An Unexpected Amish Proposal Read online

  SWEET AS CINNAMON

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.

  Fern turned to him eagerly.

  “I’ve been addicted to your cinnamon buns for years. Every morning, I sent Caroline to buy them.”

  “Those were for you?”

  “Jah. I didn’t want you to know it, so I asked my sister to get them.”

  “But you haven’t had any since I started working here. Except for one that very first day.”

  “I know, and I’ve been craving them.”

  “Why didn’t you ask?” She reached into the case with bakery tissue and handed him a cinnamon bun.

  Gideon took a bite and closed his eyes. “Mmm.” He finished chewing. “Delicious. I missed these.”

  “I’ll give you a roll every morning from now on, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I didn’t ask because I was too busy fighting my attraction to you . . .”

  Books by Rachel J. Good

  HIS UNEXPECTED AMISH TWINS

  HIS PRETEND AMISH BRIDE

  HIS ACCIDENTAL AMISH FAMILY

  AN UNEXPECTED AMISH PROPOSAL

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  An UNEXPECTED AMISH PROPOSAL

  RACHEL J. GOOD

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  SWEET AS CINNAMON

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Rachel J. Good

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off. BOUQUET Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-5036-0

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5037-7 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-5037-5 (eBook)

  Chapter One

  Fern Blauch hummed as she arranged cinnamon rolls in her glass case at the Valley Green Farmer’s Market. She’d baked extra today because they always sold so fast. Most Saturdays, she sold out within an hour or two.

  The warm, yeasty smell of sticky buns perfumed the air as she filled the next shelf. With their syrupy coating dotted with nuts, they were her second-best seller. She arranged bear claws and pastries beside them. As she opened a container of cupcakes, Russell Evans, the new owner of the market, strode toward her.

  “Here,” he said gruffly, holding out a paper. “The new rental agreement for your stand.”

  Fern missed Russell’s father, who’d retired two months ago. He’d been jolly and kind, unlike Russell, who was a hard-edged businessman.

  She took the paper he held out. Before she had time to glance at it, he scuttled off toward the next stand. No hellos, goodbyes, or pleasantries. His dad always took time to chat with everyone.

  Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to read the rent increase for next year. Several stand owners who’d gotten their agreements on Tuesday had grumbled. She and the others in this front row hadn’t seen theirs yet.

  Fern ran her finger down the first paragraphs to—She sucked in a breath. Impossible. She must have read it wrong. But, no, the figure in bold print indicated her rent had tripled.

  No way could she afford this. Her parents counted on her money for household bills. She’d have none left.

  Russell power walked past her stand. Was he fleeing from the three stand owners with their arms out and shock on their faces?

  “Could I talk to you a minute?” Fern called. “I think there’s a mistake.”

  “No mistake,” he snapped, his voice harsh. “If you don’t pay it, you’re out at the end of this month.”

  Shell-shocked, Fern stood there, the paper extended, as he passed. He couldn’t be serious.

  An Amish man in his early eighties shuffled over to her. “Did you get one of these?” His hand shaking, Mose Miller held up a paper like Fern’s. He looked about to faint.

  “Come sit down.” She offered him the high wooden stool behind her counter.

  “I can’t believe it. I’ve been selling here for more than fifty years.” Mose’s head shook back and forth. “I understand yearly rent increases, but this?” The paper rattled in his hands. “Three times my stand rent? It’s like he wants to put us out of business.”

  “He does,” a man’s voice said behind Fern. “I overheard him discussing terms with that new organic distributor. Ripley’s or Ridley’s or something. You know, that huge bright blue monstrosity that stands out like a sore thumb on the hill.”

  Nick Green, the Englisch candy store owner, pointed toward his left. Although no windows allowed a view of the fields on that side of the building, they all nodded. Quite a few people had protested the prefab turquoise metal warehouse plunked down amidst acres of cornfields and white wooden farmhouses.

  “I’m not about to give up my stand.” Nick clenched his fists. “My grandmother started this business here in this very spot when the market opened in 1929. I have great-great-grandchildren of her first customers coming here for candy.”

  “I don’t make enough to pay this.” Mose tottered back toward his stand, looking ill.

  Fern didn’t want to see Mose, who used to take her hand and treat her to ice-cream cones on hot summer days when she was a little girl, lose his business. He needed his income to buy medication for his wife. “It’s not fair,” she burst out.

