Marilyn Pappano - Copper Lake Confidential

Granted, she’d told the bare minimum just now. She didn’t mention that he’d been trying to kill his cousin, Reece, and Jones, the man she’d married soon after, after they’d unearthed a bone from one of Mark’s and his grandfather’s victims. She didn’t try to find words to say that he’d shot himself in the head when his murder attempt failed. She couldn’t even imagine telling anyone that she’d been married to a cold-blooded sociopath.

“Jeez, I’m sorry,” Stephen said in a quietly comforting tone, the one he likely used when he had to deliver bad news to his patients’ owners. “That must be tough.”

“It would be tougher if I still loved him.” Immediately she clapped one hand over her mouth. Oh, God, had she actually said that out loud? To a stranger?

Shoving her chair back with a scrape, she jumped to her feet and went into the kitchen, face burning, palms sweaty. Her stomach was knotted, making her hope she wouldn’t have to dash for the bathroom. She damn well needed practice at this social interaction thing if she couldn’t even control the words that came out of her mouth.

A low whine came from Scooter, followed by a soft word from Stephen, then the sounds of the dog enjoying another bite of pizza. Macy stood in the middle of the kitchen, back to them, hugging herself, wondering what to do next.

Deal with it. You made the comment. Now stop acting like a nut job and go back to the table.

Grabbing a handful of napkins they didn’t need, she slowly retraced her steps and sat down. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say—I don’t normally bring that up in conversation.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t repeat it to anyone.” He slipped another bite to Scooter, then changed the subject. “I haven’t been to Charleston yet. Is that where you’re from or did your parents move there later?”

Her breathing slowed, her fingers slowly unclenching. “I’ve lived there all my life, except for here and in college. My parents bought my grandparents’ house after they passed, so there have been Irelands living in it for more than a hundred years.” Her smile felt crooked, though she gave it her best. “Mom and Dad are celebrating their fortieth anniversary with an extended tour of Europe. It seemed as good a time as any to take care of things here and—” She considered choices: start living again. Put the past behind us. Get away from the shame and the scandal. “—move on.” That was bland enough.

“Do you think you’ll stay there? Just get a place of your own?”

“I think I might close my eyes really tight, point to a spot on a map and go there.” She didn’t see herself in Charleston five years from now, or even five months from now. Emotionally, she needed her family close, but emotionally she needed distance. Yes, she needed their support, but too much support made her dependent. Even now, when she was adamant about getting back to her life, she hadn’t been able to give much thought to where she wanted that life to play out. She had to start relying on herself, making decisions and standing by them. She needed to take control again.

“Pick a spot in the southern half of the country. It gets danged cold above the Mason-Dixon line.”

Again her smile was weak. “I kind of like cold.”

“Says the woman who’s lived all of her life in the South. Spend a winter in Wyoming. It’ll change your mind.”

“Where did you grow up?”

He offered her the last slice of pizza, then, when she shook her head, moved it to his plate and sprinkled it with mozzarella and red pepper flakes.

“Here and there. My mother was restless. She’d wake up one morning and say, ‘Start packing, kids. We’re going someplace new.’ I was born in California, went to four grade schools in Arizona and New Mexico, two middle schools in Louisiana and two high schools in Texas.”

“Makes it hard to put down roots.”

He shrugged. “My family is my roots. Mom lives in Alabama now, and Marnie and I both wound up here. She’ll stay. Me, I don’t know. When I came, it was only supposed to be for four months, but I’m still here.”

“What about your father?”

“He never left California. He wouldn’t leave. She couldn’t stay.” After a moment he ruefully added, “Like Sloan and me.” He took one last bite, then offered the rest to Scooter, who removed it delicately from his hand. “He still asks about her every time we talk. He wants to know if she ever wanders back to California.”

“So he can try to win her back? Or so he has sufficient time to go into hiding?”

“I don’t know.” Stephen wiped his hands on a napkin then leaned back comfortably. “I got over wanting them to get back together a long time ago, but I think he actually misses her. He never remarried, never seemed at all interested in another woman.”

A security light at the far side of the backyard came on automatically, drawing Macy’s gaze outside. The settling dusk had escaped her notice, but now a faint shiver rippled through her. It was okay, she counseled herself. So the sun had set. No big deal. Dangerous things were dangerous, whether it was daylight or midnight.

Stephen stuffed the used napkins into the pizza box then crushed it in half as he stood. “I’d better head home. You must be tired or ready to get some sorting or packing done.” He went into the kitchen, automatically opening the cabinet under the sink to toss away the trash, then pulled his wallet from his hip pocket as he turned to face her again.

“‘Home’ is the first house to the north. It’s the one with the fence that can’t keep Scooter in.” For a moment he hesitated, then held out his hand. “And here’s my card. It’s got my cell phone number on it. If you need anything…”

Macy accepted the card, murmuring thanks for the dinner and everything else as she walked with him and the dog to the front door. As soon as they reached their car, she locked the door, set the alarm, then leaned against the door frame. Slowly she uncurled her fingers from the white cardstock and stared at it.

Stephen Noble, DVM.

As the emptiness of the house closed in around her, she felt a little bit safer. A little bit less alone. Just a little, but she would take what she could get.

“Dr. Noble, if you have a minute, Peyton’s here. She’s got something to show you.”

Stephen looked up from the chart he’d just finished, automatically checking the clock on the wall. Five minutes to eight, and he’d already seen five patients. “I always have a minute for Peyton. Tell her I’ll be right out.”

He’d learned early in life that there were four kinds of people: those who liked dogs, those who liked cats, those who liked both and—the ones he couldn’t relate to at all—those who preferred neither. Peyton was definitely in the first group.

So was Macy Howard.

Not liking animals was a deal breaker for him. Not that he was looking for anything with Macy. She was pretty, sure, but she had a child. She had been recently widowed. At least, a year and a half seemed recent to him. Not nearly enough time to deal with the emotional upheaval.

But she wasn’t still in love with her husband.

Before he got any further with that thought, he walked into the lobby, where nine-year-old Peyton was waiting. Her face lit up and she called, “Dr. Noble, did Penny tell you I had a surprise?”

He didn’t need a guess to identify it as the dog standing beside her wheelchair. He crouched in front of her. “A surprise, huh? Do you have new glasses?”

“No.”

“New sweater?”

“You’ve seen this before,” she chided. “It’s my favorite sweater. I wear it all the time.”

He pretended to study her, from the top of her blond curls all the way down to the toes of her sneakers, then raised both hands in surrender. “I give up. You’ve stumped me.”