“We have a picnic planned for this Saturday,” the pastor said.

“Not only to give potential parents information, but as a meet and greet so the mentors can get to know the boys and vice versa,” he continued. “We’ll match up the pairs after.”

“I don’t know,” Jake hedged. “I’d have to know more about what’s involved.”

“It’s easy. You just take a kid who needs a little time and attention under your wing.”

Under his wing.

That, Jake thought, wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Not for someone like him.

Maybe he should have thought it through a little more when he’d told God he’d say yes to whatever He asked.

Especially considering he had been about to die when he made the promise.

KATHRYN SPRINGER

is a lifelong Wisconsin resident. Growing up in a “newspaper” family, she spent long hours as a child plunking out stories on her mother’s typewriter and hasn’t stopped writing since! She loves to write inspirational romance because it allows her to combine her faith in God with her love of a happy ending.

Love Finds a Home
Kathryn Springer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.

—Ephesians 3:17–18

To Colleen, my “third” daughter, who has a special place in my life and in my heart. Love ya!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Flowers?” Police Chief Jake Sutton spotted the enormous bouquet of roses the moment he stepped into the break room, where the officers roosted near the coffee pot before heading out on patrol every morning. “I’m touched, guys, but you shouldn’t have.”

The three men staring morosely at the fragrant centerpiece snapped to attention at the sound of his voice.

“We didn’t,” Phil Koenigs muttered, the droop of his narrow shoulders more pronounced than usual.

“No offense, though, Chief,” Tony Tripenski added quickly. “We would have brought you flowers if we knew you liked them.” His eyes widened when he saw Jake’s eyebrow lift. “I mean, not that you look like the type of guy who likes flowers…”

Phil rolled up the fingers on one hand and cuffed Tony on the shoulder. “Put the shovel away, Trip. All you’re doing is digging yourself a deeper hole.”

Glowering, the younger officer folded his arms across his chest and slumped lower in the chair.

Jake paused long enough to pour himself a cup of coffee before making his way to the table. Something warned him that he was going to need the extra caffeine. The last time he’d seen the men in such a dismal mood was the day he’d officially been sworn in as Mirror Lake’s new police chief.

He flipped an empty chair away from the table and straddled it. “If one of you has a secret admirer, you’d look a little happier. That means someone must be in the doghouse with the wife.”

“The doghouse would be easier,” Steve Patterson, one of the part-time officers, grumbled.

“Yeah.” Trip nodded. “Much easier. I’d rather face Sherry when she’s in a mood than…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You know who.”

No, Jake didn’t know. He hadn’t been born and raised in the area, something more than a few people had been quick to point out since his arrival.

His gaze cut back to Phil. If he wanted a straight answer, it would most likely come from the senior officer. As second in command, Phil had been the most likely candidate to step into the shoes of the former police chief, who’d opted for an early retirement. Instead, he’d astonished everyone by turning down the position.

Any concern that Phil’s decision would make the transfer of power a rocky one had been put to rest when Jake found out Phil was the one who’d pulled his resume from the stack of applications and given it his personal stamp of approval.

He still wasn’t quite sure why. But he did know that if it weren’t for the dour officer’s willingness to fill him in on the local—and sometimes colorful—history of the town and the people who lived there, Jake might still be suffering from an acute case of culture shock. Within the first twenty-four hours, he’d discovered that what Mirror Lake lacked in population, it made up for in quirks.

He had a feeling he was about to add another one to the list.

He glanced at the officer, surprised when Phil averted his gaze. “Phil? Flowers?”

The officer scratched at a coffee stain on the table with his thumbnail. Sighed. “They’re for Emma Barlow.”

“Okay.” Jake drew a blank on the name. “I’ll bite. Who is Emma Barlow?”

The three men exchanged looks but none of them seemed in a hurry to enlighten him. Jake waited, drawing on the patience that had become second nature while working as an undercover narcotics officer.

“Brian Barlow’s widow,” Phil finally said. “Brian was a good man. A good…cop.”

Was.

Jake didn’t miss the significance of the word. Or the flash of grief in the older officer’s eyes. It was the first time he’d heard about the department losing an officer. Apparently that was one bit of local history Phil hadn’t been eager to share. “What happened?”

“He was killed in the line of duty six years ago. High-speed chase.” Steve picked up the story with a sideways glance at Phil, who’d lapsed into silence again. “On the anniversary of his death, one of us takes flowers to his wife…” He caught himself. “I mean his widow.”

“That’s thoughtful of you.” Jake wasn’t surprised. From what he’d learned about the town over the past few weeks, an annual tribute to a fallen officer was the kind of thing he’d expect from the tightly knit group of people who lived in Mirror Lake.

No one agreed or disagreed with the statement. But if anything, they looked more miserable than they had when he’d walked in. For the first time, Jake noticed three plastic straws lined up next to the vase.

Absently, he picked one up and rolled it between his fingers.

The short one.

His eyes narrowed but no one noticed. Probably because they’d all found a different focal point in the room to latch on to.

The evidence in front of him and the officers’ expressions could only lead Jake to one conclusion.

“Don’t tell me that you’re drawing straws to see who gets to deliver the flowers?”

“No.” Trip almost choked on the word.

Jake might have believed the swift denial if the tips of Trip’s ears hadn’t turned the same shade of red as his hair.

He turned to Steve and raised an eyebrow.

Steve’s Adam’s apple convulsed in response. “We draw straws to decide who has to deliver them,” he muttered.

“Let me get this straight. You buy Emma Barlow flowers every year but no one wants to give them to her?”

Absolute silence followed the question. Which, Jake decided, was an answer in itself. Under any circumstances, it was difficult to lose a fellow officer, but in a small community like Mirror Lake, he guessed it had shaken the town to its very foundation.

He buried a sigh. “I’ll drop them off. Where does she live?”

The officers stared at Jake as if he’d just volunteered to walk into a drug deal wearing a wire on the outside of his clothes.

“You?” Steve’s voice cracked on the word.

Not quite the reaction Jake had expected.

“Is there something I’m missing here?” he asked. “Don’t I just knock on the door, express my condolences and give Emma Barlow the flowers?”

Phil opened his mouth to speak but Trip and Steve beat him to it.

“That’s pretty much it, Chief.” A hopeful look dawned in Trip’s eyes.

“Yup.” Steve’s head bobbed in agreement. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Phil?”

The officer’s fingers drummed an uneven beat against the table. “That’s usually the way it goes,” he said cautiously. Usually?

“So you think she would be more comfortable if someone she knew brought them over—” Jake didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence. Phil’s radio crackled to life as a call came in from dispatch.

The three officers surged to their feet.

“Better go.” Phil moved toward the door at an impressive speed, Steve and Trip practically stumbling over his heels in their haste to follow.

“Wait a second.” Jake couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “It takes all three of you to respond to a dog complaint?”

Phil had already disappeared, leaving Steve and Trip glued to the floor as if Jake had aimed a spotlight on them.

“It might be a big dog,” Trip mumbled.

“Huge.” Steve nodded.