  “You’re darn right about that. If I had the money, I’d sue. I do plan to give him a piece of my mind.” Nick had a hot temper, and his loud tone and clenched fists didn’t bode well for Russell Evans.
>
  Several other people filtered over. A few waved letters in their hands. As the number of letter holders grew to five, Nick’s glower increased.

  The florist in the next aisle shook her head. “Our rent went up, but not by that much.”

  Soon, Fern found herself in the midst of an irate crowd as other stand holders objected to their friends’ exorbitant rents.

  “I’m not going to let him get away with this.” Nick shook his agreement in Fern’s face.

  “What’s going on?” A tall blond Amish man laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Is everything all right here?”

  Gideon Hartzler’s deep, smooth voice had a calming effect on everyone. He placed his body between Nick and Fern as if suspecting Nick’s anger was directed toward her.

  At his protectiveness, Fern’s heart fluttered. She’d always admired him from afar, but he never seemed to notice her.

  For all the attention he paid her when she bought barbecued chicken for lunch, she could have been a piece of furniture or an extension of his counter. His impersonal Next always sent her pulse into overdrive, but he never even glanced in her direction as he asked, The usual? Then he took her money, gave her the correct change, and handed her two chicken legs with fries. At least he always remembered her order.

  But right now, he appeared worried about her.

  “I-I’m all right,” she assured him. He couldn’t know the shakiness of her words came from being near him, not from being upset. Well, she was upset, but not with Nick.

  Gideon glared at Nick.

  Nick held up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t bother her. That did.” He pointed to the paper in Fern’s trembling hands.

  Fern prayed Gideon would mistake her nervousness around him for distress over the letter.

  When he turned his gaze in her direction, Fern’s knees went weak. If she didn’t sit down, she might . . .

  “May I?” he asked, holding out a hand for her letter.

  She extended the paper, careful not to brush the strong fingers that closed over it.

  As Gideon read down the page, his jaw clenched. “This can’t be right. They’re charging you almost twice what I pay? For this?” He swept his hand in the direction of her small L-shaped glass case, which bordered a support pole on one side and stood about five feet from the front wall of the building.

  She nodded. “But maybe your rent will be going up too.”

  “Not this much. I got my new rates yesterday. The increase was steep, but not like yours. It’s almost like—”

  “Like they’re trying to evict us,” Nick Green supplied. “Here’s mine.”

  “And mine.” The Englisch woman who sold dried herbs at the end of their row held out hers.

  “They tripled the rents for this whole row.” Fern glanced up at Gideon and then wished she hadn’t.

  * * *

  Gideon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He’d made the mistake of looking at Fern. So small, so delicate, so in need of protection. No way would he let himself go down that path. He had enough people to protect already.

  But he couldn’t allow this injustice. He had to do something. Not only for Fern, but for all the vendors.

  “They’re trying to get rid of us.”

  At Nick’s accusation, Gideon’s eyes flew open. “But why?”

  As Nick explained about the new organic farm, Gideon’s heart sank. That slick outfit would probably pay these rates and more so they could have the whole front wall by the entrance. But what about these sellers? The ones who’d been here for ages?

  Two stands away, Mose sat on his rickety folding chair, his head in his hands.

  “Mose got one too?” he asked.

  “Jah.” Fern’s soft, sympathetic tone made him even more eager to help.

  Gideon had come to work with his father from the time he was little. Mose had often treated him to his favorite candy at Nick’s stand. Back then, Nick’s mother had run the business, and Gideon had shared candy and played with Fern when she was five and he was six. Hard to believe that nineteen years had passed.

  He and Fern had enjoyed each other’s company until he became a teenager. Then they’d both become shy and awkward with each other. Later, Gideon avoided Fern altogether after his brother—

  Pushing away the painful memories, Gideon focused on the situation in front of him. He had an idea of one way to help, at least temporarily, but Nick shouldered his way past.

  “I’m going up there to confront him.” Nick stormed toward the central staircase. “He won’t get away with this.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Fern said softly.

  “I agree.” Once again, Gideon looked in her direction and wished he hadn’t. He longed to reach out and smooth the worried frown from her brow.

  He jerked his gaze away to stare after Nick, but all he wanted to do was comfort Fern.

