Copper Lake Confidential (25 page)

Slowly Stephen got to his feet, wavering so far left, then
right, Macy didn’t know how he kept from falling. He awkwardly placed one hand
on the desk, then followed it around the corner toward Brent. Carefully he
planted one foot in front of the other, ignoring Duncan’s mutter about staying
where he was. When he rounded the next corner, he gave Brent a goofy smile. “Do
you mind if I trade chairs with you? That one’s not very comfortable.”

Brent moved toward him as if to help, but a sharp word from
Anne and a jerk of her head made him back off. He joined Macy, leaning against
the credenza for support, rage and sorrow radiating from him. “I’m so sorry,
Macy,” he whispered. “So damn sorry.”

“Me, too,” she murmured.

Stephen had almost reached the plush leather chair when his
knees buckled, his face drained white and he sank to the floor out of sight.
“Stephen!” Macy took a step in his direction, but Brent caught her arm, kept her
by his side.

“Oh, for God’s sake, what did you give him?” Anne asked.

Duncan shrugged. “I don’t know. Something to keep him knocked
out for the drive here. It’ll clear out of his system. It always does.”

In the small space under the desk, Macy saw Stephen’s huge
tennis shoe moving. Hastily she pulled her attention back to Anne and one of her
earlier comments. “It can’t be part of the plan for Stephen’s sister to find out
someone switched my medication.”

“She won’t find that out. I kept your pills, of course, when I
switched them with Duncan’s. Once we’re done here, I’ll switch them back, and
all anyone’s going to notice is that a) your pill bottle is almost full and b)
there’s no evidence in your system that you’ve been taking them. They’ll think
you took yourself off your medication. Mental patients often do that, you know,
and then they’re right back in whatever pit they crawled out of. I, of course,
will be here to tell the police how you’d been sinking back into that horrible
depression that had resulted in your committal the first time, how I had warned
Brent, how you both were in denial. How I came home from picking up Clary after
her playdate and found such a tragic scene awaiting me. Stephen, Brent, you, all
dead at your own hand.”

“I don’t own a gun,” Macy said flatly.

“But you found one. Really, you did. This was your husband’s.
It was hidden in the guesthouse. Duncan found it while he kept watch on you
until Brent and I got here.”

So she really had seen someone out there. And of course, Anne
had given him the code and the key so he could sneak in and rearrange things.
“Clary in the pool?”

Anne smiled. “Actually, that was me. I’d brought a doll dressed
in her clothes. When I went to get my purse from the guesthouse, I tossed it in.
When you screamed, I dragged it out, hid it under some bushes and dashed into
the house to pretend I’d been searching for her.”

Stephen’s foot clunked against the desk and Anne scowled at
Duncan. “Get him off the floor and into the chair.”

Grumbling about not being hired muscle, Duncan hauled Stephen’s
shoulders out from under the desk, then half lifted, half dragged him into the
chair. His hair looking tamer than she’d ever seen it, Stephen met her gaze,
fear in his eyes, but something more. Hope. Satisfaction.

Oh, God, the panic button! Just last night she’d told him there
was one under Mark’s desk. He must have pressed it, which meant the hidden
cameras had been activated and the police had been notified. Leave it to him,
drugged and probably concussed, to remember the small detail that might save
their lives.

If Anne didn’t get too impatient.

Taking advantage of the cover provided by her and Brent’s
bodies, Macy felt behind her, searching for the heaviest picture frame there.
“Anne, I loved you like a sister. I was so happy when you and Brent got married.
I would have given you just about anything if you’d only asked.”

Anne tilted her head to one side. “Would you have given me your
daughter?” After a moment, she said, “I didn’t think so. Don’t worry. She
doesn’t remember what happened to her father, and I’ll make sure she completely
forgets about her mother. She’ll be the best-loved little girl in the world, and
I’ll teach her to be strong and independent. She won’t grow up weak-minded and
weak-willed like you.”

Weak-minded? Weak-willed?
Her
fingers brushed a frame and heat warmed them. It was the photo of Mark and his
grandfather, she knew from the strange sensations in her hand. She hefted it,
unusually heavy for its size, and clenched hot wood and shimmering glass, and
without a word, without further thought, she flung it across the room at
Anne.

