would do it herself if he asked, even if Macy did refuse to make a report.
But so far, he’d seen nothing to indicate anything more than an overactive imagination.
When he looked at Macy, her cheeks were pink again and she stared at the floor instead of him. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Even if she didn’t see it, she would hear it in his voice. “The good news is that there doesn’t appear to be anyone here. Let’s check the other rooms just to be sure.”
A faint nod was her only response.
The closet and bathroom were empty, ditto the bedroom and bath on the other side of the house. The door from the kitchen to a tiny patio was dead-bolted, and all the windows were closed and locked. The house was more secure than his own.
Realizing he’d lost Scooter along the way, Stephen returned to the first bedroom, hoping the mutt wasn’t curled up on the bed. He wasn’t, but was sniffing the floor beneath the window instead. Strange houses were full of new scents for his sensitive nose, which was okay as long as he didn’t feel compelled to leave his own. “Come on, Scooter. Let’s go.”
Tail quivering, the dog spun around and raced out of the room. If Stephen had been a second slower opening the front door, Scooter would have smacked into it.
“I’m sorry,” Macy said as she relocked the door. “I really thought I saw…” Her voice wasn’t much steadier than it had been before they’d entered the guesthouse. He guessed it was embarrassment now. People like her probably weren’t used to making panicky mistakes.
“It’s okay. Better to be sure, right?”
She made a soft sound that might have been agreement or could just as easily have meant nothing at all. Hands tightly clenching her keys and cell phone, she led the way back through the garden and around the pool to the patio. There she glanced at the guesthouse with such a look of dismay on her face that he couldn’t help but say something.
“Hey, we’ve got a pizza in the car. Want to share it with us?” When she hesitated, he added, “It’s from Luigi’s. Even people who just pass through town know that Luigi makes the best pizza ever.”
Her smile was just a little one. “I know. I have cravings for it in Charleston.”
“It’s an extra-large supreme. We can bring it in or you’re welcome to come to our house.” Sensing her uncertainty, he grinned. “Come on, it’s Luigi’s.”
For a moment, her features tightened even more, then relaxed a little. “Sure,” she said, opening the door to allow him and Scooter inside. “Bring it in.”
Chapter 3
The instant the front door closed behind Stephen on his way to get the pizza, Macy grimaced. The last thing she wanted tonight was to have dinner with a stranger and his dog, even if it was a Luigi’s pizza.
No, the last thing she wanted was to be alone in this house. And with this being their third visit in one day, Stephen wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore. If he were a homicidal maniac—like Mark—he’d had enough chances at her already. And she liked his dog. Scooter was sweet and cuddly, and the Lab neither suspected nor cared that she was apparently delusional.
Her gut tightened, her stomach heaving so violently that she pressed one hand to her abdomen, the other to her mouth. Had she really seen someone in the guesthouse? Was she crazy? Was she already losing the balance she’d fought so hard to recover?
Since there was absolutely no sign of anyone having trespassed on the property, she couldn’t have seen someone, but she preferred to think she’d overreacted rather than imagined a threat. She was anxious about being here. Under the circumstances, who wouldn’t be?
She’d let memory get the best of her and made a fool of herself, but now it was over. At least she’d had the luck to find Stephen driving past and not one of the neighbors she knew, and enough control to stop him from calling the police. She didn’t know if her months in the psychiatric hospital were common knowledge in Copper Lake, but she didn’t intend to give anyone reason to doubt her sanity. No panicked calls to the police about nonexistent intruders. No more fodder for the town gossips.
And she could look on this dinner as therapy. If she and Clary were ever going to have a normal life, she had to learn how to socialize again. Small talk, no anxiety attacks, just a well-adjusted woman sharing a pizza with a man who’d done her a favor.
The front door clicked, signaling Stephen’s return, and she moved to the cabinets, taking out plates, glasses and napkins. An earlier check of the refrigerator had revealed that Robbie Calloway—or, more likely, Anamaria—had had it stocked with the basics, so she removed a jug of iced tea, a couple of bottles of water and a couple of bottles of her favorite pop.
The enticing aromas of the pizza entered the kitchen a few seconds ahead of Stephen and Scooter. For just a moment, Macy felt light, eagerly anticipating the pleasure to come. It was a fleeting sensation, one she’d almost forgotten, and it left an ache when her usual uneasiness replaced it.
“I should have asked…do you mind having Scooter inside? I can run him home if you’d prefer.”
She thought of all the things the dog could damage—antique rugs peed on, wood floors scratched, delicate porcelain broken with a swipe of his tail—and a smile blossomed across her face. “No, he’s fine. Nothing in here is that important.” Not to her, at least. Anything he did damage would just be one less thing for her to find a home for.
They settled across from each other at the small dining table that separated the kitchen from the family room. Scooter took up a position exactly between them, looking excitedly from one to the other.
“He’s a beautiful dog,” she commented. “I’m thinking of getting one for my daughter and me.”
“Your daughter?” Stephen stood and crossed the few feet into the kitchen. “Knife?”
She nodded toward the block on one counter pushed far out of reach of little fingers. “Clary. She’s three. She’s in Charleston with my brother and his wife. They’re coming up Friday to help.”
Returning with a paring knife, he cut a slice of pizza into Scooter-sized pieces, fed one to the dog, then took a bite of his own slice. “You have any particular breed in mind?”
The one time she’d broached the subject with Mark, he’d listed the breeds he would find acceptable—in other words, very expensive—before giving a flat refusal. She had been disappointed by both responses but hadn’t really expected anything else. After all, an over-the-top belief in their own superiority was a defining characteristic of the Howard family, and Mark liked order. A yappy puppy would have upset that.
With those expensive, purebred animals in mind, she replied, “Something without a pedigree. One that needs a home and is good with kids.”
“There’s a no-kill shelter just outside town. Unfortunately, they have plenty that meet your requirements.”
Macy chewed her first bite, and the pleasure she’d briefly anticipated bloomed through her. It was almost enough to make her moan. After swallowing, she asked, “Is that where Scooter came from?”
“Nope. A client bought him sight unseen, didn’t do any
