your client.”

      “Next Wednesday, then? I have a shoot. I’ll see you then.”

      She shook her head again. “I need to stick around home for a while.”

      “If you had a phone, I could call you with opportunities.”

      She couldn’t risk him calling their phone. That would be disastrous for her. She finally escaped, all the while her mind wandering back to Amos.

      * * *

      Amos looked out over the Millers’ fields, which were to be plowed in the spring. He couldn’t help but think of them as partly his. Since he’d already planned out the plowing and planting, they sort of felt a little like his fields. Of course, they weren’t his fields, and he might not even be here to do the work. But if he was, he would take pride in that work.

      Bartholomew appreciated everything he did around the farm, so Amos worked harder and enjoyed it so much more here than he ever had at home.

      Here, even the little things he did mattered. He mattered. Bartholomew had never had a son to help him with all the work around the farm. How had he run this place without sons?

      But on the flip side, Amos’s mutter had been alone doing the house chores, cooking, cleaning and laundry for six men and boys through the years. How did she do it without help?

      On the far side of one of the fields, a woman emerged from a bare stand of sycamore trees nestled next to a pond. She walked across the field he would plow in the not-too-distant future. If he was still here. Bartholomew should have his cast off by then, but he wouldn’t likely be up for all the physical work yet. Maybe Amos should stay long enough to help with that.

      The woman came closer and closer.

      Deborah.

      Where did she go all the time? She had disappeared every day this week and would be gone for hours. He was about to find out.

      With her head down, she didn’t see him approaching. He stepped directly into her path a few yards in front of her. She seemed to be talking to herself, but he couldn’t make out all the words. Something about nothing wrong and not hurting anyone.

      She kept walking with her head down. The words became clearer. “Everything will be fine. No harm done.”

      When it looked as though she might literally run into him, he cleared his throat.

      She halted a foot away and jerked up her head. She was so startled to see him there, she took a step back and appeared to lose her balance on the uneven ground. Her arms swung out to keep herself upright.

      He reached out and took hold of her upper arms to stop her from tumbling to the ground. “Whoa there.”

      She gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

      “Where have you been all day?”

      “What? Nowhere.” She tried to pull free of his grip, but he held fast.

      He shook his head. “You’ve been somewhere. You’ve left every day this week and been gone for most of the day.”

      “I—I went for a walk.”

      “Where? Ohio?”

      She twisted her face for a moment before his joke made sense. “We have a pond just over there by those trees. I like to sit there and watch the ducks. It’s a nice place to think and be alone. You should go sometime.”

      “I did. Today. You weren’t there.”

      Her self-satisfied expression fell. “I was for a while, then I walked farther.”

      He sensed there was more to her absence than a walk. “Where?”

      “Why do you care?”

      “With your vater laid up, I’m kind of responsible for everyone on this farm.”

      She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

      How could she not understand the role of a man?

      “May I go now?”

      He realized he still held on to her upper arms. He didn’t want to let her go but did. “I don’t want you to leave the farm without telling me where you’re going.”

      “Are you serious?”

      He gave her his serious look.

      She huffed and strode away.

      Would she heed his request?

      Where did she go every day? He had wanted to follow her, was tempted to. He almost did once, but he realized it was none of his business and turned around. But curiosity pushed hard on him. He still might follow her if she didn’t obey. Just to see. Just to watch her from a distance. Just to know her secret.

      Something inside him feared for her. Feared she would walk out across this field and never return. Feared her secret would consume them both. She was a mystery.

      A mystery he was drawn to solve.

      * * *

      Deborah heaved a sigh of relief. She marched the rest of the way through the field, resisting the urge to run. After two weeks, Amos Burkholder already paid more attention to her comings and goings than her own family had her whole life—they never expected much from her and thought her an airhead. Fanciful. Her head full of dreams and nonsense.

      Well, she did have dreams. And to prove to everyone that she was someone to be noticed, not an airhead, she’d become a church member younger than any of her older sisters at age sixteen, the same year as Miriam, who was a year and a half older than her. She’d basically skipped her Rumspringa. But Naomi had run away in a fit of selfishness and sent the family into a tizzy. Miriam hadn’t seemed to mind having her special day of joining church ruined, but Deborah had.

      No one had congratulated her or told her how wonderful it was that she’d joined so young, that she must be the most dedicated Amish woman ever. Anything to be noticed, just once.

      Instead,