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Before Jake could utter a word of thanks, Doris rushed away, weaving between tables and around customers with an ease born of years waiting tables for a living. She was a force to be reckoned with, a strong woman who had worked hard for a small piece of the American dream.
Pulling a soggy wallet out of his pocket, Jake took out several bills and placed them next to the cash register. Doris would complain later, but for now she was too busy to notice the money he’d left. Replacing his wallet, Jake moved toward the door. He needed to get Tiffany Anderson and the mutt home. Then, since he was up and about already, he’d see what he could find out about the morning’s events.
There’d been a slew of misdemeanor offenses this summer—a bit of graffiti, stolen merchandise in a few main street shops, loud music in the early hours of the morning. Jake had a good idea the same teens causing the summer’s mischief were responsible for throwing the dog into the lake. He’d ask a few questions, file a report at the office, and then, finally, he could begin his vacation.
The meteorologists were saying it would be a record-breaking day. Tiffany believed it. Already heat shimmered up from the pavement in waves of silver and black. The damp clothes she wore warmed quickly, the moisture evaporating as she waited for Jake to emerge from the diner. Part of her wanted to leap from the cab of the truck and run for home before he returned. The other part didn’t have the energy to move.
She felt like a fool twice over. First for trying to save the dog and almost drowning herself in the process and second for expecting Brian to be waiting for her, only to find he had gone. Tiffany had been hard-pressed to face the sheriff in the shadowy hallway of the diner. Facing him in the bright sun would be even worse. She could feel her face reddening at the thought.
“Here. Doris sent this for you.” Jake’s voice startled Tiffany from her thoughts and she turned, reaching for a carryout cup being thrust through the open window.
“Thanks.” Tiffany took a sip from the straw, smiling as the cool freshness of the soda hit her tongue.
“She sent these, too.” A brown bag followed the cup through the window. “Go ahead and eat one. I’m going to give the dog some water before we take off.”
Tiffany tried to ignore the aroma of vanilla and cinnamon that wafted through the truck as he moved away. Instead she concentrated on Jake, watching as he walked back to the diner and returned a few moments later with a plastic bowl. He smiled at someone who called his name, waved at someone else. All in all, the picture of an affable law officer.
But Tiffany sensed something else, a tension that lay behind the smile, a hardness around his mouth and jaw that warned of things better left hidden. Jake Reed played the part well, but Tiffany doubted his heart was that of a small-town sheriff. She’d heard rumors. Heard that he was a city cop. A man used to violent crime and hardened criminals. She’d heard he was ethical, tough-minded and fair.
What she hadn’t heard was what had brought him to Lakeview.
“All right. We’re set. Where to?” Jake slid into the driver’s seat, casting a glance in Tiffany’s direction.
“I live on Monroe Street.”
Jake turned the key in the ignition and the Chevy sprang to life. “Mind if I have one of those?” He reached over and grabbed the bag out of Tiffany’s hand, opening it up and lifting out a pastry.
Tiffany’s mouth watered and she turned her eyes away from temptation.
“Want one?” Jake held the bag out toward her.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” The loud rumble of Tiffany’s stomach belied her words. Jake lifted an eyebrow, his bland expression replaced for a moment by a flicker of something else. Amusement, no doubt.
“You sure?”
Tiffany nodded and turned away before she changed her mind.
“All right then. Let’s get you home. You cool enough?”
“Pardon?” Tiffany had been so intent on ignoring the heavenly aroma still wafting through the truck that she missed Jake’s question.
“Do you want me to turn on the air? It’s warming up out here.”
“No, thanks. I’m used to the heat.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“Did you grow up around here?” Tiffany seized on Jake’s words. Anything to get her mind off the bag of pastries sitting on the seat between her and the sheriff.
“No. I grew up in D.C. It’s hot and humid there in the summer. Here on the lake the air doesn’t seem quite so heavy.”
“I visited D.C. my senior year of high school. It’s a busy place. And you’re right, the air did seem heavier.”
“Probably pollution. Which way?”
Tiffany blinked trying to follow the turn in conversation.
“Left or right onto Monroe?”
“Oh, sorry. Left. I live near the old Sheffield place.”
“I know where that is. Shouldn’t take more than a minute to get there.”
It took three. Tiffany watched the dashboard clock and counted every one, wishing away the gnawing hunger in her stomach. A pulse beat of pain worked its way behind her eye and she rubbed her forehead wishing the ache away. While she was at it she wished away the morning’s disappointments, too.
