“I've done you a disservice, Matt Thome,” Isaac said humbly. “You saved my son's life. For this I thank you.”

“And for Sarah?” Matt asked, meeting the old man's gaze head-on.

“Let her go,” Isaac said. There was no anger in his eyes now, only sadness and pleading. “She belongs with her people. You know nothing of our ways, nor she of your world.”

“I love her.”

“How can you love in so short a time? I think you cannot even know her.”

“That's funny.” Matt's mouth twisted into an ironic little smile that held no humor as he thought of Sarah with her hunger to learn and the inner fire she had yet to release. “I was just thinking the same thing about you. You've had her with you her whole life, and I don't think you know her at all.”

“I know that she is Amish, as is her family,'

Matt said nothing. He turned and looked into the room to see Sarah bent over her brother Jacob whom she loved like a son. She was smiling and teasing him, her face glowing. I would have given her sons, he thought, pain tightening its fist inside him. I would have given her a family. I would have given her anything.

But she hadn't asked.

He turned slowly then and walked away, wondering if the town of Jesse had a bar.


Matt slumped onto the orange vinyl couch in the doctors' lounge, dropping his head down on the squeaky tufted arm. He was tired, but his fatigue didn't have anything to do with the hours he'd been working. This was a weariness that went deeper than his muscles and sank into the essence of his being. He'd been back in Minneapolis a week and on the job for four days. The chief of staff had protested his early return, but not with much sincerity. His life as Matt Thorne, head honcho of County General ER, had fallen quickly back into the routine he remembered.