An Amish Country Reunion
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Patricia Johns
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18
CHAPTER ONE
ONLY THREE MILES to go to the Pennsylvania State Police K9 Training Center, but Trooper Genevieve Austin had stopped at a gas station just outside Strausfeld to fill up her tank and get a snack. She was putting off the humiliating moment of her arrival. The K9 Training Center, or “Puppy School” as the officers of the Pennsylvania State Police jokingly called it, was an important arm of the police, and while training dogs was the chief concern of the facility, the dogs weren’t the only ones in training. It was also about correcting the bad attitudes of the officers sent there.
Using the K9 Center therapeutically was the brainchild of the previous commissioner, who’d wanted a gentler way to deal with problem officers. This involved chats with therapists, bookwork and time helping to train unruly puppies—an activity the therapists insisted was helpful in getting uncooperative officers to look deeper at their own “inner puppy.” Somehow, the puppy school punishment was worse than anything else they’d cooked up before, and Genevieve was dreading it.
She grabbed a chocolate bar from the minimart display case and put it on the counter. Behind her, a woman with a little girl in tow was picking out windshield cleaning liquid. She’d been giving Genevieve some curious side-eye since she’d arrived.
“And forty dollars at pump number four, please,” Genevieve said. Her black straw campaign hat was tucked under her arm. It was hot out there—only the first of June, but summer heat had rolled in. The air-conditioning in the gas station shop felt good.
The teenager working the till shot her a lopsided smile. He looked about seventeen, with a bit of acne, a company polo shirt that was two sizes too big on him, and a name tag that read Trey.
“Are you here for a movie?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“Sorry?”
“Are you acting in a movie? I know you probably can’t say because they try and keep it a secret, but they do a lot of filming around here. I want to get in as an extra. Sometimes they hire locals for realistic flavor. I’m a guy with flavor.” He gave her a roguish grin.
“Are you now,” Genevieve said dryly.
“It looks real, you know,” Trey said, gesturing at her gray uniform with black tie and the state trooper badge on the side of her sleeve. He squinted at her name pin. “Austin. Is that your character’s name?”
“What makes you think I’m not the real deal—” she made a show of looking at his name tag “—Trey?”
The teenager faltered then, and he leaned forward to look out the window. Her cruiser sat at Pump Four.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were an actress,” he said, his cheeks suddenly flaming with color. “Um—yeah, I’ll just ring you up.”
Genevieve knew exactly why he’d made the mistake, and he wasn’t the first one to do it. She was five foot ten, a hundred and thirty pounds, and had to get her uniform pants specially made because the company that made trooper uniforms didn’t make them for women with twenty-four-inch waists and legs as long as hers. She kept her long blonde hair pulled back in a low bun, and with just a touch of makeup and naturally great skin, she knew that she looked attractive. But people made assumptions. Constantly. Pretty did not equal authority in most people’s minds.
Genevieve was there to be a cop, to chase down the bad guys, to make Pennsylvania roads safer, and to stand for law and order, and it was frustrating to be treated like she was less than capable because of her appearance. But it wasn’t her appearance holding her back—it was Commissioner Taylor.
Genevieve took her change, put her hat back on and headed out to the cruiser. As she filled the tank, her gaze moved methodically around the parking lot. The observation was both training and habit. But this was Amish Country, and there wasn’t much to see—a couple of cars passing on the road and a buggy pulled by two horses passing on the other side, the sound of hooves echoing cheerfully over the pavement. Beyond that was farmland—rolling fields of green wheat only about six inches high, by her estimate.
The gas clicked off and she returned the nozzle. Normally she’d be filling up at a cardlock, but there wasn’t one close by and she’d been assured by fleet management that they’d reimburse her after her ten-day stint at the puppy school.
The woman from earlier held the gas station door open for her young daughter, who passed under her arm and out of the store. She cast Genevieve a smile.
“Good morning!” the woman called. “Honestly? I thought you were an actress, too. This spring they were filming this Amish movie for TV and Strausfeld was just crawling with actors and cameramen.”
Genevieve gave her a curt nod. “I see. Well, have a good day, ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t call me ma’am yet!” the woman laughed. “I’m not nearly old enough for that. You know what I mean, don’t you? Let us stay pretty and young for a little while, am I right?”
That was another problem with the way she looked. No one seemed to respect those professional boundaries with her—her supervisors included.
The woman opened her minivan door with her key fob and the little girl climbed in. Genevieve heaved a sigh of relief and got into her cruiser. She pulled out the chocolate bar, tore open the wrapper and took a jaw-cracking bite before throwing the car into gear and pulling out onto the road.
The PSP K9 Training Center was located on leased Amish land. For whatever reason, the Pennsylvania State Police had decided to put this puppy school in the middle of Amish country, and she kept to the speed limit as she headed down the curving road, following her GPS’s directions. There was a turn coming up and an oversize stop sign indicated an intersection ahead.
