Bad to the Bone

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Well, Mom and I won’t be here for Sunday dinner,” Pru said brightly, referring to the other night of the week the Kilcannon family usually ate together.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Gramma Finnie scooted her petite frame closer to the table and to Pru. “It’s your big girls’ weekend at the Outer Banks. What do you have planned? A mani-pedi date? Maybe a museum or art show?”

  Molly opened her mouth to answer, but Pru beat her to it. “We’re going to talk, Gramma. Lots and lots of talking.”

  “Oh?” Gramma raised a brow behind her bifocals. “That sounds like fun.”

  “That sounds like hell,” Liam, Molly’s oldest brother, muttered from his seat next to Dad, making them all laugh.

  “Anyway,” Pru said, ignoring him. “We can get a bigger table if there are more Kilcannons someday, right, Grandpa?”

  Molly looked over at her daughter in time to catch her give Dad a meaningful look. Was Pru really pushing that hard for the Dogfather to do his matchmaking on her very own mother? It was a dumb plan, but the sentiment touched her.

  Daniel Kilcannon loved all six of his kids equally, but Molly knew he had a very soft spot in his heart for her. He’d made enough jokes about the man who’d be good enough for Molly to know that such a man didn’t exist in her dad’s mind. Honestly, Molly was safe from his meddling. And, as the youngest, so was Darcy. Aidan was overseas, though he’d definitely made it clear he was thinking about getting out of the Army soon when he’d been home last month. Maybe Dad could match-make him then, but now the three oldest boys were off the market.

  Truth was, if Dad should be getting dates for anyone, it should be himself. Which was about as likely as snow in July.

  “That’s why we built this great big dining room,” Gramma said, snapping her napkin onto her lap and bringing Molly back into the conversation. “Seamus and I wanted it filled to the brim.”

  “And Annie and I did our part,” Dad added. He shot a playful look to Garrett. “Plenty of room for high chairs, though.”

  “Subtle, Dad,” Shane cracked.

  “Really,” Garrett added with a laugh, looking tanned and insanely happy next to Jessie, the woman he’d married a few weeks earlier on New Year’s Eve. “We’ve been back from our honeymoon for two whole days, and he’s pushing for grandchildren.”

  Jessie looked skyward, shaking her head. “Nothing really is sacred at the Kilcannon dinner table.”

  Molly beamed at the green-eyed, strawberry-blond beauty, remembering when Jessie was ten or eleven and a constant fixture at this table as Molly’s best friend.

  “You know, Jess,” she said, “sometimes it’s like you never left.” Although their childhood friendship seemed like a lifetime or two ago, Jessie Curtis Kilcannon’s marriage to Garrett meant she was back forever. “I’m so happy you came back to Waterford, Jess.”

  “Me, too,” Garrett added with a wink to his bride.

  Jessie smiled easily, completely part of the Kilcannon clan now. “Maybe after my first book comes out, Daniel,” she said in answer to Dad’s unsubtle hint. “Until then, the next wedding is April eighteenth. Pressure Shane and Chloe.”

  Those two shared a look of mock dismay. “You sure you want to marry into this mess?” Shane asked his fiancée in a stage whisper.

  “Extremely,” Chloe assured him.

  “Well, I did my part to fill the table.” Liam put his arms around his pregnant wife, Andi, seated on his right, and his stepson, Christian. The six-year-old was always as close to Liam as he could get, and Molly would bet a million bucks that Christian’s beloved German shepherd, Jag, was at his feet.

  Inching back to take a peek, Molly confirmed that guess, spying the big dog with his face flat on the floor, staring at Rusty, Dad’s setter and constant companion. Despite Jag’s imposing physique, Rusty was situated under the head of the table, his paws crossed, his head up, his message clear: I’m in charge. Under Darcy’s feet, Kookie, the crazy Shih Tzu, snoozed, unconcerned about the rest of her pack.

  “It’s getting crowded below deck, too,” Molly joked, smiling at the beasts they all loved so much.

  “That’s why we left Lola in the kennels,” Garrett said, nodding to Shane across the table. “I put her in with Ruby since it’s so crowded in there.”

