Bad to the Bone

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Allen Phillips, by any chance?” Daniel asked.

  Trace frowned. “Yeah, that’s the guy. And, look, I know this sounds like a pattern for me, but he knew my past and he threatened me. And everyone close to me.” He looked at Pru, then Daniel. “I made you a promise to keep them safe, so I thought leaving would be the best way to do that.”

  Pru snorted. “That’s who told me,” she said. “He had me disqualified from the competition, which I won, by the way, and announced to every person in my school that you’re my father.”

  He felt his eyes widen in horror, along with a kick of guilt that he’d blamed Molly. “He did?” Fury shot through him. “He did?” Then pride. “You won?”

  “Yeah, but it was awful.”

  “Oh, Pru. I’m sorry.” He hugged her again. “I couldn’t take a risk that anyone would hurt you or Molly. But he did anyway.”

  “But you didn’t do anything, did you?” Pru asked.

  “Nothing, but…” He gave a rueful laugh. “That doesn’t always matter in life. Sorry if that’s the first official lesson I’m teaching you.”

  Daniel came closer. “He threatened you and his wife was a witness?”

  “For whatever that’s worth,” he said. “I’ll tell you right now he took a swing at me and I hit back.”

  “No other witnesses?”

  He shook his head and gestured toward their van. “It was right here. I just drove home in that van.”

  Daniel’s brows lifted as he looked over his shoulder at the van, then back at Trace, as if he were reconstructing the scene. “No chance you left any of the van doors open during this encounter, is there?”

  The van doors? He vividly recalled the way Isabella had thrown herself at him and Phillips taunted him. From courtroom experience, he could remember every aspect of the scene, including the open door behind him. “Actually, the driver side door was open.”

  Pru’s and Daniel’s expressions both morphed from disbelief to something else, something like hope.

  “Does the camera have a microphone?” Pru asked, her voice rising.

  “Of course.”

  Trace was legitimately confused now. “A microphone?”

  “Then you have a good witness, lad!” Gramma Finnie exclaimed.

  Daniel was already hustling to the back of the van, lifting the big door. “I have a security camera so we can monitor the dogs. Sometimes we have to leave them in the van for a few minutes, crated, so for their protection, I had a small camera and mic installed.” He gestured for Trace to join him. “See that?” Pointing to a tiny camera with one hand, he pulled his cell phone out with the other.

  “There’s an app for it,” Pru told him. “Grandpa can go back to a certain time and listen and watch.”

  “Like…” Daniel tapped the phone screen. “Last night? What time?”

  “Around eight.”

  Another few taps, then he held the phone up and hit the volume, the gruff sound of Allen Phillips’s voice instantly recognizable as the recording picked up in the middle of their confrontation.

  “Maybe you want to take a swing at me, son. Go ahead. It’s a one-way ticket back to prison, that I can guarantee you. C’mon…give it to me, killer.”

  Trace winced at the words, but Pru jumped up and down. “We have proof! We have proof you are innocent!”

  He took a step back, reeling. “Are you serious?”

  “I bet it’s admissible in court,” Pru said, lifting her brows. “I’ve been thinking I could be a good lawyer.”

  He still couldn’t quite grasp what they were saying. “What would you do with that recording?”

  Daniel gestured toward the car. “Let the man know he has no power. Support you. Ensure you don’t leave Waterford, or Pru, or…” He angled his head.

  “Molly,” Trace finished, a rush of affection for all these people, most especially the woman who’d changed his life so completely.

  Gramma Finnie sidled up to him and patted his shoulder as Daniel put the phone away and reached to close the raised door.

  “Bet you wish you’da had something like that all those years ago when you got into trouble,” Gramma Finnie added.

  Trace glanced into the back of the van, at the empty crate and the two feet of space next to it, almost fighting a smile at how glad he was they didn’t have that technology fourteen years ago.

  But it made him realize something else. This wasn’t the first time his life had changed for the better in the back of a dog-carrying minivan.

