Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,2

or something.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” She stepped back to allow him through the gate. The dog was still feigning sleep, though with one ear cocked up to hear better.

“Scooter.” His master—well, owner, since he didn’t seem to have much mastery over the dog—crouched in front of him. “We talked about this, didn’t we? You’re not welcome in anyone’s yard but your own.”

Macy restrained a smile. For so many months, the only people she’d dealt with outside her family were so overwhelmingly serious. For that matter, with the exception of Clary, the family members were too serious, too. Now here she stood in her backyard with a man who had discussions with his dog about proper behavior and, apparently, expected the animal to understand. It wasn’t normal, but it beat her usual days by a mile.

The man hooked the leash onto Scooter’s collar. “Come on,” he said sternly. “Apologize to the lady, then we’re going home.”

For a moment the dog remained motionless, then he leaped to his feet, eyes wide, looking as surprised as if he’d really been woken from sleep. He jumped at his owner with enough force to knock the man down if he hadn’t been prepared, then panted and strained toward the gate as if eager to be on his way.

“Apologize, Scooter.”

Happiness draining from his face, the dog walked over to Macy, head ducked down, eyes peering up at her, then rubbed his head lightly against her knee. He really did look contrite, and finally her smile formed.

“Apology accepted,” she murmured, feeling silly.

“By the way...” The owner straightened, standing six inches taller than her. “I’m Stephen Noble. Scooter and I live down around the curve.” He gestured toward the north, which gave her one important piece of information: he wasn’t part of the Woodhaven Villas subdivision. He hadn’t been one of her and Mark’s neighbors.

Though he probably still knew everything that had happened. He did live in Copper Lake, after all, and he didn’t seem the least bit hermit-ish.

“Macy Howard.” She watched his face closely for some reaction—even in Charleston and Columbia, in the beginning, her name had drawn some response—but not from him. “Have you lived here long?”

“About ten months. I came to work with Dr. Yates for a while and decided to stay.”

Inwardly cringing at the mention of a doctor, Macy breathed deeply. “So you’re a physician’s assistant or a nurse or...?”

His eyes—hazel behind the glass lenses—shadowed, then he laughed. “No. Dr. Yates is a vet. So am I.”

Relief washed through her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be recovered enough to comfortably deal with medical personnel. And being a vet certainly helped explain why he thought his dog could tell time and why he had regular discussions with him.

“I’ve never had any pets,” she said as explanation why she didn’t know that detail about Dr. Yates. Mark had chosen whom they socialized with, and a veterinarian had never made the list.

She had never been the snob Mark was; by his standards, her own family wouldn’t have been good enough. They didn’t have old blood and old money, prestige and power. They didn’t rate with the great Howards.

A snort of disgust rose inside her, but she choked it down. Not now, not here.

“I’ve never not had pets,” Stephen was saying. “Being a vet was all I ever wanted to do. More or less.”

“So you got your dream. Good for you.” Being happy was all Macy had ever wanted. A comfortable life. A husband she loved who loved her back. Kids to cherish. Stability.

You’re stable now, she reminded herself, forcing even breaths. She had some unsteady moments, but they were fewer and further between. She was capable and competent. She was.

“What do you do?”

She blinked, then refocused on Stephen. “Do?”

“Do you work? Have a job besides taking care of this place?”

“I, uh...no.” She hadn’t worked since a part-time job in college. As soon as Mark had graduated, she’d dropped out and they’d gotten married. He’d never wanted her working then, and she didn’t need to now. Between his death and his grandmother’s a month later, Macy had enough money to support herself, her daughter and whatever family Clary might one day have for the rest of their lives.

“Well...” Stephen shifted, tugging on the leash. “I’ve got to get this guy home and shove a couple pills down his throat. Remember, let me know about the flowers. I’ll take it out of Scooter’s cookie money.”

She murmured something—goodbye, she thought—and watched them leave, the dog walking quietly alongside his