Another deep breath and I’m steady enough to call Tomasetti.

“I hope you’re not too far away,” he says without preamble.

“You miss me that desperately, huh?”

“That, and I just broke the seal on that Cabernet you’ve been saving.”

I laugh, but my voice is thick with emotion. I don’t want him to know that I’m a little too caught up in this Baby Doe case. That I’m probably thinking a little too hard about my own life.

“Kate?”

Feeling like an idiot, I choke out a sound that betrays the tears waiting at the gate. “I’m leaving the Fisher place now.”

“Everything okay?”

“I think the grandparents are going to adopt Baby Doe,” I tell him.

“Good for them.” His voice is warm. “Good for everyone involved.” He falls silent and then asks, “So, are you coming home?”

Home.

I like the way the word rolls off his tongue. The warm impression it leaves in my chest. “John Tomasetti,” I whisper, “You can count on it.”

Read on for an excerpt from

Linda Castillo’s new novel,

After the Storm,

available July 2015

CHAPTER 1

Present day

I was eight years old when I learned there were consequences for associating with the English. Consequences that were invariably negative and imposed by well-meaning Amish parents bent on upholding the rules set forth by our Anabaptist forefathers nearly three hundred years ago. In my case, this particular life lesson transpired at the horse auction near Millersburg and involved a twelve-year-old English boy and the Appaloosa gelding he was trying to sell. Add me to the mix, and it was a dangerous concoction that ended with me taking a fall and my father’s realization that I saw the concept of rules in a completely different light—and I possessed an inherent inability to follow them.

I never forgot the lesson I learned that day or how much it hurt my eight-year-old heart, which, even at that tender age, was already raging against the unfairness of the Ordnung and all of those who would judge me for my transgressions. But the lessons of my formative years didn’t keep me from breaking the same rules time and time again, defying even the most fundamental of Amish tenets. By the time I entered my teens, just about everyone had realized I couldn’t conform and, worse, that I didn’t fit in, both of which are required of a member of the Amish community.

Now, at the age of thirty-three, I can’t quite reconcile myself to the fact that I’m still trying to please those who will never approve and failing as miserably as I did when I was an inept and insecure fifteen-year-old girl.

“Stop worrying.”

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of John Tomasetti’s Tahoe, not sure if I’m impressed by his perceptivity or annoyed because my state of mind is so apparent. We’ve been living together at his farm for seven months now, and while we’ve had some tumultuous moments, I have to admit it’s been the happiest and most satisfying time of my life.