  “We need to tell Molly,” he whispered. “I need…Molly.” More than anything.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “So this is what they mean by ‘dead’ silence.” Molly leaned closer to the gravestone, closing her eyes to picture Annie Kilcannon the way she remembered her best: laughing. And she so would have laughed at that.

  But her mother’s wind-chime laugh was silent, as it had been for more than three long years. And Molly had never needed to hear it more. Out here, in the valley, surrounded by winter-brown grass and a sleet-gray sky, the only sound was a light whoosh of wind in the bare trees and the soft snoring of a dog pressed against her legs, keeping her warm.

  Stroking Meatball’s head, Molly closed her eyes and tried again.

  “Mom. I need help. Advice. Encouragement. Maybe a little agreement that, once again, I made a huge and stupid mistake. Tell me what to do.”

  Meatball huffed and rolled over, able to do that without moaning now. The wind died down, so not even the branches above her moved. No birds chirped in the middle of winter. No wayward squirrels sneaked out for air. There wasn’t even a distant dog bark, which could sometimes be heard even this far from the house.

  If Mom was here, in spirit, she wasn’t making a sound.

  “I don’t know who else to turn to,” Molly said softly, aching for her mother’s touch one more time. “I know you wouldn’t have agreed with the decision not to tell Pru. I didn’t, either. But I let him…” She shook her head. “No, no. You’d tell me not to blame someone else for my decisions. That, I can still hear you say.”

  But Annie would have said it with humor and love, handing Molly a cup of coffee and gesturing for her to come out to the porch for some girl-talk time. Oh, what Molly wouldn’t do for five more minutes on the porch with her mother.

  “I’ve never felt so alone,” she admitted in a ragged voice. “Not since you left us. And before that? Not since that day I discovered I was pregnant. This is like that, Mom. That same agony that…that…” Her voice cracked, and she dropped her head, fighting a sob. “Mom, I want him back, and that’s the truth. I don’t care what he did or where he’s been. It’s made him who he is, and I like that. More than like it. I can see us sticking it out, raising Pru together. But he didn’t.”

  Because you’re only as happy as your least-happy child.

  Finally, she heard Mom’s voice in her head, saying the words Molly had heard a thousand times, sometimes with a sigh, other times with an easy laugh. But this time…she thought about Trace.

  Pru was his child, too. No, he hadn’t been able to guide her through the first thirteen years of life, but he’d given her life. And if she wasn’t happy, neither would he be. So it hadn’t been fear that kept him silent these weeks, or lack of courage to face the truth. It had been love.

  He loved his daughter and would do anything to protect her, exactly like Molly would.

  He’d even leave her. That was the one piece that didn’t fit. Why would he do that?

  A fresh wave of tears threatened, making Molly moan and Meatball lift his head, concern in his normally sweet expression. He had his own bit of sadness, too, no doubt missing Trace.

  “What would you have done, Mom?” Molly asked, still longing for the answer. Her mother had agreed that Pru didn’t need to know the details of her conception and who her father was when she was still a child, but Pru had been ten when Mom died, and there’d been no great need for a revelation yet.

  But once h
e showed up, what would Annie have done? Protect her child. At all costs. Annie’s mothering had grown from that one focal point: protect the child. And that’s what Molly and Trace had done.

  Or had they protected themselves? Wasn’t that the reason he gave—the convoluted, frustrating reason—for leaving? Because he’d promised to protect them?

  She tunneled her fingers into Meatball’s fur, getting warmth and comfort from all that was left of Trace’s brief visit to Waterford Farm. Once again, her gaze traveled the gravesite, and the hole in her heart that her mother had left behind burned with pain.

  “So what should I have done?” she asked, lifting her head. “What should I do now?”

  “Give him a chance, Mom.”

  Molly sat bolt upright, whipping around as Meatball jumped up with a bark. She half expected to see Annie Kilcannon emerge from the woods. But it was Pru who ambled closer, making Molly blink with surprise and disorientation, because the only way to get to the path in those woods was by a road that ran the perimeter of the property.

