Still Waters (5 page)

Jake examined the vehicle again, looking closely for signs of a struggle. He saw nothing that would lead him to believe Tiffany was in danger, but that did little to allay his concern. Images rose in his mind, images of other women. Women as compassionate and softhearted as Tiffany, who had been repaid evil for their kindness.

God willing, Tiffany hadn’t met the same fate.

Jake forced his mind away from the memories that haunted him. This was rural Virginia, after all, not Washington, D.C. No doubt Tiffany had already made it safely to her destination. Still, there was no harm in making sure.

Jake hopped in his truck and headed in the direction the Cadillac was pointing. He’d driven close to five miles when he spotted a lone figure waving forlornly from the side of the road. Even the dim light of dusk couldn’t hide the vibrant color of Tiffany’s hair. Coasting to a stop, Jake stepped out into the heat and humidity. “I saw your car a few miles back. Need a lift?”

“Yes. I ran out of gas.”

There was no life, no vitality in Tiffany’s voice, and as Jake stepped closer, he realized the soft glow of health he’d admired the day before had been replaced by a sickly grayish hue. Lines of pain played around her eyes and she stumbled a bit as she moved toward him.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

Just a headache, but Tiffany’s hands were shaking as she brushed a stray curl from her cheek. Jake’s concern grew, and he grasped her arm, leading her to the truck. “You need to get out of the heat. Get in the truck. I’ll drive you home.”

“I need to go to church. I promised I’d help serve refreshments at the volleyball game.”

“You need to go home. You’re sick.”

“I can’t go home. I promised. And Brian’s waiting for me.”

“Like he waited for you at the diner?” The minute the words were out, Jake wished he could take them back. Tiffany’s already drooping shoulders sagged even more and she shrugged away from his grasp, moving toward the truck with shuffling steps.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Tiffany didn’t respond. Her silence said more than words.

Watching her, Jake noted the deep shadows beneath her eyes and the perspiration beading her forehead. Tension pulled at the corners of her mouth and beat harshly in the hollow of her throat where her pulse pounded furiously. There was nothing Jake could say to ease Tiffany’s pain; instead he gently moved her fumbling hands from the door handle and opened the truck door. “Hop in. I’ll take you to the church. Grace Baptist?” Jake waited for Tiffany’s nod of affirmation. “I was on my way there anyway.”

Tiffany didn’t look at Jake. She couldn’t. For the second time in as many days, he’d come to her rescue and Tiffany’s humiliation at needing his help almost outweighed the pain in her head. Even worse had been his words, they’d been like a knife twisting in an open wound. Not because they’d been spoken harshly, but because they were true.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand, Tiffany tried to slide into the raised cab of the truck. What had been easy while wearing shorts proved more difficult in the long, flowing sundress she wore. As she tried to lift herself into the cab the fabric of her dress caught under pain-clumsy feet and Tiffany pitched forward, banging her head against the door of the truck. Even before the pain could register, strong hands gripped Tiffany’s shoulders and held her steady while she regained her balance. Then, as she reached
to untangle her feet from the dress, Tiffany was lifted into the truck.

Flustered, she tucked the skirt of her dress neatly around her legs and tried not to look at Jake. The last time a man attempted to lift her, Tiffany had been eleven years old exploring an abandoned cabin with her first crush. Poor Danny Wilson. He’d been outweighed by twenty pounds, but had still made a valiant effort to boost her into a second-story window. They’d both ended up in a heap on the ground.

Thank goodness Jake had proven stronger than Danny. Tiffany had suffered enough embarrassment in the past two days without adding an attempt to crush the sheriff to the list. Blinking rapidly, she forced back the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks, then leaned forward to press a hand against the pulsing pain behind her eyes.

“Ready?” Jake slid into the driver’s seat and Tiffany could feel his concerned gaze.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to go home?”

She wasn’t, but she nodded anyway.

“All right. Why don’t you rest your eyes until we get there?”

Tiffany did as Jake suggested, keeping her hand pressed against her eyes and leaning her head against the window. When the truck engine roared to life, she winced at the sound, bracing herself against the jolting movement of the truck on rough pavement.

Light, sound, motion—they were too bright, too loud, too fast.

A gentle hand reached out and brushed aside curls that had fallen against Tiffany’s cheek. “You’re not up to a volleyball game. Why don’t I drive to the church, run in and tell Brian you need him? He can give you a ride home.”

The idea of spending time with Brian didn’t appeal to Tiffany, but she didn’t have the energy to think of an alternative. “That’s fine.”

The truck slowed as Jake turned into the church parking lot. Even through the closed window, Tiffany could hear people milling about, chatting and laughing as they made their way from parked cars. Usually she would have been eager to join the fellowship and fun but now the sounds were like lightning bolts, shooting pain into her skull.

