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When they neared the front of the house, Delaney spied her Rebel and slapped a palm to her forehead. “I rode my bike here,” she said. “I’m going to have to go home and swap it out for my truck to take Wyatt home.”
“I’ll bring him,” Pete said, unlatching the gate. “I’ve got my truck.”
They walked out front, to the long driveway that led up to Sunny’s pretty house. Delaney recognized it as a restored Queen Anne, with fish scale siding and turrets. The home only reinforced her opinion that this place was Disneyland for orphan dogs. “My dad did all the restoration before he passed away of cancer a couple of years ago,” Sunny said, when she noticed Delaney studying the house.
“It’s beautiful.” Delaney had always liked the Queen Anne style, something about the architecture’s reminiscence of old castles. She suddenly felt a new kinship with the dog rescuer who’d also lost her father. For a moment, their gazes connected and held, and though neither one of them said anything, Sunny’s sad smile told Delaney everything that went unspoken.
Wyatt whined and strained against his leash, breaking the spell. Pete’s brow creased. For the first time since Delaney had met the trainer, he looked confused. Pete undid the leash, apparently to see what the dog would do, and watched as Wyatt rushed forward and came within inches of Delaney’s motorcycle. He sniffed around the Rebel, his nostrils flaring.
“Well, this is new,” Pete said, half-amused. “I’ve never seen a dog react like this to a motorcycle. Do you have other dogs around this bike or something?”
“No. But I’ve seen him act this way before,” Delaney admitted, remembering her grand opening and Wyatt’s reaction to ’33. “He got all excited around my dad’s bike. The one that was stolen. Though at the time I thought it was just my imagination.”
“He’s a secret biker dog,” Sunny quipped, giggling.
“Well, if this is true,” Pete said, grinning at the pittie as he circled the bike, “then he’s going to the right place.”
“Alright,” Delaney said, before she slipped on her helmet. “You know the way, Pete?”
“I know the shop. Meet you there.”
By the time Delaney made it home, the sky was dark and her body was feeling the tug of fatigue. The muscle aches from the day were settling deep in her bones and making her dream of crawling under the covers. But she had to take care of Wyatt first—make sure he was comfortable. She unlocked the shop and stripped off her gear. Just as she was unlocking the back room, Pete pulled up in his truck. He parked next to Delaney’s old Ford and took his time admiring it. When he came into the shop with Wyatt in tow he pointed over his shoulder, toward the parking lot. “You don’t just do vintage bikes, huh? That old step-side is sweet.”
“Thanks. That was my dad’s, too.”
“He kept it in good shape.”
“He kept everything in good shape. People who had antiques but kept them covered up to rot drove him crazy. He used to say, ‘If you’re just going to sit and stare at it, what’s the point? Life ain’t about being pretty.’”
Pete chuckled. “I like your dad already.”
“Yeah.” Delaney kept the sudden sadness out of her voice. “He was something else.” Weird how grief came in waves like that. Like the tides of the ocean. One second you’re doing fine, then you turn your back and get clobbered by a monster.
Wyatt wasn’t having it, all this talk about the truck. He made a beeline for the back room and disappeared inside.
“His old dog bed is in there,” Delaney explained. “That’s where his previous owners had him sleep, I guess.”
Pete’s lips twitched in disapproval. He followed Wyatt into the back room and surveyed the cold, concrete space. The shelves were no longer bare, as Delaney had stocked them with gear, parts, oil and such, but it was still a cold, hard workshop. Wyatt was already on his bed, digging at it with his front paws, like he was trying to create a comfy spot in the fraying material. Delaney had washed the bed after her and Wyatt’s adventure in the rainstorm, just in case Wyatt ever came back here and needed it.
“I tried inviting him upstairs one night.” Delaney watched as Wyatt settled into a tight ball and rested his head on his paws. He huffed a contented sigh. “He wouldn’t come.”
“Tomorrow, take his dog bed and put it just outside this door.” Pete pointed at the entrance to the shop. “See what he does. He might be a little put out at first, but he’ll get over it. Then after a few days, move the bed to the foot of your stairs. I assume the stairs at the back of the shop lead up to your apartment?”
“Right.”
“Then eventually you put the bed upstairs, in the apartment. It’s like a gradual shift to a new space. Like when you acclimate fish to a new tank.”
“Makes sense. I’ll try that. Thanks.” Delaney’s understanding of why Sunny was so into Pete deepened. On the surface, he came off as just a regular, down-home—albeit handsome—guy. But once you got to know him it became readily apparent that his knowledge and dedication to caring for others was his entire reason for being.
Pete set down the two metal bowls he’d been carrying, presumably Wyatt’s food and water dishes. He strode over to the shelves and poked around the room, casing the perimeter. “Good,” he said, once his appraisal was complete. “Nothing on the low shelves he can get into. No poisons back here, like any coolants, or anything he can chew on that could hurt him. Nothing I’m missing, right?”
“Nope.” Delaney hadn’t even thought of that. “But thanks for checking.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Pete reached the bay door, grasped the chain and raised it a few feet. He bent down and stuck his head out.
“Back there is the wooded area that stretches between Sunny and me. Wyatt would use it to travel between us.”
Pete nodded. “I see it.” He opened the door a little wider and stepped one foot out, peering around the building. Wyatt didn’t move a muscle. His breathing had deepened and his rib cage expanded slow and steady. Pete squinted in the darkness. He drew something from his coat and clicked. When the concrete strip that surrounded the shop lit up Delaney realized Pete held a flashlight. He gave a low, appreciative whistle. “That’s a sweet bike,” he said. “I’m not sure on your reasoning behind parking that out back. I don’t think I would.”
Delaney’s blood grew icy. All the good feelings over seeing Wyatt again and even the fatigue that had been building suddenly vanished. “What are you talking about?” She rushed over to Pete, the jangled nerves leaking into her voice and making Wyatt’s eyes pop open. “I don’t have any motorcycles outside...” Her voice trailed off as she got a look at what Pete was seeing.
There, right outside the shop, illuminated in the darkness by the small beam of Pete’s flashlight, shining in all its classic glory, was ’33.