“And vicious,” Trip added. “You never know.”

“That’s true.” Jake suppressed a smile. “So, in the interest of maintaining public safety, I’ll expect a full, written report on this large, vicious dog and details of the encounter before you leave today.”

The officers’ unhappy looks collided in midair.

“Sure, Chief.” Trip plucked at his collar. “Not a problem.”

He vanished through the doorway but Steve paused for a moment. “Emma Barlow lives in the last house on Stony Ridge Road. It’s a dead end off the west side of the lake—”

A hand closed around Steve’s arm and yanked him out of sight.

Jake shook his head.

Definitely one for the list.

Emma Barlow sat at the kitchen table, palms curled around a cup of tea that had cooled off more than an hour ago.

Ordinarily, she could set her clock by the arrival of an officer from the Mirror Lake Police Department. Nine o’clock sharp, as if the stop at her house was the first order of business for the day.

Or something to get over with as quickly as possible.

Sometimes Emma wondered if the officers dreaded August fifteenth as much as she did.

After six years, she knew exactly what to do. As if every moment, every movement, were choreographed.

Emma would open the door and find one of the officers, most likely Phil Koenigs, standing on the porch with a bouquet of red roses. Always roses.

They didn’t speak. Emma preferred it that way. She accepted the flowers more easily than she would have awkward condolences. Or even worse, a pious reminder that God loved her and she should accept Brian’s death as His will.

Emma had often wondered why no one else saw the contradiction there. If God really loved her, would He have left her a widow at the age of twenty-four? Wouldn’t He have somehow intervened to save Brian?

Those were the kinds of questions that ran through Emma’s mind during the sleepless nights following the funeral, but she’d learned not to voice them out loud. It hadn’t taken her long to discover that most people, no matter how sympathetic or well-meaning, seemed to give grief a wide berth. As if they were afraid if they got too close, it would touch—or stain—their own lives somehow.

No one liked to be reminded how fragile life could be. Especially another police officer, who looked at her and saw Brian instead. A life cut short.

Maybe that explained why the officers remained poised on the top step, waiting for her to take the flowers. She would then nod politely. Step back into the house. Close the door. Listen for the car to drive away. The roses would be transported to the cemetery and carefully arranged, one by one, in the bronze vase on Brian’s grave.

What she really wanted to do was throw them away.

If it weren’t for Jeremy, she probably would. Although her ten-year-old son had very few memories of his father, he took both pride and comfort in knowing that an entire community did.

Jeremy had lost enough; Emma wasn’t about to take that away from him.

Unlike her, Brian had been born and raised in Mirror Lake. He’d left after graduation, only to return two years later with a degree in Police Science and a gold wedding band on his left hand, a perfect match with the one now tucked away in her jewelry box.

The snap of a car door closing sucked the air from Emma’s lungs. Lost in thought, she hadn’t heard a car pull up the driveway. Through the panel of lace curtains on the window, Emma caught a glimpse of a light bar on top of the vehicle.

Rising to her feet, she tried to subdue the memories that pushed their way to the surface. Memories of the night she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, waiting for Brian to come home. But instead of her husband, a visibly shaken Phil Koenigs had shown up at the door…

You can do this, Em. Open the door. Take the roses. Nod politely. Close the door.

Her fingers closed around the knob. And her heart stumbled.

It wasn’t Phil who stood there, a bouquet of long-stemmed roses pinched in the bend of his arm.

It was a stranger, empty-handed.

“Emma Barlow?”

A stranger who knew her name.

Emma managed a jerky nod. “Y-yes.” Her voice sounded as rusty as the screen door she hadn’t found time to replace.

“I’m Jake Sutton.” He extended his hand. “The new police chief.”

Before she knew what was happening, Emma felt the warm press of his fingers as they folded around hers.

She’d heard a rumor about Chief Jansen’s upcoming retirement but hadn’t realized he’d been replaced yet. Replaced by a man in his midthirties, whose chiseled features and tousled dark hair gave him an edgy look. A faint web of scars etched the blade of his jaw, as pale and delicate as frost on a window. If it weren’t for the white dress shirt and badge, he would have looked more like someone who walked the edge of the law, not a man who dedicated his life enforcing it.

Emma pulled her hand away, no longer sure what she should say. Or do.

Jake Sutton had just changed the rules.

Chapter Two

Jake felt Emma Barlow’s hand flutter inside his like a butterfly trapped in a jar. Before she yanked it away.

His first thought when the door opened was that he’d gone to the wrong address. The woman standing on the other side was young. Younger than he expected.

Too young to be a widow.

Fast on the heels of that thought came a second. In an instant, Jake knew why the officers let the short straw decide who delivered the flowers. It wasn’t the painful reminder of losing a friend and colleague they didn’t want to face.

It was Emma Barlow.

He recognized the anger embedded in her grief; flash-frozen like shards of glass in the smoke-blue eyes staring up at him.

She didn’t want flowers. Or sympathy.

She wanted him to leave.

It was a shame that Jake rarely did what people wanted—or expected—him to do.

“Do you mind if I come in?”

Instead of answering, Emma Barlow made a strangled sound.

Was that a yes or a no?

Jake took a step forward. She took a step back…and bumped into the person who’d materialized behind her. A boy about ten or eleven years old, with sandy blond hair a shade or two lighter than hers. Eyes an identical shade of blue.

Jake released a slow breath.

No one at the department had mentioned a child.

Steve had said that Brian Barlow had died six years ago. If this was his son, and the boy had to be, given the striking physical resemblance to Emma, he must have lost his father before he started school.

Something twisted in Jake’s gut when Emma put a protective hand on the boy’s shoulder. He’d gotten used to the suspicious looks cast his way while he worked undercover, hair scraped back in an unkempt ponytail and a gold stud in one earlobe. He’d gotten rid of both after leaving the force, but Emma Barlow’s wary expression still unsettled him. Made him feel like the bad guy.

“Jeremy, this is…Chief Sutton.” Emma’s husky voice stumbled over the words. “Chief Sutton—my son. Jeremy.”

Jake extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The boy hung back, his gaze uncertain. “Where are the flowers?”

The question broadsided Jake. If Emma’s son had expected him to show up with a dozen roses, he obviously hadn’t followed standard protocol.

Okay, God, I thought I was following your orders.

Jake’s silent prayer went up with a huff of frustration. Not at God, but at himself. The trouble was, he’d been a cop longer than he’d been a follower of Jesus, so he wasn’t always sure he was getting the faith stuff right.

Over the past six months, he’d tried to tune in to what some referred to as “a still, small voice” or a “gentle inner nudge.”

His younger brother, Andy, without mentioning names, of course, claimed that if “someone” had a thick skull, God sometimes had to shout to get their attention. And if that “someone” also possessed a thick skin, the “gentle nudge” might feel more like an elbow to the ribs.

Jake had felt that elbow when he’d reached out to steady the vase on the seat beside him at a stop sign on his way to Emma’s. He studied the flowers, as if he’d just been given a piece of evidence, but found nothing unusual about a dozen roses mixed with lacy ferns and a few tufts of those little white flowers he couldn’t remember the name of. The standard arrangement a woman received for Valentine’s Day or an anniversary. To remind her she was loved…

Another jab.

