smile from her and now the task seemed impossible.
But at night he dreamed of Hannah smiling for him. Only him.
The soft click of a door closing made him tense. His eyes opened and blinked against the darkness, but he remained still, as unmoving as when he and his friends went hunting in the hills for deer. He eyed the barn, the Schmidt front porch, the back door. A slight figure crept among the shadows.
He straightened. His heart kicked hard against his breastbone. Hannah .
She was coming. Finally. Hope bloomed inside him. He took one step out of the dark crevice but then laughter erupted behind him from inside the barn.
Hannah stopped, turned. A slant of moonlight glinted on her pale face. Fear widened her eyes. But why fear?
When she scampered down the steps, the hem of her skirt snagged on a gardenia bush, which she jerked loose before rushing forward, her footsteps light and quick as she moved away from the barn, and he understood. Her destination was the reason for her fearâfear of discovery. What she didnât know was that he had followed her before.
With the moon veiled by thick clouds, darkness made it difficult for him to follow her, but he knew the way. Why did she feel compelled to go? Had it become a ritual with her? Love was a river that had to run its course, shifting and turning, slowing and tapering down to an eventual stream. He hoped there would be a moment, a boulder plunked in the middle of her defenses, a dead end to her resolve, and he would jump in and chart a new course for them, open a new current for a new love to flow open and unrestrained.
Until then, he would watch and wait.
Chapter Eight
Carrying a thirty-pack of Keystone Light, iced as cold as the weather, Roc located Straight Edge Road. It sure wasnât Bourbon Street, but he remembered his own surprise at what New Orleans offered. What would these boys do if a stream of floats with partiers came dancing down one of their gravel roads, tossing about bright purple and green beaded necklaces and flashing body parts?
Then again, the teens couldnât be strangers to the baser needs of life with places nearby like Intercourse. Virginville had to be a main attraction, right? These young Amish men were still men, bursting with hormones, and they couldnât be naïve about the birds or the bees or any other farm animal for that matter. Why else would they marry so young? Mike had told him they were plagued by ordinary teen problems, just like any other part of America, from drug abuse to the occasional teen pregnancy. Hadnât the Amish fellow heâd met earlierâ Evanâ¦Ethanâ¦Ephraim? âadmitted as much?
Still, how much did they really know of the darker side of evil and depravity? Of that, these healthy, young men were probably completely ignorant. And Roc was glad of it; heâd grown tired of the weary looks in twelve-year-old eyes back in New Orleans, from some kid whoâd spent too much time and too many nights on the streets. These young Amish folks had healthy appetites, appetites for discovering life, experiencing the forbiddenâappetites that any red-blooded American boy would have.
Even now, some ate out of red-and-white striped buckets; others scarfed down pizza, while he supplied the perfect beer to wash it all down. They eyed him skeptically when he first walked up, but they gladly accepted the offered beer. Roc handed out the cans, then popped open one for himself, and poured it down his throat, giving the kids time to get used to him being there.
Less wholesome activitiesâkids groping in cars and buggies, bottles of whiskey passed around a bonfire, and joints passed from hand to handâwere also prominent. Roc helped himself to a few blood-warming gulps of whiskey since nothing else beat the cold. Nothinâ wrong with that . He doubted these unseasoned kids knew many of the things heâd seen over the course of his lifeâboth in his career as a cop and
But at night he dreamed of Hannah smiling for him. Only him.
The soft click of a door closing made him tense. His eyes opened and blinked against the darkness, but he remained still, as unmoving as when he and his friends went hunting in the hills for deer. He eyed the barn, the Schmidt front porch, the back door. A slight figure crept among the shadows.
He straightened. His heart kicked hard against his breastbone. Hannah .
She was coming. Finally. Hope bloomed inside him. He took one step out of the dark crevice but then laughter erupted behind him from inside the barn.
Hannah stopped, turned. A slant of moonlight glinted on her pale face. Fear widened her eyes. But why fear?
When she scampered down the steps, the hem of her skirt snagged on a gardenia bush, which she jerked loose before rushing forward, her footsteps light and quick as she moved away from the barn, and he understood. Her destination was the reason for her fearâfear of discovery. What she didnât know was that he had followed her before.
With the moon veiled by thick clouds, darkness made it difficult for him to follow her, but he knew the way. Why did she feel compelled to go? Had it become a ritual with her? Love was a river that had to run its course, shifting and turning, slowing and tapering down to an eventual stream. He hoped there would be a moment, a boulder plunked in the middle of her defenses, a dead end to her resolve, and he would jump in and chart a new course for them, open a new current for a new love to flow open and unrestrained.
Until then, he would watch and wait.
Chapter Eight
Carrying a thirty-pack of Keystone Light, iced as cold as the weather, Roc located Straight Edge Road. It sure wasnât Bourbon Street, but he remembered his own surprise at what New Orleans offered. What would these boys do if a stream of floats with partiers came dancing down one of their gravel roads, tossing about bright purple and green beaded necklaces and flashing body parts?
Then again, the teens couldnât be strangers to the baser needs of life with places nearby like Intercourse. Virginville had to be a main attraction, right? These young Amish men were still men, bursting with hormones, and they couldnât be naïve about the birds or the bees or any other farm animal for that matter. Why else would they marry so young? Mike had told him they were plagued by ordinary teen problems, just like any other part of America, from drug abuse to the occasional teen pregnancy. Hadnât the Amish fellow heâd met earlierâ Evanâ¦Ethanâ¦Ephraim? âadmitted as much?
Still, how much did they really know of the darker side of evil and depravity? Of that, these healthy, young men were probably completely ignorant. And Roc was glad of it; heâd grown tired of the weary looks in twelve-year-old eyes back in New Orleans, from some kid whoâd spent too much time and too many nights on the streets. These young Amish folks had healthy appetites, appetites for discovering life, experiencing the forbiddenâappetites that any red-blooded American boy would have.
Even now, some ate out of red-and-white striped buckets; others scarfed down pizza, while he supplied the perfect beer to wash it all down. They eyed him skeptically when he first walked up, but they gladly accepted the offered beer. Roc handed out the cans, then popped open one for himself, and poured it down his throat, giving the kids time to get used to him being there.
Less wholesome activitiesâkids groping in cars and buggies, bottles of whiskey passed around a bonfire, and joints passed from hand to handâwere also prominent. Roc helped himself to a few blood-warming gulps of whiskey since nothing else beat the cold. Nothinâ wrong with that . He doubted these unseasoned kids knew many of the things heâd seen over the course of his lifeâboth in his career as a cop and
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