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 bean 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.
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 bean 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.
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