Jake had closed his eyes.

Did a bouquet of red roses honor her husband’s memory? Or was the sight of them one more reminder of everything Emma Barlow had lost?

Jake had turned the squad car around and headed for the florist shop.

Once inside, he’d bypassed the cooler filled with pink and blue carnations, ready and waiting to celebrate the next newborn baby, and dodged a display of vases filled with single-stemmed roses, the grab-and-go kind, best offered with an apology.

His foot had snagged the corner of a wooden pallet, almost pitching him headfirst into the sturdy little tree in the corner.

The clerk explained it had been part of a late-summer shipment that hadn’t sold because most people planted trees in the spring. A mistake.

Jake had seen it as divine intervention.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“I brought something else this time.”

Jeremy ducked his head and Jake waited, hoping the boy’s natural curiosity would trump his fear.

Jeremy scraped the toe of his tennis shoe against the porch, sloughing off a blister of loose paint. His voice barely broke above a whisper but Jake heard him.

“What is it?”

Emma resisted the urge to echo the question.

“Come on. I’ll show you.” Jake Sutton stepped off the porch and strode toward the squad car. Without asking for her permission, Jeremy bounded after him.

Leaving Emma no choice but to follow.

The police chief opened the back door of the vehicle and pulled out a bucket. Emma blinked.

He had brought something else.

A spindly coat rack of a tree with leaves that looked more like pieces of damp crepe paper glued to the drooping branches.

“What’s that?” Jeremy’s nose wrinkled as he sidled closer.

“This…” Jake anchored the container against one narrow hip and bumped the door shut. “Is an apple tree.”

Jeremy gave it a doubtful look. “I think it’s dead.”

“It’ll be good as new once it’s planted. All it needs is some water and sunlight.” Jake tilted his head. “I was going to offer to dig the hole, but you look strong enough to do it.”

He sounded so certain that Jeremy’s chin rose. “S-sure.”

Before Emma could protest, Jake transferred the bucket to her son’s arms. Jeremy’s shoulders sagged under the weight, but to her astonishment his eyes glowed with pride when he turned to look at her.

“Should I find a place to plant it, Mom?”

Emma nodded, not trusting her voice. Although they lived in the country, her son shunned the rough-and-tumble antics that most boys his age enthusiastically embraced. Emma knew she was partially responsible for that. After Brian’s death, she’d had no choice but to take Jeremy to work with her at the library, where he’d been forced to find quiet things to occupy his time.

By the time he was old enough to pursue some of his own interests, Jeremy had seemed more content to observe things rather than experience them. Emma had been secretly relieved when it looked as if he hadn’t inherited his father’s love of a challenge. Brian’s desire to push the limits had burned like a flame inside him. One that marriage and becoming a father had only tempered, never fully quenched.

Jeremy flashed a shy smile in the man’s direction before trudging away, arms wrapped as tight as insulation around the bucket.

Emma couldn’t get her feet to move. Or her vocal cords.

She didn’t know what to do with an apple tree. Jake Sutton should have brought roses. Never mind that she didn’t like roses… It was what he was supposed to do. And he should be driving away now…not watching her with golden-brown eyes, as calm and measuring as a timber wolf’s.

Those eyes locked with hers and Emma had the uneasy feeling he could read her thoughts. “Do you have a shovel handy?”

Afraid of where the question might lead—possibly to Jake Sutton staying longer?—Emma didn’t respond.

Unfortunately, Jeremy did. “There’s one in the shed,” he called over his shoulder, his mood a whole lot more cheerful than hers.

“Good. You find a spot for the tree while your mother and I round one up.”

Didn’t she have a say in this?

Emma’s hands clenched at her side. “That’s not necessary, Chief…Sutton.” Her mind was still having a difficult time adjusting to the change. Not only in the name but the man himself. “You must be busy. Jeremy and I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“It’s Jake. And don’t worry about me getting into trouble.” A glint of humor appeared in his eyes. “I’m the boss.”

Said, Emma thought a bit resentfully, with the confidence that police officers seemed to wear as comfortably as their uniform. And if that weren’t enough, the amusement bloomed into laughter, causing a chain reaction. It spilled into the creases fanning out from those amber eyes and tugged at the corners of his lips. The result was a charming, if slightly lopsided smile.

He wasn’t supposed to smile, either.

Emma tried to ignore her uninvited guest as they made their way around the corner of the house, past the rusted swing set Jeremy had already outgrown. Weeds sprouted at the base of the poles, a reminder that she’d been neglecting the yard work.

She caught a sigh before it escaped.

Not for the first time, she wished there were more hours in the day.

Between working at the library and her responsibilities at home, Emma didn’t have a lot of time to devote to general maintenance around the property. There had been times when she’d thought about selling the place and leaving Mirror Lake for good…if memories of Brian hadn’t become fragile threads that held her there.

And if she’d had somewhere else to go.

She tried to see the property from Jake Sutton’s eyes. Did he notice some of the shingles had begun to peel away from the roof like the soles of a worn-out shoe? That dandelions dotted a shaggy backyard in desperate need of a lawn mower?

In spite of his easy stride and that disarming smile, something warned her that the man didn’t miss much.

“How about right here, Mom?” Jeremy waved to them from the spot he’d chosen. Smack-dab in the middle of the yard.

Emma looked around, not sure if she wanted it in such a conspicuous spot. Before she had time to respond, Jake nodded.

“Good choice. It’ll get full sun there.”

Jeremy seemed to grow several inches, basking in Jake Sutton’s approval as if he’d been the one exposed to sunlight.

It didn’t make sense. Her son, ordinarily shy around strangers, was responding to the police chief as if they’d known each other for years.

Emma changed direction, veering toward the shed in search of a shovel. The knot in her stomach loosened when Jake didn’t follow her. Facing any critters that might have taken up residence inside was more appealing than facing him at the moment.

When she returned a few minutes later, brushing cobwebs from the rusty shovel she’d unearthed, Jake was kneeling beside Jeremy. Heads bowed together, shadow and sun, as they studied the planting directions printed on a ragged piece of paper attached to one of the branches with a piece of twine.

Her lips tightened.

The sooner she started digging, the sooner Jake Sutton would leave them alone.

Emma aimed the shovel at a random spot in the grass but Jake plucked it gently from her grasp. “Jeremy’s got it.” He aimed a wink in her son’s direction, as if the two of them had already discussed how to deal with the possibility of any maternal resistance.

“We haven’t had much rain. The ground is pretty hard.” She reached for the tool again but Jake handed it to Jeremy, who reacted as if he’d been given the Olympic torch.

Emma worried her bottom lip between her teeth while she watched Jeremy’s face scrunch in concentration as he threw his weight against the handle. The ground barely cracked beneath the blade.

“I can—” Emma started to say.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Jeremy gasped. “I got it.”

“You’re doing great.” Jake smiled again. At her. As if he knew how difficult it was not to take over. To watch Jeremy struggle.

