“Junk?” Pru seemed horrified. “Don’t you care what she wrote?”
Molly saw his shoulders rise and fall with a breath as she checked out the box, her gaze moving to the papers jammed into the side. Papers, receipts, and pictures. Well, one picture. The corner of one that showed the edge of something yellow. A yellow…house.
“She took the time to write something,” Pru continued. “Her thoughts and feelings are in there, I’d guess. Don’t you care?”
He answered, but Molly didn’t hear because of the sudden rush of blood in her head. That wasn’t any yellow house. That was Waterford Farm.
“Well, here you go.” Pru handed the box to him. “I sure as heck wouldn’t throw something away my mother wrote.” She grinned past him at Molly. “I swear, Mom.”
Molly struggled to smile, but her head felt light and dizzy and weird.
“Back to work, you two,” Pru said with a playful snap of her fingers. She pivoted and went bounding to the back of the house.
Trace tossed the box on the counter, which caused a journal to move, revealing more of the photo. A photo Molly remembered instantly. Clearly. Vividly. And hadn’t noticed it was missing.
“Trace.” His name was little more than air.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders as if he suddenly realized she was reeling. “What’s—”
She reached to the box, plucking the picture with two fingers, sliding it out of where it was wedged between the side of the box and the stack of hardcover journals.
“This…is what’s wrong.”
Very slowly, she turned it over, already knowing the image. It was Pru, on her first birthday, standing on the porch at Waterford with her arm around Buddy, the setter they had when Pru was born.
He stared at it, silent, then he looked up at her, his face as bloodless as hers probably was.
“She knew,” he whispered. “My mother knew about Pru.”
And they’d just come that close to Pru knowing, too.
Chapter Thirteen
Trace had managed to make it through the afternoon. After the crew went home for dinner, he’d stared at the diaries for a long time before opening one.
He had no desire to read her ramblings, astrological garbage, and bad poetry. He flipped through the journal that had the latest date and found a single piece of paper slipped inside with the name Annie Kilcannon written in blue ink, a phone number, and some cryptic notes.
Trace had tucked that into his jeans pocket, but since he’d met up with Molly in town, there were so many people and two completely crazy golden retriever puppies on leashes, so they hadn’t talked at all about what they’d discovered today.
By silent agreement, they were waiting for the right time, which seemed to be the theme for their entire relationship.
“I don’t remember Bitter Bark being quite this festive,” Trace said as he and Molly walked toward Bushrod Square, which was so lit up with white lights on the trees that it felt like daylight as they got closer. Tashie and Bo tugged at their leashes and scampered ahead, both of them wearing sparkling rhinestone collars that Molly explained were given to all the puppies in the parade. They weaved back and forth, getting tangled, barking so hard they both jumped on their hind legs like toy dogs.
And everyone who passed oohed, awwed, and stopped to pet them.
“First of all, this is Better Bark,” she reminded him. “At least for this calendar year, and we’ve always put white lights on the trees in the square all year long.”
“Never noticed.” Trace squinted into the crowds that filled the square, as many dogs as people, it seemed, and there were many, many people. The night was clear, and the temperature had cooperated to make for a picture-perfect setting for the town’s first Puppy Parade. “Guess we’ll see some familiar faces.”
“Some.” Molly wrapped Natasha’s leash around her hand with the expertise of a person who’d handled dogs since birth, easily guiding the puppy around a stroller. Of course, everything was easier with Natasha. Boris was borderline bat-shit crazy, darting back and forth on the sidewalk, peeing on the grass every ten steps, greeting every other dog with a noisy, high-pitched bark. “But a lot of these people are tourists, too. Which was the whole idea of the Better Bark name change. You are walking through the Most Dog Friendly Town in America.”
“Brilliant idea,” he mused, smiling as a few little girls stopped to squee over the puppies.
“Chloe is gifted at the whole tourism thing.” She added a laugh. “She won over the whole town and my brother Shane, too.”
