he hunkered in a little more.
“You’ve run away, haven’t you?”
Big brown eyes watched her.
“Scoo-ter!”
The Lab managed to make himself a little flatter, closing his eyes, for a moment appearing as if he were asleep. Then he opened one to a slit to peek at her. She stopped her smile before it could form and moved past him to the gate.
“Scooter, dang it, you know you’ve got to take your medicine,” the voice muttered. “Do I have to chase you all over the neighborhood every time?”
Macy glanced at the dog, still pretending to sleep, then unlatched the gate. At least someone in the world was apparently having a normal day, even if it did mean chasing down his recalcitrant dog. She wondered if he knew how much to appreciate that. She would give up every dime of her fortune to learn what “normal” was supposed to be now.
When she tugged the heavy gate open, Scooter’s owner was nearing her driveway. He was tall, lanky, wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt and glasses, with his brown hair standing on end, as if he’d combed his fingers through it in frustration. A red leash was draped around his neck.
He was a stranger to her, luckily. She really would have hated for the first person she saw to be someone she knew, someone like her friend Sophy’s mother, Rae Marchand, who lived three houses down, or Louise Wetherby from the end of the block. Either woman could put any gaggle of teenage girls to shame with their gossiping skills. Rae was pretty harmless about it, but Louise liked to leave her victims bleeding from the sharpness of her tongue. Macy intended to avoid both women during her stay.
“Hey,” she called. “Would Scooter, by chance, be a yellow Lab with a fondness for making his bed in my daylilies?”
Switching directions, the man grimaced. “I’m sorry. He’s on meds right now, and he knows I give them at noon, so he’s started making his escape about ten minutes before.”
Automatically, Macy checked her watch. It was 12:05. “You think your dog can tell time?”
Her dry tone quirked one of his brows. “You think it’s coincidence he’s taken off at the same time every day for a week?” Without waiting for a response, he went on. “If he’s damaged the flowers, tell me where I can replace them or send me a bill 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 owner, but they faded from her thoughts before they were gone from sight.
Sure, she had money to support herself and Clary, but…what would she do? What would fill her days? What would she contribute? How would she show Clary how to be a kind, compassionate, responsible, productive adult?
And the most terrifying question of all: With all that free time, with nothing to do but take care of Clary, how would she ever stay sane?
A few times on the way to the curve that marked the end of Woodhaven Villas and the beginning of the Lesser of the World, Stephen looked back over his shoulder at the Howard house. The first two times Macy stood in exactly the same position, not looking after them to make sure the flower-smashing dog wasn’t coming back, but just standing