Copper Lake Confidential (15 page)

She was not nuts.

“Have you tried a sleeping pill?” Stephen asked, still rubbing knots from stiff muscles.

“I’ve taken them before. After Mark died. They knocked me out. I couldn’t wake up for a few hours, and when I did wake, I was groggy and tired. I also found out I was getting out of bed in the middle of the night and doing things—making coffee, calling people, carrying on entire conversations, even falling—and I couldn’t remember any of it. I couldn’t take care of Clary like that.” Not that she’d been taking care of Clary at the time.

“Clary could spend the night in the guesthouse.”

Adamantly she shook her head.

“I could spend the night here and make sure nothing happened.”

The offer sent sudden heat through her that eased her muscles even more. She raised her head and smiled at him. “Why would I want to be unconscious if you were spending the night?”

For a long time he looked at her with such intensity, such need. She recognized it because it was in her, too, sharp and edgy and restless. She hadn’t felt such complicated need in so long. For months all she’d worried about was gaining and maintaining control over the depression and anxiety that had crippled her, about being home again, being normal again, being a mom again. She hadn’t given much thought to being a woman again.

Timing was everything, and her family’s was exquisite. Just as he started to lean toward her, just as she stretched onto her toes to reach him, the back door flew open to the accompaniment of giggles.

“We’re not looking,” Clary and Anne chanted as they came into the room, though of course they were peeking through the spaces between the fingers covering their eyes.

“We just came for ice cream stuff,” Clary said, pretending to stumble around blindly before crashing into their legs. “Hey, Mama. Hey, Dr. Stephen.”

“Don’t mind us,” Anne instructed. “We’re just borrowing scoops and hot fudge sauce and...did I forget something, Clary?”

“AnAnne! We can’t have ice cream sundaes without ice cream!”

Smiling, Macy put a few steps between her and Stephen. “When you called, we’d just decided we needed ice cream to top off all that barbecue. Okay, ladies, you can open your eyes now.” She gestured to the tray she’d been fixing when Stephen dropped the
nuts
bomb. “I’ve got scoops, hot fudge, caramel, whipped cream and pecans.”

Both Clary and Anne danced around the kitchen, arms over their heads. “I scream, you scream, we both scream for ice cream. Yay!”

Stephen was laughing at their antics, and Macy couldn’t help but do the same. She adored her daughter’s silliness and her sister-in-law’s ability and willingness to dance and sing along with her. Anne had been such a blessing for their entire family.

As Stephen picked up the tray, Macy took two cartons from the freezer, then they headed for the guesthouse. Clary claimed Stephen’s attention, leaving Macy with Anne, who leaned close. “Do you wish we’d waited five minutes?”

“Nah. Well, maybe.”

Anne’s snort was soft. “If we’d been even two minutes slower, I’d be explaining to your daughter why Dr. Stephen’s tongue was down Mama’s throat and his hands were inside her clothes.”

As they passed the pool, serene and still in the cool night, Macy sighed. “Hmm. I wish you had waited.”

Impulsively Anne reached across and hugged her. “I like this one, Macy. He’s so much better for you than Mark.”

Macy totally agreed, but something perverse—a sense of fairness?—forced her to point out, “You didn’t even know Mark.”

“Hello? Serial killer? Suicide? Scandal? Months at the resort?” That was how Anne always referred to the hospital. It sounded so much better, she said, especially when telling people where her sister was. Her voice lowered even more. “The baby. That bastard cost you so much, Macy. He wasn’t worth any of it.”

Macy’s heart twinged at the mention of the baby, but she breathed it away and said, “He was worth Clary.”

Anne watched Clary skip up the steps and open the guesthouse door for Stephen, and she nodded. “He was definitely worth Clary. But the cute little nerd vet is so much better in every other way. And think of the cute little nerd kids he can give you.”