The next five minutes seemed like an hour. Finally Jake stepped forward. “Looks great, Jeremy. Why don’t you take the tree out of the bucket while I clear some of this loose dirt out of the hole?”

“Okay,” Jeremy panted the word, relinquishing the shovel with a grin.

Emma felt something shift inside her. She had a feeling that by the time Jake cleared some of the “loose dirt” out of the hole, it would be deep enough to plant the root ball.

Jeremy wrestled the apple tree out of the bucket, and together he and Jake dropped it carefully into the hole.

If possible, the sapling looked even more forlorn than it had in the bucket.

Jeremy must have thought so, too. “I’m going to get some water.”

He scampered away, leaving Emma alone with Jake Sutton.

“I hope you don’t mind.” The rough velvet of his voice scraped across Emma’s frayed emotions. “I thought you might like a change this year. Something that will last longer than a vase of flowers.”

Change?

Emma almost laughed.

She’d been through enough changes to last a lifetime.

Chapter Three

“So, how are you adjusting to small-town life?” Matthew Wilde slid into the booth opposite Jake.

“Did we have an appointment?” Jake feigned confusion. “Because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t choose to answer that question during the morning rush at the Grapevine Café.”

“I don’t wait for my congregation to make appointments.” The pastor shrugged. “I’ve discovered it’s more effective to go where they are. Like Jesus did.”

“Mmm. That explains why you spend so much time out on the lake.”

“Jesus did say something about becoming fishers of men.” Matt grinned. “What better place to find them?”

“What can I get you, Pastor?” Kate Nichols, the owner of the café, appeared beside their table, her smile as vibrant as the auburn curls that poked out like rusty bedsprings under the yellow bandana she wore. “Just coffee.”

Kate propped one hand on her hip. “You know as well as I do that as soon as I leave you’re going to change your mind and want the special with a side of hash browns and bacon. Why don’t you save me the trouble and put the order in now?”

“I’m surprised you stay in business, Kate. The way you treat your customers. And your pastor,” Matt added piously.

Kate arched a brow. “Eggs?”

“Over medium.”

She turned to Jake. “Chief?”

“Just coffee, thanks.”

Kate tucked the pen in her apron pocket and flitted away. She reminded Jake of a hummingbird. Always in motion. From what he’d heard, Kate Nichols was Mirror Lake’s own five-foot-two generator, keeping the town running.

“Why did she believe you and not me?” Matt complained.

“I never change my mind.”

The vinyl booth crackled as Matt leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. “Your name came up yesterday.”

“Let me guess. Delia Peake.” From the way the woman had glared at him from the back row of the choir on Sunday morning, Jake guessed she was still steamed that the animal who’d trampled her garden and sampled the produce as if it were a buffet had eluded capture. As far as Delia was concerned, if Jake was worth his salt as a police chief, he would have apprehended the furry little vandal himself. Never mind that he’d been out at the Barlow house at the time of the “attack.”

Jake jerked his thoughts back into line as they strayed to Emma Barlow. Again. Almost a week had gone by since he’d tossed protocol out of the window and presented her with an apple tree instead of a bouquet of roses. The memory of that morning should have started to fade. Instead, the opposite had occurred. Jake found himself thinking about it—about her—even more. Emma Barlow had a way of sneaking into his thoughts before he realized what was happening…

Like right now.

“No, it wasn’t Delia. This time.” From the amusement lurking in Matt’s eyes, Jake knew the pastor had heard about the garden fiasco. “A few months ago, Harold Davis, one of the church elders, met with me about starting a mentoring program. Matching men from the congregation with boys from single-parent families in town. The initial feedback from everyone was positive, so we researched the success of similar programs in other churches and wrote up a mission statement. I’ve been compiling a list of men willing to serve as positive role models for boys who don’t have one in their lives.”

Jake could see where this was going. “And you want to add mine to the list.”

“I already did.”

“This is where I remind you that I’m new to the area. You don’t know anything about me.” Only what Jake had told the pastor the first time they’d met, and he’d deliberately left out a few details of his former life.

“I know the important things.” Matt’s gaze remained level. “You’re a believer. You’re growing in your relationship with Christ. And you mentioned that you wanted to get involved in one of the ministries at Church of the Pines.”

Jake could have argued every point. He was a new believer. He had a long way to go when it came to relationships, not only with the Lord but with everyone in general. And he’d had no idea that a casual comment about serving in the church would bring about such quick results. Jake had meant it, but thought he would have more time to prepare for the task. Like a few months. Or years.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully pushy for a preacher?”

“Can’t honestly say I’ve heard that one,” Matt denied cheerfully.

“Only because people won’t say it to his face,” Kate interrupted. She slid a steaming plate in front of the pastor and checked the level on Jake’s coffee cup before moving to the next table.

“We have a picnic planned for this coming Saturday,” Matt went on. “Not only to give potential parents information but as a meet and greet so the mentors can get to know the boys and vice versa. We’ll match up the pairs after that.”

“I don’t know,” Jake hedged. “I would have to know more about what’s involved.”

“It’s easy. You just take a kid who needs a little time and attention under your wing.”

Under his wing.

That, Jake thought, wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Not for someone like him, anyway. Not too long ago, the only thing he could claim to have “under his wing” was his duty weapon.

Maybe he should have thought it through a little more when he’d told God he would say “yes” to whatever He asked.

Especially considering that he had been about to die when he’d made the promise.

“Listen, Mom! Do you hear that?” Jeremy’s head popped out from behind the colorful screen that separated the children’s area from the rest of the library.

He had volunteered to reorganize the picture-book section, literally turned upside down by a rambunctious pair of four-year-old twin boys who had visited the library with their teenage babysitter earlier that morning.

Emma didn’t bother to tap her finger against her lips, a gentle reminder for her son to keep his voice down. For the past two hours, they had been the only ones in the building.

“Hear what?” She tipped her head, pretending to be unaware of the faint but unmistakable sound of music drifting through the open windows.

“The ice-cream truck.” Jeremy abandoned his post and rushed toward her. “Can I get something? Please?”

Emma was already reaching for her purse, stashed on the bottom shelf of the circulation desk. Apparently Charlie “The Ice-Cream Man” Pendleton had decided to take advantage of another hot August afternoon. His ancient truck, with its equally ancient sound system, drew children into the streets with an enthusiasm that transformed the local Christmas tree farmer into a Pied Piper in denim bib overalls.

The music grew louder, a sure sign that the ice-cream truck had just turned the corner as it cruised toward its destination—a shady spot in front of the Grapevine Café.

“Here you go.” Emma handed him some change. “Be careful when you cross the street.”

Jeremy stuffed the money into the front pocket of his khaki shorts. “I will.”

“And remember not to go any farther than the café.”

“I won’t.”

He’ll be fine, Emma told herself as the heavy door swung shut behind him.

