Bad to the Bone

  “I had to leave town one night,” he said after a few silent seconds.

  “Why?” She peered up at him. “Don’t leave out important details. How else can I make a decision about whether you’re guilty or not?”

  “I’ve already been found guilty, Pru. There’s no decision to make.”

  “Then let me hear your side.” She squinted hard. “You have a side, right?”

  He nodded. “But they still found me guilty.”

  “I know, but I want to hear for myself. Start at the beginning.”

  He didn’t answer right away, then, “I had to leave Bitter Bark one night because my boss thought I did something I didn’t do.”

  “What was that?”

  He sighed heavily. “It had to do with his wife.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s not what you think, Pru.”

  “Then enlighten me.”

  She heard him shift around on his roof perch. “You sure you want to hear this?”

  “Yes, and don’t leave anything out ’cause you think I’m a kid.”

  “Okay. Here we go.”

  Pru stopped painting and listened, closing her eyes to picture a bus and a bar and a bad, bad man. With each imaginary image painted by the man sitting on a roof, her eyes stung and her chest pounded with the total and complete unfairness of it all.

  “Wow,” she said softly when he told her what the judge sentenced. “That sucks.”

  “It’s the law.”

  “Yeah?” She choked her disgust. “Then we need better lawyers. Maybe that’s what I’ll be.”

  “Don’t, it’ll break my heart.”

  The way he said that was so…so honest. Like he cared what she’d be when she grew up.

  “But you did everything right, and I absolutely hate unfairness. You were Superman again, defending a girl. You made one mistake.” Yes, it was a big one, but still.

  When he didn’t answer for a few minutes, didn’t laugh or say a word, she inched back and looked up, and at that very second, she caught him bunching up his T-shirt to use it to wipe his eyes.

  And that just about broke her heart.

  She was going to have to tell Mom tonight that he was a good guy. But then, maybe Mom already knew that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The first thing Molly heard as she climbed out of her car was laughter coming from the side of the house. Lots of laughter. That familiar squeal of Pru’s giggle and Trace’s low, from-the-chest chuckle. And Meatball’s happy bark.

  She started to open her mouth to call out to them, but stopped, taking a minute to listen to the sound again, because it was so darn beautiful.

  “Oh, look at him!” Pru’s voice rose an excited octave. “He looks like an old Englishman wearing a monocle.”

  “How do you know what a monocle is?” she heard Trace ask.

  “I read Charles Dickens!” she announced.

  “You’re so stinkin’ smart, Umproo.”

  Pru laughed, but Molly’s heart swelled with an emotion she couldn’t begin to name.

  “Maybe you should do the other side, too,” Pru suggested. “Give him glasses.”

  Curiosity beat out Molly’s need to stand there and soak up the sounds of this happy family. Curiosity and fear. How long would there be laughter? She swallowed, determined to stick to the plan. She and Trace would sit down today and quietly tell Pru the story of her conception.

  As it was, it would take some power rationalization to get Pru to understand why they hadn’t told her sooner. Especially when the truth was: we were scared.

  “What’s with all the frivolity?” Molly asked as she came around the side of the house.

  Trace was kneeling in front of Meatball, a paint can next to him, a brush in hand. The dog turned the instant he heard Molly, barking and trying to pull away to get to her.

  “We’re giving Meatball tattoos!” Pru said. “Not real ones, though.”

  Trace let go of Meatball, who trotted over to greet Molly with a quick lick of her hand and a nuzzle. And Molly cracked up at the big black circle that had been painted around his left eye.

  “You’ve been inked, Meatball.”

  “We came out to clean brushes, and things got a little out of hand,” Trace said, sharing a secret look with Pru. “Someone dared me.”

  “Someone took the dare,” she shot back, her eyes dancing as she looked at him.

  Well, well. What was going on here? Molly bent over to love Meatball a little more, but kept her gaze on Trace. “Well, that’s…good.”

  “Is it against vet rules?” Trace asked, probably sensing her uncertainty.