  “Good call,” Shane replied. “While you were on your honeymoon and Lola stayed with us? Those two were inseparable.”

  “The kennels are crowded,” Dad noted. “We don’t have a spare inch over there.”

  “Don’t complain about booming business,” Shane said. “That was always a big side benefit of the Better Bark campaign.” He glanced at Chloe with pride. “Which, folklore has it, was actually my idea.”

  Chloe laughed, pushing back some long, dark hair to give Shane an elbow. “You inspired the idea,” she clarified. “But if you want to change history to win some imaginary competition, go right ahead.”

  “I already won,” he said under his breath, leaning close to her.

  “Y’all are killin’ me,” Darcy said on a sweet chime of laughter. “Some people want to be single forever.”

  “You do not,” Shane fired back.

  Darcy sliced him with a look, lifting her delicate chin to look down an aquiline nose. In a family of stunners, Darcy was quite possibly the most beautiful of them all. She didn’t know it, though, at least not in the way Shane did. They constantly ribbed each other, too.

  “You don’t,” Shane insisted. “You just haven’t met the right guy.”

  “Too much of the world to see, dear brother. Too many people to meet and experiences to have.” She practically sang the mantra that made Darcy the tumbleweed she was. Here for a few months, then on a trip somewhere, then back, and gone again, usually with her close cousin, Ella, in tow.

  “Too many dogs to groom,” Liam added, giving her a serious big brother look. “You were wall-to-wall in there today, Darce, and every one came out as pretty as you are.”

  “Oh, anyone can do my job around here.” She flicked off the compliment. “It’s not like I’m some super-talented dog whisperer like the rest of you.”

  Dad gave her a look to stop that modesty. “You could be, though, Darcy. You know we’re desperate for good trainers with Allison leaving. We’re literally turning business away.”

  Shane grunted and faked a dagger to his heart, expressing what they all felt—a true investment in the family business.

  In the little more than three years since Dad had the idea to transform the homestead and property into an elite canine rescue and training facility, Waterford Farm had grown exponentially, thanks to all of their hard work and determination. Dad’s idea might have been a way to bring his far-flung pack home and heal the grief that cut them all in half when Mom died, but it turned out to be brilliant and lucrative.

  Five of the six Kilcannon kids lived in Bitter Bark now, and they each had a role in the business. Darcy’s grooming shop might not have been as high profile as the others, but it was as important, and it brought outsiders to Waterford every day, which increased the training business and rescue operation.

  “We need trainers, Dad,” Shane added, lifting his fork. “We’ve had dozens of requests for service dogs that can be certified by a national service dog organization. I know it can take a few years to train service dogs, but it’s really the one end of the business we don’t have covered.”

  “My rescue operations are going gangbusters,” Garrett said. “Did you see those golden pups Marie brought in the other day?”

  “Oh my God, so cute,” Darcy exclaimed, balling up her hands. “I wanted to eat them.”

  “They are therapy dogs in the making,” Shane agreed.

  “Therapy dogs aren’t service dogs,” Dad said.

  “I know that.” Shane leaned forward. “But in two years, they could be. With the right trainer doing one-on-one or one-on-two intense, focused training. That someone isn’t me.”

  Liam nodded. “Hey, I wouldn’t mind another set of h
ands on the law enforcement end, too. We’ve got cops and dogs lined up for months of training, even in winter.”

  “Maybe Aidan really will come home,” Garrett said. “He sure sounded like he wasn’t going to re-up when his enlistment is up this year.”

  Dad nodded thoughtfully. “He hasn’t made that decision, though.”

  “You train trainers, Shane,” Andi said. “Don’t you ever find someone who stands out and could be brought on board to start a service dog program?”

  “I’ve had a few, but they were either not from around here or didn’t want to make a two-year commitment. It takes a long time and an incredible bond, especially if you’re training a dog for the blind or a specific illness.”

  Dad put down his dinner roll, frowning in thought. “Funny this would come up,” he said. “Because I ran into a guy in town today who was exactly that kind of trainer.”

  “Really?” Garrett turned to him. “Is he looking for a job?”