“So, once they get married, all three of your brothers will have met their wives and gotten married within, what, the same twelve months?” When she nodded, he added, “Shane credits your father for that, you know. He told me that one day in the kennels.”
“Oh, I know. Dad’s a bit of a matchmaker, it turns out.”
“But he hasn’t matched you.”
She looked up at him, a playful smile tipping her pretty lips. “That’s ’cause I’m his favorite.”
“Oh?” Somehow, he doubted Daniel Kilcannon had a favorite, but he played along. “And you know this how?”
“I just do. I remind him of my mom, for one thing, and I’m the only one who went to veterinary school, for another.”
He nodded, thinking of all she’d told him about those early years of being a young mother trying to get her degree. “I can see that that would impress your father.”
“And we’re close, my dad and I. He talks to the boys, of course, but with me? He tells me the emotional stuff. I know how much he’s grieving, how much he misses my mother. My brothers and Darcy know, too, but I’ve actually talked to him about it.”
He considered that, racked it up as another thing he liked about Molly Kilcannon. “And that’s how you know he won’t matchmake you?”
“I don’t think he could find a man he considered good enough for me.”
Trace’s heart dropped with a thud. Yes, they were walking so close they had to touch, but that was because the sidewalk was crowded and she was probably cold. Yes, they flirted with each other, but only because they’d had an old attraction years ago. And yes, they shared a child, but the only thing they truly shared was the burden of how to break the news.
He had no business thinking anyone in her family would think Trace was good enough to date Molly. Not Pru, not her sweet Gramma Finnie, not her brothers, especially not the patriarch they called the Dogfather. It was plain stupid to think that.
“Ooh. Look, Take a Paws for Chocolate. How cute is that?” Molly tugged his arm in the direction of one of the many stands set up in and around the square. “Let’s get some hot chocolate before we line up for the parade.”
Just then, a blinding blue Porsche zoomed into a rare open parking spot in front of the stand, making more than a few people stop, turn, and tug their leashes closer.
“Jeez, fellow, there are pedestrians and dogs everywhere.”
“That’s Allen Phillips,” Molly said softly. “Remember I told you Isabella Henderson married him?”
A man climbed out from the driver’s side, looking around with that air of a person who expected to draw a crowd. He might be deep into his fifties, but he carried himself like someone who lived at the gym, and he had the looks of one of those handsome corporate dudes from a Viagra commercial.
Only then did Trace notice the passenger door open—no thanks to the driver of the car—and a woman he recognized climbed out. Isabella had aged well, if you liked the rich doctor’s wife type, which he didn’t. But she oozed money, style, and threw a zillion-watt smile in their direction.
“Hello, Molly,” she called, waving as they came closer.
“Hey, Izzie,” Molly replied as Tashie pulled her a little closer to inspect the new arrival. “Good to see you.”
The women gave each other quick, friendly hugs on the sidewalk while the husband came closer. But Isabella’s blue-eyed gaze was pinned on Trace.
“Oh m
y God! Is that who I think it is?”
“You remember Trace?” Molly said, her voice tight.
“Remember him?” Isabella let out a laugh that was a little too loud. “Of course I do. What are you doing back in Bitter Bark?” she asked as her husband joined them.
“And who’s this, Isabella?” he said, also looking at Trace.
“Well, you know Molly, Titan’s brilliant vet, and this is a boy I went to high school with.”
Trace gave half-smile at the term boy and extended his hand to the other man. “Trace Bancroft.”
“Allen Phillips,” he said, scrutinizing Trace’s face like he was searching for clues to a crime. “Bancroft, did you say?”
“Where have you been all these years?” Isabella asked, getting a little closer.
He didn’t answer right away, feeling the man’s gaze locked on him, judging him, finding him wanting.
“Oh…here and there,” he said. Here being here. There being Huttonsville.