She didn’t blame anyone but herself for the insubordination that had landed her in puppy school. She’d lipped off to the commissioner—with witnesses. And this was her second strike.
The sign for the K9 training facility was nestled discreetly in the trees on the side of the road, and she would have missed it if it wasn’t for her GPS telling her she’d arrived. She turned down the tree-lined drive toward a building that looked like it had originally been an Amish farmhouse, though a wheelchair ramp went up one side of the front verandah now, and the wall bore a large official Pennsylvania State Police sign with a crest.
There was a small parking lot, all nicely paved, and six cars, two of which were cruisers, were parked there. As she pulled into a free space, she could see several other buildings beyond and a dog obstacle course. A German shepherd, running the circuit with a handler, was jumping through tires and leaping over walls, but then shied away from a tube. The handler called him back, gave him a thorough pet and squatted down.
Genevieve looked at her watch. She was ten minutes early, which was better than late. She hated the idea of therapy, which would make up a big part of her time here, she’d been told. She didn’t need to talk through her problems to identify them. She knew exactly what they were, and she had a plan that would take her away from the limitations she currently struggled against.
She heaved a sigh and then headed over to the front of the building. There was still quite a bit of farmhouse left to the setup. From the higher vantage point of the verandah, she could see past the dog run and more training ground to an actual farm next door. There was a generous garden along the side of the property, and a black Amish buggy parked beyond it.
Genevieve opened the door and stepped through. Inside, the space looked about as faceless as every other Pennsylvania State Police office. There was some basic seating, cream-colored walls and framed photos of police dogs and their handlers showing off medals. The frames looked like they’d been purchased twenty years ago.
A middle-aged woman in uniform sat at a desk, file cabinets behind her. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and she wore a pair of heavy-framed glasses. She looked up as Genevieve came inside.
“Ah, Trooper Austin, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Come on in,” she said. “Good to see you. I’ve got a couple of forms for you to fill out while you’re here.” She passed over a clipboard.
It had some basic insurance information, a health and wellness checklist, which she zipped through, ticking the no box next to all the questions, then signed the bottom.
“Did you want to take a moment with that checklist?” the woman asked.
“Nope. I’m fine.”
“Of course.” She pressed her lips together. “My name is Wendy, and if you need anything while you’re here, I’m your first stop. Normally, we have to keep to a tight schedule, but you’re a special case, it would seem.” Wendy looked at her meaningfully over the top of her glasses.
“Am I?” Genevieve asked. Even while being disciplined?
“A bit,” Wendy replied, her tone prim. She didn’t seem to like that fact any more than Genevieve did.
“What’s different for me?” she asked.
A man came into the room from a far doorway—tall, prematurely gray and well-built—and her heart stuttered in her chest. He hadn’t changed much in the last five years—except maybe he’d toughened a bit. He looked a little more dangerous to her equilibrium than he used to be.
“Scott?” she said.
“That’s Sergeant Simpson to you.” But his lips turned up into rueful smile. “Hey, Gen.”
Scott Simpson had been her very first partner as a brand-new trooper... He’d taught her a lot. Great. Now her humiliation could be complete.
“Please tell me you’re only passing through,” she said.
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” he replied. “I’m temporarily running the K9. You’re my personal problem this week.”
“And you were asking what made you a special case,” Wendy murmured.
She had a sergeant specially focused on her this week? How much trouble was she in?
“So what makes me so special?” she asked. She was tired of this. Make him say it. She was sick of the wink-wink-nudge-nudge answers she normally got.
“Well...” Scott cocked his head to one side. “For one, you publicly blasted the commissioner and didn’t get fired on the spot. Gotta say—that’s pretty special.”
SCOTT HADN’T BEEN prepared for what he’d feel seeing Genevieve again. When they’d been stationed together, he’d nursed a rather embarrassing crush on her. But who could blame him? She was tall—almost as tall as he was—beautiful, wisecracking, hilarious and absolutely intoxicating, even in uniform with a bulletproof vest under her gray dress shirt.
“You’re like a cat with nine lives,” he said. “Well, you’re down to eight. Actually, make that seven.” This was her second write-up, after all. That had surprised him. Her first had happened back when they’d been partners. She’d directly disobeyed orders, and she’d told him personally that she wouldn’t do that again. Her job had meant too much to her... So what made her so casual about her position now?
“Whatever my father has said about this,” Genevieve said, “there’s no need to be so careful with me, I promise you that. I’m a trooper who messed up. Put me through the regular grind.”
“You might not care what your old man has to say, but the commissioner does,” Scott replied. “Look, Gen, I know you hate how much clout your father has, but it’s just a fact.”
It was a big reason he’d steered clear of her after he’d been transferred to a different station as a new K9 officer. Her father was Constantine Austin—an incredibly wealthy man with several large corporations under him. He bought and sold businesses and politicians alike.