Startled, Anne jerked the gun up and pulled the trigger as the
frame sailed end over end. The bullet struck it with a heavy clunk, but the
frame’s course didn’t alter. It followed its arc, connecting solidly with her
face, glass shattering. The impact made her shriek and stumble backward, falling
against the door frame, small cuts bleeding all over her face, dripping into her
eyes.

The next voice was the sweetest Macy had ever heard—after
Clary’s, of course, and Stephen’s.

“Damn. Nice throw, Macy,” Lieutenant Tommy Maricci of the
Copper Lake Police Department said from the doorway. “Mrs. Ireland, we’d better
get you and your friend out of here before she does some real damage.”

* * *

Stephen freed himself from the paramedics as quickly as
he could. His head wound was cleaned, and whatever sedative he’d been given had
worn off for the most part. They advised him to go to the hospital, but he
refused. He’d get checked out later, but there were things he had to do
first.

Anne and Duncan West had both been taken away in handcuffs, him
under his own power, her strapped helpless to a gurney. Tommy Maricci and A. J.
Decker were in the living room with Brent, the crime scene people were gathering
evidence in the office and from the trunk of West’s car, and Macy was standing
at the French doors, staring out into the yard.

She responded when he approached, but not with fear. Without
looking, without him speaking, she knew it was him, and she leaned back into him
as he put his arms around her. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“Remembering the panic button. Suspecting Anne. Going to
Claremont.”

“Getting my head cracked open didn’t do much to help.”

“It forced her to move up her schedule.” She rested her head
against his shoulder, and he let his chin sink into the silky mass of her hair.
“You saved our lives.”

“That picture frame throw helped. I didn’t know you had an arm
like that.”

Finally she tilted her head enough to meet his gaze. “Would you
think I was crazy if I said I had help?”

He considered it. Ghosts didn’t exactly fit into his view of
the world. But he didn’t know everything. “It makes sense. Despite what he was,
Mark loved you and Clary.”

She nodded, hair tickling his jaw. “I may have to stop hating
him and just...let go.”

He nodded, too. Hating took so much energy, and there were so
many better things she could do with that energy. Like loving
him
and starting all over again, just her and Clary
and him. “Mace— Hey.” He scowled as his right arm was jerked away from her body
and found Marnie holding him by the wrist.

She barely glanced at him. “We need a sample of your blood to
see what medication you were given.”

Before he could react, the tech had the tourniquet on and was
approaching with a needle. Tensing, Stephen turned his head the other way and
squeezed his eyes shut, at least until a soft giggle made him open them. Macy
was smiling at him. “You don’t faint, do you?”

“He has before,” Marnie answered. “Usually if you distract him
and you’re fast enough, he’s okay.”

“Huh. Just like Clary.”

Since he was feeling about three years old, Stephen stuck his
tongue out at her.

She laughed again. “Want me to kiss you when it’s over and make
it better?”

Now there was a suggestion he could get behind. He couldn’t
answer, though, not with the tech withdrawing the needle and Marnie slapping a
bandage on his arm, then bending his elbow tightly.

“Hold that for a minute,” she said brusquely, then turned her
attention to Macy. “I’m Marnie, his older sister, and you, obviously, are Macy.
While I regret the drama you underwent today, I do wish you had beaten your
sister-in-law to death with that picture. He’s the only brother I have.” She
nodded once for emphasis then walked away.

“Wow. That counts as overwhelming emotion for Marnie,” he
murmured.

“She loves you.” Macy slowly turned in his arms to face him.
“So do I.” Stretching onto her toes, she kissed him, then brushed her fingers
through his hair. “I feel bad.”

“For loving me?”