As if sensing her discomfort, Jake spoke quietly, “I’ll park in the overflow lot. It’s quieter there.”

The voices faded to a soft murmur, the bustle of the main parking lot replaced by the stillness of the side lot. A warm breeze carried the sweet scent of honeysuckle into the truck as Jake opened the door. “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a minute.”

When the door closed with a gentle click, Tiffany unbuckled her seat belt and drew her knees up to her chest. Imagining Brian’s face when Jake asked for his help did little to comfort her. Tiffany had been dating Brian for almost a year, had imagined herself married with a house full of children, had even convinced herself that God wanted Brian to be her husband. Only now did she realize that in all her daydreams she had never pictured Brian in the Victorian monstrosity she owned. Nor could she see him with a crowd of boisterous children.

Her friends, her family, even the kids in the Sunday school class she taught thought Brian and Tiffany were a perfect match. Apparently the world was filled with fools. And Tiffany was the biggest one of all.

One tear escaped. Another joined it, sliding down Tiffany’s cheeks and dropping onto her dress. Would Brian come for her? Did he care enough to leave the game and take her home?

Tiffany wanted to believe he would. Wanted to believe that what she’d dreamed of and longed for was more than just a fantasy. Somehow though, she doubted it.

J
ake hurried toward the church, the sound of laughter and good-spirited competition drawing him around the corner of the building. A volleyball net had been set up and teams of teens were going after the ball with more enthusiasm than skill. It didn’t take long to locate the doctor. Everyone seemed to know him, and all were eager to point Jake in the right direction. Seated on a plastic lawn chair, his short, blond hair combed neatly to the side, Brian McMath held himself erect, surveying the net and players with a look of amused tolerance that set Jake’s teeth on edge. Even from a distance, Jake could see the fastidious crease in the doctor’s khaki pants and the neat, even column of numbers he’d written on the white board he held in his hand.

The doctor’s finicky appearance and staid expression were a direct foil to Tiffany’s vibrancy and spirit. How the two had ended up together was a mystery. Not that it was
any of Jake’s business. He just hoped the good doctor didn’t try to fit Tiffany into a mold of his making. Jake had grown up watching a vibrant woman beaten down. He’d hate to see it happen to Tiffany.

“Dr. McMath?”

“Yes?” McMath looked up, his eyes wary.

“I’m Sheriff Jake Reed,” Jake offered his hand as Brian put down the white board and stood to face him.

“Sheriff Reed,” Brian’s handshake was firm, his expression curious, “Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks. Sorry to interrupt your scorekeeping but I gave Tiffany Anderson a lift from Old Farm Road. Her car ran out of gas on the way here.”

“Really? I wonder what she was doing traveling on that back road. I’ve told her a hundred times not to take that route.”

“I guess she didn’t listen.”

“Yeah, well, that’s pretty typical of Tiffany.”

Jake didn’t like Brian’s tone, or his words. “She’s an adult. I guess she’s capable of deciding what road to drive on.”

“If she were capable of that, she wouldn’t have needed a ride here. Where is she, anyway?”

Jake had to bite down on the urge to shove his fist into the doctor’s face. He’d met plenty of men like Brian McMath, and he hadn’t liked any of them. “She’s got a headache so she’s waiting in my truck.”

“A migraine?”

“She didn’t say, but it looks like she’s in a lot of pain.”

“She must have been out in the heat too long.” The crowd cheered and Brian’s gaze drifted from Jake to the game. Picking up the white board, he made a quick notation before turning his attention back to Jake. “I guess this means she won’t be helping with the refreshments.”

Jake’s jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists. “I guess not.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll ask one of the girls to fill in.” Brian turned back to the game. “Tell Tiffany I hope she feels better.”

As quickly as that, Jake was dismissed. He stood still for a moment, wondering if Brian McMath was as poor a physician as he was a friend. He doubted it. Men like McMath were good at prioritizing. And, if Jake didn’t miss his guess, patients were much more important to Brian than a girlfriend would ever be.

Swallowing back his frustration, Jake turned away from the doctor and the game. Tiffany would be upset. Letting her see his anger would only make things worse. He made a quick circuit of the church, burning off some steam as he went, and approached his truck quietly, hoping that Tiffany had dozed off.

She hadn’t. Hunched over her knees, curly hair tumbling around her shoulders, Tiffany looked defeated. She glanced up when the door opened, her eyes pools of dark ink in the fading light. In the space of a heartbeat, Jake knew she hadn’t expected Brian to be with him. There was no question in her eyes, only acceptance. “Did you find Brian?”

“Yeah. He was keeping score.”

