Old Dog, New Tricks Page 2

  But parts of me—the portions currently pressed against him from hip to chest—were willing to gamble.

  He nuzzled my cheek. “I’d rather be sucking up to—”

  This time the low growl wasn’t mine. Apparently, Mac wasn’t a fan of dirty talk. At least not where his daughter was concerned.

  Shoulders bouncing with laughter, I tilted my head back. “I’m grabbing a shower at the office.”

  “I should head back too.” Shaw’s eyes smoldered. “Got to get ready for tonight.”

  “Movie night,” I agreed with a nod.

  Mac approached us and pried the ruined baton between our chests until we separated.

  “There are several showers if I recall correctly,” Mac said thoughtfully.

  During his first and only visit to the communal showers, he had worn a dayglow yellow panther-sized cat skin.

  Diode. Crazy to miss someone who never really existed, but there you go.

  “Yes,” I answered cautiously. “There are six.”

  “Excellent. We will wash and then go to dinner together before your movie night.” He patted my head like I was a good pup who had made her sire proud. “Good thinking.”

  Good was not the word I would have used. Bad worked. Terrible really fit the bill.

  But nothing iced sexual frustration quicker than showering with your father in the next stall.

  Chapter Two

  Midway into my lather-and-rinse routine, a wide palm flattened against my shower curtain. With a grin hooking my lips to one side, I placed my hand against Shaw’s, and liquid warmth settled in my bones.

  The shrill grating of curtain rings sliding over the metal shower bar next door made me flinch.

  “Mac.” Shaw jerked his hand away. “You’re naked.”

  “And you’re standing outside Thierry’s stall. Why?”

  “I—wanted to ask her something.”

  “Go ahead.” Mac pinched the edge of thin plastic shielding my modesty and smoothed it flush against the tile. “She can hear through plastic fine.”

  A dejected sigh passed Shaw’s lips. “It can wait.”

  “I thought so.”

  All hopes of Shaw stepping into my stall to help scrub those hard-to-reach places vanished in a puff of hot steam and fatherly disapproval.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” Shaw muttered.

  “Thierry,” Mac warned. “Finish your shower.”

  I stuck my tongue out where he couldn’t see, because I’m that mature.

  Metal rings scraped and plastic shower curtain crinkled next door as Mac reentered his stall.

  To avoid any awkward getting-dressed-together moments, I stayed under the spray until I was pruney and a gust of cool air announced his exit from the room. Only then did I slink out to dress in jeans, a purple I got your back, Pluto T-shirt and sneakers. Afraid to leave the boys alone together, I towel dried my hair and then French braided it out of the way.

  I walked very casually into the main room of the marshal’s office and caught Mable’s eye.

  She was possibly the best perk the job offered, and her cookies were phenomenal.

  Today she wore a coral blouse with puffy sleeves and peach-colored corduroy bellbottoms. The vest buttoned over her curvy figure was a shade of salmon, and her boots were magenta snakeskin. With her powdery white hair pulled back in a bun, her rosy cheeks and her fuchsia glasses, she could play Mrs. Claus for the local tree farm and folks would line up to inspect her shirt for reindeer hairs.

  Her bow mouth drew up in amusement when she spotted me. “How are things, dear?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  “Macsen is a good man, Thierry.” She clicked her tongue. “Don’t give him such a hard time.”

  “Me?” I squeaked. “You have no idea. None. That man—”

  “—is your father,” she said patiently.

  “Not the point.” I tugged on the collar of my shirt. “He is driving me insane.”

  “He loves you.”

  The words zinged straight to my heart. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

  Just because my deadbeat dad was in the running for Father of the Year in everyone else’s eyes didn’t make him a contender in mine. He had never reached out to me. Not once. Nineteen years without as much as a hello. Let alone an I don’t regret your existence, and oh yeah, your mom’s a pretty cool chick too.