She made a face at him. “Poor Brent got his heart broken, and I
got mine healed. I know you haven’t asked me to stay or anything, but I do love
you, Stephen, and I’m not going anywhere. Well, away from this house because it
totally freaks me out, but not away from this town. Not away from you.
Unless...” She swallowed hard. “Unless you’d rather have someone a little less
prone to drama—”

He stopped her words with a kiss that heated too hot too fast
and made him a little unsteady on his feet. Holding on to her for balance, he
rested his forehead against hers. “I have a suggestion. Let’s get me checked out
at the hospital, get your brother checked into a hotel, get Clary and Scooter
settled at home, and I’ll leave absolutely no doubt in your mind how much I want
you in my life. Sound like a deal?”

Her smile came slowly and sent heat straight through his body,
making him rethink the order of his suggestions. “Sounds like the best deal
ever.” She took his hand, draped his arm over her shoulder and looped her free
arm around his waist, encouraging him to lean on her as they started toward the
door. “Tell me, Stephen. Do your stories have happy endings?”

His fingers tightened fractionally on her shoulder. “This one
does, Mace.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
Cowboy with a
Cause
by Carla Cassidy.

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Chapter 1

A
dam Benson sat in his pickup truck parked at the curb and stared at the two-story house out his passenger-side window. It was a nice place, painted pale beige with rust-colored trim. A large tree in the front yard sported all the colors of autumn, with bright red and orange leaves beginning to group at the base.

The Room for Rent sign had been in the front window for a couple of months, and for the past few weeks each time Adam drove by the place, he'd considered the possibility of checking it out.

Shoving a hand into the pocket of his lightweight black jacket, he found the two small plastic chips inside and rubbed them together as he considered his next move.

There was no question that he was in transition. With two months of sobriety behind him and a ranch that no longer felt like his home, he knew it was time to make some significant changes in his life.

With a new decisiveness, he opened the truck door and got out.
Great location,
he told himself as he looked down Main Street. This house was one of the last on the block that hadn't been sold and torn down to make room for commercial property. From here he could easily walk the main drag of the small town of Grady Gulch.

He turned back to look at the house. The place had belonged to Olive Brooks for as long as he could remember. The older woman had been a fixture in town, working at the post office and involved in every charity event. Then about a year ago she'd become ill with cancer and her only daughter had come to town from someplace back east to nurse her. Olive had passed away and her daughter had remained in the house.

It was a little strange. Nobody around town that Adam had spoken to seemed to have seen Melanie Brooks since her mother's death, although he'd heard a few unpleasant rumors about her.

He jingled his sobriety chips once again. He knew personally about gossip and ugly rumors. In the past year he and his family had experienced enough of both to last a lifetime.

He finally sighed, irritated with his own hesitation. “Doesn't hurt to check it out,” he muttered under his breath as he headed toward the front porch.

Next door to the house the pizza place was in full lunch swing, the scents of robust sauce and spicy sausage filling the air. Adam's stomach rumbled, and he decided that after checking out the room for rent, he'd head to the Cowboy Café for lunch. Although the pizza smelled great, at noon the place was usually overrun by high school kids grabbing a slice of pizza before their afternoon classes began.

Besides, the Cowboy Café was
the
place in town to get a hearty meal and a healthy serving of what people were saying and thinking. In the past couple of months it had felt more like home than the ranch where he'd grown up.

As he walked up the stairs to the porch, he noticed that the railing was more than a little wobbly and needed to be replaced. Up close the house paint wasn't quite as fresh as it appeared from the street. A little TLC was definitely needed, he thought, not that it was his problem. That was one of the luxuries of not owning where you lived: you weren't responsible for any of the maintenance.

He knocked on the door, and as he waited for a reply, he turned and looked back at the street where his truck was parked. Within an hour everyone in town would know that he'd been here. That was the way things worked in small towns like Grady Gulch. There were few secrets that could be sustained for any length of time.

However, there was one person in town who was keeping a dark, evil secret, a person who had murdered two women in their beds. So far law enforcement and everyone else had no idea who that killer might be and if or when he might strike again. The murders of two women who had worked as waitresses at the popular café had definitely put a gray pall over the town.

He shoved this disturbing thought aside and knocked again, this time hearing a woman's voice respond for him to hang on. The door finally opened and he got his first look at Melanie Brooks.

