“He is changing—”
“Marge!”
“Okay, okay,” she relented. “I can talk about something else. I talk incessantly about you, too, but I can’t talk about you to you.”
Cassidy smiled wanly.
“I heard Darlene found a partner for the bar; that’ll help her out.”
Interest piqued, Cassidy raised an expectant brow.
“The word is, they’ll be renovating, making some changes.”
“Not a bad idea,” Cassidy said.
“Bringing in a manager.”
Again, not a bad idea. “Did Lonnie say who?” Lonnie was the town crier. That boy knew everything.
“He said the manager’s name is Slane. Sounds like a serial killer name, if you ask me. She’ll start next week. She came into town a few days ago to check out the area and the bar; meet the staff, so she met Lonnie when she came into the store.”
“How’s Darlene taking it?”
“According to Lonnie,” Marge drawled out, giving her another look, “Darlene is at peace with it. She’s relieved because she says she’s had a couple of break-ins. I think she’s ready to take a back seat and let someone else deal with the problems.”
Cassidy frowned. Their lake community wasn’t a high crime area. Were they crime-free? Of course not, but multiple break-ins? “That wasn’t happening while I was working there.”
Marge cast her eyes out to the lake. “Apparently, it had; Darlene just didn’t want to make a fuss.”
The knowledge was disconcerting; that there had been trouble when she’d been going in there every day, often by herself out front for hours at times. That it was continuing while Jemma and Sarah still worked there wasn’t comforting. “I hope they’re taking better precautions.”
“I think Mac has contacts in that area and he’s helping them out.”
Cassidy fought not to roll her eyes.
“He’s coming now.”
Electricity—similar to being electrocuted—shot through her with those words. All thoughts of Darlene and the bar were exorcized from her brain. Her head jerked to the side as she scanned the lake. She saw the sleek powerboat approaching the dock, then turned to gauge the distance to her house in a bid to run as Marge stood up and started waving.
“What the hell are you doing?” Cassidy snapped.
“Waving,” Marge answered, taken aback.
“Now he’s going to think…” She sighed and sat back,that he was welcome. “Damn it, Marge.”
“What?” She waved again, this time as an indication for him to join even though he was still motoring up toward the dock. “He can see me; it wouldn’t be neighborly to ignore him.”
Cassidy sat like a punished child in her chair, arms crossed, chin downward. She’d peek out of the side of her eye to mark Mac’s progress, a building sense of doom rising in her. She wasn’t eager to face him again after the way they’d parted.
“Afternoon, Mac,” Marge called out.
Cassidy followed the woman’s line of sight, bracing herself for the man himself. But damn, there wasn’t enough she could do to guard against seeing him, especially when his gaze held a gleam of warmth and a tinge of knowing amusement.
“Sweetheart,” he greeted, the mischief in his expression telling her the moniker was purposeful and there to stay.
She narrowed her eyes at him, hating him even more for the way her stomach tickled and her pulse tripped. All he had to do was say one word and look at her a certain way. In other words, he just had to be Mac. In his usual wear of jeans and a T-shirt, not even spectacularly dressed; he knew how to wear a shirt—stretched across his torso—reminding her how warm and strong…
Shit, what was she doing? She flicked her gaze away, not missing his triumphant grin.