Charlie Pendleton didn’t have a lot to say but below the dusty brim of the man’s faded cap were eyes as sharp and watchful as a school crossing guard. Not to mention that his first stop was located kitty-corner to the police station…

Emma’s heart dipped as an image of Jake Sutton flashed in her mind. And she didn’t appreciate him intruding on her thoughts like this, any more than she had his unexpected appearance on her doorstep.

Although he had left a few minutes after Jeremy had returned with the bucket of water for the apple tree, his departure hadn’t given Emma much relief. Because for some reason, Jake Sutton had become Jeremy’s favorite topic of conversation over the past few days.

He hadn’t even been disappointed that there were no flowers to take to the cemetery. Jake’s unexpected but creative gesture had impacted Jeremy in a way that Emma hadn’t anticipated.

It had impacted her, too, but not in the same way.

From what she had seen, Jake didn’t seem to care about things like rules or expectations or even simple protocol, for that matter. He reminded her of the timber wolves that had been introduced into the heavily wooded northern counties, but gradually migrated into more populated areas, unmindful of any boundaries, natural or man-made. Not necessarily dangerous, but unpredictable.

Only Emma didn’t want unpredictable. Not anymore.

On his way back to the department, Jake spotted Charlie Pendleton’s truck parked in front of the Grapevine Café. Unlike his route, the man’s appearance in town never followed a set pattern or schedule.

The ice-cream truck had rattled through town on several occasions, each time pulling Jake into a surreal Mayberry moment. A year ago, Jake wouldn’t have believed that a town like Mirror Lake actually existed.

Or that he would be living there.

He slowed down as he got closer and noticed a group of larger, middle-school-age boys push their way through the children patiently waiting to place their order. Jake recognized them immediately. Too young to get jobs and yet too old for babysitters, the boys’ favorite pastime seemed to be hanging out at the park or getting into mischief.

By the time Jake pulled over and hopped out of the squad car, they had formed a tight circle around someone at the back of the line.

One of them spotted Jake and sank his elbow into his friend’s side.

“Hey…” The boy’s voice snapped off when he saw Jake walking purposefully toward them.

The circle parted immediately, giving Jake a clear view of the unlucky kid who had been trapped inside. Jeremy Barlow.

The boy looked more worried than hurt, but Jake’s protective instincts—instincts he hadn’t known that he possessed until now—kicked into high gear.

“What’s going on?” He turned his attention to the largest boy in the group.

“Nothing. We’re just goofing around.” As if to prove his point, he gave Jeremy a friendly cuff on the shoulder.

Jeremy winced but remained silent. Jake stepped between them, forcing the others to fall back. “Doesn’t Charlie have a rule that the youngest kids get to go to the front of the line?”

“Yeah, but it’s stupid,” one of the boys muttered. “It should be whoever gets here first.”

“If that’s the case, then from what I saw Jeremy would still be ahead of you.” Jake folded his arms. “Right?”

The oldest boy looked as if he were going to argue the point when Charlie’s voice, as crackly as the speakers, broke through the hum of chatter around them.

“Okay, that’s it! There are kids waiting for me at the next stop.” The elderly man closed up the back of the truck and jumped inside, deaf to the chorus of protests that rose from the boys who had been harassing Jeremy.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You can go. But at the next stop, I’m going to assume you’ll go to the end of the line and there won’t be any more ‘goofing around.’”

Mumbling their agreement, the boys made a beeline for the pile of bicycles on the sidewalk in front of the café.

The rest of the children began to disperse. Jeremy’s pensive gaze followed the truck as it chugged away.

“Are you going to catch up with him at the park?” Jake asked, knowing it was the second stop on Charlie’s route.

He shook his head. “Mom doesn’t want me to go farther than the café.”

Jake frowned. When he was Jeremy’s age, he and his best friend had practically worn the rubber off their bicycle tires on summer afternoons like this. His mother had seemed to accept the nomadic lifestyle of adolescent boys. Her only rule was that Jake eat breakfast before he left the house in the morning and be back in time for supper. And what happened during the hours in between he didn’t need to account for.

Given the way Emma had hovered close to Jeremy the first time they’d met, Jake had a hunch she wasn’t as lenient.

“Mom is still at the library. I should go back.” Jeremy squared his thin shoulders.

Jake couldn’t help but be moved by the boy’s valiant attempt to hide his disappointment. “Do you want a ride?” he heard himself say.

The blue eyes widened. “In the police car?”

“That’s what I’m driving.” Jake couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Hop in.”

Jeremy didn’t have to be told twice. He was sitting in the passenger seat with his seat belt buckled before Jake opened the driver’s side door.

“My dad drove a car like this, didn’t he?”

The innocent question took Jake off guard. Did Jeremy remember his father? “I’m sure it was similar,” he said carefully. “But it probably didn’t have a laptop like this one.”

“It’s important to keep up with changes in technology,” Jeremy said seriously as he leaned forward to study the radar gun mounted to the dash.

“That’s right.” Jake’s lips twitched as he turned the car around. “How is the apple tree doing?”

“I think it’s going to live. And it’s better than flowers, even if we didn’t have anything to take to the cemetery.”

Jake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He hadn’t considered that the bouquet the police department gave Emma would end up on Brian’s grave.

Further proof that he’d made a mistake.

“There’s Mom.” Jeremy pointed out the window.

Emma stood on the sidewalk in front of the library, her willowy figure accentuated by the white blouse and knee-length denim skirt she wore. Her gaze was riveted on the squad car.

The expression on her face warned Jake that he’d just made another mistake.

The sight of a squad car cruising down the street caused Emma’s hands to clench at her sides. It was silly, she knew, to have such a strong reaction to a vehicle.

She steeled herself, waiting for it to go past. Instead, the car glided to a stop in front of the library.

The sight of a familiar face in the window squeezed the air from her lungs.

What happened?

The words stuck in Emma’s throat as she watched Jake Sutton’s lean frame unfold from the vehicle. He prowled around to the passenger side and opened the door.

“Chief Sutton gave me a ride in the squad car, Mom.” Jeremy was smiling as he jumped out. “It’s pretty sweet.”

“But…” Emma struggled to find her voice. “What about the ice cream? Didn’t you catch up to Charlie in time?”

The smile faded. “Yeah.”

Emma sensed there was more to the story and her heart sank. “Was someone bothering you again?”

“You know Brad and his friends. They just like to show off,” Jeremy mumbled.

She glanced at Jake and found him regarding her with that measuring look. The one that made her want to run for cover.

“Everything is fine,” he said. “Jeremy mentioned you were at the library, so I offered to give him a ride back.”

“And he let me turn on the lights.” Jeremy’s smile returned.

Emma caught her breath as a memory surfaced, momentarily breaking through the grief that had formed like a crust of ice over her heart.

On Brian’s official first day with the Mirror Lake police department, he had stopped home and handed her a camera, shamelessly turning his lunch break into a twenty-minute photo session. His attempt to strike a serious pose had made Emma laugh—which had sparked Brian’s laughter in return.

Every one of those moments had been captured in heartbreaking detail except for one difference.

That carefree young woman was someone Emma no longer recognized. Someone who no longer existed.

