Free A Love Made New by Kathleen Fuller Page B

put in another twelve-hour workday on the assembly line at Taylor and Sons, which he’d been doing since he started at the glass factory almost five years ago. He was tired, but he didn’t mind the work. The longer he stayed there, the less time he had to spend alone. He was willing to work Saturdays, so they were happy to give him plenty of overtime. He was happy to get it.
    He leaned back against the chair and ran his hand over his face. Twelve years of this, being separated from his family, living alone, living in this world but not remotely a part of it. His only friendships were superficial, the ones he had at work, and he had to keep it that way. Sure, the guys invited him out for drinks sometimes after a hard shift. A few of them had felt sorry for him over the years and tried to get him to come to their houses for Thanksgiving or Christmas. But Bartholomew—or Jack Collins, as everyone else knew him—always had an excuse.
    It was his fault he lived like this, friendless and separated from his family. He’d made the decision to rebel against his strict Amish parents in the worst possible way—by dealing drugs. Then he’d met Naomi.
    He sighed at the thought of his wife. His beautiful, strong, courageous wife. She had changed him, made him want to be a better man. And for a time, he was. But because of his mistakes she had to finish raising Irene and Andrew alone. She was both their mother and their father. She was also his rock, the first person he thought of every morning when he woke up and the last he thought of every night before he went to sleep.
    He bolted from the chair, frustrated. Naomi had changed his life, but the past had caught up to him. He was arrested, then turned state’s evidence. His information had led to the arrest of several people high up in a complex drug ring in Florida. But not everyone had been caught, and for their own protection his wife and children had to move to Birch Creek, a small Amish community that was barely a blip on the map. He was sent even farther away with a new identity to start a new life. But he couldn’t . . . not when all he wanted was his wife and children by his side.
    He went to the kitchen and flung open the fridge door. The refrigerator was nearly empty except for a six-pack of pop and a bottle of mustard. He had a couple pizzas in the freezer. Another gourmet dinner tonight. He grabbed one of the cans, shut the door, and was about to pop the top when he heard a knock on the door.
    Ice chilled his veins. Although he knew he was under protection by the U.S. Marshals Service, Bartholomew remained constantly on guard. Slowly he set down the can and crept to the door. He peered through the peephole, then blew out a relieved breath. After unlocking the two chain locks and the dead bolt, he opened the door. “Hey, Mike.”
    A tall man built like a football linebacker strolled through the door. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short against his head, the bristles brushing the top of the doorjamb as he walked inside. “Jack,” he said with a nod, taking a quick visual survey of the small living room. There wasn’t much to look at—a short couch and matching recliner, a flat-screen TV perched on a cheap stand, and an old coffee table. Still, Mike’s eagle-sharp eyes continued to peruse the room.
    “Want something to drink?” Bartholomew asked, closing the door.
    “Sure.”
    “Coke okay?”
    “Since I’m on duty, absolutely.”
    Bartholomew got Mike a pop and handed it to him. He didn’t keep any liquor in the place. Ever since he married Naomi and joined the Amish church, he hadn’t touched a drop of drink and his drug tests at work had been cleaner than clean.
    Mike sat down on the couch and opened his drink. Bartholomew sat down in the recliner and turned to him. “What made you decide to stop by?”
    “You know the drill. Gotta check on you every once in a while. Make sure everything is in line.” He tipped his beverage toward Bartholomew. “Not