  And Pru surely didn’t drive out there.

  Meatball rose and barked, trotting to Pru, his tail swooshing. But then he darted right past her, into the woods.

  “Meatball!” Molly called, standing up to go after him. “Pru, don’t let him go back there alone.”

  “He won’t be alone.” Pru glanced over her shoulder. “My dad’s back there.”

  Molly froze. What? “Trace is here?”

  Meatball’s barks grew quiet, the way they would if he were getting nuzzled and loved by his master. Molly tried to steady her breath and clear her head, but there were too many questions.

  “You talked to him? He’s here? He knows you know? Is he okay? Are you…” Her barrage trailed off as Pru wrapped her arms around Molly’s waist and pulled her in for a hug. Suddenly, she felt very much like Meatball must—comforted, assured, loved.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” she whispered. “It’s all okay. We all know everything, and it’s cool.” She backed away and looked up. “In a way, I’m glad you waited so long. I got to know him and that was fair. That guy has had so much unfairness, you know?”

  “Oh, Pru.” She stroked her daughter’s hair. “You are so much like my mother.”

  She leaned back and gave a grin full of braces. “I’m so much like my mother,” she said. “Who happens to be the world’s greatest mom.”

  The echo of words spoken years ago drifted into Molly’s head, like a musical promise that by the grace of God and a lot of help was fulfilled.

  You’ll be twice the mother I am.

  Molly looked toward the gravestone with a tear-filled smile, silently thanking Annie Kilcannon for her strength and example. Just then, Trace and Meatball emerged through the trees. His hands tucked into jean pockets, his worn cloth coat open, his eyes dark, intense, Trace focused on Molly like she was the only thing in the world he cared about.

  Silent, they stared at each other for a long moment.

  Pru stepped to the side, her arm still around Molly. “You guys need to talk,” she said. “I’ll take Meatball for a walk, okay?”

  Molly exhaled, nodding. “Okay.”

  Pru kissed her on the cheek and whispered, “I really like him, Mom.”

  “Me, too,” Molly muttered.

  That made Pru laugh as she walked to Trace and slipped her fingers into Meatball’s collar. She said something to Trace that Molly didn’t hear, but they both laughed at what Molly started to suspect was one of many inside jokes they would share in the years ahead.

  And just then, in that moment, she could have sworn she heard Annie laugh, too.

  * * *

  As he finished the story, Trace closed his fingers around Molly’s narrow, cold hands and brought them to his lips, saving the most important part of what he had to tell her for last. “I’m so sorry, Molly. I’m sorry I made you cry, but now you understand I thought I had no choice.”

  She held his gaze, her hazel eyes taking on a jade tone as they finally cleared of tears and filled with understanding.

  “You always have a choice,” she said.

  “When you have backup like the Kilcannon family.”

  “You always have the Kilcannon family.” She turned her hands around to thread their fingers and bring his knuckles to her lips. “You’re Pru’s father. You’re part of the clan whether you like it or not.”

  He almost laughed, shaking his head. “Why would I not like it? I never had a family, and even if I had, there aren’t many in the world like yours.”

  Her sigh was deep and content and sounded like it came from the bottom of her very soul. “We shouldn’t have underestimated Pru.”

  “We? You never did. I did.” He peered into the woods where she’d disappeared earlier, his heart almost bursting with affection for that kid. “And I never will again. As long as I live, I will never doubt Pru.”

  “I learned that years ago.”

  He let go of their joined hands so he could put his arms around her. “And what about us, Irish?”

  She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. “Is there an us?”

  “There’s something, that’s for sure. Don’t you feel it?”

  “Of course I feel it.” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you think it is?”

  That made him laugh. “You’re the doctor.”

  “This isn’t an illness.”

  So true. “Well, we share a child, for one,” he said. “And we are intensely attracted to each other, for another. What would you call that?”

