Bad to the Bone

by Roxanne St Claire

  “You didn’t intend to kill him,” she said. “You were protecting that girl. Didn’t she testify that you were protecting her?”

  “That doesn’t matter when the judge is an old law school buddy of the victim’s father. The family got to the girl, and she claimed to have no memory in court. I was lucky I didn’t have attempted rape thrown at me, too.”

  “Why? Why would she do that?”

  “Because money talks, Irish.” He closed his eyes. “And that family had a lot of it and none of your family’s scruples. At least not when their boy was killed.”

  “But you were doing what the other bouncer hired you to do. You were doing the right thing!”

  He almost smiled at the echo of his public defender’s arguments. “Except, I wasn’t an employee, it was outside the place of business, and whether I intended to or not, I was well aware of the possible consequences of pushing a man that hard, and I did it anyway. I got voluntary manslaughter and fourteen years without possibility of parole.”

  “Why no parole?”

  “Judge. Age of victim. Shitty unfair life.” Especially his life.

  With the whole thing out, Trace relaxed a little, leaning back, only then realizing she was still holding his arm.

  For a long time, she said nothing. Her fingers were still, though, and warm against his skin, making him glad he’d left his jacket back at Waterford. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had touched him so tenderly.

  Well, yeah, he could. Because it was the same woman.

  “I think I know Pru well enough to say that she’d have been on your side in the courtroom,” Molly said.

  “Can’t change the fact that I did time,” he said. “Can’t ever change that. And you only heard my side, and if I had any money, I’d bet that girl of yours is the first one to want to see both sides before making a decision. The other side won. Don’t forget that.”

  He felt her intense gaze on him, and the scrutiny made him want to squirm. But he refused, looking back at her, watching wheels turn and judgments get made and thoughts form. God, he’d love to climb into those heavenly hazel eyes and know what Molly Kilcannon was thinking.

  “Why don’t we both tell her?” she asked on a soft whisper.

  He drew back. “That wouldn’t be fair to her. She couldn’t react normally. We’d be putting her on the spot.” Fact was, he didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want to see that disappointment darken her eyes.

  She nodded. “Yes, maybe, but it might be easier if we both did it.”

  Easier for who? He put his other hand over Molly’s and pressed firmly, her palm practically burning his forearm now. “Why?”

  “Because…you were given a raw deal, and that’s clear when you hear it coming from you.”

  “Molly, a ‘raw deal’ was not how the courts saw it. I was convicted of murder. I will always be a murderer and an ex-con. It’s what I am.”

  She shook her head, a hint of a smile pulling.

  “Why is that funny?” he asked.

  “It’s not. I was thinking of something my mother said the day I told her I was pregnant with Pru.”

  “You’re grounded for life?” he asked on a soft laugh.

  “Well, having Pru accomplished the same thing, but no. She said over and over again that Pru wasn’t a mistake. That I made a mistake, and that mistake doesn’t define me. Or her.” She inched closer to make her point. “You made a mistake, and it cost a man his life. But that doesn’t define you.”

  If only that were true. “Well, that’s a nice way to look at it, Molly, but the fact is, I’m a convicted murderer, and I don’t expect a little girl who finds out that’s what her daddy is to be okay with that.”

  Molly shook her head, making those silky waves dance over her shoulders. “You don’t know Pru. She’s a fighter for the right thing. She might not agree with that jury. Or she might. But she has a right to make that decision, and we have an obligation to tell her.”

  “Now there’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to,” he admitted. “This was hard enough.”

  “In time. We need a little time. I’ll definitely tell her that because of Meatball we’re not going to the Outer Banks.”

  “So, see? She’ll hate me to start with.”

  “She won’t like it, but she’s the daughter and granddaughter of veterinarians. She’ll understand. And when the time is right…”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Sooner rather than later.”

  “Or later rather than sooner,” he suggested.

  She dropped her head against the backrest, exhaling again and shuttering her eyes closed. “I never dreamed it would be so complicated.”

  “Because I came back. I’m still willing to disappear as quickly and easily as I came. Once Meatball is better.”

  “And I still don’t think that’s a fair option to you or, really, to Pru.”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Me?”

  “What do you want?”

  He could tell the question surprised her as she lifted her head, considering it. “I…my…I’m not the issue here.”

  “How can you say that? You’re her mother, you’ve raised her alone, you call the shots with her. What do you want, Molly?”

  She stared at him for a good, long time. “You’re only as happy as your least-happy kid,” she finally said. “I want her to be happy.”

  “Then we both want the same thing,” he said. “But we have different ideas how to go about it.”

  “Let’s both think about it, okay? Will you be at Waterford tomorrow?”

  He rubbed his jaw, already wondering how the hell he’d get there. “I told Shane I could move into the temporary place tonight, but—”

  “I’ll pick you up around five and take you there. I don’t have to get Pru until six thirty tonight. It’ll give us the afternoon to think about what we’re going to do and we’ll decide when I drive you over.”

  He searched her face, drawing a little closer because she pulled him like a magnet. “You don’t owe me any of this,” he said gruffly. “Not the help for my dog, not access to Pru, not a ride to a job I didn’t even earn.”