Cute little nerd.
Not at all the way Macy would describe Stephen. Oh, he was certainly cute, if “cute” also meant “gorgeous.” Little, nah. He was tall enough and broad enough of shoulder to make any woman feel secure. Nerd? Well, maybe. Those glasses, the perennially uncombed hair and the limited wardrobe did tend to push him toward that classification.

But he was so much more. Sweet. Sincere. Real. There were no horrifying secrets hiding in
his
past.

Inside Brent scooped ice cream into dishes while Anne set up a topping bar. Declining the extra calories, Macy made herself comfortable on one of the couches, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet beneath her. Clary had climbed onto a chair dragged to the counter and was giving Stephen directions for the perfect hot fudge sundae
covered
with whipped cream
.

For only the second time all day, Macy was relaxed. She could breathe without struggle. The common denominator: Stephen. She was falling hard for him, and it wasn’t fair. While he might not have any nasty secrets in his past, she had plenty in hers. He was fine with having a fling with the needy widow down the street, but didn’t he deserve to know before he had one with a serial killer’s widow? A woman who’d spent months in a loony bin? A woman who’d been so mentally fragile over her husband’s crimes and the loss of her baby that she couldn’t even deal with her baby who still lived?

Didn’t he have a right to decide whether to commit, even for one night, to a woman who might not be sane?

So much for relaxation and struggle-free breathing.

Stephen settled on the sofa next to her and placed Clary’s bowl on the coffee table. When he leaned back, he offered Macy his bowl. “Sure I can’t tempt you?”

She glanced at the chocolate chip ice cream nearly covered by caramel sauce and pecans and shook her head. “Not with that, you can’t.” In the past few minutes, her stomach had knotted enough that nothing more substantial than water could possibly get through.

Kiki Isaacs came up in the conversation, with Brent agreeing that she was stalker-crazy. Anne delicately licked a dollop of hot fudge from her spoon, then gestured with it. “Of course you can refuse to accept a breakup. It happens all the time. People fight, one of them says it’s over, the other one goes on with life as usual and before long it’s all forgotten. If this man keeps getting back together with her after he breaks up with her, what is she supposed to think? You know, it’s like the boy who cried wolf. Sooner or later, she stops believing he means what he says.”

“The boy who cried wolf was fibbing, and then there was a real wolf,” Clary announced. “That’s why I don’t fib. I don’t like wolves.”

Macy brushed her hand across Clary’s baby-soft hair.

“Maybe the guy’s afraid of her,” Brent said. “She’s nuts, and she carries a gun.”

“So does he,” Anne pointed out.

“Yeah, but being sane, he doesn’t want to use it against his wacko girlfriend.”

Macy’s nerves tightened before she realized that thought of her was nowhere in Brent’s mind. He wasn’t censoring himself or stumbling around trying to avoid words like
nuts
and
wacko
because he didn’t think of her that way. Affection flooded through her, then immediately dissipated. How quickly would his opinion change if he knew about the incidents this past week?

“Maybe she does come on a little strong,” Anne conceded, then she smiled a slow, warm, teasing smile. “Just for the record, sweetheart, I don’t accept breakups, either. When I said till death do us part, I meant it.”

“So did I.” Brent leaned over to kiss her, making Clary drop her spoon and clamp her hands over her eyes.

Mark apparently had meant his vows to last until death, as well. Heavens, so had Macy. She wondered if he’d ever imagined that would be only seven years. Had he known he would stop taking other people’s lives by taking his own? Had he worried how it would affect her? Had he cared?

The doctors had said he’d been capable of normal emotions. That he could have loved her and Clary as much as he’d claimed and still have the compulsion to kill. They hadn’t been able to say with as much certainty what had driven him to kill. Surely there was more to it than
a memorable way to spend visits with Grandfather.
There must have been something wrong in his brain, some damaged area that made murder acceptable for more reasons than the fact that his grandfather had done it.

