A Love for Lizzie Read online

  Childhood friends joined by a painful past...

  Can love blossom between them?

  After her father falls ill, Lizzie Miller and her family desperately need help to keep the farm going during harvesttime. Neighbor Paul Burkholder is eager to lend a hand—and to court Lizzie. But Paul has a secret that he fears could push Lizzie away. Can they finally heal from a tragedy in their pasts...and open their hearts to each other?

  “Those smell delicious...”

  Lizzie placed one of the hot cookies on a napkin and set it in front of Paul. His eyes lit up in a look of sheer delight.

  The smile on his face broadened as he said, “Ah, Lizzie, you do know the way to a hardworking man’s heart.”

  She gasped and took a step back, and out of a long-practiced instinct her hand flew up to cover the scar on her face.

  She wasn’t trying to work her way into anyone’s heart, least of all Paul’s. He was her childhood friend.

  “Lizzie.” His tone softened. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable with my words. Please don’t shy away from me.”

  Slowly, she lowered her hand.

  “You don’t need to hide your face from me, ever. I need you to understand that, Lizzie.”

  She gave him a slight nod, fighting the urge to cover her scar again.

  And all the while she felt his gaze on her...

  An Amazon top ten bestselling historical romance author, Tracey J. Lyons was a 2017 National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award finalist. She sold her first book on 9/9/99! A true Upstate New Yorker, Tracey believes you should write what you know. Tracey considers herself a small-town gal who writes small-town romances. She is making her contemporary romance debut with Harlequin’s Love Inspired line. Visit www.traceyjlyons.com to learn more about her.

  Books by Tracey J. Lyons

  Love Inspired

  A Love for Lizzie

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  A LOVE FOR LIZZIE

  Tracey J. Lyons

  And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

  —Ephesians 4:32

  From the time I put the first word on the page for this book, I knew without a doubt who it would be dedicated to. This book is dedicated to my friend and fellow author Amy Lamont, who has shown more strength and courage than anyone I know. You have inspired so many of us with your journey. Many, many blessings to you, my friend.

  Acknowledgments

  There are always so many people who are part of the team it takes to make the germ of an idea become a full-blown story. First and foremost, I’d like to thank my agent, Michelle Grajkowski, who puts up with all my angst, and to all of my fellow Love Inspired authors, you have opened up a whole new world of support and friendship beyond what I could have ever imagined. Thank you all so much. To my editor, Melissa Endlich, thank you for making my dream of becoming a Harlequin author come true. To the fabulous team that Harlequin has put together to get our work out there in the world, you all deserve a hearty round of applause. And finally, to my husband, TJ, I couldn’t do any of this without you by my side.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Double Treat Cookies

  Excerpt from Healing the Cowboy’s Heart by Ruth Logan Herne

  Chapter One

  Miller’s Crossing, Chautauqua County, New York

  “Good morning, Lizzie.”

  Her long-time neighbor and friend, Paul Burkholder, greeted Elizabeth Miller, or “Lizzie” as everyone called her, from the other side of the screen door on the front porch. A tall man with mahogany-brown hair and dark brown eyes, his head barely cleared the top of the door. He was holding his flat-brimmed straw hat in one hand and a bag in the other. He wore a blue work shirt and black pants with thin leather suspenders, the ends buttoned inside the waist of his pants, the typical everyday clothing of a Miller’s Crossing Amish man.

  His face was clean-shaven, void of the full beard that marked the married men. She’d always thought him to be handsome. At twenty-three he remained single, while most of his friends were getting married, though she’d heard rumors at the last frolic that he wanted to change all of that. Paul might look like many of the other men in their church district, but Lizzie knew this man had a big heart. Maybe sometimes too big of a heart. He’d stuck by her through thick and thin.

  Even all the times she’d pushed him away.

  Lizzie knew over the past week she’d been pushing at him extra hard. This time of year was always a difficult one for her and her family. Her gaze slid to the hook on the wall next to the door. The place where her bruder’s black hat still hung. She swung her attention back to the man standing on the porch. Concentrating on the present kept Lizzie from thinking about that long-ago day. A day she tried hard to forget. Yes, some of her memories of that day remained foggy, stuck somewhere deep in her mind, like a splinter that she couldn’t get out. Still, the end result could never be changed; no matter what she remembered, her brother, David, would still be gone and she would have this mark seared on her face.

  Paul rolled his shoulders, the strong muscles flexing beneath the cotton fabric of his light blue shirt. Lizzie’s hand moved to cover the scar on her face. Beneath her fingertips she felt the raised flesh. The jagged cut ran three inches long, from the edge of her eyebrow to just below her cheekbone. Vanity held no place in her life or in her community, but still some days it was hard to accept reality. She had a disfigurement that couldn’t be overlooked. Over the years the members of her community had done just that, continuing to love her and accept her through the flaws.