“And he’s working at Waterford Farm now,” Molly interjected, scooping up Tashie and trying to divert their attention with the dog.
“Are you?” Isabella petted Tashie’s head but stared at Trace. Then Molly. “Well, that’s…convenient.”
“What do you do now, Trace?” the husband asked with that serious look that super-executive types seemed to have with other men. That let’s bond over our manly jobs kind of thing that made Trace recoil.
When Trace didn’t answer immediately, Molly lifted the pup higher. “He’s training some of our service dogs, like this one.”
“Oooh, how interesting,” Isabella said as if Molly had announced he was running for the Senate unopposed. “I’ve been thinking about having Titan certified as a therapy dog. Would you help me, Trace?”
“Service dog,” Molly corrected.
“Titan doesn’t need to be a special-needs dog.” Her husband shot down the idea before Trace could take a breath to answer. “Or a show dog. Or whatever…” He flicked his hand dismissively toward Trace and Molly. “Whatever kind of dogs you do. Titan is a family dog, and that’s all he needs to be, Isabella.”
She plastered on a smile in response. “Well, of course he is, hon.”
“There you guys are!” A teenage girl came bounding up to them, long, honey-colored hair swinging over her jacket. “I thought you’d never get here.”
“We were at dinner,” Isabella said. “You know your father doesn’t like to rush dessert.”
“Okay, but guess what?” the girl asked, sliding between Allen and Isabella with a familiarity that made Trace suppose she was the stepdaughter Molly had mentioned. “I’m going to walk in the parade!” she announced. “Lauren and Madison both have puppies, and they want me to come with them. Okay?” She directed the question to Isabella, but it was her father who scowled in response.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Corinne.” Whoa, the guy was a killjoy, evidenced by his daughter’s crestfallen face. “We’re here to see the event, not be the event. You’d do well to remember that, young lady.”
“But they—”
“Corinne.”
She tipped her head in resignation, but then she noticed Molly and brightened again. “Oh, hi, Dr. Kilcannon. Is Pru here?”
“She’s working the Waterford Farm information table, which I think is way at the end of the parade route,” Molly replied. “I’m sure she’d love company.” She stopped and glanced at the girl’s father. “If that’s okay with your parents.”
“Pru Kilcannon?” the man said, as if he were putting two and two together and realized Molly was Pru’s mother. “She’s a good girl,” he said, nodding his consent.
Trace felt his fingers tighten over the leash and his jaw clench. Who the hell was this guy to pass judgment on his daughter?
Oh, yeah. A lawyer.
“Oh, look at this little guy!” Seeing the puppy Molly held, Corinne cooed, then noticed Bo bouncing around at the end of his leash. “Two of them! I could die from the cuteness!”
The distraction lasted for a moment, but Trace still felt Isabella’s gaze on him. He turned and met it, bracing for some questions he really didn’t want to answer. Where had he been? What had he done? Where was he living now?
But Molly leaned closer to the other woman before any questions were asked. “Izzie, you know it’s almost time to sell wrapping paper, don’t you?”
Another deflection, which he could have kissed her for.
“Oh sweet Lord, I was hoping I could get off that school fundraising committee this year.” She smiled up at Trace. “It seems all I do is volunteer these days.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to do,” the husband interjected. “That and be a mother to your stepdaughter.”
Isabella gave him a smile that never got anywhere near her blue eyes. “I know that, honey.”
The one-second exchange felt awkward, and again, Molly shifted the course by putting Tashie on the ground and tugging leashes. “Well, we need to be in that parade, and I’m not going without hot chocolate. Come on, Trace, let’s go before the line gets long.”
“It’s nice to see you back in town,” Isabella called to Trace as they walked away, and he nodded his goodbye to walk with Molly and the dogs.
“Thanks for the save,” he muttered.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I wasn’t really saving you, but I’m sure you’re dreading the questions from locals.”
He shrugged. “You were saving me, and I appreciate it.”