  “Trace.” She frowned and reached to him, that gentle hand on his arm again. “You’re my daughter’s father. Like it or not, that’s who you are.”

  How could he not like it? Right now, it was the best thing he’d ever been.

  Chapter Nine

  Time flew that afternoon, as it always did when the Bitter Bark Kilcannon vet office was packed with well-pet checks, minor emergencies, and, like that day, the occasional surprise visit from a teacup pig named Chumpy. Molly didn’t have a lot of time to mull over the conversation she’d had with Trace, or think about what she, or they, would tell Pru, or when they’d have that conversation.

  But still, she was humming with the jitters. It had to be the situation, the anxiety of telling Pru, and the upending of life as she knew it that had her feeling so on edge.

  She steadied herself long enough to give a teeth cleaning to Queen Victoria, an old English bulldog she’d been seeing since she’d taken over Dad’s practice. After that, she headed into the examination room to remove sutures from a pure-white stray cat adopted by a local woman who had at least a dozen cats in her home, all Molly’s patients.

  As she turned the corner, she heard a familiar laugh in the reception area, one that never failed to make her heart soar and her lips curl in a smile. She might be a serious straight-A little Dudley Do-Right, but Prudence Anne Kilcannon had a frequent and delightful laugh, and Molly loved that sound more than anything.

  Instantly, she detoured from the exam room to pop her head into the lobby.

  Pru sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a long, lean tabby cat Molly knew was her next appointment. She looked up, and her whole face lit at the sight of Molly, a reaction that never got old.

  “Hi, Mom. Can we get a cat?”

  Molly angled her head, not even ha
ving to answer a question she’d been asked a hundred times. Considering the number of dogs she brought home from Waterford when one needed special home care, they couldn’t have a cat, although looking at her daughter with that sweet baby on her lap, she wished it could be different.

  But…wait a second. “I thought you had choral practice today,” Molly said, flipping through her mental calendar. “And weren’t you and Brooke going to work on your history project until six thirty?” Giving her time to pick up Trace and take him to Waterford. Except, now…

  “Canceled.” Still holding Jack, Pru popped up in one easy move that only thirteen-year-olds and maybe gymnasts could manage. “And Brooke’s mom wanted to take her to her brother’s orthodontist appointment. Or something.” She shrugged, as if this minor adjustment didn’t upset a well-ordered apple cart that only a mom, especially a single mom, could balance and make it look easy. “So here I am, the latchkey kid begging for attention.”

  “You are not a latchkey kid,” she said. “You want to do homework in the break room?”

  Maybe she could sneak out and run over and tell him—

  “Not really.”

  Molly frowned at the answer. For most kids, that would be the expected response. For Pru, it meant something was wrong. Pru never delayed homework. It was one of her many rules.

  “You okay?” Molly asked, only now seeing that there were slight shadows under Pru’s eyes. Had she worn mascara to school and rubbed it off…or not slept?

  “We never talked last night.”

  Molly tried to tamp down a tidal wave of mom guilt. “I was late with that dog.”

  Pru started to respond, but Jack meowed noisily and squirmed to be let down. Like a kid who’d been raised in a vet’s office, Pru handled the animal carefully, putting him back into the cat carrier and smiling at the owner, who sat reading a magazine.

  “I don’t feel like doing homework.”

  Oh boy. This was serious.

  “Can I shadow you for the rest of the day?” Pru asked.

  “So…you’d come home with me after work?”

  “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

  A big, fat problem. “I actually have an errand to run.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Oh crap. Now what?

  “Oh, Mom, you don’t want me to shadow,” Pru guessed, completely misreading Molly’s horrified expression. “Do you have a…you know? Because I’ll go to the library or something.”

  She didn’t have a “you know” this afternoon, but lying about having to put an animal down would ensure that Pru took off in a heartbeat. It was the sad aspect of Molly’s job that Pru absolutely hated. But Molly refused to lie to her, even if it was convenient.

  Truth was, she couldn’t keep Pru and Trace apart forever, especially since he’d be working at Waterford Farm, so why not let her come along to pick him up? It would be weird not to.

  Molly reached out an arm and hooked it around Pru’s slender waist to pull her closer. “It’s all well-baby checks from three o’clock to close. And there’s nothing I’d like more than having my very own well-baby with me.”

  Pru gave her a big blue-banded braces grin. “Okay, then. I’ll shadow. But I can’t count it.”

  “Count it?” Molly asked as they headed back to the exam room. “Count it for what?”

  “Community service hours for the semester,” she said. “I need twenty-five before the end of the year and have to submit my project for approval by tomorrow. But you can’t use your parent’s job. I have no clue what I can do.”

  “Twenty-five hours? Last semester it was ten.”

  “Inflation.” She grinned at her, then looked skyward to acknowledge the fib. “Okay, there’s a trip to Carowinds if you make twenty-five hours and get them done before the middle of February.”

  “February? How is that even possible?” Molly asked.

  “I don’t know, but if I make it, then I’m not only able to qualify for a trip to the theme park, but I also get to submit to the state competition.”

  “Don’t tell me. Twenty-five more hours.” Which was wonderful, except for the mother of the overachieving student.