Tiffany nodded, wincing at the movement. “I guess he’s pretty busy.”

Jake remained silent, afraid if he opened his mouth, he’d ask why Tiffany even cared what the jerk did.

“I’m sure I can find someone else to give me a ride.”

“Forget it. You’re already in my truck. I’ll give you a ride.” Jake heard the harshness in his voice and regretted it.

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

Taking a deep breath, Jake reined in his emotions and
gentled his voice. “You’re not. I’m happy to help out. Now, fasten your seat belt and relax. I’ll have you home in a few minutes.”

Tiffany wished the earth would open and swallow her. First the lake, now this. If her head hadn’t been pounding so badly she might have said something witty and flip. At least she could have tried to salvage a little dignity. As it was, she couldn’t think past the pain, and she figured anything she said would end up sounding whiny and pitiful.

She held her silence and fastened her seat belt.

She expected Jake to start the truck. Instead, he leaned toward her, his shoulder pressing against hers as he opened the glove compartment. Tiffany tried to ignore the warmth of Jake’s arm and the clean, fragrant scent of shampoo that lingered in the air after he moved away.

“I’ve got some Tylenol here and a bottle of water in the back of the truck. You want to take a couple of these?”

Tylenol wouldn’t touch the pain, but Tiffany grabbed the bottle anyway. She struggled with the lid for a moment, feeling her face burn with heat as the bottle slipped and slid beneath her fingers.

“Here,” Jake reached over and removed the bottle from Tiffany’s fumbling grasp, “Let me do it. How many do you want?”

“Three, for now.”

Jake raised his eyebrows but poured three pills into Tiffany’s waiting hand. Then he slid open the truck’s back window, reaching through it to a large cooler that sat pressed up against the cab. When he handed the bottle of water to Tiffany, the coolness felt heavenly in her hand and she couldn’t resist pressing the ice-damp plastic against her throbbing eyes.

It took a moment for her to remember she wasn’t alone.
When she did, she looked over at Jake. He watched her, his expression unreadable. “You’ve had a rough couple of days.”

The compassion in his voice made her want to lean in close and lay her head against his shoulder. Instead she popped the pills in her mouth and gulped a mouthful of icy water. “Yes, it has been difficult.”

“Hopefully a good night’s sleep will make things look better.”

Tiffany doubted it, but she tried to smile anyway.

Jake watched her for a moment, opened his mouth as if to speak, then changed his mind. Shoving the keys into the ignition he started the truck. “All right. Let’s get you home.”

Tiffany’s house reflected the cheerful warmth of its owner. Or so Jake thought as he paced through her hall. A golden-oak floor gleamed in soft overhead light, and quilts of various sizes and colors hung against cream-colored walls. At one end of the hall a curved stairway led to the upper level of the house, its intricately carved banister the same golden tone as the floor. At the other end a two-paneled door opened into Tiffany’s kitchen and dining room. On either side of the hall, doors opened into even more rooms.

Jake had been in enough Victorian-era homes to recognize the Queen Anne architecture. The small room to one side of the front door had once served as a receiving room. Now it contained a sewing table and a hodgepodge of colorful fabric. A door on the opposite side of the foyer opened into the parlor where Jake had led Tiffany when they’d returned. Despite the oversize dimensions of the room, it felt cozy and comfortable. Tiffany had chosen bright colors to accent the dark pine floor. A throw rug of red and gold lay centered in front of the fireplace. Twin recliners and a
matching love seat surrounded it, their heavy cream brocade rich and luxuriant against the dark floor. Jake knew if he glanced in the room he would see Tiffany curled up on the love seat, resting against gold-and-red pillows.

Though she had said he should go home, Jake hadn’t felt comfortable leaving her alone. He’d heard that migraines were debilitating, but watching Tiffany had given new meaning to the word. She’d been withdrawn during the ride home, leaning against the seat with her hands pressed against her eyes. Only twice had she spoken, once to ask Jake to turn off the radio and once to tell him to stop the truck. That time his response had almost come too late. He’d barely coasted to a stop when Tiffany yanked open her door and jumped out. By the time he reached her she was kneeling at the side of the road vomiting into a clump of bushes. Jake knew Tiffany would be embarrassed later, but she hadn’t argued when he wet a pile of napkins with bottled water and used them to cool her hot face.

Nor had she protested when they arrived at her house and he insisted on following her inside. Jake doubted she had even noticed his presence until he asked if he could get her something. Tiffany had motioned toward the end of the hall and said something about medicine before she retreated to the parlor and collapsed on the love seat.

Finding the medicine hadn’t been difficult. Tiffany’s kitchen, though busy with color and texture, was well organized. Jake had bypassed white glass-fronted cupboards with their display of china, and had searched a small pantry near the refrigerator.