  “Not unless there’s something toxic in the paint.”

  “Mom!” Pru gasped. “You know I wouldn’t use anything but environmentally-friendly paint. How’s the pug?”

  “Responding to medication, I’m happy to say. How’s the project?”

  “Finished!” Trace and Pru answered in remarkable unison.

  “Really? Wow, that’s great. I thought you’d need me to paint the kitchen.”

  “Trace did the whole thing.”

  “All under the project manager’s close supervision.”

  Molly glanced around, looking to see if the rest of the Umproo Crew were still here, but there were no signs of her friends. “Didn’t you get any other help today?”

  And…another shared secret look.

  “Almost,” Pru said, biting her lip in a way that reminded Molly of herself. “But we got rid of them, right, Superman?”

  Superman?

  Molly angled her head in a silent question.

  “Mom, he showed up here.”

  Oh boy. Cody. “Why?”

  “You know who ‘he’ is?” Trace asked, slowly standing and making it hard for Molly to concentrate on mom issues when he was in nothing but a white T-shirt, jeans, and paint.

  “Of course she knows,” Pru said. “I tell my mother everything.”

  She and Pru had been talking about Cody Noonan for a good many days now, discussing the pros, which were none, and cons, which were many, of this new boy who’d caught Pru’s attention.

  “You were right,” Pru said. “He’s a low-key jerk.”

  “How’d you finally figure that out?”

  Pru looked at Trace. “Superman.”

  Trace looked skyward at the compliment. “Didn’t take superpowers to figure that dude out.” He snapped his fingers for Meatball, who looked torn between following the command and sniffing all the other dog smells on Molly’s jeans.

  “What happened?” Molly made it easy for the dog, walking him closer to Trace.

  “Nothing Pru couldn’t have handled quite well,” Trace said.

  “Cody called him a badass,” Pru added, then lifted her brow. “It’s a quote, so don’t give me a Mom look.”

  “I’m not…” Molly shook her head. “I’m confused. What happened, exactly?”

  “Nothing,” Trace said, returning his attention to a bucket of brushes that needed to be cleaned.

  “Not nothing,” Pru corrected. “It was awkward and awful, Mom. I wanted him to leave, but I didn’t know how to tell him without sounding, you know, nasty.”

  “So I did the dirty work.”

  “Totally got me off the hook,” Pru said, coming closer to stand between Trace and Molly. “And I told Trace this afternoon all about the things Cody has said and done, and you’re right, Mom. I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

  Molly let out a relieved sigh. “Sounds like Trace got you there faster than I did.”

  “Well, he was able to help me see it from a guy’s perspective.”

  “Really.” She looked over Pru’s shoulder to catch the look Trace sent, but couldn’t quite interpret it. Something sparked in his eyes. Fear? Pride? Longing? Something. “That’s great.” She reached for Pru’s shoulder, covered only by a thin sweater. “Don’t you need a jacket out here? It’s getting chilly.”

  “Oh, we’ve been working so hard, I w
as hot.”

  “Well, make your mother happy and get your jacket.”

  “’Kay.” She started off, then turned. “Be right back, Trace!”

  As she scampered away, Molly waited until she was out of earshot before commenting. “Must have been quite a successful day together.”

  Trace was sitting on the ground now, pulling paint brushes from the thinner and laying them on a towel. “It was fine,” he said, a little gruff.

  “Fine?” Molly came closer, and Meatball matched her steps. They both stopped a few feet from the towel, but Trace didn’t look up. “Seems like it was more than fine to me. Did you have a breakthrough or something?”

  He shook off a brush. “Something.”

  “Trace.”

  When he didn’t answer and kept his eyes averted, she crouched down to get him to look at her. When he did, she saw the agony all over his face.

  “What happened?” she asked softly, her words as tight as the breath in her chest.

