He knew better.
She had to leave for town before the salesman got there, which frustrated her to no end. She was still scowling as she drove down the driveway. At least Tricks was smiling at him from her normal seat in the front of the Jeep.
The security salesman was the usual sales type: friendly, gregarious, with a knack for overselling. It was his bad luck that Morgan was immune to overselling.
He took the guy on a walk around the property, telling him exactly what he wanted, and where: cameras that covered all of the house exterior, no blind spots, with monitors in the most-used rooms of the house; motion sensor lights; driveway alarm. The driveway alarm was problematic; the best was a buried sensor probe, and that worked on a line of sight, which meant that putting it at the beginning of Bo’s driveway, close to the road, simply wouldn’t work. There were too many hills, trees, and curves in the way. If he had unlimited time and money, and government resources to work with, he could get something that worked, but he didn’t have those three things, so he had to settle and have the probe located at the farthest line of sight, which unfortunately was about seventy-five yards. It would have to do. If anyone approached at night-again, the most likely scenario-they could well turn off their headlights and drive close enough to set off the alarm.
He ignored the salesman’s efforts to sell him a maintenance and service contract. He wanted the system, not their monitoring-and he wanted it installed as soon as possible.
Installation was an all-day project, which meant Bo was there for the first part of it. The cameras were installed first, and she was impressed by the clarity of the images on the monitors; he let her choose the location of said monitors because it was, after all, her house, and he wanted her involved so she’d stop glaring at him.
Then she had to go to work, which pissed her off all over again.
He was grinning as he waved to her on her way down the driveway.
“You think you’re so smart,” she muttered when she got home, still disgruntled. The fact that he was cooking supper-nothing fancy, just grilled steaks and baked potatoes, with a stab at a salad for her-evidently held no sway with her.
“Want me to drive down far enough to set off the alarm, so you can see how it works?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation at all.
So he drove down far enough to set off the alarm, then reversed back to his usual parking spot. When he got out of the Tahoe, he could hear Tricks barking her head off.
He went back inside. “Impressed?”
“It’s loud, I’ll give you that. Tricks went nuts.”
“She’ll be a good backup alarm, then, in case we both happen to sleep through it-not likely, but I guess it could happen.” No way would either of them sleep through the ruckus Tricks was raising, running around the house looking for the very loud intruder.
Morgan wasn’t completely happy, but he definitely felt better prepared in case the shit hit the fan.
Three days before the Heritage Parade, Bo said, “The divorce goes before Judge Harper today. Fingers crossed there’s no problem.”
Morgan thought seriously about going to town with her, just for the entertainment value, but he had something he wanted to do, so he said, “Want to leave Tricks here with me, in case you get tied up dealing with the Goodings?”
She looked at the golden with regret. He knew she liked having Tricks with her, and God knew the dog was always happier with Bo, but there were practical matters to consider such as Tricks’s need for regular outside trips. He was a handy dog-sitter, and Tricks would be more comfortable.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll call if I’m going to be late.”
She left, and Tricks did the staring-out-the-window-and-looking-forlorn routine. Leaving her to it, Morgan opened the door to the storage area beneath the stairs and spotted the treadmill Bo had mentioned to him. It was folded up, had wheels for ease of moving it, and wasn’t blocked by too much other junk. He moved some boxes around and rolled the machine out. The activity pulled on the scar tissue in his chest but-not much. As soon as he built up his stamina some more, he’d start with the weights.
The treadmill was a decent one, electric, had an incline; he could get a good workout on it. Going up and down the hill with Bo and Tricks on their walks was good, but he wanted more.
Intrigued, Tricks came over to inspect the machine, giving it a good sniffing, then she got her ball, went to the door, and stood there looking from Morgan to the door and back again. He didn’t obey her hint fast enough, so she went to him and swatted his knee with her paw, which was her signal that she really really needed to pee and he’d better hurry.
“You’re a pushy little shit, you know?” he said conversationally. She didn’t care as long as she got what she wanted. She bounced out when he opened the door, dropped her ball, and took off running.
He was anxious to get to the treadmill, but he was well aware that Tricks had to have her fun time before she’d consent to pee, so he threw the ball. Then he threw it again. And again. On the fourth time, he said sternly, “Young lady, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble if you don’t take a piss this time.” He didn’t know what trouble she’d be in, but it sounded good. He threw the ball, and Tricks went after it. He could have sworn that she kept a weather eye on him as she retrieved it. She trotted back, still watching him, then paused and bumped her butt on the ground. If she’d held the pose a little longer he might have bought it, but all she did was a quick bump, then she was up again, trotting to him with her tail jauntily waving, certain she had fooled him.
A laugh exploded out of him. All he could do was pet her and praise her, laughing the whole time, because, holy hell, she’d just pretended to pee. And she was so gleeful that she’d fooled him, as if she’d played the best joke ever.
Evidently she’d been lying about needing to pee too; all she’d wanted was to play.
He gave up, surrendered, mentally waved the white flag. He was seriously in love with this dog.
He took her back inside and finished setting up the treadmill, then went upstairs to put on his running shoes. Maybe he was being too optimistic to think he’d actually be running much, but he sure as hell was going to find out.
Going back downstairs, he stood on the side rails of the treadmill and attached the safety clip to his shirt. He set the workout he wanted; nothing fancy this time, just a steady fast walk on a few degrees incline, to see where he stood now so he’d know what he needed to do. Tricks came to lie down beside the treadmill, resting her muzzle on her paws.
He turned on the treadmill and stepped onto the moving belt, found the pace.
As soon as the belt started moving, Tricks lifted her head, her ears perked up and her eyes bright with interest. Then she got up and trotted away; evidently she was already bored.
Morgan monitored himself: Legs, good. Breathing, good. Heart rate, good. Of course, he’d barely gotten started, but overall… not bad.
Tricks reappeared, tennis ball in her mouth. Damn it, now she wanted to go outside. He said, “Sorry, princess-”
She all but danced to the front of the treadmill, and let the ball go.
It shot between his feet and across the room, and she darted after it.
Morgan swore at the top of his lungs as he tried to avoid the ball and keep his balance on the moving belt. For a split second he felt like one of those cartoon characters slipping on a banana peel, with feet and arms going in four different directions. He grabbed the bars and caught himself just before his head made contact with the control panel, but his feet kept going. He gathered himself, braced his weight on the bars, and did an in-air half-jack. His feet landed on the side rails.
Having retrieved her ball, Tricks trotted back to the front of the treadmill while he still stood there spread-eagled over the moving belt, and let it go again.