Still Waters. Shirlee McCoyЧитать онлайн книгу.
hand.
His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts, though his gaze drifted down to rest briefly on Tiffany’s wet shirt. She followed his gaze with her own, gasping in surprise as she realized the extent of the damage. Smudges of dirt and grass stained the front of the shirt and a jagged tear rent the hem. Worse, the material clung to her like a second skin. Hastily pushing her arms through the sleeves of the jacket, Tiffany zipped it to her chin and tried to ignore the fine trembling in her hands. Her lake ordeal had left her exhausted and she couldn’t wait to get home.
She pasted a smile on her face and turned toward the sheriff, ready to make light of the moment and be on her way. Instead she froze, flustered by the intense stare of the man beside her. He didn’t smile, didn’t offer any encouragement, just held her gaze, his face set in an expression that shouted stay back.
Tiffany imagined him using that expression on criminals. Imagined him forcing a confession by the sheer force of his gaze. She swallowed back nervous laughter and pushed open the truck door. “I guess I’d better get in there. Thanks for the jacket. And for saving me. And the dog, too. I mean…I’d better go find Brian.”
Without a backward glance, Tiffany hopped out of the truck and headed for the diner.
Chapter Two
Jake watched her go, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It surprised him a little, the pulling of muscles and crinkling of eyes, the spontaneous response to simple pleasure. The past year had been short on smiles. Those that had graced Jake’s face felt forced and unnatural.
Now he was close to grinning thanks to Tiffany Anderson and her rambling, embarrassed banter. Not to mention her shuffling run as she moved across the parking lot, the sleeves of his jacket falling down over her hands. He’d thought her hair to be brown, but now realized he’d been wrong. It was red—a bouncing, shouting array of gold and fire.
He wondered if she had a temper to match, then forced his mind away from the question. He didn’t want to know about Tiffany. Didn’t want to find out who she was, what made her tick, or why she would risk her life for a dog.
He’d done it once—searched for the answers to a woman’s heart. The result had been two years of bitter feuds and cutting silences. In the end, he and Sheila had divorced. He’d thrown himself into his work. She’d thrown herself into the bottle. Jake had blamed himself. Now he avoided relationships, preferring a life of solitude to a life of regret.
Jake ran a hand through his hair and eyed the closed door of the diner. Too much time had passed. Tiffany should have returned by now. The dog whined as if he, too, were growing impatient. Determined to get on with his day, Jake stepped out of the truck and checked on the dog, who lay panting loudly in the morning heat. No doubt he was thirsty.
Jake figured he could get the dog some water in the diner. Then he’d find Tiffany Anderson and politely ask her to remove the mutt from the back of his truck.
If he could find Tiffany. If she hadn’t scooted out the back of the diner and left the dog to him. Jake winced at his own cynicism. Ten years patrolling the most squalid areas of Washington, D.C., had taught him everything he needed to know about human nature. Not that he’d had much to learn. He’d cut his teeth on lies and faithlessness. Where Jake grew up, a promise made was a promise broken and the only person he could trust was himself.
Forcing his mind away from the past, Jake pushed open the door of the diner and walked into warmth and chaos. The sun shone through huge storefront windows, bathing the room with light. Jukebox music and eager conversation filled the dining area as waitresses shuffled order pads and balanced food-laden trays. The heady aroma of bacon and sausage wafted through the room and Jake’s stomach rumbled in response. Once he found Tiffany and got rid of the dog, Jake figured he might just start his vacation with a stack of pancakes and a side of home fried potatoes. Taking a seat at the counter, he gazed around the room searching for a head full of rioting curls.
“Looking for Tiffy?”
Jake turned to greet Doris Williams, the current owner of Becky’s Diner. “Tiffy?”
“Tiffany Anderson. She said you brought her here from the lake. I thought maybe you were looking for her.”
“Yeah. She leave?”
“She’s in the bathroom. Crying, I’d say. Not that she’s the mopey kind, mind you. But a girl counts on her man being there for her when she’s down. When he’s not, it’s disappointing.”
Jake’s mind spun at the turn in the conversation but he nodded anyway. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“No supposin’ about it.” Short and thin, with wiry salt-and-pepper hair and skin the color of toasted pecans, Doris was known for her harsh tongue and soft heart. She would go to her grave denying it, swore she’d never committed a charitable act, but the residents of Lakeview knew the truth and loved Doris for it.
Jake had been hearing stories of her timely interventions since the day he’d moved to town. In the twelve months since then, he’d seen for himself the extent to which Doris would go to make a single mother feel comfortable taking leftovers from the diner’s kitchen, or to talk an out-of-work father into accepting free meals for his children. He’d also seen that when Doris needed a hand with something, the townspeople were quick to go to her aid. Jake wasn’t about to break with tradition.
Which he supposed was good, as it seemed Doris wanted something from him. Shifting in his chair, Jake met Doris’s watchful gaze and tried not to fidget beneath her scrutiny.
“Well?” Coal-black eyes flashed as short-nailed fingers beat a tattoo against the counter.
Jake cleared his throat. “Well, what?”
“What are you going to do about Tiffany? Dr. Brian has gone off to the men’s prayer meeting and left her here. Someone’s got to give her a ride home.”
The tone of Doris’s voice left little doubt that the someone was going to be Jake. Pushing aside his exasperation, Jake resigned himself to the task. “You said she was in the bathroom?”
“Yes. Drying her shirt, she said. But I know better. Knock on the door loud and get me if she doesn’t come out. I’ll fetch her for you.”
“Right.” With a last wistful look at a tray of pancakes being carried to the dining room, Jake headed for the rest rooms. His belly could wait. Duty called.
“Pull yourself together!” The whispered words did little to stanch the tears that dripped down Tiffany’s cheeks. She mopped at the offending moisture with a wad of toilet tissue, blinked hard and sniffed. It wasn’t far to her house and any other morning she would have enjoyed the walk. But Tiffany was tired. She was wet. The hair she’d so carefully braided that morning fell around her face in straggly curls.
And Brian had left her to fend for herself.
Not that she could blame him. After all, he was leading the prayer meeting and it wouldn’t do for him to be late. Still, it would have been nice if he’d come looking for her. Or barring that, waited until she’d shown up. Tiffany didn’t think it was too much to ask that Brian be as concerned about her well-being as he was about his meeting. Unfortunately, if she’d had to count on him to rescue her, Tiffany would still be floundering in the lake.
The thought brought fresh tears and Tiffany grabbed another handful of tissue, rubbing hard at red-rimmed eyes. The tissue broke apart and dotted her face with tiny bits of white. Irritated, she used the sleeve of Jake’s jacket to rub the residue away. Walking back through the dining room looking like the before ad for allergy relief medication would be embarrassing enough; she didn’t need toilet paper stuck to her face as well.
Sniffing hard, Tiffany forced back more tears and reached for her purse. The one blessing in the whole fiasco was that Brian had remembered to leave it with Doris. Rifling through its contents Tiffany pushed aside car keys, house keys, lip balm and a pack of gum before she realized she’d left her wallet at home. She didn’t have