I grabbed that red fluffy abomination of a shirt she wore and lifted it.
A round, shining bullet was embedded in the very specialized corset that the FBI had supplied. “The bulletproof corsetworked?”
“Is that what it is? I just thought corsets were really uncomfortable. That’s what all the books say.”
Over by the elevators, one of the Interpol guys I and Rogue Security had liaised with on several operations was guiding two FBI agents over to Logan and Mary Varvara Bell, pointing them out in the mob of battered bodies.
My veterans sprang off of the two prone figures, and the FBI agents handcuffed Logan and Mary Varvara Bell and began reading them their rights.
Jonas from Interpol wandered over to where we were lying on the floor. “Good work with the wires. We recorded it all in the van. More than enough to put those two away.”
I wrapped my arms more tightly around Sarah and held her face against my shoulder, rocking her. “It’s over,” I said to reassure myself as well as her. “It’s over.”
Her voice was muffled against my collar as she mumbled, “About that farm of mine.”
37
INDEPENDENCE DAY
SARAH
Two days later, the veterans began to descend on the farm for the Fourth of July weekend.
Sarah Bell was in her kitchen, baking apple pies from the bushels of apples and bags of flour and pounds of butter and an enormous bottle of really good cinnamon they’d bought at Costco with absolutely not a second thought for how much it was costing.
The dough came together under her fingers like magic with just a sprinkle of ice water, and she rolled out the crusts for the five beautiful ceramic pie plates she’d bought with, again, absolutely no thought in her head about how expensive they were.
Blaze leaned in the door of the kitchen, smiling at her. The bruises from the fight in that very kitchen only a few days before were already fading to purple and yellow. “We could have just bought the pies.”
“I like baking pies. Besides, I’m perfecting my recipe for the Iowa State Fair next month. I’m going to win the apple pie division this year.”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, bending to settle his chin on her shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
“I really don’t like how most of them are sleeping in tents outside,” she said, crimping the edges of the piecrust with a twist of her fingers.
“Most of them prefer it, but I was thinking about taking contractor bids to build barracks if you wanted to continue doing this.”
“Or we can take a few acres out of cultivation and build individual cabins,” Sarah said, rolling out the next bottom crust. “Then they can have their own little place. That would be good for people who stay for longer periods.”
Blaze kissed her on her temple, but he didn’t move away. “That sounds pretty permanent.”
Sarah dropped the piecrust into a dish and spun in his hands, looping her arms around his neck. “If you want it to be. Since we don’t have to worry about corn and grain contracts, we can re-wild the farmland and have our own little house on the prairie.”
His slow smile warmed her. “We wouldn’t want to give up the garden, though. It’s good for them. Those guys are out there weeding between the strawberry plants with tweezers.”
“I will have the best strawberry pie at the fair this year, too. Hey! We can round them all up and take a field trip to Des Moines for the fair!”
“They would love that.”
“And there’s lots of field trips they could do here in Kalona, too. Only a few of them will probably be interested in the quilt show, but it’s really important to us. And we can have farriers and some Amish people over to talk about the simple life, maybe show them how to weave baskets or work leather. There’s a lot of people here in Kalona who would share their lives and their skills to help people heal.”
Blaze crowded her back against the counter and lifted her to sit on it. “I knew you would figure out how to integrate them into the community.”
“Well, it’s important. Kalona has to accept them as well, but we will. I’m sure of it.”
“If anyone can integrate them, it’s you,” he said.
“How are they getting along with HowNow?” The brown cow had been stomping her hooves that afternoon when Sarah had gone out to see her.