Genevieve handed the clipboard over to Wendy, who accepted it with a granite expression.
The last time Scott had seen Genevieve was from across a room at a Christmas party a couple of years ago. She could make an entire room turn when she walked in. She was that kind of beautiful, and it could be intimidating for a guy. All the same, he couldn’t quite shake her out of his system. It had been five years, and seeing her again still tugged at that vulnerable part of his heart that had always been a little soft for her. He hadn’t wanted this particular duty, but he’d been made an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Scott nodded toward the door. “Let’s get your bags and I’ll show you your room.”
Genevieve headed for the door and Scott glanced over at Wendy.
She raised her eyebrows and turned back to her desk. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me what you’ll get from the commissioner in exchange for working with her,” she said with a small smile. “We don’t normally have sergeants assigned to individual troopers. I’m curious.”
“Sorry, that’s on a need-to-know basis,” Scott said. “But don’t worry, it’s under control.”
“I’m not worried.” She put up her hands. “But you’ll be earning every penny of your paycheck this time around. That’s all I’m saying.”
Wendy wasn’t wrong.
Scott shook his head and went to the door. A warm breeze had picked up, scented with fresh grass clippings and the tang of cattle. All of the properties surrounding the K9 Center were farms—mostly beef cattle and one egg farm that he knew of.
Scott trotted down the front steps. Genevieve had already retrieved a small suitcase from her cruiser.
“Why are you temporarily running the K9?” she asked, walking up to him.
“Sergeant McKale’s on medical leave,” he replied. “She’ll be back at the end of next week. You might see her.”
“And then?” Genevieve asked.
“I’m a trainer. I drop back down to my usual duties.”
That wasn’t, at this point in time, a lie. If the other job evaporated, he would indeed go back to his usual duties. That did happen sometimes. But this opportunity had been something he hadn’t been able to refuse. If he was able to prove himself, he’d be offered a position as station commander for South Kingston. It was a big step up—the kind of career high his own father could finally respect—but Scott would have to prove that he had what it took to juggle the job as well as Constantine Austin’s daughter.
South Kingston was Genevieve’s station and Commissioner Taylor had been concerned that whoever took over would need to be able to handle both Genevieve and Constantine Austin. But it was more than that...the commissioner was a friend of the Austin family, and he cared. He wanted to know what was eating up Genevieve, and he’d privately asked Scott to find out. A mere sergeant didn’t take a personal request from the commissioner lightly. Genevieve might have connections. Scott didn’t.
“What about you?” Scott asked. “What did you say to the commissioner...exactly?”
“I said he was hamstringing my career for his own political gain,” she replied. “I told him if I was a man, he wouldn’t have held me back, and that he was letting my father pull his strings. He denied being connected to my assignments, and I called him a liar.”
Yep. Insubordination.
“What did he hold you back from?” he asked.
“A hundred things,” she said, sounding frustrated. “But this time around, it was a fraud ring that was targeting seniors. We’d narrowed in on the kingpins that were running the whole thing and were going in to arrest them and take them by surprise. I’d worked this case from the very beginning, and I was benched for the final takedown. I was crushed.”
“And you blamed the commissioner?”
“Taylor is in close with my father, and my father wants to keep me out of harm’s way. Suddenly, I’m not getting any assignments that involve any risk whatsoever. Even when I earned a spot. I’m getting desk and traffic duty, and my partner is the biggest, beefiest cop they’ve got.”
Scott felt a twinge of jealousy at that. He shouldn’t—troopers working in partnership was simply part of successful policing. But he knew from personal experience how long hours spent together tended to form bonds, and as a trainer, Scott didn’t get those opportunities anymore. Especially not with Genevieve.
“I guess it could be worse,” he said.
She cast him an annoyed look. “Really? This coming from the man who’s determined to climb the ladder faster than anyone in the history of the PSP? Isn’t that what you used to tell me? Or has that changed?”
No, it hadn’t changed. He was still hungry for promotion, but she’d pitted herself against the police commissioner. That was career suicide.
“I get the frustration, Gen. I do.”
“Add to that, I just got mistaken for being an actress playing a trooper...again.”
“What?” He started to laugh, but she didn’t break a smile. “What do you mean?”
“I mean when people look at me in full uniform, their first thought is not that I’m a cop, it’s that I’m playing a part. It’s more than frustrating, it’s insulting, and my father’s meddling in my career is doing more harm than he thinks. He doesn’t want me to be a cop, and he’s making it near impossible for me to keep going.”
“You’re thinking of quitting?” he asked.
“I’m thinking of turning to city policing or maybe even getting a job as a cop in a different state,” she replied. “I’m good at this, if everyone would just let me do it. And the Pennsylvania State Police have a strong reputation. With a decent recommendation, I could get a position elsewhere.”
