The Amish Cowboy's Homecoming Page 2

  “I do.”

  “Then you don’t know the first thing about training horses.”

  Isaac almost laughed, but seeing how angry she was, he quickly handed back the stick. “They respond better to positive reinforcement, you know. Just like people.”

  “No one asked you.”

  Surprised at her brashness, Isaac took a full step back. Was she always so loud and bold? Well, never mind—his business was with John Zook, and not some ornery woman using the man’s ring to beat down a horse. Though knowing any animal was being mistreated caused his hands to clench into fists. Maybe after his meeting, he’d talk to her.

  Looking her in the eyes, he tipped down the front of his straw hat. “You said John Zook is in the house?”

  “Jah,” she replied, petting the horse’s nose. “That way.”

  “Danke,” he said simply, then walked back to his buggy, giving Scout a few tender pats. “She’s a lunatic,” he couldn’t help saying under his breath, though he immediately felt shamed for it. His parents hadn’t raised him to be unkind. After all, he knew nothing about her.

  And a woman like that? He never would.

  He parked the buggy in front of the house and led Scout to the water trough. It was a fine house, plain whitewash with a big porch, two stories. Modest flower beds in the front. Just as he made it up the front steps, a tall man opened the screen door.

  “Isaac King?” he said in a low voice. He had dark hair and an even darker beard, though there were evident flecks of gray along his temples.

  “Jah.” Isaac felt momentarily intimidated by the large man with a striking presence. “And you’re John Zook.”

  “Since the day I was born.” The man grinned and stuck out his hand for Isaac to shake. The polite gesture made Isaac feel calm again. “Nice gaul,” he continued, walking toward Scout. “Arabian?”

  “Good eye,” Isaac replied.

  “Racer?”

  “Jah.” Isaac followed him to his horse.

  “Criminal what they do to them, ain’t so?”

  “Jah,” Isaac repeated, grateful he’d found a kindred spirit in John Zook. Not enough of his Amish friends felt that way. Then he couldn’t help thinking of the young woman he’d just met and that stick she insisted on using.

  “Well,” John Zook said as he gave Scout a friendly stroke, “I’m glad you were able to find the place.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t difficult.”

  “And I see you met my daughter.”

  “Daughter?”

  “Aye.” John Zook pointed toward the woman with the dimple—the one Isaac had just scolded and then insulted to her face.

  His stomach hit the ground like a rock.

  Chapter Two

  Grace Zook usually let insults roll off her back. With two brothers and a slew of cousins, she had grown up with thick skin. But never had a total stranger derailed her like that.

  “How dare he?” she muttered under her breath as she glanced over her shoulder, watching as her father welcomed the rude visitor into their house. “What could Daed possibly want with someone like him?” Well, this was a horse training farm and, since the man was obviously Amish, except for that strange straw hat he wore, he probably just needed their services. This should’ve been good news—though Daed hadn’t mentioned it, she knew they needed the money.

  They always needed money. Now with that new doctor at the Hershey Medical Center, maybe Maam could finally get the surgery she needed.

  She checked the time on her slim wristwatch. Time to go sit with her mother. During the heat of the day, it was the best opportunity for both of them. Grace noticed the dirt under her fingernails and wondered if the stranger had noticed, too. But why should she care if he had? He was nothing more than a slight annoyance to her otherwise pleasant day.

  Honey Pot’s training was going exceptionally well. Grace was in competition with herself only, but she was getting faster all the time, and her training skills improved with every new horse that came to the farm. For the last few years, her father had been giving more and more of the difficult horses to her. Grace thrived on the challenge.

  In fact, deep in her heart, what she wished for most in this world was to take over the family business when Daed decided to retire. Her brothers were barely interested in horses, except when they weren’t pulling their buggies fast enough. And besides, Adam was more interested in working at the Stolzenfus’s dairy farm on the other side of town. Probably because her younger brother had had a crush on Charity Stolzenfus since before he could talk.

  Still, Grace couldn’t help it. She knew she would be the very best person to take over for her father. She also knew how rare it was in her village for a woman to run her own business. There were plenty of Mennonites and New Order Beachy Amish females in Honey Brook who did. And last Sunday at church, didn’t the bishop say that times were changing, and we all needed to prepare?

  Just remembering that reminded her that there was nothing she couldn’t do if she put her mind to it.

  “Come on, boy,” she said, leading Honey Pot toward the stables. “Good boy, you did so well today.” The gelding whinnied. “Okay, okay, one sugar cube for your good behavior, but don’t get used to it.”

  Again, she glanced toward the house. The rude stranger had been in there a while now. Maybe he needed more than one horse trained. That would be marvelous news for them. Okay, okay, so maybe he hadn’t been so bad. After all, Grace shouldn’t have tapped Honey Pot like that, but earlier they’d been working on his high trot, and she knew he could do even better with just the slightest of extra encouragement. And besides, she could tell the stranger had been watching, and maybe she’d wanted to show off.

  It wasn’t very pious of her, and not gracious at all. He did have strong hands, though. Which she couldn’t help noticing when he’d grabbed the stick from her. And nice eyes, too. They were a light hazel, which she’d always preferred, and heavy lidded. More than once, she’d heard her sister Mary refer to such as “bedroom eyes.”

