Still Waters (3 page)

“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.

T
he 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.”

“That’s the plan.”

Jake nodded, his face set in an expression Tiffany couldn’t read. “Good luck. Now, I’d better get the Bishops back home.”

“All right. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” As quickly as he had come, Jake was gone and the yard fell into silence once again.

Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Tiffany turned back to the fence. Jake seemed concerned about Tom working for her, though she had to give him credit for not saying as much. She couldn’t help wondering if Brian would be as willing to hold his tongue.

Shrugging away the worry, she went back to work on the
fence, smiling as Bandit slipped out of his hiding place and plopped down on her feet. There were white splotches of paint on his midnight coat, and Tiffany wondered how difficult it would be to wrestle him into a bath. Probably very difficult.

Oh, well, he looked rather cute with white polka dots.

She reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out an animal cracker, then dropped it down onto the ground in front of Bandit. He inhaled it and looked up for more, the expression in his eyes so soulful, Tiffany had to laugh. “Getting a bit spoiled already, are you? That’s okay, I’m enjoying your company so you deserve a treat.”

She dropped a few more animal crackers down. “Hey, maybe Brian will stop by later. Add a little life to our paint party. What do you think?”

The dog woofed a response before dropping his head across Tiffany’s feet. She stepped to the side and lifted her paintbrush, smoothing another coat over the picket. “You know, I think I’m going to like having a dog. Talking to you is so much better than talking to myself.”

A soft snore was Bandit’s only response.

“So Tiffany offered Tom Bishop a job and you don’t approve.” Ben Avery’s words were muffled, his face half-hidden by the lid of the tackle box he was searching through.

Jake waited until his friend was upright in the bow of the boat before responding. “It’s not that I don’t approve. I’m just surprised. Tom’s been in and out of trouble for years. I’d think Ms. Anderson would want to keep her distance. That would be the wise thing to do.”

Ben chuckled as he pulled his fishing line out of the water and rebaited the hook. “Tiffany isn’t known for making
choices based on the world’s wisdom. She makes them based on her heart.”

“Yeah. I’m getting that impression. Maybe someone should talk to her.”

“About what? About caring? About giving a chance to a kid who isn’t going to get one from anyone else?”

“Chances are for people who earn them. Not for smart-alecky kids with chips on their shoulders.”

“Everyone deserves a chance, Jake. You know that.”

Jake sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I know. Unfortunately, experience has taught me that most kids like Tom don’t respond well to second, third and fourth chances.”

“But some do.”

“The minority.”

“That minority would be lost if not for people like Tiffany.”

“And Will. Look what happened to him.” Jake knew he sounded bitter. He
was
bitter. William Banks had been his partner for ten years. His best friend for just as long.

“He was a police officer. His situation was completely different than Tiffany’s.”

“Not so different.” Jake cast his own fishing line, forcing his emotions down before he continued speaking. “Will was murdered by a kid he’d been mentoring for a year.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

Jake shrugged and gazed out over the still water of the lake. “He devoted his life to kids like Tom. Volunteered at the community center when he had time. Tried to set an example of what a man should be. The thanks he got was a bullet to the chest.”

“And you think the same thing is going to happen to Tiffany?”

“Who knows? I just hope she understands what she’s getting herself into. All the affection, help and chances in the world can’t change a kid who doesn’t want to be changed.”

“She’s doing what she thinks is right. Living by the second greatest commandment—love your neighbor as yourself.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“You can’t argue with
anything
I say. I’m your pastor.”

Jake shook his head and scooped up a handful of water, sending it flying toward his fishing companion. “Yeah, well, I’m
your
sheriff. So watch yourself.”

Ben just smirked and leaned back against the vinyl seat. “Don’t make me sic the ladies’ auxiliary on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“No? Don’t bet on it, friend.”

And Jake wouldn’t. He knew Ben Avery to be as tenacious as a bull terrier, and twice as wily. Seven months ago Ben had spotted Jake amidst his congregation. From that moment on, his mission had been to befriend the town’s new sheriff. Evening visits, phone calls—Ben had slowly but surely infiltrated his way into Jake’s solitary existence.

Something Jake would be eternally grateful for.

He sighed and rebaited the hook on his line. The gentle swell and sway of water rocked the boat’s hull, the lulling movements helping to ease away some of Jake’s tension. Gold-and-pink clouds dotted the horizon, the sunset slowly fading their color to silver and gray. Around the boat tiny insects buzzed in clouds of annoying energy, and every few minutes a fish or frog splashed its presence.

Jake enjoyed it all—the hum of life, the slow drifting pace of the day. Though his week’s vacation had started off rocky, it had improved as the day wore on.

Had Tiffany’s day gotten better? Was she still painting
the white picket fence? Or was she off somewhere, offering friendship to another lonely soul? Maybe rescuing more hapless creatures? If so, who would rescue her? Certainly not her boyfriend.
Dr. Brian.
The man sounded like a loser.

“So, who’s Dr. Brian?” The question was out before Jake knew he was going to ask it.