Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,38
could ask for.”
He recognized his own words describing Marnie the night before. He’d bet she didn’t have a but...following hers.
“He started his own lawn service when he was fifteen. By the time he graduated from high school, he had so many customers that he didn’t have time to go to college. Now he has about sixty employees, but he leaves the administrative stuff to others and still goes out four or five days a week to mow grass.”
“Smart man. Where’s the success in owning a business when you have to manage instead of doing the work that attracted you in the first place?”
She moved the wire basket filled with vegetables to the cooler side of the grill, next to the potatoes, asked how he liked his steak, then added another question. “Is that why you’ve chosen not to open your own practice?”
“I’d rather be an employee than the owner. Whole different realm of responsibilities. And there’s the writing gig, too. Need time for that.”
After placing another foil packet on the grill, she faced him, leaning against the brick, hands next to her hips. “Brent’s happy doing what he does. He gets off when he wants and has all the work he can handle the rest of the time. His wife, Anne, works for him when he needs extra help. They’ve been married about eight or nine months. They’ve talked about having kids soon—Anne’s nearly thirty-eight—but...” Shadows darkened her eyes. “The time hasn’t been right.”
Were they having trouble conceiving? Was their brother-in-law’s death enough stress for the family to deal with for the present? Or did that nursery upstairs have something to do with it, too?
He wished he knew, but even Marnie would recognize there was no polite way to ask such questions.
He finished with Scooter and draped the damp towels over nearby chairs before finding a post to lean his shoulder against. “You like Anne?”
“I do.”
“That counts for a lot. Sloan had three brothers, all married. Their wives were the worst nags, gossips and whiners I’d ever known. Remember, my only sister is the female Spock, so I had no clue how to deal with such drama queens. One of the best things about the divorce, other than avoiding another Wyoming winter, was never having to listen to those women again.”
“Anne’s not like that at all.” She pressed the steaks with a practiced fingertip, then used the tongs to place them on plates. “She’s smart, warm, unflappable and compassionate. She’s good for Brent. She’s good for all of us.”
Within a few minutes, with an ease that belied her earlier planner-not-doer statement, dinner was on a teak table at the other end of the patio. He took the seat she indicated, his mouth watering thanks to the aromas wafting off the plate. “This smells incredible.”
“My dad is a grill master. He insisted Brent and I learn a few tricks before we left home.”
The first bite of steak was more than incredible—just the right amount of char, spice and cool center. The potatoes had creamy interiors, the vegetables a sweet smoky flavor and the bread—the last item she’d put on the grill—was nicely garlicky.
“You are definitely a doer, Macy,” he said when he’d eaten all he could. “All your friends who came here to eat other people’s food don’t have a clue what they were missing.”
Her only response was a faint smile and to slip another piece of steak under the table to Scooter. Though she’d been subtle, Stephen had known the first time she’d done it and that she’d continued to do it by the way the dog abandoned him about two minutes into the meal.
She was pretty, nice, had a sense of humor and sneaked treats to his dog. What more could a man want in a woman?
Maybe a clearer, more hopeful look in her eyes. Those shadows didn’t belong. Whatever had put them there—Mark’s death, his life, the empty nursery—still held powerful influence over her. He’d like to see the smile on her lips chase those shadows away permanently. He’d like to see her really, truly happy.
Because he was a nice guy. He thought everyone—more or less—deserved to be happy. Though maybe not Mark Howard or his baby-snubbing grandmother.
“Did you stay in touch with your friends here when you left?” It wasn’t too nosy a question, was it? She could ask him the same. She could ask him anything. His life was pretty much an open book.
She slid a last piece of steak to Scooter then folded her napkin