Stunning. She was absolutely stunning, with pale blond hair that fell to her shoulders in soft waves and eyes that were bluer than any he'd ever seen before. She was slender and wore a pair of black slacks, a black blouse and an irritated scowl that looked permanently etched onto her face. He couldn't discern how tall she might be as she sat in a wheelchair.

Adam swept his cowboy hat from his head, quickly raked his fingers through his dark hair and hoped his shock at her condition didn't show on his face. “Good afternoon. I'm Adam Benson and I'm here about the room for rent.”

She blinked in obvious surprise and there was a long, awkward silence.

“You have a sign in your window? A room for rent?” he prompted.

She used her arms to move herself backward and then gestured for him to step into the foyer. “Adam Benson,” she mused, her eyes narrowed as her gaze held his. “I heard you were a drunk.”

Adam took a step back, stunned by her unexpected words. “I was,” he admitted with painful honesty. “But I'm not drinking anymore. And the rumors I heard about you were that you're a sour, rude and cranky woman. The verdict is still out on that.”

Her eyes narrowed even more. “You have a big ranch on the edge of town. Why would you need to rent a room?”

“My brother, his new wife and son have all moved into the ranch house and I'm looking for a change of address.” His decision to leave the house where he'd grown up was far more complicated than that, but he figured Melanie didn't need to know the details. “So, can I see the room?”

“It's actually more than just a room. Follow me.” She moved out of the foyer and into a large, airy living room with a staircase that led up to the second floor. She stopped at the foot of the staircase, the dainty frown still etched in her forehead.

For somebody who had had a sign hanging in the window for months, she seemed reluctant to allow him to see the space she was renting. Was her reluctance based on the fact that he was a male? Or was it specifically aimed at him personally? Certainly the reputation of all the Benson brothers had taken a beating in the past year, but over the past couple of months things had calmed down.

“Look, Ms. Brooks, I just need a place to hang my hat. I'm not looking for any trouble. I'll pay the rent on time and be a respectful tenant. Speaking of rent, what are you looking to get each month?”

She told him a figure that seemed a little high and he wondered if she'd done it on purpose to chase him away or if she'd intended to ask for that kind of money from anyone who showed an interest.

“Sounds good,” he replied.

“I'm actually renting the entire second floor. I'm certainly not using any of the rooms upstairs.” A touch of bitterness laced her voice. “Go on up and have a look around.”

Adam nodded, and as he climbed the stairs, he wondered what had put her in the wheelchair. He reminded himself that it—that she—was none of his business. He was simply looking for peace and quiet, for a haven where he could gather himself together and figure out what exactly he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

The upstairs was comprised of three bedrooms and a bathroom. One of the rooms was set up like a sitting room, with a sofa, a television and an overstuffed chair with a reading lamp behind it. Adam could easily visualize himself in that big chair in the evenings, leisurely reading the newspaper or a novel.

The view from the window was of Main Street, and he stood for a moment and looked outside, trying to get a feel for the space.

The bedrooms were decorated in earth tones, making them feel neither masculine nor feminine but simply functional. The larger of the two bedrooms was located next to the sitting room and also had a view of Main Street out the window. Everything was neat and tidy and it all felt oddly right to him.

He wasn't sure what Melanie might have heard about him or his brothers, and she appeared to be the cranky sort, but surely they wouldn't have much interaction if he moved in here.

It was just a room, not a relationship, he reminded himself as he walked back down the stairs. Melanie had remained where he'd left her, at the foot of the stairs and she watched him solemnly as he hit the lower landing.

“We'd share kitchen space,” she said. “You'd get the upper cabinets and I use the lower ones. You buy your own food and cook it and clean up the mess afterward.” She said the words resolutely, as if she'd come to some sort of decision about him while he'd been upstairs. “It would be a month-to-month lease. I can get rid of you or you can move out with thirty days' notice. If you drink, you're out. If you're a messy pig, you're out, and if you think I'm rude or whatever, then you deal with it or move out.”

He watched her closely, seeking any sign of a sense of humor lurking in her amazing blue eyes, but there didn't appear to be any. It was almost as if she were daring him to move in, confident that within thirty days he'd either want to move or she'd have a good reason to kick him out.

