Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,48
room furniture Monday, plus one antique dealer is coming then, the other one Tuesday morning. If you guys see anything you want, please take it or let me know.” She turned to include Stephen. “You, too.”
He pushed his glasses back up his nose to disguise his grimace. He didn’t want anything of Mark Howard’s...except his widow. And his little girl.
“We tried to get Macy to just turn the whole place over to an estate sale place,” Brent said. “She could have packed what she wanted in a couple hours and been done with this already.”
Anne rested her hand on his knee. “You tried. I agreed with her that she should do it the way she needed to.”
Stephen could understand needing to oversee the packing and sorting. Though she didn’t seem interested in any of the stuff for herself, there were surely items she wanted Clary to have and others, like those jade carvings, she intended to give to someone else. There must be a few things inside that belonged to her, that didn’t hold bad memories of her marriage.
None too subtly, Macy changed the subject. “I planned to put you two in one of the guest rooms, but since I’ve already started clearing them, I’m putting you in the guesthouse. It’ll give you a little privacy, which I know you haven’t had much of since the wedding. It’ll be a bit of a break until we get you sent on a proper honeymoon.”
Anne’s smile brightened her face. “Ooh, privacy. Hmm. Tell me again what we do with that?” After a half groan, half growl from her husband, she gestured toward the pool. “I know it’s only April, but how’s the water?”
“Scooter loved it last night,” Macy replied. “I haven’t been in.”
“Anyone mind if I dip my toes in? Otherwise, after my next three cookies, I’m gonna need a nap.” Anne looked around the group, then stood. “Hand me the keys, babe, and I’ll get our bags.”
“I’ll get our bags. You can get baby girl’s.” Brent polished off the last of his own cookie, then followed Anne inside.
After the door closed, silence settled, comfortable, familiar. “They seem like nice people,” Stephen said.
“Very nice.”
“They seem like they’ve been together for years.”
Macy kicked off her sandals and turned sideways in the chair to face him, her knees drawn up. “Actually, they’ve only known each other about fourteen, fifteen months. I guess it’s just one of those things. You know what you’ve found the minute you’ve found it. Not love at first sight but...more.”
Stephen had experienced a few of those things: people he’d known he would be friends with, people he’d known would be important to him long after their meeting. Not Sloan, though. His first impression of her wasn’t flattering. Smug, self-absorbed, aggressive.
It hadn’t been wrong, either.
He didn’t regret the marriage, though, or the divorce. He didn’t regret anything. Everything he’d done or had done to him had brought him to this place and made him who he was. He liked this place. He liked who he was.
He liked whom he was with.
“I should get the key for the guesthouse,” Macy said. “Can you keep an eye on Clary?”
“Sure. It’s not often I get to see someone wrap Scooter around her little finger. He’s usually the one who does the wrapping.”
She looked at her daughter, talking earnestly to the dog on a nearby patch of grass, and Scooter, listening just as earnestly, and that incredible smile returned. “My daughter is a charmer.”
He waited until the kitchen door closed behind her to quietly add, “She gets it from her mother.”
* * *
The clock in the hallway struck ten, only distantly audible through the glass door. Brent and Anne had said good-night and retired to the guesthouse a half hour before. Macy and Stephen remained on the teak love seat, Clary sprawled across her lap, snoring softly. Scooter, on the chair Brent had abandoned, was doing the same.
Ten or fifteen minutes had passed since either she or Stephen had spoken, but it didn’t bother her. Being able to talk with someone was important, of course, but being able to stay quiet with them was even more so. Mark hadn’t been much of a believer in silence, not just with her but with everyone. He’d liked to talk. Miss Willa had understood the value of silence, but she’d used it as a weapon. Quiet equaled disapproval in her life.
Macy definitely approved of her life at the moment. Clary in her arms, Stephen at her side, Brent