Watching Emma’s eyes darken, Jake realized he’d done more than cross a line. He’d inadvertently stirred up something in her past. It was possible that in order to cope, Emma had found it easier to tend her grief instead of her memories.

“Mom?” Jeremy tugged on her arm. “It’s got a really great computer, too. They can look up all kind of things. I’m not in it, though, so we looked up you instead.”

Jake winced as Emma snapped back to the present and turned on him.

“Me?”

Jake smiled, hoping she would realize that running her name through the system had been a harmless illustration to satisfy Jeremy’s curiosity, not an invasion of her privacy. “Date of birth March fifteenth. And you have a very clean driving record.”

Emma took a step back. “Jeremy, it’s time to go. I have to lock up now.”

The message in her blue eyes was clear.

If Emma had her way, that was all he would know about her.

Chapter Four

Emma was up to her wrists in wet cement when her cell phone rang. She managed to dry off her hands and wrestle the phone from the pocket of her jeans on the fourth ring, seconds before the call went to voice mail.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Barlow? This is Pastor Wilde from Church of the Pines.”

Emma’s fingers tightened on the phone.

She should have expected this. Jeremy had been drawn into the church’s fold by a colorful flyer he’d seen stapled to the bulletin board at the library, advertising a special weeklong children’s program. Emma had agreed to let him participate, assuming her son’s interest would end once the seven days were over. She hadn’t considered that Jeremy would want to start attending the worship services, but at his insistence they’d gone to Church of the Pines the past few Sundays.

For his sake, she’d endured the sermons that reminded her God loved her, and smiled politely at people while keeping a careful distance. But while Emma had ignored the little white cards the ushers handed out, asking for the name, address and phone number of visitors, she remembered that Jeremy had diligently filled one out each time.

Emma looked at the pieces of colored glass scattered on her work table, silently calculating how much time she had before the mixture began to set up.

“I’m right in the middle of something…” She paused, hoping the pastor would take the hint.

“When would be a good time to call back?”

The pleasant voice remained cheerful but firm, letting Emma know that her hesitance was only prolonging the inevitable. “I suppose I have a few minutes right now. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“I’m calling people to let them know about the mentoring ministry picnic on Saturday afternoon. It starts at noon—”

“Mentoring ministry?” Emma knew it wasn’t polite to interrupt but she couldn’t prevent the words from spilling out. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Pastor Wilde.” And the last thing she wanted to do was get involved with Church of the Pines. Sitting through the Sunday morning services was proving difficult enough.

A moment of silence followed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barlow.” Pastor Wilde sounded a little confused. “There was a short write-up in the bulletin this past Sunday. Local boys from single-parent families are matched with men from the congregation who commit to spending several hours a week with them. It can be helping with homework, grabbing a burger or shooting hoops together. Whatever the pair decides to do. My job as the coordinator is to pray for any specific needs they might have and oversee the group activities once a month.”

Single-parent families.

There it was. No matter how hard she tried to be both mom and dad to Jeremy—to meet all his needs—their home fell into that category. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t had a choice. That Brian’s death had pushed them there.

“I doubt that Jeremy would be interested. He’s very shy and wouldn’t be comfortable meeting with someone he doesn’t know.” And neither would I, Emma added silently.

Pastor Wilde cleared his throat. “Ah, Jeremy is interested, Mrs. Barlow. In fact, he turned in a registration form already.”

The phone almost slipped through Emma’s fingers. “Are you sure it was Jeremy? Maybe it was his Sunday school teacher. Or another adult.”

Emma heard the sound of papers rustling.

“I’m, ah, looking at his signature right now.”

She released a quiet breath, unwilling to believe that Jeremy had signed up on his own. One of the older boys must have decided to play a practical joke on her introverted son. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I’ll talk to Jeremy. Thank you for calling.”

“Mrs. Barlow?” Pastor Wilde must have sensed she was about to hang up. “Attending the picnic on Saturday doesn’t mean Jeremy is obligated to join the program. Abby Porter offered to host the picnic at Mirror Lake Lodge and there will be an informal question-and-answer time after lunch.

“I should add that I’ve personally met with all the prospective mentors and they’ve had extensive background checks done. It’s a blessing we’ve got men who are willing to donate their time and energy to be positive role models.”

Positive role models to boys without fathers.

“It sounds like a good idea,” Emma murmured.

For someone else’s child.

She couldn’t imagine letting Jeremy spend time with someone she didn’t know, background check or not.

“Then we’ll see you and Jeremy on Saturday?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Emma hung up the phone. At least she hadn’t lied. She did think about it.

And the answer was no.

Why had she said yes?

Emma took one look at the people milling around the immaculate, beautifully landscaped lawn and almost turned the car around.

She glanced at Jeremy, who was already wrestling his seat belt off. Her son’s eager expression answered the question.

After that disturbing phone call from Pastor Wilde, Emma had waited until dinnertime to bring up the subject of the mentoring ministry, still convinced there had been a mistake—that someone else had turned in the registration form with her son’s name on it.

Jeremy’s whoop of excitement, however, had immediately proved Emma’s theory wrong. She hadn’t been prepared for his enthusiasm when he learned about the pastor’s invitation to the picnic…or his reaction when she told him they wouldn’t be able to go.

Emma winced at the memory.

He’d been crushed.

So Emma had explained—quite patiently she’d thought—the reasons why she didn’t think that being involved in the mentoring program was a good idea.

Jeremy had listened. And then her quiet, sensitive little boy had leaned forward, looked her straight in the eye and suggested a compromise.

A compromise!

“Mom, you’re always telling me that it isn’t a good idea to jump to conclusions, right? That a person should do some research before making a decision. I think we should go to the picnic and find out the facts. If you decide you don’t want me to do it, then I’ll be okay with that.”

How could she argue? Especially since it was obvious which member of the Barlow family was guilty of “jumping to conclusions” this time!

The request was fair. Reasonable. But now, watching a group of preadolescent boys zigzag across the lawn in hot pursuit of the one carrying a football, Emma was convinced she’d made a mistake.

“Jeremy—” The car door snapped the sentence in half.

Tension curled in Emma’s stomach.

There was no turning back now. Not only had Jeremy escaped, but Abby Porter had spotted their car and was making her way across the yard.

Somehow, the innkeeper managed to look stunning in faded jeans and a pale green T-shirt that matched her eyes. With her blond hair pulled back in a casual knot and a colorful apron tied around her waist, Abby looked far different from the sophisticated woman in velvet and pearls who had appeared in the ad campaigns for her family’s elite hotel chain in years past.

Emma, who’d chosen to wear a navy twill skirt and white blouse, felt positively dowdy by comparison.

“Emma!” Abby appeared at the window. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Emma wished she could say the same. She slid out of the driver’s seat, resisting the urge to dive back inside the vehicle. Abby immediately linked arms with her, almost as if the other woman had read her mind.

“The turnout this afternoon is higher than we expected.” Abby smiled. “I’m glad Pastor Wilde and Harold Davis realized there was a need for something like this in our community.”

The need for boys to have male role models in their lives.