  The Englischers, though, they were different. Some of them would openly stare at her when they stopped by her roadside stand to buy their fresh eggs. They were one of the reasons Lizzie didn’t stray from the farm very often. She couldn’t bear it when people stared at her. Their looks left her feeling ugly and unworthy.

  She felt Paul’s gaze on her.

  “Lizzie?”

  She heard his concern and looked up at him, keeping her face turned ever so slightly.

  “You seemed to have gone off there for a minute.”

  “Do you know what today is?” The second she blurted out the question, she was filled with regrets. It didn’t do a person good to dwell on the past, to dwell on things that couldn’t be changed, to question the path that God had set forth for them.

  Paul looked through the screen door at her, his eyes darkening with emotion. His nod was barely perceptible when he replied. “I do. Ten years to the day of the accident that took your bruder’s life and left you injured.” His voice softened as he continued, “Lizzie, like you, I miss David every day. And like you, I wish we could have changed the outcome.”

  She held up her hand. There was no need for him to continue. She knew he was referring to his part in the
day. He’d come to the barn just as she’d tried to get David to stop jumping off the hay bales. But David, who had always been the daring sibling, had insisted he could make it from the top all the way down to the bottom in one jump. She had tried her best to grab hold of his arm, but he’d already begun moving through the air when she’d caught hold of him.

  Her body had been carried along with his as they’d tumbled down the bales. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the hospital. Lizzie pushed the dark memory away as best she could. She looked at Paul. Moving off to the side of the door, Lizzie turned her head ever so slightly to the right, hiding the scar. From the safety of the shadows, she looked up at him, watching as a soft summer breeze ruffled through his dark hair.

  Though the Amish did not commemorate the anniversaries of one’s death like some of the Englischers did, she herself always paused for a moment on this day to remember David. He would have been close to twenty-three years old. Three years older than she was right now.

  Pushing aside the sadness in her heart, she said, “I’m sorry. I should have begun our conversation with ‘Gut morning, Paul. What brings you around this fine day?’”

  Holding the brown paper bag up, he replied in his deep, rich voice, “I have something for you.”

  “You know I can’t accept a gift from you.”

  “You don’t even know what is inside of here,” he said, swinging the bag back and forth in front of her.

  She had to admit he had piqued her curiosity. “Tell me what you brought.”

  “I brought you some brushes and watercolor paints.”

  Lizzie didn’t like the idea that Paul had gone out of his way to spend his hard-earned money on something just for her. And considering that it wasn’t useful to anyone else, she knew the paints and brushes would have to be kept out of sight.

  Thinking how much trouble Paul’s generosity could cause, Lizzie shook her head, saying, “Nee. You’ll have to take these back to where you purchased them. I’m sure you can get your money back.” Furrowing her brow, she gave him a stern look.

  “I’ll do no such thing. Besides, I found them at a yard sale, so there’s no use in trying to return them. They only cost me a few dollars, Lizzie. And half of the paints have been used,” he said. Then with a spark in his eyes, he added, “Think of this as my bringing you supplies for your art.”

  Lizzie had taken up artwork years ago. Sketching the surrounding landscapes had given her a bit of peace and helped to fill the void left behind after her brother’s death. Since her vader would most certainly frown on using her time to dabble in something most Amish would consider frivolous, Lizzie managed to scrape together a few free hours each month to work on her craft. In her mind her drawings were no different from the beautiful quilts her friends made. Most sold them as a way to supplement their family’s income. All of her drawings were carefully stored in a closet in her bedroom. As it was, Paul wouldn’t even have known about her artwork except that he’d come upon her working on a new sketch at the edge of the back field last week.

  The image she’d been drawing was of the freshly mowed hayfield. She’d been drawing the soft, round bales of hay, trying to capture the feel of the image before her, of the golden hues against the dark earth and the sky being bathed in the soft colors of dusk. The black-and-white sketch hadn’t done the scene justice, but Lizzie didn’t have any colors to use on the picture. She’d captured the image as best she could, with her pencil on the heavy white paper.

  Resting her head against the doorjamb, she let her imagination wander. The idea that she could add color to her sketches and breathe life into them had her pushing the door open a crack. Seeing the opportunity, Paul shoved the bag into her hand.

  “I know you can make good use of these. Your drawings are amazing, Lizzie.”

  She felt the skin on her cheeks warm with a blush. Lizzie didn’t get many compliments. “Danke,” she said, gripping the paper bag in her hand. “How is your family?”

  Paul shrugged, answering, “They are fine. We’ve been busy at the shop.”

  Paul’s family owned a cabinetmaking business. Even with him and his three bruders all working at the shop, they always seemed to be busy. All the more reason Lizzie appreciated the time he took to stop by to check on her family. There was only Lizzie left here to help on the farm. Her older sister, Mary, had married and moved away to her husband’s church district last year. There were no other siblings left. Her mudder had been unable to have more children. Her vader worked from long before sunup to sundown, running their small dairy farm. Lizzie helped where she could, selling eggs, jams and baked goods at the roadside stand.

