button and easing the zipper down. She took him into her hand, her fingers tracing the hard length of him, testing the weight, closing around the heat. She stroked him and guided him toward her, lifting her hips and opening herself to him.
Matt slid into her on one slow stroke. A shuddering sigh slipped from his lips to hers as her tight, warm woman's pocket enveloped him, welcoming him into her body.
“I do love you, Sarah,” he said on the softest of whispers.
“I know,” she answered, though her heart throbbed with sadness at the knowledge that the love he was willing to give could never be enough, that their worlds would eventually pull them apart.
But for now, for this achingly tender moment, they were together. They were as close as two souls could be. If this was all they were to be allowed, then at least she had the knowledge that this was perfect. She had never felt more womanly, more cherished, more loved than she did in that moment, sharing herself with the man of her heart.
They moved together, the desire to prolong the moment overrun by the urgency to take everything they could while they had the chance. Matt clutched her to him, his arms around her shoulders as he thrust and withdrew. Sarah clung to him, wrapping herself around him, her hands pressed to he straining muscles of his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips as if she intended to hold him within her forever.
The end came for Sarah first. It was an explosion of feeling that for a long moment blotted out all else. Matt felt her stiffen in his arms, then groaned as her inner contractions tugged him, luring his body toward the same sweet oblivion. He forced himself to hold back, ruthlessly checking his own desires as he moved into her again and again, prolonging Sarah's climax and building it into a second shattering burst. This time when she cried out, his voice joined hers as he let go of his control and surrendered himself to the bliss of completion.
As they walked back to the house the sun was just slipping past the horizon in a blaze of orange so intense, the countryside was drenched in color—the farm buildings, the cornstalks, the thin blond weeds that waved along the edge of the road. Silhouetted against the vibrant sky a V formation of Canada geese flew south, their mournful honking sounding the way. Daylight gave way to dusk. The sun snuck away, leaving the air crisp with the promise of a hard frost.
Matt took Sarahs hand as they walked. They moved slowly because neither wanted to leave their closeness behind and because Matt was suddenly feeling his injuries, both physical and emotional. He limped toward the back of the big farmhouse, feeling worn-out and bat tered, once again without hope. Neither of them voiced the question that was uppermost in their minds—how much time did they have left together?
As they approached the foot of the back porch steps the screen door swung open and the answer to their question stared them in the face. Their time was up. Isaac Maust had come to fetch his daughter home.
Sarah took one look at her fathers face and stopped in her tracks at the bottom of the steps. The fury and condemnation in his eyes stung like a slap across the face. She let go of Matt's hand, then had to endure his look of hurt as well as her own feelings of guilt.
“Pop,” she said quietly, not quite able to ask why he had come. She didn't want to know.
Isaac stared down at her with a thunderous scowl, drawing his beetle brows together and carving deep brackets beside his mouth. He spoke to her in harsh German. “Are you a daughter of mine, Sarah Troyer, that you would shame me so?”
Sarahs eyes flooded, but she refused to let a single tear fall. Old wounds cracked open inside her. He had never understood her, had never tried to. All her life he had disapproved of her spirit, her hunger for learning, the insatiable yearning for something she couldn't define. He had never taken the time to understand how hard she'd tried to be the kind of daughter he wanted.
“Do you ask or do you accuse?” she said, meeting his hard gaze head-on.
Isaac left the question unanswered, ignoring her as if he didn't understand the language she spoke. His gaze raked down over Matt with contempt. “Is this how the English have you care for their guests? This holding of the hands and walking with a man who is not your husband nor even of your faith?”
Sarah turned his own tactic around on him, refusing to answer. Beside her, Matt shuffled his feet restlessly, planting his hands on his lean hips.
“What's he saying?” he asked, his gaze shifting uneasily back and forth between the old man and Sarah. He could sense the tension and he didn't like it. He especially didn't like the tears welling in Sarahs eyes. That alone stirred dislike for her father inside him. “What does he want?”
“Why have you come here, Pop?” she asked in English. As much as she didn't want to hear this in any language, it wasn't right to force Matt to wonder what was going on.
Naturally, Isaac didn't agree. He went on speaking in the guttural dialect out of stubbornness more than habit, she suspected. “There is family business. You are needed at home. Come and pack your things.”
“What family business? Why am I needed? Is Mom ill?” Sarah asked, concern for her fam ily overriding all else. Wringing her hands nervously, she moved closer to the steps to get a better look at her father's impassive face. “What's wrong?”
“Plenty is wrong. We had visitors today. First, Micah Hochstetler, then the deacon.”
Sarah felt a deep chill settle in her bones at the mention of the deacon. If her father was there because the deacon had come, then it hadn't been a social call; it had to do with her. It was the deacon's duty to approach any member of the community suspected of disobeying the
“I've spoken with Deacon Lapp and also with the bishop about my job here,” she said, grasping desperately for what she hoped was the root of the trouble. “They said I could—”
“This isn't to do with the work,” Isaac interrupted. His face grew dark and his hand trembled as he raised it and pointed a gnarled finger at Matt. “This is to do with this Yankee.”
“Whoa, wait a minute here!” Matt protested angrily, bringing his hands up in front of him to halt Isaac's verbal assault. “I may not speak the lingo here, but I think I know when I'm being insulted.”
“Insults?” Isaac said, finally consenting to using English. “You speak to me of insults when you shame my daughter before God and her people?”
The look in Matt's eyes hardened to something like hatred. He stared at Isaac Maust and saw the personification of what would forever keep him from the only woman he'd ever loved. He cherished Sarah with everything that was in his heart. To have that love sullied by accusation was something he wasn't going to stand still for, and it didn't matter if the accuser was Sarah's father or God himself.
“Sarah hasn't done anything to be ashamed of. Your daughter is a bright, vibrant, loving young woman. I happen to care for her very deeply.”
“What has Micah Hochstetler to do with this?” Sarah asked, jumping in as quickly as she could to derail her father from the train of conversation Matt had started on. She didn't know yet what damage had been done or what the deacon had had to say, but she didn't want the hole to get dug any deeper.
Her father turned to her with a sour expression. “As he was driving past here yesterday with a load of corn he saw you out on the lawn chasing around with this Englishman, behav ing wild, your hair loose and down for all to see. Do you deny this?”
For an instant Sarah had the wild urge to make up a story that might excuse what her father's neighbor had seen, but none come to mind, and she only felt wretched for even thinking it. How could she consider degrading the love she felt for Matt just for the sake of placating her father? What kind of coward was she?
“Do you deny it?” Isaac demanded again, coming down a step to loom over his daughter like a righteous judge. The breeze caught the ends of his beard, and the porch light backlit him like a holy aura, making him look as formidable as Moses on the mountain. “Do you denyit?”
“Do you ask for an explanation?” Sarah questioned softly, tears crowding her throat. “Do you give me any benefit of doubt?”
“Do you deserve it?”
That wasn't the point, Sarah thought sadly, but she didn't waste her breath saying it. Isaac wouldn't hear her. She looked away from him, tears sliding down her cheeks, hurting too badly to go on looking for some hint of