When the leftover ice cream had melted in their bowls and Clary was running in hyper circles around the room, Macy and Stephen said good-night, and he gave Clary a piggyback ride to the house.

“Let’s go see Scooter,” she suggested as she ducked her head to get through the door.

“It’s too late. Scooter’s in bed asleep. That’s where you’re going to be in fifteen minutes.” Macy’s estimate was hopeful. Sometimes bath and bedtime ran closer to an hour, and she really didn’t want this to be one of those times.

“I’m not tired, Mama. Dr. Stephen, let’s watch TV. Do you like cartoons?”

“I do, but not at bedtime.” He grasped her by the waist and swung her to the floor.

Propping both hands on her hips, she scowled at him. “Quit saying it’s bedtime. I’m not sleepy!”

“Do dogs ever get this cranky when you try to send them to bed?” Macy whispered as she passed him.

“Are you kidding? They happily sleep twenty hours a day if you let them.”

Twenty hours of sleep sounded good to her at the moment. Maybe tonight would be more restful than the past few. “Tell Dr. Stephen good-night, then we have to get you into the bath.”

Clary’s eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled. “I don’t wanna! I want to watch cartoons and play with Scooter! I don’t want a stupid bath and I don’t wanna go to stupid—”

“Clara.” Macy didn’t know if it was the look on her face, her tone or the use of her daughter’s given name, but that one word, said exactly like that, was usually enough to make Clary go silent. “Tell Dr. Stephen good-night.”

She scowled up at him again and automatically repeated, “Good night, Dr. Stephen.”

“Good night, Clary.”

“And tell Scooter good-night since I didn’t get to see him
at all
today.”

Stephen hid a smile. “I will.”

She started down the hall toward the stairs. “I didn’t get to watch cartoons, either, or go swimming or do anything fun at all, and now I have to go to bed when I’m not even tired.”

“Go in my bathroom and brush your teeth,” Macy called after her. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

For a little girl, Clary made a remarkable amount of noise on the carpeted stairs. When the sound faded, Macy looked at Stephen, who’d given in to his amusement. “She’s a funny kid.”

It was a simple comment, but it warmed her heart. She’d known a lot of people during her marriage who weren’t as taken with children, neither their own nor anyone else’s. None had carried it to the extreme of Miss Willa, but there’d been definite boundaries—including nannies and boarding schools—to keep kids at a distance.

“I know you’ve had a long day, but...”

When she trailed off, he grinned. “I’m not tired, and I don’t want to watch cartoons or play with Scooter.”

She smiled back. “Can you hang around while I get her bathed and tucked? I’ll do it as quick as I can.”

“Sure. I’ll be—” He glanced around. The family room sofa was still filled with boxes, and the living room was so obviously not comfortable. “Out back. By the fountain. Is that okay?”

The thought of having that privacy with him, with the accompaniment of the bubbling and splashing of the fountain, was lovely. She’d hoped when she’d installed it that it would prove to be an intimate, romantic space to share, but Mark hadn’t cared for it. Still, it was all the way across the yard. Distance and the fountain could obscure any sound Clary might make. Any sound an intruder might make.

She gazed up the stairs, and Stephen must have caught it. “On the patio. Right by the door. Okay?”

Her smile came automatically, filled with gratitude for his understanding. “I’ll meet you there.”

Chapter 9

B
edtime was running twenty-one minutes and counting. Yes, Stephen was timing it. Though normally patience was one of his virtues, he didn’t have much of it at the moment, but not in a bad way. It was anticipation, really, rather than impatience. He wanted to see Macy. Wanted to spend more time alone with her. Wanted to touch her.

He really wanted to kiss her.

He thought back to his first kiss ever. Seventeen years old, high school graduation. He’d been what his mother called a late bloomer. Totally clueless about style and most everything else, thick black-framed glasses, more interested in books than people, all his friends high IQs and low human-interaction skills.