Tiffany had prayed for years that God would bring her a life partner who shared her faith, understood her human frailties, saw her for who she was and loved her anyway. She’d believed, really believed, that God would bring that person into her life and that when He did, there would be no doubt in her mind that he was the one God intended her to spend her life with.
That wasn’t how it happened. Oh, she figured Brian was The One. He met all the requirements she’d listed in her diary—he loved God, was faithful to His call, was smart, cared about others. The only question was, how much did he care about her?
The fact that Brian had not waited or worried when she failed to return to the diner said a lot to Tiffany. And none of it good. Though too practical to list it, Tiffany had always hoped that Mr. Right would be the knight-in-shining-armor type. The kind of man quick to step in when she needed a hand. Instead, it seemed Brian had more important things to do with his time.
Forcing her mind to stop such rambling thoughts, Tiffany tried to focus on the positive. Brian might not always run to her aid but that was because he knew Tiffany to be a competent self-reliant woman. He trusted her to take care of herself and that was a good thing. Right?
Later, when he called, Tiffany would explain to Brian how disappointed she had been to find him gone. He’d apologize and explain how important the men’s prayer breakfast was to him. Tiffany had accepted months ago that Brian had high standards and rigid priorities. Though he loved her, Tiffany would never be first on Brian’s to-do list. And that was okay.
Fantasies were fine as long as a person was willing to put them aside and face reality. And, in Tiffany’s case, reality was a silent ride home with a stranger and a big black dog.
Stealing a glance at the grim-faced man beside her, Tiffany sighed. Reality was lonely.
Chapter Three
The forecast of record-breaking temperatures proved accurate and by late afternoon the thermometer had crept up to ninety-eight degrees. Tiffany wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and eyed the picket fence that bordered her property. All but five of the pickets gleamed white. The others, scraped down to bare wood, wouldn’t take long to finish. With any luck she’d have them painted before heat exhaustion set in.
“Good thing I saved this side of the yard for last. Just think how hot I’d be standing under the sun, huh, dog?”
The big dog lifted his head and thumped his tail in response before returning to the state of semisleep he’d been in since Jake had lifted him from the pickup truck several hours before.
Tiffany dipped her brush into the almost empty paint can she held and smoothed a coat of paint onto a bare wooden plank. The glide of paint against board, the warmth of the sun and the muted sounds of boats on water helped put the morning’s fiasco into perspective. Good from bad, strength from weakness, blessings from curses—God made all things work for the good.
Tiffany may have been pulled from a lake, abandoned at the diner, and driven home by a taciturn sheriff, but at least she wasn’t spending Saturday afternoon alone. Smiling, she glanced over at her companion. He’d made himself at home in the shade of a maple tree and hadn’t budged, except to steal half of Tiffany’s turkey sandwich.
Everything about the dog said “mutt.” He had the shape and size of a Saint Bernard, the black coat of a Lab—if one didn’t count the white paw and ear—and a shepherd’s muzzle. Not a handsome dog by any standard, but the winsome expression in his brown eyes made him an adorable one. And, he was company.
“Almost done here, big guy. Then maybe we’ll go inside and take your picture so I can make some posters. Someone must be missing you by now. We can take a run to the store and the diner later, put up the posters and by this time tomorrow, you’ll be home.”
The dog opened his eyes at the sound of Tiffany’s voice and woofed quietly in response before rising to his feet and lumbering over. Tiffany patted his head and dipped brush into paint once again.
“Miss Anderson?”
With a startled cry, Tiffany whirled toward the voice. Splatters and speckles of paint flew from her full brush, landing on the grass, the dog and the front of Jake Reed’s shirt.
The dog ran for cover. Jake stood his ground.
“Sheriff Reed! You startled me.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Jake’s gaze met Tiffany’s and then dropped to his shirt where several fat, white globs of paint were beginning to run.
“I’m so sorry! Let me—”
“Not a problem. This is an old shirt anyway.”
Before Tiffany could make use of the paint rag she’d been carrying in her pocket, Jake stepped to the side and gestured at a man and teenage boy. “Sorry to intrude on your afternoon but Mr. Bishop asked me to bring him by.”
Hat in hand, thinning hair brushed to one side of his head, the man stepped forward. He looked familiar, blunt featured and hardened from years in the elements. Though they’d never been introduced, Tiffany recognized him as a farmer who lived several miles outside of town.
He spoke with a voice that sounded as dry and tough as the dirt he toiled over. “Miz Anderson, I’m James Bishop. My son Tom has something he needs to say to you.” Stepping to the side he gestured to the teenager and watched as his son moved forward, eyes downcast. The boy mumbled something that Tiffany couldn’t make out.
