He glanced up, wasting precious electronic seconds as he turned his attention to John Paul. The teenager stood in the doorway of their shared room, a tentative smile on his face.
“Yeah, but you know what they say?”
John Paul shook his head.
“Payback’s a . . .” he caught himself before actually saying the word. How many times had he used profanity and never given it a second thought? It was a harmless word, not meant to hurt or degrade, but saying it in the house of a devout man like Abram Fisher gave Zane pause. “Paybacks are not fun.”
“What does that mean?”
Zane shrugged and shot his roomie a cryptic smile. “Whatever you’d like it to mean.”
John Paul squinted those mossy-green eyes, but didn’t ask any more questions.
Zane turned back to his dimming screen as the warning light turned from flashing yellow to urgent red. He growled under his breath. He had only seconds left.
“Somethin’ wrong?”
“My battery is low. Well, about to die. And I can’t charge it here.”
“Maybe we could rig up somethin’ with the propane generator.”
Visions of his computer catching on fire and blowing up flitted thorough Zane’s mind. “That’s okay. I can make do.” Too bad he hadn’t brought his tablet with him.
“Or I can take you to town tomorrow. After we get the seeds in the ground.”
That’s right. Tomorrow was planting day for the winter wheat. “How long does it take to get to town in the buggy?” It was probably an hour at least.
John Paul shrugged and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Won’t take any time at all in my car.”
“You have a car? Wait. A real car?” Who knew the Amish could be so much like the rest of the world?
“I told you, I am in rumspringa. I can own a car, go to the movies, all the things you Englisch do. And that means I can take you to town tomorrow afternoon. I am sure Mr. Anderson will let you charge your computer at the general store.”
Zane hit Save just before the screen went black. It was nothing but an oversized paperweight now. “Thanks, John Paul. That’d be great.”
Great was not the word that came to mind as Zane held on to the passenger door for dear life.
He should have run the other direction as soon as he laid eyes on the ancient Ford. But need and necessity won out, and he’d climbed into the passenger’s seat.
That was his first mistake.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Zane asked for the third time in not so many miles as John Paul rounded a particularly sharp corner. Gravel flew in all directions as he spun into the grate at the edge of the road.
John Paul shot him a grin that said much more than words. “I only get to do this for four years. I’m not missin’ any chance I got.”
Four years with this guy behind the wheel? Lock up your children and dogs. No one was safe.
“What happens in four years?” Zane asked, focusing his attention on something other than flat-out fear for his life.