Kingdom Come Read Online Free Page B

lunch.”
    I had no argument. I headed for the barn.
    The barn was at least a few hundred years old but well kept. There was a big door on a slider and a smaller, human-sized door with a small cement step in front of it. It had a black latch rather than a knob. I opened it.
    I’m not sure why, but something compelled me to move quietly. I stepped inside the barn, which was considerably warmer than outside, and closed the door behind me. I turned around—and stared.
    An Amish man had his back to me as he stood against a horse stall. One arm was on a post that he leaned against in a posture of despair. His head was laid on his raised arm, his face turned down. His other hand stroked the jaw of a mule that was inside the stall. Its champagne-colored head nuzzled the man’s shoulder playfully. It managed to knock off his hat, revealing a head of long, shining blond hair streaked with the natural light and dark undertones of someone who spends hours in the sun.
    I suddenly couldn’t get enough air. The scene was so private and sad. And . . . something else I couldn’t get a handle on. The word “raw” didn’t fit, or “powerful,” though it was both of those things. It was
honest
in a way that dug little stinging prickles into my numb heart, made the hurried rush of my life stop and be still. The man was frankly beautiful. He wore the common black pants of the Amish. Made of some kind of polyester-like fabric, they stretched and clung to his narrow hips and long legs. His shoulders were broad in a plain white shirt crossed with black suspenders. He had one leg cocked at the knee to rest against the half wall of the wooden stall. I hadn’t even seen his face yet, and I felt like I’d been kicked in the head. I wasn’t sure I
wanted
to see his face. In fact, I was pretty sure I should turn around and leave.
    The spell was broken, and my hopes for escape dashed, when the mule noticed at me and made a blowing noise. The man whirled.
    For a second, he seemed embarrassed that I’d caught him in a private moment. But quickly his face fell into a hard stoic expression—or lack thereof.
    â€œWhat d’ya want?” he asked bluntly. He ran a hand through his hair, noticed his hat on the ground, and did a graceful swoop to pick it up. With it on he looked even more Amish. His complexion was very fair, almost that of a redhead. He had freckles despite the fading tan of summer, and his eyelashes were a light reddish-blond. It was hard to tell the color of his eyes, because after that first glance, he wouldn’t look directly at me and I felt uneasy looking directly at him because, yes, he was even more attractive from the front.
    â€œI’m, um, looking for Ezra Beiler. He around?” My voice sounded softer than my usual bite. I cleared my throat and glowered a bit to make up for it.
    â€œI’m Ezra Beiler.” He walked over to me, stopping a good few feet away, and put his hands on his hips in a way that felt defiant.
    â€œIs . . . do you have a father, Ezra Beiler, who lives here?” I was confused. According to Grady, Ezra Beiler was a widower. This man looked to be in his twenties and he was clean-shaven. Amish men grew a beard once they married.
    â€œI have a father, sure. His name’s not Ezra and he don’t live here. I own this farm. What is it you need?”
    â€œOh. Right. Sorry. I . . . I’m Detective Harris with the Lancaster police.” Christ. I wasn’t the type to get tongue-tied over a good-looking man, especially since Terry’s death. But there was something about Ezra Beiler that was throwing me sideways. I resolutely stuck out a hand for a shake and then regretted it. Police detectives didn’t shake hands with persons of interest. Keeping a distance helped create just that extra ounce of authority. But it was too late to pull it back now.
    Beiler looked at my hand for a second,