Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,24
you’ll agree that this is the best solution to the problem. When you’re ready to sign, you can let me know. You have my contact information, of course.”
Macy supposed there was a homeowners’ directory somewhere in Mark’s office, but it would be a cold day in hell before she called Louise. If she decided to donate Fair Winds, it would be to the state, the local historical society—anyone besides Louise.
“I can show myself out.” Louise made it to the hall before turning back. “Oh, and welcome back. Starting off new will be easier once you’ve cleaned up old business.”
A moment later the door closed, and Macy sank down into the chair exactly like the spineless creature she was. Her gaze settled on the contract again, and she shook her head numbly. The nerve of the old hags, trying to manipulate her into such a decision on her second day back.
And she was considered the crazy one.
* * *
Stephen had had a productive afternoon, leaving his computer shortly after five with more than three thousand words added to his manuscript. It had taken him a while to get into the book after lunch. Hell, it’d taken him a good while to leave the porch after Macy had walked away. He’d watched until she was out of sight, and then a few minutes longer. Research, he’d told himself. A need to get all the descriptions right when he wrote about Ma’ahcee.
He was standing in the kitchen, bent to examine the contents of the refrigerator, with Scooter hanging hopefully at his side, when the cell phone rang. The only people who called him who merited their own ringtone were the ones at the clinic—yes, it was “Who Let the Dogs Out.” He’d been too lazy to assign tunes, so everyone else had a regular old-fashioned ring-ring.
Flipping the phone open, he reached for the milk and a bag of deli turkey. “Hello.”
“Hey. It’s Macy.”
Ah, speak of the Warrior Woman. He tossed a bite of turkey to Scooter and was rewarded with a snap of teeth and drool slung on his bare shin. “Hey, Macy. What’s up?”
Hesitance, then... “I thought you probably wouldn’t answer the phone if you were working, but if I’m disturbing you...”
Only if distraction and curiosity count as disturbances. “No, I’m done for the day. Scooter and I were just debating what to do about supper. What do you need?”
“I’ve got to check on some property outside town, and I was wondering...I’d rather not go out there alone in the evening, and...it won’t take very long. I can buy you guys dinner afterward.”
“Sounds good.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m sure. We’d just be watching TV, and I get tired of watching Animal Planet.”
Faint amusement entered her voice. “You do get other channels.”
“Yeah, but Scooter doesn’t like them.”
This time she rewarded him with a chuckle. “You know he’s spoiled.”
“Dogs are like kids. What’s the point of having them if you don’t spoil them at least a little?”
“I agree. What time is good for you guys?”
He tossed Scooter another piece of turkey before sticking one in his mouth and talking around it. “Any time.”
“Ten minutes?”
“That’ll do. Do you really want Scooter to come?”
“Sure. See you.”
He set the phone down then dragged his hand through his hair. “Hey, Scooter, Warrior Woman is taking us to dinner. Actually, I think she wants you for security, and I’m just part of the deal.” He wouldn’t hide behind her if anything was out of place at the property, but he wouldn’t be charging heroically ahead, either. He was a writer. He observed, and he was great with speed-dialing a phone. He didn’t derring-do.
The dog’s attention was still on the turkey. Stephen gave him one last piece, took another for himself, then headed to the bedroom at the front of the house, stripping off his T-shirt on the way.
He’d known he was fashion-challenged since he was in middle school. Colors were just colors. As far as he could tell, they didn’t particularly go together or clash. He did draw the line at ones like pink and light purple. Even he had always understood those were girly colors.
His mom had solved the problem for him in high school by stocking his closet with three items: jeans and shorts in either denim or khaki and T-shirts in black and white. Everything went together, and he didn’t risk getting teased about anything other than the predictability of his clothes. He could live with that.
He pulled on a clean white shirt, brushed some dog