  Dad angled his head, considering how to answer that. “He’s looking for…something.”

  The vague answer intrigued most of them. Not Christian, who was trying to secretly slip food to Jag, and not Gramma and Pru, who were having their own quiet conversation, not that interested in Waterford Farm business. But her father had everyone else’s attention.

  “Turns out he’s recently out of prison.”

  Now he had Gramma’s attention and definitely Pru’s. “An ex-con?” she asked. “I don’t think so, Grandpa.”

  Dad’s look was stern. “Don’t judge people, Prudence.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered, glancing at Molly, who happened to agree with her father and was long used to sharing the discipline of her daughter. Tag-teaming her had obviously worked, since Pru had lived in this very house for the first six years of her life and had turned out mostly magnificent.

  “In many prisons,” her father continued, “there’s a program called—”

  “Puppies Behind Bars,” Shane interjected enthusiastically, inching closer. “I know it well. They do amazing work and put out some truly impressive therapy and, in some cases, service dogs.”

  “Exactly,” Dad said. “I bumped into this…young man at Linda May’s bakery.”

  Molly smiled at the “young man” phrase that Dad had hesitated to say, probably looking for the right, nonjudgmental word. Her father wouldn’t say anything negative about anyone, and she loved him for it.

  “We should talk to him,” Liam said, gesturing at Dad with his fork. “See what he can do. I’ve had more than a few police officers and sheriff’s deputies mention the program to me. They pick the most reformed prisoners, or they get reformed after working with the dogs.”

  “Of course,” Shane added. “Training therapy dogs is therapy.”

  “That’s what I think, but…” Dad took a sip of water, while the rest of them were silent and waiting for more.

  “But what?” Garrett prompted when Dad didn’t finish. “We don’t have issues with someone who’s served time.”

  “We just need a rock-solid trainer,” Liam said.

  “And this guy is.” Dad ran a finger along the water glass, thinking. “But perhaps not confident enough to walk into a place like Waterford, even though his dog is sick.”

  Molly put her fork down. “He has a sick dog? What’s wrong?”

  “My guess is lepto,” Dad said. “But I can’t be sure.”

  The symptoms of leptospirosis flipped through her head. “Lethargic? Drinking a lot? Vomiting and urination?”

  “Uh, excuse me,” Pru interjected. “Eating dinner here.”

  Gramma Finnie gave a look over her bifocal rims. “Aye, lass. Take the doctoring to the vet office, please.”

  “But a dog is sick, Gramma.” Molly turned back to Dad, her focus on a dog that could be wandering around with lepto. “Was the guy in the woods or camping recently? Somewhere the dog could have had a drink of contaminated water?”

  “That’s possible,” Dad said, sounding purposefully vague. “Dog was well trained, though. Amazing, really.”

  “Breed?” Molly asked, knowing that would affect treatment and how the dog would handle the illness.

  “Mixed. Staffy. Maybe a little Lab in the blood. But a gorgeous dog,” Dad added. “Very regal and warm. Meatball.”

  “We’re eating ham, Grandpa,” Christian chimed in. “But we had meatballs at home last night.”

  Dad chuckled. “Meatball is the dog’s name.”

  That got a belly laugh from the little boy. Everyone had to smile, though they’d heard every imaginable dog name at this place.

  “Actually, I’m not sure about lepto, and I asked him to come and see you, Molly.”

  “Sure. Here or at the office in town. I’m happy to look at the dog.”

  Dad’s lips pressed together, and he shook his head slowly. “Not sure if he’ll do that, though I offered to take Meatball in for observation, only for a few days, but…” Again, that vague unfinished sentence that was so unlike Molly’s father.

  “But what?” she asked.

  Dad exhaled. “He’s lived in Bitter Bark as a kid,” he finally said. “And he’s hit hard times. I really think he’s ashamed to take what might seem like a handout.”

  The very first thread of worry wove up through Molly’s belly, featherlight and barely noticeable, like the opening note of a song she didn’t remember or recognize, but she would if she heard more. A song she didn’t like.