  The farm life wasn’t an easy one. Even so, she knew her vader wouldn’t live his life any other way. She wished things were different. If she had a husband, he could help out. But Lizzie couldn’t even imagine entering into a courtship. Absently she rubbed the side of her face. The scar was a constant reminder of the life she couldn’t have. Most days she didn’t even leave the farm. She felt safe and secure here, away from the prying eyes of those who wanted to see her face, those whose expressions carried all the questions of wanting to know what had happened to leave that mark on her.

  Yet, Lizzie thought, she could be perfectly content to live out the rest of her life here, in quiet and safe solitude.

  “What are your plans for today?” Paul asked.

  Lizzie blinked, looking up at him, realizing the screen door still separated them. She didn’t want him to think she was being rude, so she asked, “Would you like to come in for some coffee and a muffin? I baked blueberry ones earlier this morning.”

  “Nee. Danke for the offer, though. I need to get back to work. I just wanted to give you the paints in case you were planning on drawing today.” Paul set his straw hat back on his head.

  “Danke again for your thoughtfulness,” Lizzie said, looking past him.

  Her gaze settled on the big red barn, where she knew her vader was finishing up with the morning milking. Her mudder had gone into the village of Clymer, a few miles from the house, to pick up some items from the Decker General Store. Cocking her head to one side, Lizzie looked through the dappled sunlight, beyond the shade of the big oak tree next to the house, and squinted her eyes, uncertain of what she was looking at.

  “Paul, turn around and look down to the barn. Is that a cow I’m looking at?” she asked, pointing to a spot at the farleft corner of the barn, where the animal appeared to be munching on some grass outside of the fenced-off field.

  Turning to look over his shoulder, Paul seemed to ponder her question and then said, “Lizzie, is your vader down at the barn?”

  “Ja, he is supposed to be. Why do you ask?”

  “Because there appears to be about half a dozen cows on this side of the fence.”

  “That is strange.” She opened the door, stepping out to join Paul on the porch. “I think we should go see what’s going on.”

  Tucking the bag into her apron pocket, she hurried along with him down the graveled pathway, across the driveway and to the barn, where they both stopped in front of the open door. Lizzie could see at least a dozen cows wandering about the yard surrounding the building. She turned to look up at Paul, whose gaze followed in the same direction as hers.

  “Something’s wrong. “There’s no way your vader would let the cows roam free.”

  A shiver raced along her spine as she stepped behind him, following him into the dark coolness of the same building where her brother had plunged to his death ten years ago today. Sucking in a deep breath, Lizzie tried to swallow the panic welling up inside her.

  “Vader! Are you in here?” Lizzie called out.

  They stopped in the center of the large expanse. Sunlight streamed in through the slats of wood on the outside walls. Off to one side were the feed bins. There was no sign of her vader here.

  “I think we
should check the milking parlor,” Lizzie said, putting her hand on Paul’s arm, guiding him forward.

  Thick dust motes stirred through the air as they made their way to the back of the building, where the milking parlor was located. Lizzie rubbed the end of her nose. The hay dust always made her want to sneeze. She held her breath, waiting for the sensation to pass. When it did, she took in a soft breath. Paul held the door to the parlor open, then nodded, indicating she could enter first.

  “Ach! Nee!” Lizzie covered her hands over her face, not wanting to believe that what she was seeing in front of her could be real. Quickly she dropped her hands to her side and ran to where her vader lay on the cement floor, silent and still.

  * * *

  Paul pushed his way into the room, not that far behind Lizzie. His heart thudded in his chest when he saw Joseph Miller lying on his back on the floor. Even from the distance of a few feet away, Paul could see the ashen color of the man’s skin. He took in a breath and then gently but quickly moved Lizzie to one side so he could check on her vader’s condition. Kneeling beside Joseph, Paul placed his fingers alongside the man’s neck, feeling the area where the carotid artery lay.

  “Is he...?” Lizzie’s voice was barely a whisper.

  Paul held up his free hand, silencing her. He needed to concentrate. He moved his fingers up and down the side of the man’s neck. At first he felt nothing, but then he felt a very faint throb. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

  “Lizzie, I need you to run up to the phone shack and call 911. Tell them you think your vader has suffered a heart attack.” Even as Paul said the words, he couldn’t be sure that was what had happened, but it would get the ambulance to arrive faster. “Tell them he is breathing, but it’s very shallow.”

  He glanced up to find her still standing in the milking parlor, as if frozen in time. Tears rolled down her face, and her hands were knotted together in front of her apron. He could see her trembling. If her vader were to survive, Paul needed her help.