  “Everything,” he admitted on a whisper. “Everything I wanted to have happen. We connected, we communicated, and I told her the whole story of why I was incarcerated. We painted and ate lunch and talked about her friends and boys and her family and dogs. We finished the project, I let her ‘interview’ me for the paper she’s writing, and…” With each word, the shadows of pain deepened on his face. “And now, when she finds out…”

  “All that good stuff will be undone.”

  He closed his eyes. “She likes me, but she isn’t going to want me to be…you know.”

  “It’s not like she has a choice about wanting it.”

  “I know, I know.” He shook his head with the same vehemence he used on a brush. “Today was amazing. It was like…real. What it would have felt like to be around for thirteen years. I never felt anything like it. Never.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if they stung, which only made Molly’s heart ache more.

  “She’s not heartless, Trace. It might throw her, but surely you know by now that she’s got a good and loving heart.”

  He searched her face. “I’ve never felt anything like love,” he whispered. “I didn’t know what it felt like until now. I had no idea it could consume you.”

  Tears sprang into her own eyes. She knew exactly how it’d felt that first time she’d gazed at Prudence Anne Kilcannon and fallen utterly and completely in love. Could it be any different for a father, no matter how much time had passed? “You can tell her that.”

  “No, no. Once she knows, she won’t look at me the same. It’ll be distrust and contempt. When it becomes personal, when it becomes family, she’ll hate who I’ve been, where I’ve been, and be completely ashamed of me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, you don’t know that.” At Pru’s voice, they both froze, only then realizing she’d come back outside.

  “Pru.” They both said her name at the same time.

  “I heard you,” she said softly, looking from one to the other.

  What had she heard? Did Trace ever say the words I’m her father? Molly tried to play back the conversation, but Pru’s fine features pulled into a look that told Molly she’d heard enough.

  “And, honestly, I’m pretty upset with both of you,” she said.

  Molly reached for her. “Honey, listen to me—”

  Pru jerked away. “Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re that serious? I mean, Meatball can smell the chemistry between you two, it’s so obvious. I don’t know why you guys don’t think I’m old enough to understand.”

  “Pru, it’s not—”

  “I heard you, Mom. I heard Trace. He never knew what love was until now?” She clasped her hands and pressed them to her chest, her eyes filling. “Don’t you think I want this kind of happiness for you, Mom?”

  For a second, Molly couldn’t breathe as she realized what Pru thought. They were dating. It was serious.

  But it was so much more complicated than that.

  Trace pushed up to one knee. “Pru, you need to understand something about me.”

  “No, you need to understand something about me,” she fired back. “I wouldn’t look at you with contempt or distrust for liking my mom. For loving her. Don’t you see that gives us something in common?”

  “Oh, Pru.” Molly sighed the words. “You do have such a good heart.”

  “And so do you. And…” She turned to Trace, freeing her index finger from her still-clasped hands to point at him. “So do you. I’ve seen you with the dogs. With my family. And with my mom. And here, with me. You both need to give me a little more credit.”

  Neither one of them spoke. But one of them had to. One of them had to tell her the truth now. Molly turned to look at Trace, who still held that classic position of a man on one knee as he looked at his daughter. And there was love in his eyes. Joy, even. Feelings this man who’d had such a rough and unfair life had barely ever known, while Molly had had a lifetime of love and joy.

  If Molly opened her mouth and uttered the truth, even Pru, who was showing remarkable maturity and tenderheartedness at the moment, would be thrown for a loop. All that love and joy would be gone in an instant. She wasn’t going to clap her hands and pronounce him “Daddy” with a big hug. She would be rocked to the core by the news.

  “So, it’s okay,” Pru finally said in the face of their silence. “I’m fine with it. I’m totally cool.”

  She saw Trace’s shoulders heave with resignation. “Pru, there’s more to it than you know.”

  Pru held up both hands. “Now, that I don’t need to know.” She added a nervous laugh. “What you two do—”

  “Pru—”

  Molly stepped forward to stop Trace before he made the confession. She took his hand and slowly pulled him up to stand next to her. “I’m really proud of you, Pru,” she said softly. “It would be really easy to make this about you, but you’re thinking of others and not yourself. Thank you, honey.”

