The hay crunched beneath a heavy foot, snapping Grace Miller to high alert. Earlier that night, she had thrown the straw across her barn floor as an alert system to tell her when the thief arrived. Now her makeshift alarm had sounded. She tensed, ready to catch him in the act this time.

Twice now, Grace had lost her father’s newly purchased horses. The thought of having to explain a third to the church elders and lose her daed’s job gave her the strength she needed to confront the thief now—even if no Amish woman would ever think of doing such a hazardous and ferhoodled thing.

From her hiding place in the far back stall, Grace quietly shifted from her sitting position onto her bare feet. She gripped her long blue skirt and matching apron in her fists and readied herself to spring up into action. She had a horse thief to catch.

Or most likely Leroy Mast.

Leroy had been pestering her to continue their courting, which had been put on hold six months ago when her mother passed away. But now Grace’s daed’s illness had propelled her into his role as the horse trader in the Amish community of Rogues Ridge, Kentucky. And if the bishop found out how far along Benjamin Miller’s Alzheimer’s had progressed, she would also be forced into another role in her community—most likely as a maidal woman in need of a husband. Just what Leroy wanted.

But did she?

Not if Leroy thought stealing her father’s horses would endear her to him. That wouldn’t be the type of mann she wanted—if she wanted one at all.

The hay crackled again as the intruder moved toward the horses in their stalls—here to take her life as she knew it away from her. If the intruder was Leroy Mast, he would find out right now that she was certain sure not having any of it—or him.

Listening carefully, waiting for the most opportune time to make her presence known, Grace leaned forward, hoping to tell when the thief reached the first horse’s stall. She turned an ear to detect any sound but heard only silence.

Holding her breath to be as quiet as possible led to aching lungs, and she had to refill them, realizing the only thing she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. No other sounds drifted her way, not even the flapping lips of the sleeping horses. She felt ferhoodled at her slip. She must have simply imagined the crunching. Maybe it had been one of her horses shifting in its sleep.

That had to be it, she figured.

With a disgruntled sigh, Grace eased back onto her makeshift bedding. The pitchfork she’d used to fluff the hay earlier now leaned against the back of the wooden stall. Her white organdy kapp lay on the lumpy sack she had propped up to use as a pillow. Catching a thief in the act was proving to be a long and tiring endeavor, and most likely a ridiculous waste of time for an amateur like herself. There was a reason the English called on their police for this type of work. But not the Amish. They shied away from involving law enforcement in their business. Even if Sheriff Maddox had repeatedly made his willingness to help her known, she would not take him up on his offer. Ever since her mamm died in the buggy accident, the sheriff learned about her daed’s illness and took it upon himself to check in. He came by after the first theft occurred and wanted her to report it. But she could handle this on her own, even if it took all night.

Scooping up her kapp, she settled it back on her head and tied it in place. There would be no more dozing. She had to keep her wits about her if she hoped to succeed without involving the local law enforcement or the elders. Calling on either of them would bring her daed’s illness to Bishop Bontrager’s attention. Grace held out hope her father’s illness wouldn’t grow worse.

Thinking about Benjamin Miller had Grace frowning and biting her lower lip to halt any more tears. Nighttime was the hardest. She didn’t think it could be so, but most nights she spent thinking about and planning for what all his needs would require of her the next day.

But there never seemed to be adequate planning for what

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