  “No, but the state winner goes to…” Pru grabbed her arm and squeezed, dragging out the anticipation.

  “The moon?”

  “Better. Disney World, Mom. Dis. Ney. World. Park fees paid.”

  “Wow.” Molly nudged her into the hall toward the exam room. “Come on, let’s ask Mrs. Carpenter if she needs help with her twelve cats.”

  “Which would be a lame community service project and related to your job,” Pru said. “Mr. Margolis said it has to be totally ‘independent of family,’ and we have to find the project on our own. No help from parents. And they’re looking for creativity and really helping someone in need.”

  “You better start looking then, because Mickey Mouse is waiting for you. Also, Lily, one of my favorite kitties. Come on.”

  With the exception of a standard poodle with a serious case of the runs, the afternoon whizzed by uneventfully. By the time Molly finished making a few calls and reviewing the patient schedule for the rest of the week, it was close to five and time to pick up Trace.

  She waited until they were in the car to break that news to Pru.

  “So, this errand,” Molly said slowly. “It’s over near Sutton’s Mill.”

  “’Kay,” Pru said, taking out her phone. “Oh my gosh, Mom, did you see Gramma’s blog yet? She did one on Meatball.”

  “She did?” Her grandmother’s blog was a mix of Irish wisdom, country living, child-rearing, dog loving, and more Irish wisdom. The eighty-six-year-old had discovered a passion for blogging a few years earlier when Pru introduced her to the wonders of the Internet. She’d built quite a little following, too, and unexpectedly became one of Waterford’s strongest marketing tools, along with Darcy’s hilarious Instagram account of dogs being groomed. “She doesn’t usually blog about my patients.” Or their owners. “Did she mention Trace?” Molly tried to not let her voice rise with low-key panic.

  But Pru looked up, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why does it matter so much?”

  Of course she’d pick up every nuance. “I don’t know,” Molly said, trying to sound like she didn’t care. “It’s just that…”

  “I know, Mom.” Pru reached over and patted Molly’s arm. “He’s a murderer. Working at Waterford. It’s a little scandalous.”

  A lot of things were scandalous where Trace Bancroft was concerned. “That’s not why I asked,” she said. “And you have to let go of that. He’s out of prison, and he’s going to help train some dogs at Waterford while Meatball is recovering.”

  “Mom, please. I know he’s rehabilitated, and it’s quite forward-thinking of us to help him out.”

  Molly swallowed, taking in her sometimes too mature daughter.

  “That’s why I went and talked to him last night,” Pru said.

  “I knew it,” she murmured, only a teensy bit satisfied that she understood her daughter better than anyone else.

  “Well, Grandpa embarrassed me at dinner,” she admitted sheepishly. “I shouldn’t be creeped out by the man because he murdered in cold blood.”

  He didn’t murder in cold blood. “Were you? Creeped out, I mean.”

  “Not at all,” she said, pulling her seat belt on. “He was really nice. And so worried about his dog. He even had a nickname for me.”

  “He did?” There went that voice on high again.

  “Umproo,” she said with a smile, then waved it off. “Inside joke.”

  She had an inside joke with Trace now? Molly didn’t even begin to understand the emotions that kneaded her chest like kitten paws.

  “We just need to be careful around him,” Pru said, sounding more like the mom than the daughter, a role reversal they often joked about. Pru was neat, Molly loved clutter. Pru was on time, Molly had to set her watch ahead not to be late. Pru was a rule-follower and Molly…got pregnant in a Plymouth Voyager with a
bad boy.

  “Why do we have to be careful?” Molly asked, swiping that last thought away as fast as it came.

  “He could do it again.”

  “Honey, you don’t even know what happened.”

  “Do you?”

  Molly stared straight ahead and twisted the key in the ignition. “It’s not my place to tell you. Let him.”

  “But you know? Was it cold-blooded? Premeditated? What weapon did he use?”

  No, no, and only his two hands to protect a woman being assaulted. But Molly shook her head and knew exactly how to get Pru to stop asking. “He can tell you,” she said. “As a matter of fact, we’re going to get him now and you can ask him.”

  As she pulled out of the parking spot, she caught a glimpse of Pru’s mouth open in shock. “Right now?”

  “Yep, so you can talk to him.”

  “About committing a murder?” She shifted in her seat and returned her attention to the phone, thumbing so fast Molly doubted she was reading a word. “No, thank you. And you can relax, Gramma doesn’t mention he was in the pokey for fourteen years.”

  Molly didn’t laugh, even though Pru’s tone was funny, and “in the pokey” would have been something they’d have laughed about…before Trace. Truth was, this was going to upset Pru’s world worse than Molly imagined.

  “Then you might as well know all the bad news,” Molly said softly.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Mom. I already know you’re canceling this weekend.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She held up the phone. “Because Gramma’s blog says Meatball had another surgery this morning.” She had nothing but disappointment in her voice, which Molly understood. “It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t, but Molly didn’t fight it. She couldn’t make that trip this weekend unless Trace was on board and told Pru ahead of time.

  Pru shoved the phone into her backpack and turned to stare out the window. “I hate that guy for ruining our weekend.”