  “Healthy, normal, and kind of fun,” she said without hesitation.

  “And I wake up every day thinking about you and go to sleep every night wanting you, and pretty much every hour, minute, and second in between, you’re on my mind. Is that healthy, normal, or fun?”

  “It’s a crush.”

  He snorted in derision. “We can do better than a crush.”

  “An affair?”

  “Not classy enough for my girl.”

  A slow smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Well, I guess I can be your girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend. Hmm.” Pulling her closer, he put a kiss on her forehead. “We can start there and see where it takes us.”

  She tilted her head up. “Can it take us to a kiss, or do I have to initiate this one?”

  “This one’s all me.” He lowered his head and kissed her, tasting the salt of dried tears and feeling the tenderness of her mouth. “But it’s not going to be enough,” he murmured into the kiss.

  “This kiss will have to suffice with Pru somewhere in the woods.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He traced her lower lip with his finger, slowly, intentionally. “Girlfriend. It isn’t going to be enough.”

  She searched his face, silent.

  “I know what I want to say,” he whispered. “And how much I want to say it, but I’m not sure how you’ll take it.”

  She lifted a brow. “Speak the truth, Trace Bancroft. Did you learn nothing about Kilcannon women in the last few weeks?”

  “No kidding. Okay, the truth.” He held her gaze and took a slow breath. “I’m in love with you and I’m not going to be completely happy until a certain two Kilcannon women are Bancroft women.”

  Her eyes flashed a little, but not in fear and certainly not in anger. But…promise. “Then you’ll be happy to know you’re halfway there.”

  “What?”

  “Your name is on her birth certificate.”

  He drew back, feeling another jolt of emotion he wasn’t quite prepared for. “It is?”

  “She’s never seen it. I have the only copy in a safe-deposit box in town. I never planned to lie about who her father was, Trace. I just waited.”

  Prudence Anne Kilcannon Bancroft. The sound of it was like music to his ears, even if it was only half the song he wanted to hear. He put his arm around Molly and turned her around, anxious to take her back to Pru and have the three of them be together with all that truth surrounding
them.

  “How’d you know where to find me?” Molly asked.

  He glanced at the graves nearby. “Pru and I knew you’d be here. They said you left the office, and we both knew you’d come here. She suggested driving to get here faster.” He tugged her into his side as they walked into the woods. “Did your mom help you?”

  “Not as much as you did,” she admitted, heading toward the road on the other side of the trees where he’d left the Waterford Farm dog van. The back of the van was open, and Pru sat inside with Meatball stretched out next to her, the crate pushed aside to make room.

  “Would you look at that, Irish?” Trace whispered.

  Molly laughed and elbowed him. “Some things need to stay secret,” she warned as Pru jumped out of the van.

  “I had the best idea, you guys.” She looked so fresh and young and untouched by the drama. His girl was resilient. Beautiful. Brilliant. And came with a mom he already loved.

  “What’s that, Umproo?” he asked.

  She grinned. “Let’s go to the Outer Banks this weekend. The three of us. And Meatball, of course.”

  Trace looked at Molly, who beamed a smile brighter than the sun that peeked out to warm them.

  “I love that idea,” Molly said, breaking out of his grip to head toward Pru. “And I love you.” She planted a kiss on Pru’s forehead while Trace took a moment to drink in the beauty of it all.

  His girls. His family. His home.

  Epilogue

  Waterford Farm was doused in April sunshine and bursting with as much joy as spring flowers the afternoon that Shane and Chloe got married in an outdoor ceremony, surrounded by friends and family. And dogs.

  In fact, Ruby had stolen the show as she lumbered her way down the aisle and stood next to Shane, sporting a pale pink collar that matched the summery dresses that Molly and the other bridesmaids wore.

  As the reception began in earnest, Molly slipped from her bridesmaid duties into her role as the natural hostess of the home, greeting guests, checking on catering, and keeping the event moving along so Shane and Chloe could just relax and have fun.