  Mac claimed he had watched over me, yet he let me come into my powers ignorant. He let me go through my magical awakening alone, let me kill my best friends and didn’t even offer a shoulder for me to cry on afterward. How did I forgive him for those deaths when I hadn’t forgiven myself?

  The best thing Mac had ever done for me was when he wrote the conclave’s unlisted number for Mom on his way out the door and out of our lives. That foresight had brought me to Mable...and Shaw.

  Hearing the exhaustion in my voice, I asked, “Which way did they go?”

  She pointed at the front door. “They’re waiting in Shaw’s truck.”

  I had given her a jar of lemon blossom honey on my way in, so I waved. “Thanks.”

  “Thierry.” She hesitated. “How is Shaw?”

  I pulled up short. “He’s good.”

  “He seems...” she struggled for the word she wanted, “...at peace.”

  Tension drained out of my shoulders. “He does?”

  A knowing expression crossed her face. “You haven’t noticed.”

  I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “I’ve been busy.”

  “I see.”

  I blushed clear to the roots of my hair. “Not that kind of busy.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I’m just going to go.” Chin to my chest, I sidled past her with scalding cheeks. “Later.”

  “Enjoy your dinner,” she called.

  Out on the porch, I sucked in a breath of humid air and shook off the ominous feeling tightening my skin. Shaw had mentioned getting ready for tonight, but movie-night fixings were already at my apartment. We just needed to hit up a Redbox. Mac had made a going-to-dinner-together reference earlier too. With Mable making a third mention of the impending meal, I got the feeling more than food would be on the table.

  Mac or Shaw or Mac and Shaw must want to negotiate the terms of our upcoming trip.

  Well, at least I was getting a meal out of it.

  The ride into town reached funeral-procession levels of somberness. Mac sat between Shaw and me on the bench seat of Shaw’s truck. Mac had changed into another pair of dark wash jeans and a second band shirt of mine liberated from the laundry hamper. The tee came from my vintage rock collection. They were all guy-sized and worn thin as tissue paper long before I owned them. I used them for sleep shirts mostly. Tempted as I was to ask Mac if his dedication to wearing his daughter’s clothes was some kind of scent-marking thing, I had decided days ago to believe it was because of his affinity for music of the era in which I had been conceived, and I had made Shaw swear to never ask questions either.

  When Shaw pulled into the parking lot of the Golden Panda and parked, I got a very bad feeling.

  Neither man made a move to exit the truck, so I fidgeted. “Did you order takeout?”

  “No,” Mac answered.

  A cramped minute passed while we sat together, our hips touching and no one moving.

  Over Mac’s head, Shaw tried to get my attention by staring a hole into my left eardrum. That was when it hit me, and my simmering temper ignited.

  I shifted toward my father, placing my back against my door. “You bound Shaw so he couldn’t spill details about tonight.”

  “I did.”

  “Why would you do that?” I grabbed him by the upper arm. It was a nasty trick that kept Shaw from telling me what Mac didn’t want me to know. “Undo it.”

  He exhaled, and a shiver of magic rippled over my arms.

  Shaw gripped the wheel of the truck and revved the engine, but it was too late. A burnt-
orange mini Cooper slid into the slot in front of ours, and the silver-haired woman behind the wheel waved. Next to her, a foot-tall ceramic garden gnome with a painted-on grin was strapped into the passenger seat.

  Sven Gardener, her gnomian bodyguard, reporting for duty.

  I slumped down low in the seat, my knees almost hitting the floorboard. “Get down.” I fisted the collar of Mac’s loaner shirt and tugged. “That’s my mom,” I hissed. “Hurry up before she sees you.”

  “We’re here to meet her.” Shaw tightened his grip on the wheel. “Say the word, and we’re gone.”

  “We’re meeting her?” I yanked Mac closer. “She knew you were here?”

  He peeled my fingers back one by one. “I wouldn’t keep something like that from your mother.”

  “You wouldn’t—?” I choked. “In what universe are you a thoughtful ex-whatever-you-are?”