  “Sure.” Then her eyes flashed. “You don’t think this disqualifies the project, do you? You two dating? Not just talking or a thing, but actually dating? I mean, technically it happened after we started, but let’s keep it on the QT until after the presentation, please? It’s really important.”

  They looked at each other, a world of emotions ricocheting between them.

  “Please?” Pru added. “I mean, we can tell the family. We have to tell the family!”

  “We don’t—”

  She cut off Molly’s protest. “You need to tell Grandpa, Mom. He made this whole thing happen.” She pointed from one to the other. “He’s the Dogfather. In fact, Trace, come to Sunday dinner tomorrow night and let the whole family see how happy you are.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Molly said.

  But Trace smiled. “I’d love to, Pru. Thanks. I’ll be there.” He looked down at Molly and squeezed her hand. “She’s right. Everyone needs to know. Together.”

  Okay, Plan B, then. Which wasn’t going to be any easier than Plan A.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Hey, handsome.”

  Trace turned when he heard Molly’s voice over the barking, his eyes widening at the sight of her walking down the wide, white kennel corridor. A skirt the color of a ripe raspberry grazed right above the knee, moving flirtatiously over black tights that showed off long, lean legs. Her hair fell in thick waves over her shoulders, bouncing with each step, tempting him to touch it as she got closer.

  “Look at that, Tashie,” he muttered under his breath to the little puppy resting in his arms. “Doctor’s in a dress.”

  Molly playfully twirled to flutter the skirt and give him a full three-sixty view. “Church clothes.”

  “You really go to church?”

  “Most of the time, with the family. It makes Gramma Finnie happy, and everyone knows a happy Gramma means a happy Sunday dinner.” She reached to open the puppy gate and gave him a slow once-over. “You clean up nice, too, Bancroft.”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgment, grat
eful he’d spent some hard-earned dollars on crisp new khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt. “I had a feeling Sunday dinner wasn’t jeans and Waterford T-shirts.”

  “No one would mind,” she said, coming closer and putting a hand on his shoulder. “But this is nice.”

  He held her gaze and guided the puppy’s face closer to hers. “My Tashie thinks you look pretty,” he teased.

  Molly tapped the dog’s little nose. “Thank you, Tashie. Where’s your brother?”

  “Taking a test.”

  She frowned up at him. “What kind of test?”

  “Shane took him outside for a few minutes and said he’d be back. I asked if he was testing Bo’s therapy skills, kind of as a joke, and he said, yes, which also might have been kind of a joke, I don’t know.”

  “Because everything’s a joke to him,” she mused, playing with Natasha’s ear. “But I saw Chloe, and she said Shane was in my dad’s office.”

  “Do they test training dogs in there?”

  “Not usually.” She made a face. “Maybe someone wants to adopt Boris.”

  “I’d hate to separate these two.”

  “Wait and see,” she said. “It could be anything. Are you ready?” She put enough emphasis on the question for him to know exactly what she meant.

  “Yes, but I still feel like we should tell Pru first and in private,” he said. “I feel strongly about that.”

  “Well, she’s going to leave early and go spend the night at Brooke’s,” Molly said. “Tomorrow’s a teacher work day, so there’s no school, and she wants to finish working on her presentation, which is Tuesday afternoon.”

  He made a face. “If we tell her tonight, she won’t write it. She won’t enter. She won’t win.”

  “But, Trace—”

  He looked over her shoulder as Shane came back down the corridor, the puppy trotting next to him without a leash. “How’d he do?” he asked.

  “Awesome.” He reached the kennel and nodded to Molly. “This guy’s a natural trainer.”

  A burst of pride kicked him, but he waved off the compliment. “Boris’s a sweetheart and easy to train.”

  “He’s going to be an incredible therapy dog. We’re moving him into therapy training next week.”