The reminder scraped against Emma’s soul. She was doing her best to raise Jeremy. He was all she had left in the world. After Brian’s death, her son’s presence had warmed her heart like a tiny flame, keeping her emotions from growing cold. Over the years, Emma had tried to make sure Jeremy didn’t feel as if he were missing out on something, and yet now he wanted to spend time with a mentor. A stranger.

“I’m not sure it’s the right thing for Jeremy,” Emma said stiffly. She didn’t want to offend Abby but she needed to make it clear that she hadn’t made a decision whether or not he could join the program.

“Then I’m glad you came to check it out.” Abby didn’t look the least bit ruffled by her honesty. “And I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to you. One of my guests asked for your business card last weekend.”

“I don’t have a business card,” Emma murmured, trying to keep track of Jeremy as he bounded ahead of them.

Abby gave her a playful nudge. “I know you don’t, silly. That was a hint.”

“The number for the library is in the phone book.”

Abby’s laughter caused several heads to swivel in their direction. “You’re so funny, Emma. And humble, too. I’m not talking about the library. Gloria Rogers saw the mosaic table in my perennial garden and she couldn’t stop raving about it. Of course—” Abby’s smile turned impish “—I might have mentioned that even though Mirror Lake Lodge has an exclusive contract with the extremely gifted artist who crafted the piece, you might be persuaded to take on more commissions.”

“Abby!” Emma didn’t bother to hide her shock. “It’s a hobby, something to pass the time. It’s not a business. I already have a job.”

Abby looked smug rather than repentant. “That’s exactly what I thought when I was sneaking into the hotel kitchen at midnight to make raspberry lemon tarts.” She made a sweeping gesture with one arm that encompassed the refurbished lodge and cabins. “Look where that ‘little hobby’ took me.”

But, Emma wanted to argue, that was different. Raspberry lemon tarts were meant to be shared. The mosaics she created had sprung from a need to fill long hours and hold painful memories at bay. And like her grief, she’d tried to keep that part of her life private. But in a town as small as Mirror Lake, word had gotten out.

“You can’t compare what we do,” Emma murmured. “You have a business degree. Experience. I don’t have any formal training.”

“You have a gift.” Abby’s tone left no room for argument. “And when God gives you a gift, it’s part of His plan.”

Doubt flared from the embers of Emma’s grief, snuffing out the unexpected flicker of longing that Abby’s words stirred in her heart. There had been a time in her life when she had believed it—before she began to wonder why, when it came to her, did God seem to take away more than He gave?

When she’d met Brian, he had swept her off her feet. She had become a wife at nineteen. A mother at twenty. But Emma’s dreams had encompassed a lifetime. They would make a home. Raise a family. Grow old together.

And then she’d lost him.

If all that had been part of God’s plan, it seemed safer to keep her distance from Him, too.

“Why don’t you and Jeremy find a table and I’ll get you both a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade?” Abby offered.

“All right.” Emma looked around but there was no sign of Jeremy. Anywhere. “I don’t see him.”

“He must have found someone to play with,” Abby said.

“Jeremy doesn’t care for sports.” And was often teased because of it. Tension cinched the muscles between Emma’s shoulder blades as she scanned the faces around her.

“Maybe he went down by the lake. Some of the boys were fishing from the dock earlier.”

Abby’s words, meant to calm her fears, had just the opposite effect. “Jeremy doesn’t know how to swim.”

Emma felt a pang of guilt at the quickly veiled surprise she saw reflected in Abby’s green eyes. She knew what the other woman was thinking. What parent, who lived in a town built on the shore of a lake, wouldn’t insist that their child learn to swim?

Emma tried to swallow the knot of panic forming in her throat as Abby gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “I have an idea,” she said. “There isn’t a boy—or man, for that matter—who will ignore the sound of a dinner bell. I’ll give it a ring and I guarantee that you won’t have to find Jeremy—he’ll find you.”

“Thank you.” Emma gave Abby a grateful look but didn’t wait to see if her idea would work.

She headed down to the lake.

Jake heard the clang of a bell, rallying the troops for lunch, and knew he was running out of time.

The team of mentors would be introduced right after Abby served the meal. If he wanted to let Matt know that he would be more comfortable volunteering in another area of the ministry, he had to do it soon.

Jake had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t mentor material only minutes after he’d shown up for the picnic. He had rusty social skills and rough edges his newfound faith hadn’t had time to hone. And to top it off, he didn’t know a thing about kids. Call him crazy, but wasn’t being able to relate to kids an important qualification when it came to being a mentor?

He had taken a walk down the shoreline to think. And to pray.

You know I’m willing, Lord, but I don’t think I’m cut out for this. Guys like Matt are better at it. Kids love him—I’d probably scare them away. You must have something else in mind for me, so let me know what it is and I’ll do it.

Maybe the prayer team could use another volunteer. He had as much experience in that area as he did interacting with kids, but at least the chance of doing any significant damage remained smaller.

As Jake turned to go back to the lodge, a movement farther down the shoreline caught his attention. He paused, wondering if the flash of color had been a red-winged blackbird searching the cattails for something to eat.

Until he heard a splash.

Knowing how mischievous boys could be, Jake doubted that Matt had given them free rein of the premises for the picnic. The pastor and Quinn O’Halloran, a local businessman and member of the congregation, had planned a variety of games, part of an ingenious strategy for deterring them from creating their own entertainment. If it were boys from the picnic who’d wandered out of sight.

Off duty or not, Jake had no choice but to check it out. He’d received several complaints earlier in the week from some of the local fishermen, who claimed their vehicles had been broken into while parked at the boat landing. Jake couldn’t prove it—yet—but he had a sneaking suspicion that whoever was responsible for breaking into the summer cabins had decided to broaden the playing field.

Jake bypassed the trail and created his own route, one running parallel to the marked hiking path that curved around the lake. As he reached the shore, he saw a boy standing knee-deep in the water, tugging on a rope attached to a makeshift raft bobbing in the waves. He was in no immediate danger that Jake could see, but because the kid’s frame looked as thin as one of the reeds growing along the shoreline, Jake decided to lend a hand. “Hold on!”

At the sound of Jake’s voice, the boy turned to look at him.

Jake, who’d always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check, felt his jaw drop in disbelief.

There was no mistaking that pair of serious blue eyes and unruly hank of sandy blond hair.

Jeremy Barlow looked just as astonished to see him. “Chief S-Sutton.”

Chapter Five

Without a second thought, Jake kicked off his shoes and waded into the water. Together, they began to pull the raft into the shallows.

“Thanks,” Jeremy gasped.

“Does this belong to you?”

Jeremy shook his head, spraying Jake with droplets of lake water. “I saw it floating out there. I was afraid a boat might hit it.”

That answered one of his questions. But Jake had another, more important, one. “What are you doing down here by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself,” Jeremy said quickly. “I’m with my mom.”

“Really?” Jake refused to give in to the sudden urge to look around and see if there was another familiar face close by. A familiar face dominated by smoke-blue eyes and hair the pale golden-brown of winter wheat. “Where is she?”

