Love Finds a Home
“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.
Books by Kathryn Springer
Love Inspired
Tested by Fire
Her Christmas Wish
By Her Side
For Her Son’s Love
A Treasure Worth Keeping
Hidden Treasures
Family Treasures
Jingle Bell Babies
*
A Place to Call Home
*
Love Finds a Home
Steeple Hill
Front Porch Princess
Hearts Evergreen
“A Match Made for Christmas”
Picket Fence Promises
The Prince Charming List
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
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
“F
lowers?” 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.