  “Who is this guy?” Garrett asked. “You say he’s a local?”

  “Long-ago local. Served his time for a crime up in West Virginia and has been gone ten, fifteen years now.”

  West Virginia? That worry thread tightened a little, adding pressure on her chest and the first real tangible thought that…no, that was impossible. It was her imagination. The pressure of the talk this weekend.

  “What’s the guy’s name?” Liam asked. “Do we know him?”

  “Possibly,” Dad said, his attention shifting to his food. “Not sure if he wants his name or past bandied about town.”

  “This isn’t town,” Shane reminded him.

  “Anything you tell us won’t leave this table, Daniel,” Chloe assured her future father-in-law. “Do you think it’s the new dog program that brought him back?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad said. “But I told him we could treat his dog, do a workup, and administer some fluids or antibiotics if needed, and that my girl is the best vet this side of the state.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Molly muttered, the words caught in a throat that had gotten increasingly tighter.

  “But he didn’t want to take me up on that.”

  Why not? Her palms felt damp, too, and the sight of that man she’d seen on Saturday was flashing in her head like a neon warning sign. A man with a Labrador-Staffordshire terrier mix who was definitely…regal.

  I have it on good authority that Trace Bancroft is dead. Killed in a bar fight in West Virginia. She could still hear her mother’s voice, whispering the words over a sleeping baby Pru.

  “What did he do time for?” Liam asked. “Can you say?”

  Dad swallowed his bite. “Murder.”

  That brought every mouth, fork, and person in the room to a frozen halt.

  “Well, manslaughter,” he added. As if that made it okay.

  “Murder?” Pru’s voice rose along with her shoulders and eyebrows. “Grandpa.”

  “He served his time,” Dad said. “Man’s gotta have a new life once he’s rehabilitated.”

  No one answered him, as every one of the eleven other people in the room let that sink in and maybe formed their own opinions. Molly tried to breathe.

  “I expect more tolerance from you, Prudence,” Dad said, breaking the moment of silence.

  Her daughter squirmed a little and glanced at Molly for help, but she was in no shape to chime in on a life lesson at the moment.

  “’Kay, Grandpa. Sorry.” Her color rose, reminding everyone at the table that Pru didn’t lik
e to break rules, especially those set by her beloved grandfather.

  “Really, Dad,” Shane said, jumping in to give his niece a reprieve. “We ought to know his name. No one in here is gonna rat him out all over town.”

  “He doesn’t hide his past,” Dad said. “He told me straight up over a cup of coffee. It’s that…” He looked from one of his children to another. “Apparently, some of you went to school with him.”

  Oh God. Sweat tingled on Molly’s neck, and her arms went numb. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Her heart hammered so hard, she couldn’t believe the rest of them didn’t hear it, but the way they all moved and turned, maybe they had. Blood was thrumming in her brain and swishing so loud, she actually felt light-headed.

  It wasn’t possible that—

  “I got the door!” Crystal, the housekeeper who always made them Wednesday night dinner, called from the kitchen.

  The door. That’s what was banging. Not her heart. Not her poor, terrified heart.

  “I’m happy to talk to this guy,” Shane said. “I don’t care if I knew—”

  “Excuse me, Dr. K?” Crystal came into the room and stepped close to the head of the table. “There’s a man with a very sick dog at the door. He only wants to see you and no one else.”

  Dad was up before Crystal finished her sentence, and Molly felt every other head at the table turn toward her. Of course, when there was a vet emergency, she’d be up, too. Running to the door, caring about the animal, ready to do what needed to be done.

  “Don’t you think you should go out there?” Liam asked, looking quizzically at Molly’s face, which was no doubt as white as the tablecloth.

  “He said no one else.” Her voice came out like she was being held under water, which was exactly how she felt.

  “Molly!” Dad’s voice bellowed into the house. “We have an emergency!”

  She launched to her feet, a little unsteady, vaguely aware that more chairs pushed out to follow. She moved on autopilot, with one thought: I have it on good authority that Trace Bancroft is dead.

  She stepped through the open door to see her father crouching over a dog. A man in a dark jacket stood with his back to her.