  “I was your mother’s lover,” he said with total seriousness.

  I yelped and covered my ears with my hands. “Never say that again.”

  My lip-reading skills sucked, but I’m pretty sure he asked me where I thought babies came from, which was an opening for a conversation I slammed shut. Any birds-and-bees talk with him was never happening.

  Ever.

  Shaw leaned across Mac and grasped one of my wrists, pulling until he broke the seal over my ears. He threaded our fingers and hauled me back onto the seat. “My offer still stands, Thierry. It’s your call.”

  Knuckles rapped on the glass beside me. Mom peered in at us. “Are we too early?”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You got reservations.”

  Mac was staring through me. “I was told it was difficult to get seating here otherwise.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Who told you that?”

  A slow smile spread across his face as he lifted a hand to wave at my mother. “Mable.”

  “Mable,” I growled. That explained why she had the inside track on tonight’s festivities.

  He braced on the seat behind me. “She said Agnes enjoys their orange chicken.”

  Agnes. “Since when are you on a first-name basis with Mom?”

  “Since the day we met.” His hip bumped mine, urging me toward the door. “Is there a problem?”

  Other than my father and mother were separated by a chunk of metal and a pane of glass, which was the closest the two of them had been since my conception as far as I knew, nah. Not a one.

  Where was the shouting? The hair-pulling? The cursing? The anger? Why was my mother, who ought to be clawing Mac’s eyes out for abandoning her—abandoning us—dressed to kill in a slinky eggplant-colored sheath with a black-sequined flower in her hair? I pressed my nose against the glass.

  She was wearing makeup. And perfume. I smelled the vanilla and brown sugar scent from here.

  “There’s no problem.” My fingers were numb as I worked the door handle. “No problem at all.”

  Once my feet hit the ground, Mom wrapped me up in a big hug peppered with the warm scent of her love for me. Excitement lent her familiar fragrance an unfamiliar tang. The rush of emotions that poured from Mom at the sight of Mac exiting the truck sent my nose into hyperdrive. Each emotion has its own distinct smell, but her mood spiked so high so fast I couldn’t track how or what she felt.

  All I could say for sure was the bitterness Mac must scent on me didn’t cling to her skin at all.

  Mom kissed my cheek then held me at arm’s length. “This is so exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I hedged. “Exciting.”

  A frown marred her brow. “Your father didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what, exactly?” Old hurt simmered in my words. “That he was dragging me here tonight? That he has obviously been chatting you up behind my back? Or that you’re not angry with him anymore?”

  Her expression gentled. “Everything that happened—”

  “No.” I jerked out of her grip and backed up until I bounced off Shaw’s chest, and he grabbed hold of me. “Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t try to brush off the past or make light of it. I killed people, Mom, and he could have prevented that. All my friends... They would still be alive if he had hung around.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “It might all be in the past for you, but not for me. I see their faces when I shut my eyes at night. I still wake to their screams.”

  “Thierry,” Mac warned.

  “What did you think would happen?” Shaw challenged him. “I tried explaining it to you.”

  “She is our daughter,” Mac growled. “This is a family discussion.”

  “Shaw is family.” I stared down my parents and singled out my mother. “We’re mated.”

  “Mated,” she breathed, clutching Mac’s arm. “Does that mean you’re married?”

  Behind me Shaw tensed. “Not exactly.”

  “I didn’t ask you, Jackson.” Her tone cut him off at the knees. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I leaned against Shaw. “Probably the same reason you didn’t mention this.”

  “This is a relationship between two consenting adults,” she began.

  “I can’t believe this.” I threw up my hands. “You’re back together?”

  Shaw’s palms landed on my shoulders and tightened. “We’re causing a scene, folks. We should take this discussion someplace more private. How about we all meet at Thierry’s apartment to talk?”