The girl had been home from college for the summer, partying with the local kids, and in the instant before her mouth touched his, he couldn’t have cared less whether she kissed him. Ten seconds later, he’d discovered a new aspect of life, and he liked it.

Kissing Macy was like that, only a whole lot better.

Vaguely wondering if he should be worried about just how much better it was, he heard the back door click. Macy came out, wearing something fluttery and white, and seemed to float above the flagstone, ethereal, graceful. When she joined him on the sofa, he caught a couple of sweet fragrances. Baby lotion and...bubble gum?

She handed him a bottle of water, then sat down and uncapped hers. “Do you know how many times a three-year-old can repeat, ‘I don’t wanna go to bed’?”

“I would imagine endlessly.”

“She usually goes to bed much more easily. Tonight we let her stay up past her bedtime and loaded her up with ice cream. She was overtired and overexcited.”

“Everyone should get overexcited at least once a week.”

The words made Macy laugh, a sweet soft sound. Stephen thought she should laugh every day, not the restrained sort just now, but an all-out, bring-tears-to-her-eyes laugh. He blamed the fact that she didn’t on Mark. Dead eighteen months, and still affecting every moment of her life.

And, now, his.

“How much longer do you think it’ll take to finish up here?” he asked somewhat hesitantly. How much longer could he walk down the street and see her? How many days to feel this attraction, this sense of
something?
How many days to find out whether anything could come from it?

She was hesitant, as well. “I don’t know. Maybe a week. Once I’ve sorted through everything, the lawyer can take care of the pickups by the antiques dealers. I’ll put the stuff I’m keeping in storage, plus the family stuff for Clary, and then she and I will...”

Will leave. Will move on. Will start over. Without you.
Stephen gave her a sidelong look. “You and Clary will...?”

She breathed deeply. “Find a place to live.”

“And you’ve definitely ruled out Copper Lake.” He tried not to sound disappointed. She’d told him from the start that she wasn’t staying here. Hell, there was no guarantee that
he
would stay here.

Though when he imagined his perfect life, the practice looked a lot like Dr. Yates’s, the town looked a lot like Copper Lake and the people in the background looked a lot like his friends here.

This time her breath was more a sigh. “There are bad memories.”

Setting his water on the sofa arm, he took her hand, her skin warm and dry against the cool dampness of his. “So replace them with good memories.”

“Like it’s that simple?”

He stroked his thumb over her palm. “I’ve never had any really bad memories. Yeah, it was upsetting when Mom and Dad divorced, and the first couple of moves threw things out of balance for a while. By the time Sloan and I realized we were headed for divorce, we were already out of love, so the disappointment that our marriage had failed was overshadowed by the fact that we were glad it was over. So I’m not one to give advice.”

“But you’re going to do it anyway.” Her tone was level, even mildly amused.

“As I understand it, you don’t dislike the town. You were happy here right up until the end. You had friends. You were involved in activities. Your brother visited, and you saw your parents regularly. You were pretty content with your life.” He paused for her to respond, and she nodded. “It’s not the town, Macy. It’s this house. Fair Winds. The Howard family legacy. So you move out of this house. You sell it, you tear it down and you find another one, one that’s perfect for you and Clary. You sell or donate Fair Winds.

“As for the legacy, you and Clary are the only Howards left around here. You don’t have to be concerned about it anymore. You don’t have to be a part of it. You can even get rid of the name for both of you.”

She tilted her head to one side, studying him. “You think calling ourselves Macy and Clary Ireland would make people forget that we used to be Macy and Clary Howard?”

Macy Ireland. It did have a much sweeter sound to it.

“Eventually. Sooner rather than later if you marry again, make a new family.” Macy Noble...that sounded even better. Not that he was actually thinking about marriage. He just liked to consider all the possibilities. What was the point of a serious relationship if there wasn’t at least a chance it would last? That she would stick around long enough for them to decide what was between them?

