leg to reveal his calf muscle. “They’re faint now, but I carry the scars of that dog’s teeth.”
She winced. No wonder her uncle had freaked out at Dakota’s behavior. Felicity’s heart hurt for her uncle and her mother. She could imagine the horror the two children experienced. “You saved Mom. You were a hero.”
Patrick snorted. “Yeah. That’s what everyone said. It didn’t make the pain or the fear or the nightmares go away.”
She could relate to lingering fear and nightmares. “I’m sorry. If I had known, we wouldn’t have brought Dakota over.”
He swirled the last of his drink before gulping it down. “Just keep the beast away from me.”
“I will.” She stood and picked up her bags by the front door. She needed to freshen up and have a moment alone. “Where shall I put my things?”
He waved toward a short hallway. “You can take the bedroom. On the right. Bath to the left. I’ll sleep out here on the couch. And the master sergeant can use a bedroll when he returns.”
She carried her bag to the bedroom and sank onto the edge of the bed. Propping her elbows on her knees, she dropped her head into her hands. Life had become a roller coaster. She was ready to jump off and be on even ground.
Her cell phone rang. She fished it from her pocket.
“Hey, you okay?” Westley’s deep voice filled her head.
Relaxing back on to the bed, she replied, “Yes. Boy, oh, boy. What a day.” She told him about the dog attack her uncle had suffered as a child.
“That explains your uncle’s reaction, but not Dakota’s. I’ve asked Dr. Roark to take a look at him when he has a free moment to make sure there’s nothing medically wrong.”
She sat up. “Oh, I hope that’s not it.” Or maybe she did hope so because then they could treat him. “Is Dakota calm now?”
“Not really. He hasn’t been aggressive at all but he can’t seem to focus and he keeps pacing back and forth in his kennel. Frankly I’m afraid to leave him until Dr. Roark can take a look at him. He did not want to leave your uncle’s apartment complex. I practically had to drag him to the vehicle and then had to pick him up and put him in because he wouldn’t jump in himself.”
“That’s so weird. There’s no need for you to return here tonight. Stay with Dakota.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m safe here.”
“Before I forget to tell you, Rusty found Riff and brought him in.”
Her heart lifted. “That’s good news.”
A photo album on the bottom shelf of the bedside table caught her attention. She took it from the shelf and set it on the bed.
“On another note, I have a security company coming tomorrow morning to arm your house. Once they have the system in place you can return home.”
“That’s good.” She flipped open the photo album. She wouldn’t have pegged Uncle Patrick as the sentimental type to keep pictures in an album. The first page was of a bald-headed baby lying on a blanket. Uncle Patrick, she assumed. He was a cute baby. “I’m sure Uncle Patrick will be more than happy to have his bedroom back after he spends the night on his lumpy-looking couch.”
Westley chuckled. “Couldn’t be much worse than the cot at the center.”
“Or the barracks,” she countered. She flipped through the pages, smiling at the baby pictures of her uncle.
“True. I don’t miss those bunks.”
She ran a finger over the image of her mother as a baby. “Do you ever think about giving up your studio apartment for a house?”
“Someday.”
When he had a wife and family? The thought snuck up on her. She wondered what it would take to make this man settle down. Did she have what it took to be the one he settled down with? Did she want that? A quiver of nerves ran through her as she realized there was a part of her that very much wanted a future with Westley. But how could she and still hope to work with the dogs?
“I should let you get some rest,” he said. “I’m staying at the center a little longer. With Dakota behaving the way he is, I think I’d better keep an eye on him until he’s less agitated. If you need anything, call me and I’ll be right there.”
“I will. I promise.” She hung up and scooted to the head of the bed to lean against the wall. She continued to look through the photo album. There were many pictures of her uncle and mother as they grew up together. It was fun to see her mother going from a gap-toothed child, to a girl, to a teen, and finally to a young woman. The last few pages of the album held photos similar to the ones on the tablet.
One image held her attention. It was the same picture of her father and Uncle Patrick that was on the tablet, but in this one, they were sitting on motorcycles. Two black bikes. And both men were dressed in black leather and holding black helmets.
Her hand went to the chain around her neck. Did the key belong to a motorcycle her father had once owned?
She scrambled off the bed, taking the photo album with her. In the kitchen she found Uncle Patrick drinking a beer and eating smoked salmon.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as she entered.
Taking a seat at the counter, she answered, “A little, actually.” She laid the photo album open on the granite top. “I didn’t know you and Dad rode motorcycles.”
Patrick flicked a glance at the album. “Yep. Those were the good old days.”
“Whatever happened to my dad’s bike?” She’d never seen him on one.
“Colleen didn’t like it, so he sold it.”
She studied the motorbike in the photo. Remembering Linc’s certainty of the type of bike the key on her gold chain fit, she asked, “Was Dad’s motorcycle a BMW 2 series?”
Patrick’s shoulders visibly stiffened. He slowly turned toward her. “Why would you ask about that specific bike?”
The coldness in his tone sent a chill sliding down her spine. Her mind scrambled to see why her question would upset him. Should she tell him about the key? She couldn’t see what harm it would be to show him what she’d found. She tugged the chain out from beneath her uniform top and held up the key. “I found this in Dad’s desk.”
Patrick took a long swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the bottle on the counter and closing the distance between them to stare at the key. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “No. Your father rode a Ducati.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to make of Uncle Patrick’s strange reaction to the key. Her gaze strayed back to the picture. The two bikes did look a bit different. She lifted her gaze. “Was your motorcycle the BMW?”
“It was.”
Her