He’d found what he was looking for on the top shelf next to a first aid kit and an unopened box of Tylenol. The clear plastic bag contained a prescription bottle, a pamphlet of information about the drug Imitrex, and what looked to be
an epinephrine kit. Jake had taken the bag and a glass of water to Tiffany, and watched as she took a pill from the bottle and swallowed it. He had wished he could do more. Maybe that’s why he’d stayed.

Or maybe he just didn’t like the idea that Tiffany’s boyfriend had left her to fend for herself again. In Jake’s estimation, a woman as easygoing and good-hearted as Tiffany deserved better than a lonely night, a debilitating headache and huge dog whining at her feet.

Speaking of which, where had the dog disappeared to?

Jake eyed the open door of the sewing room, and shook his head. He’d locked the mutt inside the room twice since his arrival. Though it seemed inconceivable that a dog who couldn’t swim could open a door, the evidence was clear—what the dog lacked in swimming ability, he made up for in escape techniques.

At least he was loyal, escaping his prison and slinking into the parlor to lay his head on Tiffany’s legs, rather than running around the house getting into mischief. Jake figured that’s where Bandit was now, and he walked toward the room, ready to grab the mutt and put him outside.

Tiffany heard the soft creak of a floorboard outside the living room door and struggled to sit up. That involved pushing Bandit’s head off her legs, and swinging those same legs off the love seat so that her feet touched the floor. Both tasks took all the energy Tiffany had, but at least the pain in her head had subsided to a dull throb.

“Feeling any better?” Jake walked through the door, his voice low.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Mind if I turn on a light?”

“No, go ahead.”

The overhead light burst to life and Tiffany blinked rap
idly, adjusting her eyes to the brightness. When she looked up, Jake stood before her, his left foot gently nudging Bandit out of the way. “Move, Houdini.”

“Houdini?” Tiffany glanced toward the dog, who watched her with dark, innocent eyes.

“Yeah, I locked that mutt in your sewing room twice. And he got out. Twice.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. He can’t swim, but he can open doors?” Tiffany smiled and turned back to Jake, catching her breath in surprise when she realized he had lowered himself onto one knee and was staring intently into her face.

For a moment both were silent. Tiffany could feel each beat of her heart, could smell the same clean, soapy scent she had noticed in the truck. She could almost imagine she saw a look of admiration in Jake’s eyes, could almost believe he cared about her and that his concern went beyond his duty as an officer of the law.

Then she remembered vomiting on the side of the road. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“No?” Jake’s dark brows lifted, questioning the abruptness of her tone.

“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out the way it was meant. I should have said, thank you for staying.”

“I didn’t mind. Your house is interesting. Queen Anne, right?”

Tiffany knew Jake’s question was meant to put her at ease and she smiled gratefully. “Yes. You know something about Victorian architecture?”

“A bit. Visiting historic buildings was a hobby of mine when I lived in D.C. I’ve picked it up again here in Lakeview.”

“Well, there are plenty of old homes to see in the area. And many of them have interesting histories. Like this one,”
Tiffany paused and gestured around the parlor. “It was built in 1876 for a doctor. He spent five thousand dollars to have it built to his specifications.”

“Did he live here? Or just see patients?”

“Oh, he lived here. He and his wife raised seven children….” Tiffany’s voice trailed off as she realized she was babbling on about something Jake probably had no interest in. “Sorry, I got off on a tangent.”

“I was enjoying your tangent.”

“Really?” Tiffany cringed at the hopeful sound in her voice. Being around Jake had turned her into a blathering idiot.

“Yeah, really.” There was a smile in Jake’s voice and Tiffany could feel her own smile forming.

“Well, most people don’t. My family and friends all thought I was crazy to buy this old place. And I can’t say I blame them. It was in pretty bad shape.”

“Not anymore. You’re doing a great job restoring it.”

“Thanks, but with my computer business, I just don’t have the time to do it all.” Tiffany’s gaze drifted to the half-stripped fireplace mantel. “I’ve got the kitchen, the hall and this room almost finished. And my bedroom upstairs. But there’s still a lot to do.”

“Is that why you hired Tom?”

“Yes, that was part of it.”

“And the other part was that you figured he needed a place to spend his time?”

Jake’s words made Tiffany’s shoulders tense. After Brian’s comments on her naïveté, she felt defensive about hiring Tom. But when she looked into Jake’s midnight eyes, there was no condemnation, just interest and curiosity. Relaxing, Tiffany shrugged her shoulders and tried to think of the best way to answer Jake’s question. “Wanting to give Tom a
place to spend time helped me make my decision. But it was his remorse that made me certain he’d be a good employee.”