Pete hopped up and his little paws padded across the bedspread.
Then the distinct sound of a stream of liquid dropping onto cloth had Travis bolting upright. It sounded like someone had turned on a trickle of a faucet.
Given that that there was no faucet in the room and two barely housebroken dogs, Travis flicked on the lamp beside the bed and—with his teeth on edge—he glanced at the dogs.
Re-Pete was still sleeping.
Pete was mid-leg-lift at the edge of Travis’s bed, letting it all flow.
Shit. Well, not shit. But that sound Travis had heard wasn’t water.
It was piss.
Travis groaned and rolled out of bed.
“Dude.” He scrubbed his palms over his cheeks. “I’m
not into that. You gotta ask before you try that the first time you spend the night with a guy.”
Pete hopped from the bed and ran to the door. He paced back and forth, glancing at Travis and practically broadcasting he needed o-u-t.
“C’mon, you two.” Travis stripped the bed as fast as he could—being careful to avoid the puddle—and grabbed the two leashes. Then he nudged Re-Pete awake and hurried with the dogs outside so they could do what they needed to do and not do it on his bed.
He shivered. Damn, it was cold. Mountain air was especially crisp at eleven o’clock at night.
He should’ve grabbed a jacket or a not-peed-on blanket, because the dogs were in no hurry to finish up.
Re-Pete was now wide awake and sniffing all around the edge of the small lawn, apparently searching for just the right location to leave his gift for Mother Nature.
Pete, on the other end of the spectrum, was peeing everywhere. Lifting his leg on anything not moving.
Which was why Travis shifted from foot to foot and kept his eye on the little troublemaker.
“Your mother asked me to talk to you.” Dad’s voice came from behind.
Sheesh, Travis hadn’t even heard him approach. He blamed the fact that his teeth were chattering.
“I just bet she did,” Travis replied. He turned to his dad, then gestured to the dogs. “We’re almost done here. You think we can take this inside, so we don’t turn into Popsicles?”
His dad had had the brains to put on a bathrobe before he came out into the chill. He watched the dogs for a beat, shook his head, then glanced at Travis. “Meet me in the study.”
Dad didn’t linger, already heading back inside where it was warm. His dad was a very smart man—no one ever really argued that point.
Like Travis, Dad took the most direct approach to solve an issue or have a conversation. He was decisive but fair.
Travis leashed the dogs and then, all together, he and his new pack headed for the study. At least this was where his dad kept the good hooch.
Travis had barely entered the room, his skin slowly returning to having some kind of feeling.
“You. Rachel. No hanky-panky,” Dad said as he poured Travis a bit of amber liquid and repeated the measure for himself. “Your mother is flipping out. She’s convinced herself that you’re in Rachel’s pants.”
“This is why you tracked me down?” Travis asked. “In the middle of the night?”
“Have you met your mother? She can’t sleep, which means I can’t sleep.”
“I’m not, how you so eloquently said, in Rachel’s pants,” Travis said once they settled in. They sipped the scotch as the dogs lazed under the desk.
“All right, I’ll tell your mama that.” Dad didn’t make a move to get up. He wouldn’t, either, not until he’d finished his scotch.
