Season of Secrets by Marta Perry Page A

late for that, Marc. I’m in this thing with you and Court. All the way.”
    His throat tightened. “Thanks, sugar.” The Southern endearment came to his lips without thought. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”
    He’d gotten what he wanted. He should be happy. But all he could think was that now he was responsible for Dinah, too. If this situation hurt her, which it very well might, then he was to blame.

Six
    D inah perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, watching as Glory rolled out crust for chicken pot pie. She might have been a teenager again, escaping to the kitchen for a quick chat with Glory.
    Escaping? She took a closer look at the word her subconscious mind had chosen. She’d loved staying in the house with Annabel and Marc that summer, helping to care for Court. Why on earth would she have wanted to escape that?
    She hadn’t. That was all. Her mind had made a silly misstep. She picked up a scrap of dough and rolled it idly through her fingers.
    â€œSo.” Glory’s black eyes were bright with curiosity. “What you think about Mr. Marcus coming back here like this?”
    The soft Gullah cadences of Glory’s speech were soothing, even though the question wasn’t.
    She hesitated. She could trust Glory, but what did she really think about Marc’s return, underneath her concern for Aunt Kate and Court and Marc himself?
    â€œI think he had to do it,” she said finally. “He had to put things to rest here. I just wish I knew what other things his coming will stir up.” James Harwood’s animosity flickered through her mind. That had to hurt Marc, as close as they’d been.
    â€œAlways a danger of that.” Glory’s strong brown arms wielded the rolling pin like a weapon. “Folks don’t like prodding into the past for a lot of reasons—some good, some not so good.”
    Dinah had twisted the fragment of dough into a tortured shape. She tossed it into the waste can and dusted her hands. “That’s what I’m afraid of, I guess. That he’ll stir up something he can’t control.”
    Glory’s lips twitched. “Don’t know as anybody gonna stop him, though.”
    â€œCertainly not me.”
    Although she probably had as much influence over Marc now as anyone did. Odd. At first, he’d tried to treat her as if she were still that sixteen-year-old, but the more they were together, the more that wore away. Now they talked like friends, for the most part. Except when she tried to get in the way of what he wanted.
    No, no one would stop Marc.
    The kitchen door swung, and he came in. Glory sent him a smiling glance. “Ain’t no use you coming in here now, looking hungry. Supper won’t be ready for an hour, and I cook faster without a lot of people cluttering up my kitchen.”
    â€œDinah’s here.” He smiled at her and leaned against the counter next to her. “Doesn’t she bother you?”
    â€œDinah knows how to make herself useful.” She slid a baking tin toward Dinah. “You go on and make some cinnamon crisps out of that leftover dough. Maybe that’ll keep these boys from starving till supper’s ready.”
    Marc’s lips twitched at being referred to as one of the boys, as if he were no older than Court.
    â€œWhat’s the matter? Doesn’t your housekeeper in Boston order you around?” She obediently began rolling out the dough scraps, trying to get the dough as thin as Glory did.
    â€œWe don’t have a housekeeper now. Just a cleaning service that comes when we’re both out and does its work invisibly.”
    â€œSounds a little impersonal.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s how they prefer it.” He seemed to be watching Glory slide the pot pie into the oven, but his expression indicated that his thoughts were elsewhere. “You didn’t make pot pie that last summer we were here, did