Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,75

to leap into Stephen’s arms then lean across to link one arm around Brent’s neck. Stephen felt emptier inside. Some of the women at Right Track had been abused for as long as they could remember, but some of them had had wonderful childhoods. They’d begun life every bit as loved and pampered as Clary, until at some point things had gone horribly wrong.

Macy would love Clary with her dying breath, and so would Brent. Hell, Stephen had a deep urge to hold her tightly and never let go. But things could still go horribly wrong. With peer pressure she could end up on the streets, using drugs, drinking too much, selling herself for affection. God forbid, Macy could marry some pervert who liked little girls, or something could happen to Macy and Brent; Clary could wind up with a court-appointed guardian whose only interest was her money. Some greedy bastard could lure her onto the wrong path, away from her family, use her, take her money and leave her alone to die.

There were so many ways things could go wrong. But not as long as Stephen could do anything about it.

“Dr. Stephen, Uncle Brent, Mama said you could decide where we’re gonna eat. She was gonna make a salad—” her little face scrunched up with distaste “—but she said we’ll go wherever you want, and I wanna go to Aunt Mary’s. Just so you know.”

“Aunt Mary’s?” Brent echoed.

“I think she means Tia Maria’s. Mexican food, Little Bit? Is that what you want?”

Clary bobbed her head. “Tacos and salsa! But Mama said I had to let you choose, so when you do, remember tacos.” She struggled down, greeted Scooter exuberantly, then skipped back down the hall with the dog at her side.

The family room was completely empty when Stephen and Brent followed her in. Just a long expanse of tiled floor, even the rug rolled up and carried out, flanked by empty shelves. The small dining table where he and Macy had shared their first meal was gone, too. The sense of space and emptiness made it hit home intensely: she was moving out. Out of the house, probably out of the town, even the state.

Unless he could change her mind.

He really wanted to change her mind. Yesterday morning—breakfast at Ellie’s, playing at the park, the walk around town—had been a damn near perfect morning, except for the conversation. He could see himself making that a weekly habit. Going to church, staying for even the boring parts. Meeting friends for after-church meals. Picking up Clary’s little friends for trips to the park. Concerts in the square on summer evenings.

Him, Macy, Clary and Scooter.

A family.

Macy was standing between the island and the counters with Anne. “Okay, guys, what do you want for lunch? My salad idea was completely blown out of the water—” Anne and Clary booed “—so we’re letting you choose.”

“Gee, I think I’d really like to have Mexican,” Brent said. “Some tacos.”

“And salsa,” Stephen added. “Sounds really good.”

Clary and Anne cheered as Macy rolled her eyes. “Two grown men, and neither of you can stand up to a three-year-old girl,” she murmured as she passed them. “I’ll get my shoes.”

Anne headed to the guesthouse to get her purse. Clary watched from the glass door until she was out of sight, then turned and gave the men a bright smile and a crooked thumbs-up.

Both of them grinned foolishly back at her before she darted off with Scooter. Nope, neither of them could withstand her charm. More important, Stephen decided, neither of them wanted to.

“You want to load some boxes in the back of my pickup and Macy’s van to drop off at the library after we eat?” Brent suggested.

“Sure.” The quicker they got the boxes out of the house, the sooner he could stop toting them...and the sooner Macy would be gone. That dimmed his smile.

The women came out about the time they finished. Not slow to put on shoes or find purses, Stephen figured, but smart enough to avoid the heavy labor while they could. Macy retrieved her keys from Brent and closed the door, then stiffened and did a quick look around. “Where’s Clary?”

“She was inside,” Stephen and Brent said at the same time. “In the kitchen.”

“With Scooter,” Brent added.

Macy opened the door. “Clary? Come on, let’s go.”

Nothing but a faint whine came in reply.

“Clara! This is no time to play.” Macy’s voice was tense, her color pale.

When no call or giggle came in response, Stephen, Brent and