“Do I have to separate you two?” Candy teased, reminding me that everyone in town still thought Mac and I hated each other.
I laughed half-heartedly as Mac said, “You know us,” in a perky tone that was as artificial as a banana Popsicle.
My sister looked at the two of us, a little wrinkle forming between her brow. “What are you up to this morning, Mac?”
Mac shifted on her feet, and I could tell that she was nervous about getting caught with me. “Oh, you know. I just heard about the incident last night and wanted to clear my name.” She gave an awkward chuckle. “Provide an alibi and all that.”
Candace laughed like Mac had told a funny joke. “Brady knows it’s not you. Actually, he caught the person last night. Just a kid being a kid. So you’re off the hook!”
“That’s great,” Mac managed.
Candy’s lips twitched, and she gave us both another curious look. “I was coming down to grab Brady for breakfast. Mom and Mercer are making biscuits and gravy. You should join us, Mac.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Nonsense. You’re my friend. It won’t be weird at all.”
I stood very still, like I was being stalked by an animal that could sense fear. And in a lot of ways, that was what a nosy sister was.
Candace tugged Mac in the direction of the house amid her protests, and eventually, I followed, equal parts reluctant and eager to see how this played out. If I was being honest, the curious part was winning, pleased at the possibility of having Mac in my family home among the people closest to me.
“Look who I found,” Candy announced proudly to everyone gathered in the kitchen.
My mother and father greeted Mac warmly. Between school and sports and the local business community, we’d been in each other’s orbits for so long that my family had known Mac since she was a little girl. She was commonly referred to as “the spitfire across the street who gave Brady a run for his money.”
Mac was polite, if a little stiff. It looked like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. After her second attempt to help with breakfast, my mom led her out of the kitchen to “get her opinion on something.”
“What are you making me?” I asked Mercer, who was dutifully stirring something on the stovetop.
The big man didn’t take his eyes off the pan of bubbling liquid. “Amy’s teaching me to make her gravy.”
I smiled. My parents loved Mark Mercer. He was a model employee here on the farm, and now that he was dating Candace, I thought Mom and Dad both hoped he’d officially be family sooner rather than later. It was no secret that they’d considered him a son well before Candy came back home and started seeing him.
Joan was sitting at the breakfast nook, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. I didn’t even know people under forty read the newspaper, but there my grouchy sister sat, still in her running gear, gaze scanning the newsprint.
In general, I liked to joke around and give Joan a hard time. It was good for her. At six years my senior, she was too serious and uptight for her own good.
“Good morning, Joanie.” I slid into the seat across from her.
Her blue eyes—the same pale shade as my own—stayed on the paper. “Did you get the inflatables cleaned up?”
“Yep,” I answered, popping the final letter obnoxiously. “Mac showed up and lent a hand.”
She smoothly turned the page, still focused on her reading. “That was nice of her, considering she was over late helping catch the burglar.”
The smile slipped from my face as sinking awareness took hold. I could hear Mac, Candace, and my parents chatting in the living room, but I couldn’t make out the words because my heart rate had tripled and blood pounded in my ears. What did my sister know about Mac and me?
I swallowed, attempting nonchalance. “What was that?”
Finally, Joan gave me her attention. “I have that security app on my phone, too, baby brother. And the camera feed works just fine.” Then my grumpy-ass sister smirked and went back to her newspaper.
So she knew that Mac had been with me last night. It wasn’t like we’d made out in sight of the cameras ... that time. Whatever Joan thought she knew, I knew I could bluff my way out of any trouble. It would be fine.
“Joanie,” I said evenly. “Whatever you’re thinking?—”
“Ithink,” she interrupted firmly, “that it’s none of my business.”
I wanted to argue or explain, but just then, everyone returned to the kitchen. Mom took over for Mercer at the stove while he and Candace grabbed plates and utensils to set the table in the dining room.