“She’s, um, talking to Miss Porter. At the lodge.”

So Emma and Jeremy hadn’t come to Mirror Lake Lodge for the picnic. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Emma was as protective as a mama bear with a cub. Jake couldn’t imagine she would trust her son’s care to someone else, even for a few hours.

Especially someone like you, an inner voice mocked.

Jake couldn’t argue with that. Emma had managed to express her opinion of him the day they’d met without saying a single word. And it wasn’t, he reminded himself, as if being Jeremy’s mentor was even an option.

Prayer team, remember?

But that didn’t mean he was going to leave Jeremy alone by the water. “Does she know you’re down here?”

The guilty look on Jeremy’s face said it all. “I didn’t mean to go this far.”

“I’ll tell you what—I’ll walk back there with you.”

His officers might question his sanity, but the thought of seeing Emma again actually lightened Jake’s mood. Although given her response when he’d brought Jeremy back in the squad car, he doubted she would be anxious to see him again.

“Thanks.” Jeremy bit his lip as he looked down at his shorts. “I don’t think I was supposed to get wet, either.”

“The sun is shining. You’ll air-dry in no time,” Jake said lightly. “And though I appreciate the fact that you fished this thing out of the lake, the next time—”

“Look!” Jeremy let go of the rope, his startled cry interrupting Jake’s lecture on water and the “buddy system.” He pointed to a black canvas bag riding along the bottom. As the raft had bumped along the rocks, the bag had ripped open, leaving a trail of tools in the water.

Jeremy began to collect them while Jake hauled the bag onto shore to examine it more closely. He frowned when he saw the name FIELDING stamped on the side of the fabric. Rich Fielding had been one of the people whose cabins had been broken into.

Jeremy knelt beside him, clutching a hammer and wrench against his damp T-shirt. His eyes widened when he read the name on the bag. “I know Mr. Fielding. He teaches science at my school.”

“Well, I guarantee he’s going to be happy to have his property returned.”

“You mean this stuff was stolen?”

“That’s right.” Jake lifted one side of the raft and looked underneath it to see if they’d missed anything. “You have pretty good detective skills.”

“Really?” Jeremy’s eyes shone with the same pride Jake had seen when he’d let him dig the hole for the apple tree.

Jake didn’t have an opportunity to answer because Emma burst into view.

“Jeremy Brian Barlow!”

Emma’s gaze locked on the boy standing at the edge of the water. At the moment, she wasn’t sure whether to scold him or hug him. Or both.

“What are you doing down here?” The panic that had fueled her frantic search drained away, leaving her weak with relief. As Emma took a step forward, the wet sand gave way beneath her feet. She would have stumbled if a hand hadn’t shot out to steady her. “Careful.”

Emma’s head jerked up. Her relief at finding Jeremy safe and sound was so great, she had barely spared a glance at the man standing a few feet away from him.

Not that Jake Sutton was easy to overlook. Both times Emma had seen the police chief, he’d been in uniform. Today he wore plainclothes suitable for a Saturday afternoon picnic, but the faded jeans and black T-shirt only accentuated the man’s rugged, almost untamed, good looks.

For some inexplicable reason, the touch of his hand sowed goose bumps up her arm.

What was he doing here, of all places?

Emma pulled away and turned toward her son. “You know the rules, honey.” She wasn’t sure if the crackle in her voice was the aftershock of relief from finding Jeremy, or because the warm imprint of Jake’s fingers lingered on her skin. “You’re supposed to ask for permission if you want to go somewhere.”

“I found Mr. Fielding’s tools, Mom,” Jeremy said. “Someone hid them under the raft. Chief Sutton said I have good detective skills.”

“You went out on a raft?” Emma directed the question at Jeremy but cut an accusing look at Jake.

“Not in it, Mom,” Jeremy said. “I pulled it out.”

“It was in the shallow water. Jeremy wasn’t in any danger,” Jake interjected quietly.

Emma turned back to Jeremy, hoping Jake Sutton would take the hint that this matter was between her and her son. “You have to be careful by the water,” she reminded him, all too aware that Jake could hear every word.

“I know.” Jeremy released a gusty sigh as he pulled on his socks and tennis shoes, a reminder that he’d heard this particular lecture before. “But if I knew how to swim, you wouldn’t have to worry so much.”

Emma felt the weight of Jake’s gaze and her cheeks flamed. She wasn’t about to explain that it was impossible to teach her son something that she didn’t know how to do.

That responsibility should have fallen to Brian. After all, her husband had loved to brag about how much time he and his friends spent in the lake every summer.

One of the high-school athletic coaches offered lessons at the beach every summer, but Emma’s job prevented her from leaving to transport Jeremy there and back—and she was hesitant to trust someone she didn’t know with his safety.

Discouragement settled over her, the weight of it all too familiar. “We should get back to the lodge.” And away from the censure Emma was afraid she would see in those amber eyes. “I’m sure everyone has started eating lunch already.”

Emma hoped the thought of food would divert Jeremy’s attention. Over the summer, his appetite had increased to the point where she’d started to wonder where he was putting it all. But instead of charging toward the lodge, Jeremy turned a hopeful look toward the very man Emma wanted to get away from.

“Aren’t you coming, Chief Sutton?”

She stifled a groan. From what Jake had said, Emma assumed he and Jeremy had met by accident. She hadn’t considered he might be a guest at the picnic.

Relief poured through her when Jake shook his head.

“I’m on my way back to the station.” He must have seen the disappointment on Jeremy’s face because he knelt down until they were eye to eye. “But I’ll tell you what. How about we go with ‘Chief Sutton’ when we’re out in public, but if it’s just the three of us, you can call me Jake. Is that a deal?”

Jeremy grinned. “It’s a deal.”

“But only if that’s okay with your mom.” Jake looked at her. “Emma?”

Why, she wondered in frustration, did Jake Sutton have to have such an attractive voice? The rich timbre washed over her, stirring her senses like the jazz she played on the radio while working on a mosaic.

“I suppose.” Emma saw no point making a fuss about it. She couldn’t think of any occasion where it would be just the three of them.

The thought should have been accompanied by relief, but the emotion that skittered through Emma felt, strangely enough, like…disappointment.

Jake watched Emma stumble in the sand again, only this time in her haste to get away from him.

You charmer, you.

Not that he’d tried to charm her. Jake was as out of practice at that particular skill as he was at making polite conversation over a glass of lemonade. Fortunately, what he did know how to do was diffuse a tense situation. And Emma had been strung as tight as a new bow when she’d discovered Jeremy by the lake.

Her panic may have faded, but she obviously hadn’t changed her opinion of him. She’d barely been able to make eye contact. And when Jake had taken hold of her arm, she had reacted as if he’d burned her.

What did Emma see when she looked at him? Did she see a man or a badge? Was he a person or the symbol of a career that had robbed her of a husband?

The thought chafed.

When he’d asked Phil about Emma after delivering the apple tree, the older officer had still been reluctant to talk about what happened. Jake had pressed a little, asking if Emma had changed after Brian died.

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