Though he was already past that point. He didn’t even know how it had happened, how someone he’d met less than a week ago had become so much a part of his life. But she had. It would be a loss if she left before giving them a chance.

“Marry again.” The words didn’t even qualify as a whisper. “I’d have to love someone, like him,
trust
him an awful lot to consider getting married. I don’t know if I have that kind of trust to give.”

“You trust your brother. Your sister-in-law. To some extent you trust me or you wouldn’t let me near Clary.” He willed her to look at him, and she did, and he willed her to acknowledge that, yes, she did trust him. Hadn’t she turned to him for help a couple of times? Hadn’t she chosen him to accompany her to Fair Winds? Hadn’t she let him kiss her in the night by the pool?

Or had he merely been the only guy handy for all those things?

But her expression gave away nothing on her version of trust versus his.

Defeat like a cold brush over his shoulders, he said, “You’ll get married again. You’re too young, beautiful, perfectly suited to motherhood, to stay single the rest of your life. You’ll trust someone, you’ll get married and you’ll have more babies—”

“I lost my daughter after Mark died.”

Puzzled, Stephen glanced to the faintly illuminated window upstairs that showed where Clary slept. “You lost custody—”

She shook her head, her face as pale as her dress. If her hair had been blond, she could have easily passed for something from the other side, a heartbroken angel or a weary spirit. And like a runaway train that suddenly crashed to a halt, his heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped pumping air, as he realized what she was saying. “You were pregnant....”

She nodded.

“Oh, Macy.” He released her hand and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. “God, I’m sorry. I had no idea....”

For a time she remained stiff, but then she relaxed, sinking against him, warm and delicate and trembling. He wished he’d dropped the subject before marriage had come into it, but since he hadn’t, he wished he knew what to say to ease her loss. A baby, another Clary but younger, tinier, needier... As if anything could ease that.

“I lost the baby two weeks after Mark died. My doctor thought it was because of the stress.” Her small hand reached out, curled itself into the fabric of his T-shirt. “I was pretty logical growing up. I always believed that when it was your time to die, you would die, no matter what precautions you took, no matter what heroic measures were taken to save you. When horrible things happened, I thought God had a plan. When people died too young, I believed God wanted them back in heaven.”

Glancing up, her face only a few inches from him, her eyes damp with tears, she said, “It’s damn hard to apply logic to your own baby’s death. I blamed Mark with a hatred that surprised even me. I do have friends here—not many, but good ones. That’s one reason why I stay so close to home. I don’t want to see them. They know everything, and there’s just this...pity.”

“Sympathy,” he corrected her. “There’s a big difference.” Though hadn’t Marnie said just tonight that she felt sorry for Macy? Did the difference really matter?

“Maybe.” She rested her head on his shoulder and felt so right. “You were right, though. I don’t hate Copper Lake. I hate Mark. I hate what he did. I hate how he destroyed so many lives.”

Hers, her daughter’s, her unborn child’s, his mother’s, his grandmother’s. The selfish bastard. Gently Stephen stroked her hair from her face. “Your life isn’t destroyed, Macy. Clary’s isn’t. You’ve got to deal with the memories, but she’s a happy, funny, smart, cheerful, ever-hopeful little girl who’s going to have a wonderful life. You’ll make sure of that. You need to make sure of it for yourself, too. Don’t let Mark win by running away from your family and all the people who care about you.”

She looked up again, and in the dim light he could barely make out the emotions on her face. Curiosity. Doubt. Need. “Does that include you?”

For an instant he felt like the inexperienced kid comfortable only with other nerds, who’d known he and girls weren’t a good match. He’d gained some confidence since then, but not enough to keep his voice from going all froggy on him. “Yeah, it does.”

“There’s so much you don’t know about me.”

“There’s plenty of time to learn if you don’t leave town.” Maybe even if she did.

“And what if you don’t like what you learn?”

“Let’s see...are you computer-phobic?” He waited for her to shake her head. “Are you kind to small animals and elderly people?”