  What’s the matter with you? No matter how appealing, Fern was off-limits. And so was any other woman.

  “I’d better get back to work,” Gideon forced himself to say. He rushed back to his stand, but he couldn’t keep his mind off the problem. As much as he hoped Nick would solve the situation, Gideon suspected Nick’s hot temper might only worsen it.

  A short while later, shouting filtered down from the floor above. A door slammed, and Nick stomped down the steps and past Gideon’s barbecued chicken stand.

  Gideon didn’t have to ask how the meeting went. Nick’s strident tones carried through the market.

  “He’s impossible!” Nick shouted. “Wouldn’t budge an inch. I told him I planned to sue, and he grinned. He knows I can’t afford it.”

  A soft voice, probably Fern’s, said something soothing. Gideon was too far away to make out the words, but Nick quieted.

  Gideon couldn’t let Russell put everyone out of business. But he had no idea how to convince the market owner to put people’s lives before higher profits.

  Chapter Two

  All day long, between customers, Fern scribbled figures in the back of the small notebook where she recorded each day’s inventory at opening and closing, along with her total sales. She flipped through the pages.

  Her daed did the accounting and paid the taxes, so Fern had never worried about the stand making a large profit. She turned the money over to him, and he gave her whatever she needed to buy baking supplies. They never discussed her earnings, but the money she made covered most of the household bills, especially now that Mamm’s hands were too arthritic to sew quilts and Daed’s stroke had confined him to a walker. They couldn’t count on her brother, Aaron, for help until he returned from his mission trip assisting with the flood cleanup. He’d gone for the usual two weeks but had extended his stay. He insisted his conscience wouldn’t let him leave when so much work still needed to be done.

  Fern did some quick calculations. Even if she doubled or tripled her sales of baked goods, they’d end up paying more in stand rent each month than she was making.

  Someone tapped at the counter, and she jumped up. Her book tumbled to the floor. “Sorry.” She pushed the problem from her mind and waited on the line of customers.

  She stayed busy, leaving her little time to worry. But it also meant no daydreaming about Gideon, which was probably for the best.

  After speaking to Russell, Nick had clomped over, complaining loudly. She’d managed to calm him temporarily by nodding in the direction of her wide-eyed customers. She promised to talk to him after closing, but at the end of the day, he draped sheets over his candy, raced out the door, and peeled out of the parking lot in his pickup truck.

  Her heart heavy, Fern called goodbye to Mose as he limped toward the door. He hadn’t even packed up the leftover vegetables on his table. They’d probably go bad before the market reopened on Tuesday.

  “Mose, I’m taking my leftover baked goods to the food kitchen. Would it be all right if I take your vegetables?”

  He turned and waved toward his produce. “Take whatever you want.” Then, shoulders slu
mped, he headed out the door.

  In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen Mose so discouraged. He’d always been upbeat and cheerful, no matter what circumstances he’d endured. Even now, with his wife’s treatments, he praised God for each day they had together.

  Lord, please show me a way to help Mose.

  If she weren’t about to lose her own stand, she’d ask Daed if they could help Mose. But most likely, she wouldn’t have a stand at the end of this month either.

  Tomorrow was Sunday, but first thing Monday morning, she’d look into other markets to see if any had openings. Maybe she could find places for all of them.

  She’d hate to leave Valley Green Farmer’s Market, because she grew up here and it was close to home. Mamm would be devastated. Her mother had worked at the market stand with her own mamm. So many memories.

  After Fern packed up her leftovers and cleaned the glass food cases at the end of the day, she couldn’t help replaying Gideon’s protecting her when he thought Nick was upsetting her. Her pulse still jumped at the thought that he’d cared enough to check.

  The only problem was that he had no interest in her. Besides, she had enough other concerns right now. She needed to put Gideon out of her mind. But her heart refused to cooperate.

  * * *

  At dinner that night, Fern fidgeted in her chair as she waited for her parents to finish eating. She’d only taken a small amount and picked at her food, but she didn’t want to spoil their meals. She’d let them enjoy their food before she dropped her bombshell.

  Mamm glanced at Fern’s plate and then inspected her face. “Are you sick, dochder?”

  “Neh, I had some bad news today. I’ll tell you after you’ve eaten.”

  Now Daed stared at her too. “Bad enough that you can’t eat?”