“Actually…” She slowed her step as Tashie sniffed some grass. “I was saving both of us.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, when we were talking, it dawned on me that Izzie is the only person who knew I was with you. That night,” she added, as if it needed to be said.
“You told her?”
“No, of course not. But remember she left us out on the lawn right before Bart McQueen showed up? I never went back to that party, and neither did you.”
He nodded slowly. “So she could do some math, same as I did.”
“She could, although it’s generally understood by my high school friends that I got pregnant in college and that’s why I quit UNC after a year. It’s ancient history, really.”
“Until I show up.”
“No.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t think of it that way. I wanted to get out of there. Plus, her husband is a butthead.”
“That’s being kind.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with their shared opinion, the whole exchange somehow bringing them closer as they got their hot chocolate and sipped it on the way to the start of the parade. They talked easily about some other people they’d both known in high school, and the tension of the conversation melted away as he walked with Molly like it was the most normal thing in the world.
If only this could be his life. If only he were good enough to take Molly Kilcannon on parade dates with hot chocolate and have conversations like couples had.
The ache for that was so strong he felt it in his head, his chest, and right down to his toes. And all he could do, after tossing their empty cups, was hold her hand and be grateful she didn’t let go except to wave at the crowds down Ambrose Avenue and around Bushrod Square. The whole time, Trace was as happy as the two puppies who twirled and pranced and trotted in front of them.
But then they reached the end, and there was Pru, surrounded by friends and family, talking and laughing and looking like a dream.
Did he really want to turn the girl’s little world into a nightmare? There was only one way to find out, and he was dreading it.
* * *
“Who’s that with your mom, Pru?”
At Shelby’s question, Pru turned to look over her shoulder in time to catch her mother scoop one of the retriever puppies into her arms and hand it to Trace. And she got that kick in her stomach again. She thought she’d handled it really well that afternoon when Mom casually dropped the I’m going to help Trace out w
ith the puppies in the parade bomb. Pru had agreed it was a great idea. Not enthusiastically, but she’d agreed because it wasn’t a date.
But they looked pretty couple-ish, if you asked her. Of course, no one had asked her. Not even Mom.
“It’s just some guy.”
No way was she telling any of this crowd she hung out with what her community service project was. She couldn’t trust these overachieving nerds. Some might be her true friends, but some might snatch that trip to Carowinds right out of her hot little hands.
“She likes him,” Teagan said.
“He’s kind of cute, in that old guy sort of way,” Shelby added.
For a second, Pru didn’t know what to say, blinking at them, then sliding a look over her shoulder to see Mom and Trace face-to-face, laughing at some shared, secret joke.
“He’s working at Waterford,” she told her friends. “And my mom is taking care of his sick dog.”
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t hooking up,” Shelby said.
“Well, they’re not,” Pru spat. Because he was a murderer. Even the thought made a little guilt crawl up her spine. She knew she wasn’t supposed to judge, but still. It was sure to come out eventually, and the next thing she knew, her friends would be making Orange Is the New Black jokes about her mom.
Plus, if they were dating, it would probably be against the project rules, though she wasn’t sure about that.
“And your mom tutored him in high school,” Corinne said. “My stepmother just told me—”
“Whoa, code red.” Brooke’s eyes widened as she hid a pointing finger with a cupped hand. “Girls, we have a code red. Or should I say a ‘Cody’ red?”
That cracked everyone up, but Pru didn’t laugh or care that Cody Noonan had arrive. Mom and Trace had known each other before? She’d tutored him? What the—
“Pru!” Brooke nudged her. “Two o’clock. Moving in fast with Zach Stowe right next to him.”
“Oh my God, he’s so cute,” Corinne said under her breath, lifting brochures from the table and tapping them like the last thing in the world she cared about was the new kid.
“He can drum me anytime,” Teagan deadpanned.
Bad to the Bone Page 16