Love Finds a Home. Kathryn Springer

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