Beatrice had been holding out on them. He mused over that—and why she might want to keep her riding a secret—as he walked toward her garage apartment. So maybe he’d wait for her, surprise her when she came back from her ride.
As his boots thundered up the stairs outside the trainer’s apartment she’d taken over, he could hear a whine start. Damn dog. He opened the unlocked door and stepped inside to find the thing wearing …
Oh, hell no. Was that dog wearing a robe? Jesus. Trace plopped down on the floor and called the dog over. Milton walked gingerly toward him, as if not sure why a man was in his mother’s apartment.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He patted his thigh gently. Milton shook and wouldn’t approach. “Fine, I was gonna take that stupid robe off of you but—”
As if he understood, Milton was over by his side in a second, nudging his hand with his nose and silently begging to be released. Trace picked him up and set him on his legs while he unwrapped the robe’s tiny sash and pulled it off the dog’s front two legs.
“A robe,” he muttered, and tossed it at the bed. “There. You’re free. Off you go.”
Milton hopped down and went to lap up some water from his baby blue water bowl. A bowl, he noted, that had crowns all over it. The dog had no chance.
He ignored the soft sounds of Milton’s snort-breathing and heavy lapping and tried to figure out how to get through to Jo. She was freaked out, that was clear enough. And she wasn’t the type to play games. It wasn’t one of those I’m breaking up with you to see if you’ll chase me games some females played. She honestly thought she was a bad deal for Seth.
In his mind, the fact that she considered what was best for Seth at all made her better than most. The sippie cup danced through his thoughts again, and he smiled. He didn’t even mind when Milton’s dripping wet muzzle pushed at his hand to make room for his squat body on his lap. Absently, Trace scratched the dog between his soft, floppy ears.
So he’d give her time. She wasn’t the type to hop from man to man. He had time to make sure the next move he made was the right move.
He was all but asleep on the floor, sitting up, a twenty-pound mutt in his lap, when Bea walked through the door and screamed like someone had stabbed her in the chest.
He jolted awake and sprang to his feet, Milton scrambling under the kitchen table for safety. “What? What the fuck?”
Bea fell back against the door and held a hand over her heart. “Oh, my God. Trace. What the hell are you doing here? You scared me to death.”
Trace ran a hand down his face. “I think the feeling is mutual there. I was just out for a walk, thought I’d stop by and … check on you.” He watched her face for any hint of guilt.
She smiled. “That was sweet. But we’re doing fine, aren’t we, Milton? Come here, boy. Come … hey. Where’d your robe go?” She searched the floor before she caught sight of it on the bed. “We always wear our robes before bed, Milton.”
Milton flattened himself on the floor, as if trying to sink through it.
“You’re not in your robe,” Trace pointed out. “Hey, where’ve you been, anyway? Are those actually your clothes?”
She looked down at her outfit. Simple brown boots, faded jeans, and a shirt that looked like she’d pilfered it from Peyton’s closet, except it would be too small if that were the case. Which meant it was actually hers. She actually owned clothes that were meant to be worked in, ridden in, dirtied up. The world got stranger and stranger. “Just, you know. Out.” She ignored the second question.
“Out,” he repeated, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “Walking around?”
“Yeah. You know, fresh air and all that. I forgot what clean air smelled like.” She reached under the table and dragged Milton from his opossum position. The dog’s toes dragged across the linoleum in defiance.
“Need to talk anything out?” he asked. “You know, anything weighing on your mind? Maybe a secret or two you’ve got pent up, want to get off your chest?”
“Of course not. Secrets are so not my thing.” She huffed and looked offended. Damn, she was a good little actress. “And I’ll beg you to remember you’re the one with the secrets, Mister Who’s the Baby’s Mama?”
Point taken. “How are you feeling? Any stiffness?”
Bea rolled her neck to the side. “Not really. I think I’m supposed to feel it tomorrow, or something. I’ll just use it as an excuse to go get a massage.”
He smiled at that. Riding might not have been the best choice the evening after an impressive car wreck. But then again, it was Bea. “You need to make sure to lock your door.”