Still Waters

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 rapidly, 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.”