  Mac’s eyes glowed with emerald fire. “I made a reservation.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I shoved past him and crawled back into the cab of Shaw’s truck. “I want to go home.” I wanted a door I could lock between the world and me. “Are you two lovebirds coming or what?”

  “Yes.” Mac put a hand on my door.

  “Macsen,” Mom murmured. “Let them go ahead. We’ll eat and give her time to calm down.”

  He leaned into Mom, grip firm on the handle. “They can’t be trusted alone.”

  Mom glanced between us. “Jackson, Thierry, do you really need a babysitter for an hour?”

  “I give you my word,” Shaw said, “we’ll stick to the rules.”

  “There.” Mom looped her arm through Mac’s. “Trust has to start somewhere.”

  Eyes narrowed on Shaw, Mac let himself be led away while Mom chattered about whatever my parents talked about when they held their clandestine meetings. As acute as my hearing was, I could have eavesdropped. Instead, I waited while Shaw climbed in and cranked the engine, then I blared his radio.

  Chapter Three

  Shaw killed the truck’s engine and jabbed the radio’s power button. “Am I in trouble here?”

  I snapped out of my thoughts, shocked to find us sitting in the parking lot of my apartment building. “What?”

  He stared forward, through the windshield, one hand still on the wheel. “Am I in trouble?”

  I twisted in the seat so I faced him. “Did you know about them?”

  “Not until today.”

  “Could you have told me tonight was a setup for some happy-happy family time?”

  He snorted. “Definitely not.”

  I nudged his shoulder with my hand. “Then why would you be in trouble?”

  “Your dad is keeping me apprised of his plans, then working his magic to make sure I can’t share them with you.” His thumb caressed the leather wheel. “It ticks me off. I figure it ticks you off too.”

  “Yeah.” I leaned my head against the window. “We’re a couple of clocks all right.”

  His other hand toyed with the keys dangling from the ignition, fingers ready to crank it up again if I said scram. “So that’s a yes.”

  “I’m not mad at you. You can’t help what Mac does any more than I can. I just don’t get those two.”

  “Your mom looked happy,” he ventured.

  “I know.” I thumped my head on the glass. “That’s the part I don’t get. She was all dolled up for him. She was smiling and touching his arm like they were—I don’t know. A cou
ple. Something. Not just two people who made a baby once. Like she forgave him on the spot. Like his being here now fixed the past twenty years.” I leaned forward. “I don’t get it. How is she okay with him?”

  “She loved him,” Shaw said with certainty. “She might still love him.”

  Needing to be grounded, I set a hand on Shaw’s thigh. “What about him?”

  “He listens to her.” He covered my hand with his. “We’re alone now because Agnes told him to let us be. I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but they seem like two people who worked out a lot of old issues fast. He must feel something if he broke down and went to her after just three days. Assuming he lasted that long.”

  “I guess.”

  The worst part of Mac’s visit was the tiny spark of hope that thought Mac coming here would solve a lot of Mom’s problems. He could take care of her. He could give her all the things I couldn’t, and maybe being together now that his secrets were out in the open might heal them both. But what happened when he left us again?

  Would her heart break? Had it the first time?

  I’d spent so long making sure Mom only saw what I wanted her to see that until this minute I never considered she might be paying me the same favor. She might be hiding her hurt behind fear.

  I didn’t know, and I didn’t like not knowing, and I didn’t like my parents being nice-nice.

  But this was about more than me. Mom had an equal stake in this.

  “I have popcorn upstairs,” I told Shaw. “I bought those movie-theater-sized boxes of Milk Duds, Raisinets, Junior Mints and Sno-Caps. I spaced on Redbox, but we could rent online.”

  It was a tiny, sugar-coated olive branch I extended but one Shaw accepted.

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “Are you hungry? For real food?”

  Grumpy silence ensued from my seat.

  “That’s what I thought.” He pulled out his cell. “I’ll call in an order to Marco’s.”

  “Thanks,” I said, thinking he was the only non-human outside of Mai I dared say it to.