“You got cotton in your mouth, boy? Speak up. I ain’t got all day and neither does Miz Anderson. Now say your piece. And say it so we can understand.”
The young man’s face colored, and Tiffany’s heart went out to him. She tried to send a reassuring smile his way, but his downcast eyes prevented him from seeing it. When he spoke, his chin wobbled a bit, and Tiffany worried he’d break into tears and embarrass himself.
“I was one of the guys in the boat this morning. Sheriff Reed said you almost drowned saving the dog. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, well—”
“Tell her the rest.” James Bishop grunted out the words, then turned abruptly. Tiffany watched as Jake placed a hand on Bishop’s, a shoulder that seemed weighted with fatigue and heartache. Despite his harsh words, Bishop was hurting for his son.
“He’s my dog.”
“Excuse me?” She’d been so intent on the drama of James and Jake, Tiffany had forgotten Tom.
“The dog. He’s mine. I let those guys throw him in the water. I didn’t know he couldn’t swim. It was just a gag. You know, for fun.”
The words rushed out. Eyes that had been staring at the ground now looked into Tiffany’s. She’d expected hardness, rebellion, arrogance, but didn’t find them. Instead, Tiffany saw sadness and uncertainty; a longing for understanding and acceptance, without any expectation of receiving it.
She refused to add to the young man’s pain. “What’s the dog’s name?”
Surprise flickered in Tom’s eyes before he dropped his gaze to the ground. “His name is Bandit. He’s just a puppy. Not even a year old.”
“Bandit is a good name.”
“Yeah, it is. It may not be his for long, though.”
Tiffany heard the hitch in the boy’s voice, the hint of tears that refused to be shed. She wanted to offer comfort, but doubted Tom would accept it. “Why not?”
“We’re taking Bandit back to the animal shelter when we leave here. Dad says a person cruel to animals doesn’t deserve to own one.”
Tiffany winced at the harshness of the words. Though she agreed with James Bishop’s assessment, she couldn’t help wondering if the punishment was too severe. Tom didn’t seem to be a cruel boy. More a foolish one. And that, hopefully, would be remedied with time. “You don’t need to bring Bandit to the shelter. I can keep him here.”
The boy shrugged, an I-don’t-care gesture, and kicked at a clump of grass at his feet.
“Well now, Miz Anderson, that’s kind of you. Come on, Tom, let’s go,” James said as he walked to the edge of the lawn. Tom, too, turned to leave. Tiffany couldn’t let him go. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his arm. He paused, shifting his gaze back toward Tiffany.
“Tom, how old are you?”
The boy looked surprised by the question but answered anyway. “I’ll be seventeen in a couple of weeks.”
“Perfect. I’m doing some renovations on my house. Lots of painting, sanding, refinishing and stuff. It’s slow work. I could use an extra set of hands. Would you be interested?”
“You mean a job?” Hope flared briefly in Tom’s eyes before he doused it.
Tiffany held her grin in check. “Yes.”
“I don’t know much about that kind of stuff.”
“Neither do I, so we’ll make a good team. Besides I can’t pay a lot. Minimum wage, maybe a little more.”
“I’m not sure….”
“You don’t have to decide right now. Talk to your father. See what he says, then give me a call. I work at home so just look up my business number in the directory. I’m listed under Anderson’s Computer Technology.”
“Tom! Come on. I got things to do.”
The young man glanced at his father, but hesitated as if afraid that if he left, Tiffany would forget she had offered him the job.
Tiffany smiled reassuringly. “You better go. Talk to your father, okay?”
A slight nod was the only response she got before Tom shuffled to his father’s side. The two moved away, walking with the same stoop-shouldered carriage and unhurried stride.
“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?” Jake’s voice drifted across the yard and Tiffany smiled toward him.
“No. Though I doubt they’d acknowledge their likeness at this time in their lives.”
“Probably not. Too bad Tom’s not living up to his father’s example. James is a good man. A hard worker.”
“Tom will be, too. He just needs some focus.”
Jake raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “A lot of folks wouldn’t see it that way.”
“I’m not a lot of folks.”
“No. You definitely aren’t.”
Tiffany wasn’t sure if the statement was a compliment or criticism. She decided to ignore it. “Well, regardless of what other people think, I’m convinced Tom is a decent young man. As for being a hard worker, I’ll find out soon enough. I offered him a job.”
Something flared in Jake’s eyes and was quickly extinguished. “Hopefully it will keep him out of trouble.”