“The commissioner isn’t likely to give that recommendation at this point,” he replied.
“It can be from any supervisor.” She looked at him meaningfully.
Old loyalties... At one time, they’d had each other’s backs for everything. But did he dare give her a recommendation without the commissioner’s blessing? That would hurt his career, and he’d been clawing his way back from his own mistakes for the last five years, too. She wasn’t wrong about the commissioner having some unfair sway over her career. Still, Scott might be able to get the man to see the benefit of her plan.
“We aren’t partners anymore, Gen.” He couldn’t be doing her favors...
Genevieve broke off eye contact and her expression dimmed.
It stung, disappointing her—it always had.
“So why are you making me your problem this week?” she asked, turning toward her vehicle and hauling her suitcase out of the trunk. “If this isn’t about old times.”
“This is from the commissioner.”
She dropped her case on the verandah and gave him an incredulous look. “I should have guessed. What does he want you to do?”
“He wants me to find out what’s bugging you.”
“I told you what’s bugging me,” she retorted.
“Okay, and that’s fair. I can definitely pass that along. But from what he told me, this goes deeper. He’s concerned that you aren’t a team player—that you aren’t willing to take on a supporting role for other officers.”
“I’ve had nothing but supporting roles!”
“And if you were anyone else, you’d have been fired on the spot for your outburst.”
She sighed and didn’t answer.
“From what he told me, this is Commissioner Taylor giving you one last chance. This is serious, Gen. Fair or not. He told me he’s hopeful but not optimistic.”
Genevieve eyed him for a moment. “After all of this meddling in my career, is he going to fire me?”
“He doesn’t want to.”
“No, that would alienate my father, and Dad puts a good deal of money and political leverage into the PSP’s coffers.”
They both knew what made the state run. She could have done anything with her life. Her family’s money and reputation would have catapulted her forward. But she’d chosen the one career her father had wanted for her the least.
“So you can see that this is complicated,” he said.
Genevieve didn’t answer and her gaze looked like it was directed inward.
“You and I are pretty much joined at the hip for the next week,” Scott said. “Fair warning.”
Would she mind? Would she rather have someone else assigned to her?
“And why did the commissioner choose you, Scott?” she asked quietly.
“Because I’m heading the K9 until Sergeant McKale gets back,” he replied. Again, he was telling her something that was mostly true. “Anyone heading the K9 would have gotten the same assignment.”
“Well, embarrassing as this is, I’m glad to see you again,” Genevieve said. “Maybe we can make the best of it and it can be like old times.”
And what could he say to that? It couldn’t be like old times. There was no way, but he wished that for ten days it could be.
“I’ll show you your room.”
The upstairs of the converted farmhouse had six bedrooms that were used by troopers staying for disciplinary reasons and employees working the night shift with the dogs. The bedrooms were small, bright and clean. Three of them were furnished with army bunks and three had regular single-width army beds—nothing too lavish, but they did the trick. This wasn’t supposed to be a vacation, after all. He’d assigned Genevieve to a room with a single bed. The space was smaller, but he thought she might be more comfortable.
He stood in the doorway as Genevieve dropped her small suitcase on the bed and looked around. The curtains were open and she paused at the window. From there, she could see the whole dog course, the kennels and some mock buildings that had been erected for training purposes. Past that, there was just pasture with cattle dotting the fields.
“I’m across the hall,” he said.
“You’re staying on site?”
“It’s my turn in the duty roster,” he replied. Plus, there was no family—no wife or kids—to complain about him not coming home every night. “Wendy is here Monday to Friday from seven thirty until three. And then we have dog trainers who come for shifts, and troopers who do the overnight with the puppies. The therapists come for appointments, but they don’t stay on site. Your first therapy appointment is tomorrow at ten.”
“A well-oiled machine,” she said. “For dogs and troublesome troopers alike.”
It was. And the system worked about eighty percent of the time. This was the first time he’d see it up close and personal from the managerial perspective, though.
“Do you want to come meet the dog we’ll be working with?” he asked.
“Is this an attempt to lower my defenses so I’ll open up about my feelings?” she asked.
“Yes. A hundred percent.”
She laughed softly. “You won’t even hide it?”
“I have to do this by the book. I’ll be able to tell the commissioner that I did my best, that you played with puppies, did some training work, spoke with the therapist, and that your morale was boosted by the experience.”
“That’s the goal?”
“That and...” Her clear eyes met his and his breath caught. “Is it ever good to see you, Gen.” Shoot. He hadn’t meant to come out with something quite that honest. He cleared his throat.
“It’s good to see you, too, Scott.” A smile flickered at her lips and his heart gave a flip.
Blast. That was supposed to have gone away over five years.
“You might want to change into something more casual, though,” he added, and he sounded gruffer than he meant to. “Just trust me on that.”