“I'll take it,” he replied. “I'm assuming you want first and last months' rent along with a deposit of an additional month?”

She nodded. “When would you want to move in?”

“Tomorrow morning around nine?”

She released a deep sigh, although Adam couldn't tell if the sigh was of relief or apprehension. “That would be fine,” she replied as she headed back toward the front door.

He followed behind her, noting how her hair shone in the sunlight that danced in through the windows. As they reached the front door, he turned and faced her once again.

Once again he was struck by her beauty. Her features were classic, high cheekbones emphasizing the slenderness of her face and her straight, perfect nose. She had a generous mouth, which might have been incredibly sexy if the corners weren't turned downward. Those lips would be inviting if she'd just smile a little bit.

For just a moment as he gazed at her, he saw a hint of vulnerability in the depths of her eyes, and a surge of unexpected protectiveness welled up inside him. How did she manage to live here by herself?

He mentally shook himself. She obviously didn't need a rescuer and that wasn't his role here. Besides, he had a feeling that if he expressed any desire to help her, she'd kick him to the curb before he'd managed to hang a shirt in one of the closets upstairs.

“Then I guess I'll see you in the morning,” she said as they reached the front door. “In the meantime I'll write up an agreement for you to sign when you come back tomorrow.”

“That sounds good,” he replied agreeably. He started to step out on the porch but paused and turned back to her as she said his name.

“This is all new territory for me, sharing my space. I'm sure we're going to have some kinks to work out, and I forgot to tell you I don't allow music. If you must listen to a radio or whatever, then either get earphones or make sure it's low enough that I can't hear it down here.”

He placed his hat back on his head and offered her a smile. “I guess we'll figure it out as we go.”

It wasn't until he was back in his truck that he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Although she'd agreed to him renting the space, it was obvious she wasn't thrilled about it. And what was the deal about music? Odd. Very odd.

But the ranch house where he'd been alone for so long now once again held the sounds of a happy family. Nick, Courtney and little Garrett filled the spaces that had been empty for so long, their love lighting areas that had been full of darkness.

The truth of the matter was for the past two years Adam's heart had been filled with the darkness of loss and betrayal and shame, and he wasn't at all sure he was ready to leave that darkness behind.

His brother and his family would be better off if Adam wasn't there. They needed time to build their family without him being a third wheel.

This was the right move to make, he told himself. He clicked the two chips together in his pocket and then started the truck and pulled away from the house and headed down the street toward the Cowboy Café.

All he knew was that he needed a space of his own to figure out who he was aside from a man still grieving for the sister who had been killed in a car accident two years before, a man still fighting the desire to lose himself in the bottom of a bottle of booze.

Finally he had to come to terms with the guilt and a faint simmer of apprehension that threatened to grab him by the throat when he thought of Sam, the older brother he loved, who was currently in jail, facing charges of attempted murder.

Now Adam was moving into a house with a woman who obviously had issues of her own. Once again he wondered what had happened to her that had placed her in a wheelchair and why nobody in town seemed to know much about Melanie Brooks despite the fact that her mother had been a resident of the small town all her life.

He frowned and reminded himself that no matter how pretty he thought she was, Melanie Brooks was a mystery he definitely didn't need to explore.

* * *

It was almost nine that evening when Melanie wheeled herself into the room that had once been a formal dining area and had been turned into a downstairs bedroom after her mother had taken ill.

At the time of the renovation Melanie had had no idea that she was overseeing the construction of a room that would eventually become part of her own prison.

With the grace of a lame elephant she managed to pull herself up and out of the wheelchair and careen onto the bed. She straightened to a sitting position, undressed and then pulled her nightgown over her head and released a deep sigh of exhaustion.

She ignored the chronic tingling pain that radiated down her right leg as she reached for the lamp at the side of the bed and turned it off.

Adam Benson. She'd been surprised when he'd shown up on her doorstep, inquiring about the room, but she'd been positively stunned by an immediate, visceral attraction to the long-legged cowboy.