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,