Copper Lake Secrets

Together they watched, Mick trembling with alertness beside them, as the Jag parked next to her truck. Reece’s breath caught on the lump in her throat when the door opened and the driver appeared in the bright sunshine.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Meow.

She might not have seen him in fifteen years, but she had no doubt it was Mark. He’d gotten taller, carried too much weight in his midsection and his hair was thinning, but he still possessed the ability to make her hair stand on end, to raise goose bumps down her arms and to make her stomach hurt.

“Want to go say hello?” Jones murmured.

Both she and Mick looked back at him only briefly before focusing on Mark again. The dog growled, a quiet, bristly sound, and she felt like doing the same thing.

But she had no choice. She would have to face him sooner or later. Besides, he was a grown man now. He’d probably changed. And he well might have some of the answers she was looking for.

Drawing a deep breath, she laid one hand on the screen door.

“Want company?”

Going out there with Jones at her side—better yet, in front of her—sounded so lovely and safe. But he would probably have to face his own run-in with Mark once her cousin found out about the garden project.

“Thanks, but … I’d better …”

It took another deep breath to get her out the door and down the steps. She’d reached the drive before something made Mark turn in her direction. He stopped near the fountain, just looking at her as she approached, then slowly a smile spread across his face and he extended his hand, moving the last few feet to meet her. “Clarice! God, it’s been a long time.”

The instant his fingers closed around hers, he pulled her into a close embrace. Panic rose in her chest, but she controlled it, holding herself stiff. After just a moment, he released her, stepped back and gave her a thousand-watt smile. “You’re no longer that skinny little kid I used to torment. Of course, I’m no longer that snotty little brat who liked to torment. Grandmother must be ecstatic about having you here.”

Not so you’d notice.

Nor did he notice that she didn’t answer. “Grandmother’s kept me up on you. Living in New Orleans, still enjoying the single life. I’m married, you know. We were sorry you couldn’t come to the wedding, but Valerie told us how busy you were. We have one kid, Clara, and another on the way.” He pulled out his cell phone in a practiced manner and called up a photo of a brown-haired chubby-cheeked girl. She was about eighteen months, sweet and looked far too innocent to carry her father’s blood.

“She’s a doll.” Reece’s voice was husky, her tone stiff.

“Yeah, she’s my sweetheart. Next one’s going to be a boy, though. Just think of the fun I’m going to have with him.” He returned the phone to his pocket, then settled his gaze on her again, his features settling into seriousness in an instant. “I made life pretty awful for you, didn’t I? I’m sorry about that. I was a dumb kid, and I was so jealous of you being here. It was my summer visit, too, and I wanted Grandfather and Grandmother all to myself. I behaved with all the maturity of … well, a dumb kid. It’s a wonder you didn’t beat the crap out of me back then.”

Something passed through his blue eyes with the words. Chagrin? Regret? Or something a little more … hostile?

Reece was sorry she couldn’t be unbiased enough to tell.

Then he shrugged, a careless gesture she remembered well. As a kid, he had literally shrugged off everything—her pleas, Grandmother’s requests, Valerie’s infrequent attempts to admonish him. The only person he’d never tried it with was Grandfather. They’d been two of a kind, the old man had laughed.

“Let’s go in and find Grandmother,” Mark suggested, taking her arm. “I try to check on her every day. She’s not as young as she thinks she is. Macy and I have asked her to consider moving into town—we have a guest cottage at our place that we built just for her—but you know how stubborn she is. She’s convinced that she can do everything she did thirty years ago, but we worry about her out here alone.”

Half wishing she could pull away and make a wild dash for her truck, Reece let herself be drawn across the patio to the door. Everything inside was just as it had been when she’d left a half hour ago: cool, dim, quiet, oppressive. Maybe a little more so than before … or was that her imagination?

Grandmother was at her desk in the salon, spine straight, fountain pen in hand. Reece hadn’t seen a computer in the house, and no doubt Grandmother would disapprove of any correspondence that didn’t include Mont Blanc and her favorite ecru shade of engraved Crane & Co. stationery. She’d been raised in a different era, and with the kind of money both her family and the Howards had, she could get away with remaining firmly rooted in the customs of that era.

When they entered the room, she finished her note, put the pen down and lifted her cheek for Mark’s kiss. The affection between them—as far as any affection with Grandmother went—was easy, almost natural.

Mark claimed he’d been jealous of Reece. For a moment, she was jealous of him. She would have liked having a normal relationship with a normal grandmother who didn’t constantly find her lacking.

“So you two have got your greetings over with,” Grandmother stated as she moved from the desk to the settee with Mark’s gentlemanly assistance. “And did you meet Mr. Jones while you were out there?”

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