  The stranger also had a beard, though very short. In her community, that meant he was married.

  Didn’t make a difference either way to Grace. She wasn’t interested in men at the moment. If she did want a date, there was always faithful Collin Chupp, who’d been asking her out since the day she’d turned sixteen and had been free to socialize more freely.

  Well, all right then. She forgave the stranger for his abrasive correction of her training style. He did know what he was talking about, and Grace would never dream of being “cruel” to any gaul. The thought made her stomach turn.

  “Good boy,” she said, giving Honey Pot one last scratch behind the ears. “Yes, I hear you, Pluto,” she said when the horse in the next stall began stomping around. He came to the gate, hooking his chin over the top. “You’re a good boy, too.” Grace’s heart filled with joy, expanding with every horse she greeted. Being in the stables with all the horsey smells and noises made her happier than even preaching Sundays.

  As was her habit, she stopped by the gate of each horse stall as she headed out of the stables, which took a while. By the time she was finished, her father was standing on the front porch. “Hallo, Daed,” she said hesitantly, wondering if the stranger would suddenly step out of the house and confront her again. But his buggy was gone. Though she’d barely even given it a glance as she’d led Honey Pot to the stables.

  “Grace, my girl. I was just looking for you.” Her father was wearing a big, easy grin. This had become rare ever since her mother’s accident. The world seemed to weigh heavily on her father’s shoulders these days.

  “Jah?” she replied, mirroring his grin.

  “I have good news.”

  “More horses?”

  Her daed nodded.

  So Grace had been right. The rude—no, the handsome (though married) stranger had come to bring them bu
siness. Lots of business, by the way her father was smiling.

  “How many?” Automatically, she started thinking of all she needed to do to accommodate multiple horses. Two of the stalls would be freed up at the end of the week, and she didn’t think they were reserved for anyone new yet.

  “One.”

  Grace felt her body sag. “One?” she asked, feeling deflated. What was the big fuss, then?

  Daed nodded in agreement, but then his smile grew. “Do you remember the Kirkpatrick Farm that we toured last year?”

  Of course she did. Kirkpatrick’s was the biggest non-Amish horse training company within a hundred miles.

  “Let’s sit down.” Daed motioned to their porch swing, and they both sat. “A man came to me last week, saying he heard Brian Kirkpatrick is moving to California. They’re closing.”

  “What?” The sudden rush of adrenaline nearly lifted her off her seat.

  “The fellow went on to say that he has a horse-breeding business and he’s heavily relied on Kirkpatrick’s. With them gone, he’ll be looking for a new training farm—in fact, a lot of Englishers around here will be looking.”

  “Okay.” Grace nodded eagerly when her father took a pause. Butterflies filled her stomach as she considered that they might be getting business from Kirkpatrick’s. Were the Zooks about to have all the work they could ever hope for?

  “Thing is, a lot of Englishers don’t trust us plain folks, don’t realize we can train just as well—or even better sometimes, praise to Gott.”

  “But folks come to us from all over,” Grace said, frowning. “These Englishers can ask anybody for a referral. More than likely they’ll say we’re just as good as anywhere.”

  “That’s the point.” Her daed stared straight ahead. “That Englisher who came to me last week, he’s got a horse. And he likes us Amish folks. Says it’s unfair that most of his breeder colleagues shy away from us. He wants to help.”

  “As in, if we train his horse well, he’ll tell his friends?” Grace was getting the point now. More butterflies zoomed around inside her stomach at the thought.

  “Exactly.” Daed was grinning again. “Says he’s always felt like he wanted to give a hand up to us—though I don’t like that it sounds like charity.” He leaned back and laughed. “But I’ll take his money for services rendered. I’ll take any Englisher’s money.”

  Grace laughed, too. Though in most cases, her Amish community tended to take care of themselves, not involving English outsiders. Because their village was near a highway, they did tend to get a lot of tourists. Her sister-in-law’s sister, Esther, had a pretty lucrative business of homemade soap; her products flew off the shelves the minute a group of out-of-towners came through. And Esther was one of the most honest and pious people Grace knew.

  “What kind of horse is it?” she asked her daed.

  “Four-year-old Morgan,” he replied. Then paused for effect. “A thoroughbred.”

  “He wants us to train a four-year-old? That’s kind of late in the game.”

  “They want us to train and break him. Train to show.”

  “Golly. A show horse.” Grace drummed her fingers together in excitement, already thinking three steps ahead. “He’s been gelded?”

  “Just,” Daed said. “And apparently the procedure hasn’t done much for his disposition.”

  Grace smiled, knowing a new challenge was on the horizon. “Energetic, is he?”

  “I believe he was referred to as ‘mean as the devil.’” Daed shook his head with a laugh. “This horse is the foal of Grand Prix champions, two generations. My understanding is he’s been sitting in a stall all this time.”

  “That breaks my heart,” Grace said, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug. “A horse they value so highly should’ve been treated better.” She promised herself then and there that she would give him oodles of love the moment he arrived. “What type of competition?” she asked. “Dressage? Endurance running? Morgans are built for that.”

