Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,37

worth a try, wasn’t it, sweetie?” She moved the potatoes to one side of the grill, cranked up the heat, then closed the lid again. “I need a few things from the kitchen. You want towels for the baby?”

“I can get them if you tell me where.”

She hesitated only a moment. She could run upstairs and get the oversize chocolate-brown bamboo towels, each one pricey enough to cover the cost of tonight’s steak dinner and then some. She could go, but she didn’t have to, and by the time he got back, she would be too busy at the grill for him to follow up on her latest episode of telling too much. “Top of the stairs, closet down the hall to the left.”

He held the door for her, and she turned into the kitchen while he continued down the hall. As she gathered marinade, steak sauce and butter, she listened to the tromp of his footsteps on the stairs and overhead. It was a nice feeling, not being alone in the house. If it was haunted, for this evening, at least, she had someone to be scared with her. If she’d gone crazy instead, there was someone to make the call to lock her up again.

Her hands trembled as she balanced the items on a tray holding dishes, silverware and napkins. Dear God, I know I don’t pray for much besides Clary, but please don’t let me be crazy.

Chapter 6

At the top of the stairs, Stephen paused to study a photograph of Macy and Mark. She looked so very young and innocent and happy. And Mark...he was good-looking, self-assured, reeking—even in a one-dimensional photograph—of superiority. His arm was around Macy’s shoulders—possessive, Stephen first thought, then reluctantly amended it. They were engaged, with a honker of a diamond ring that looked too heavy for her delicate hand. If Stephen were engaged to her, he’d be holding her, too, with the intention of never letting go.

What had Mark done to steal his wife’s sense of wonder and magic? Infidelity was the first thing that came to mind. Stephen had been lucky. Sex had never been a problem with him and Sloan. Even when they couldn’t bear to be in the same room with each other at the end, they’d had no problem being in the same bed. But he could imagine how it must feel to find out the husband you loved was unfaithful to you. That could put a damper on the way you viewed life.

Turning away, he went left past what was obviously Clary’s room, all bright colors and activity. Across the hall and down a few feet was a closed door. Assuming he’d reached the closet, he opened the door and froze in place.

The room was painted pale green with nursery scenes in soft colors forming a band around the middle. Poufy curtains on the windows, white crib, dresser, rocker, a couple of piles of outfits and stuffed toys with the price tags still on them. It was a nursery.

Had Macy had another child, one she’d lost along with her husband? Had she been expecting one? Or merely planning ahead for the time she would get pregnant again?

Intensely aware that he didn’t know nearly enough about Macy, he gently closed the door. He’d avoided doing a Google search on either her or Mark so far; he just felt friends and maybe more should get to know each other the old-fashioned way. But when he got home tonight, Google, here he came.

Behind the next closed door, he grabbed an armload of thick towels and headed back downstairs and onto the patio.

The vegetables were roasting and the steaks sizzled on the grill, filling the air with aromas that made both him and Scooter stand taller and drool. Macy glanced briefly at him as he knelt beside the dog, then turned back to the food.

“I thought you might have some old worn-out towels up there for dog drying, but you didn’t.”

“No,” she agreed. She didn’t need to say it; he understood. Not in Mark’s mansion.

The only thing Scooter loved more than getting wet, possibly, was getting dried off. He stood still, lifting each foot when Stephen touched it, tilting his head back, then to each side. He gave Stephen a long-suffering look when he felt the towel around his tail, but waited patiently.

“So tell me about your brother,” Stephen said as he continued to rub, turning the drying into a massage.

“Brent? He’s seven years older than me. Best older brother I