“Of course.”

“Do you like chocolate?”

A nod.

“French fries or onion rings?”

“Fries.”

“Coffee?”

“Every morning.”

“Do you run for fun?”

She laughed. “Dear heavens, no.”

“Do you mind the smell of doggy breath in the morning?”

“Not as long as it’s coming from a dog.”

“Okay, that covers all the big stuff.”

She stared at him, her smile slowly fading. “You like things simple, don’t you?”

“Life
is
simple. You find a job you like and a person you love, you do good when you can, you work hard and play hard, you take care of those you bring into the world and you always remember to be kind to others.” He bent close to her. “No matter what Mark taught you, it doesn’t have to be any harder than that. Trust me.”

And then he kissed her, wondering if his
trust me
had sounded normal enough or if she’d heard the faint plea underlying it.

* * *

When Macy awakened Sunday morning, before she even opened her eyes, a familiar feeling settled in her chest, right above her cleavage. It was insubstantial, fluttering, the way she imagined a butterfly’s delicate wings might beat.

It was nothing, but it made her lungs constrict, and perspiration popped out across her forehead. Eyes still closed, she groped across the bed until she found Clary and scooted close to her daughter, nuzzling her soft brown hair, letting the scents of baby shampoo and bubble gum bath gel filter through the buzzing in her brain.

She was
not
having a panic attack. She was taking her medication regularly, and she’d been staying physically active, not just since she got here but since before her release from the hospital. Exercise was a great help in keeping the flutters and trembles and buzzes at bay. One day soon, her doctor said, she could probably come off the medication completely.

But not today.

A small hand touched her face, then fingers pried her eye open. “I know you’re awake, Mama. I see your eyes movin’ in there.”

Macy opened both eyes to find her baby grinning at her, wide-awake and as cheery this morning as she’d been cranky the night before. “Good morning.”

“Mornin.’ What’re we gonna do today? I wanna see Scooter.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

“I
don’t
wanna do any more packing. It’s
bor-
ing.”

“Well, maybe AnAnne can do something else with you while Uncle Brent and I pack.”

Then came a hint of last night’s crankiness. “I don’t wanna do it with AnAnne. I wanna do it with you.”

Macy’s heart tugged as she squeezed Clary closer. Her child had spent so much of her time in someone else’s care, and she’d been far too young to understand why. Her visits to the hospital, first with Brent and their parents, later with Anne, too, had been infrequent. The place had scared her, and she’d always cried when she had to leave without Macy.

“All right, sweetie. We’ll find something fun to do.” Brent and Anne, bless their hearts, wouldn’t mind working while she took Clary to the park or out for a treat.

Or maybe walked down to Stephen’s house for playtime with Scooter.

When this was all taken care of and she and Clary had settled—well, wherever—she was sending her brother and sister-in-law on the best honeymoon ever as thanks.

The sweat had gone away and the fluttering stopped, though the knot in her gut was slower to unwind. Not a panic attack. Not even a precursor to one, even if it was identical to all the other precursors she’d ever suffered.

Throwing back the covers, she gathered clothing for both of them and headed for the bathroom. “Come on, sweetie, up, up. Time’s a-wasting.”

Clary giggled as she rolled across the mattress, then slid to her feet. “That’s what Grandpa always says.”

“Well, Grandpa’s always right.” He was a role model for his children and grandchild.

Mark’s grandfather had been a role model, too, damn him.

They brushed their teeth and dressed, Macy in denim shorts and a purple tank top, Clary in a watermelon-print sundress with green-and-red polka-dotted flip-flops. With a white sunhat, she looked adorable. She skipped downstairs ahead of Macy and turned toward the kitchen.

The aromas of coffee and bacon drifted down the hall. Brent and Anne were early risers and, always thoughtful, Anne had fixed breakfast for them. They sat at the kitchen table, interrupting their talk to greet Clary.