The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,90

When I pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car, I sent Sean a text, asking what he was up to.

He immediately replied. Getting off work in half an hour. Want to meet at the hospital?

We figured out the details through a couple more texts, and then I logged onto my computer while still sitting in my borrowed Datsun, not bothering to go inside the coffee shop at all. There was still nothing on the adoption registry. I closed my laptop, discouraged.

A half hour later, on the dot, Sean walked out to the hospital parking lot, and I rolled down the window of my car.

“I hope this isn’t too forward,” he said, bending down as he talked, “but want to come out to my house? I have a slow cooker full of pulled pork and was going to make a sandwich.”

I didn’t bother to tell him I’d already had dinner. “Sounds fine,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”

He headed northeast out of town, a direction I hadn’t been yet. On the outskirts of the city, he turned off the main road. I realized he could be taking me anywhere and then smiled. My intuition was pretty good. Sean Benson wasn’t a serial killer posing as a doctor. He pulled into a driveway and I followed, easing alongside a row of thick, neatly pruned shrubs that divided his property from the house next door. I parked behind him, climbed from the car, and paused to take a quick look around. His yard was immaculate, illuminated by ground lights. The grass was thick and edged, the flower beds filled with tulips. The house itself wasn’t huge, but it was by no means small.

He smiled and led the way up a brick path to the front door. “I bought this place two years ago.” He turned his key in the lock and pushed the door open. “But it looks like I’m going to have to sell it now.”

“You got the job?” I practically stumbled over the stoop into an entryway as I spoke.

He caught my elbow, laughing. “I got the job—at least that’s what the HR person on the phone told me today. I haven’t seen the contract yet.” He took my coat and turned toward the closet. The space was illuminated by dim overhead light.

“When do you start?”

“June first.”

I’d be more than settled in Philadelphia by then. In fact, at that point I’d only have three months left until I would be heading back to Oregon. But Baltimore was only a couple of hours from Philly. I imagined coordinating our days off and meeting in New York. Maybe even Boston. Maybe he would take me up to meet his folks…

He flicked on a switch as we stepped into a large living room. Taupe leather furniture—a sectional and easy chair—sat atop a white rug that graced a hardwood floor. The ceilings were high and boxed and an open staircase led to the second floor.

“What a great house,” I said.

“Thanks. The kitchen’s this way.”

I followed him through a formal dining room with a modern high table and six chairs and then through a swinging door into the kitchen. It had totally been updated with granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances.

“Did it come this way?” I stood in the middle of the kitchen, turning slowly.

Sean shook his head. “I hired a decorator. She did a great job, huh?”

I nodded. He gave his attention to a black slow cooker in the corner on the other side of the double stove. The pork smelled delicious.

I glanced around the kitchen again. There was no clutter. And there hadn’t been in the living room or dining room either. There were no stacks of books. No papers. No magazines. No projects.

Plus he could cook.

“Want a tour before we eat?”

I nodded, feeling as if I couldn’t speak, wondering just how much money Sean Benson made a year.

Off the kitchen was his office. He explained that it had been a sleeping porch but he’d had it enclosed. The room was as big as my living room and dining room combined, and housed a sprawling desk with computer, a wall of bookcases, and an entertainment cabinet. He didn’t open it but I guessed there was a big-screen TV and stereo system inside.

He flicked a switch, opened a sliding door, and stepped onto a patio. I followed. The backyard was illuminated too and covered with rose bushes. They weren’t blooming yet—some were hardly leafed out—but I could imagine the beauty of the