  “Jumping,” her daed said. “The owner wants him shown at the Speed Class and Classics at the WEF.”

  She sat up straight. “This year’s Winter Equestrian Festival? Will we have time?”

  Her father lifted a slow smile. “That’s why he came to us.”

  Grace’s mouth went bone dry—with both excitement and a feeling of tackling something beyond her talent. Though if ever there was a time for her to step up and show her father just how good she was…it was now! Then he would have no choice but to let her run the family business.

  “I can see it in your eyes,” he said. “You think we should do it.”

  “Of course we should! This could mean more business for us than we ever dreamed. Daed, this is incredible. What a blessing!”

  “I think so, too.” He stood up, brushing his palms together. “That’s why I hired a professional trainer.”

  A wh-what? Grace blinked, at a complete loss for words.

  “This is too important to not have outside help,” Daed added.

  “But…we don’t need… I don’t—”

  “Gracie.” He took her hand and helped her stand. “You don’t have the experience yet. A horse like this, and in so little time?”

  “And you assume this professional does?” She immediately felt ashamed of her tone and the sassy way she’d spoken back to her father. “I’m sorry, Daed. But I know I can do it. I’ll learn along the way.”

  “You can help, sure,” he said, a bit hesitantly, “but I believe I made the right choice.”

  Grace’s heart sank to the floor as she pressed her hands to her temples. How would she ever prove to her father that she was just as good a trainer as anyone if he wouldn’t give her a chance?

  “He’ll be here in a week.”

  “The Morgan?” Grace asked, tears of frustration building behind her eyes.

  “The trainer,” her daed said. “His name is Isaac King. In fact, you met him earlier when you were out in the ring.”

  Grace blinked hard, trying to understand who he meant. Then she froze mid-heartbeat, wondering if she was about to faint.

  Chapter Three

  “It’s so unfair. I don’t mean to sound”—she was about to say cruel—“unkind, but why doesn’t this professional find his own job?”

  “I think that’s exactly what happened.”

  Grace turned to her older sister, about ready to question why she wasn’t automatically on her side. But she managed to harness her temper just in time. “Mary, that’s not the point.”

  “Okay, then what’s the point?” Mary was gently patting the back of her bobbeil, fresh from heaven only three months ago. Rose was such a blessing, such a good baby that sometimes Grace wondered if she would ever feel the ache to start that part of her life: wife and mother. But then she remembered the very reason she was there, the reason she’d barely sat with Maam at all but practically raced out of the house and straight to her sister.

  “What does he look like?” Hannah chimed in before Grace could reply. She’d been Grace’s bosom friend since the afternoon Hannah had asked to walk home from the big schoolhouse with her when they were barely six.

  “Who?”

  “The professional,” Hannah said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Is he tall?”

  Grace couldn’t help picturing him. He was tall, all right, and those hazel eyes… Then there was that oddly shaped hat, though. How strange. “I hardly noticed him,” she fibbed.

  “Uh-huh.” Hannah tossed a handful of flour Grace’s way.

  “And who cares? He’s stealing my job!” Grace winced when she saw the baby stir.

  “Can you knead this batch for me?” Hannah asked.

  Grace looked down, noticing the ball of bread dough she hadn’t touched. She’d been so preoccupied with griping that she’d forgotten that Mary and Hannah needed her help. It was more
than convenient that her older sister married Hannah’s brother and that they all lived together in Mary’s husband’s family home. There was always something going on…always something delicious cooking or a game happening at the big wooden table, or a tag competition happening in their oversize backyard. And now with little Rose, the sounds of a heavenly baby.

  “Of course,” Grace said, pushing up her sleeves and beginning to knead the dough. It smelled fresh and delicious. “How many loaves are you making today?”

  “Twenty, we hope,” Mary replied, switching to hold sleeping Rose against her chest.

  “That’s a lot,” Grace said.

  “Not really,” Hannah added. “Making the dough is no problem; it’s the baking that will take the longest.”

  Mary began humming while rocking her baby. “I have nowhere else to be. I can take bread pans in and out of the oven all day.”

  For a moment, Grace felt almost envious of her sister and her simple life. All she really had to do right now was be a loving wife to her husband and a strong mother of their baby. Everything else around her seemed to be taken care of. Grace hadn’t felt like she’d had a day off in years. Not that she was complaining—she loved working outside in the sunshine. Even in the winter, there was always something to do in the stalls or barn.

  “Will these loaves go to the same store?” Grace asked as her wrists and arm muscles began to ache. She was not the best bread maker in Honey Brook.

  “Jah.” Hannah smiled, dusting her floury hands across her black apron. “The bakery across from the mercantile. The family is ever so kind to allow us to sell there, even though it’s only a few loaves a week.” She sighed. “But Leah Yoder says they sell awful well. I think it’s the name.”

  Grace eyed the roll of stickers with the bright logo and swirly lettering. “The Sweetest Amish Friendship Bread,” she read. “Englisher tourists think that’s special?”

  “Because it is. Every batch comes from the same starter—it’s kind of darling.”

  Grace bit down on the cuff of her sleeve and yanked it above her elbow. “What do you mean?”