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Reid stood there, his face frozen in the same smile he'd worn the moment he reached out to shake her hand. Slowly, the corners wilted, and his affable grin turned into a queasy, borderline creepy display of his teeth. Vance blinked, and Lucy took on a concerned expression moments before the heeler snapped himself out of it and beamed once more.

"Nice to meet you. Would you excuse me?" Reid tore himself away from the pack and piled back into the Nova, throwing it in gear and taking off in the direction of the shop. Lucy turned to face the pit bull and jerked a thumb in the direction the dog had just gone.

"Is he always that weird?"

"He's not used to losing a race by that much." Vance craned his neck to watch Reid bail out of the Chevy and run inside as if he was on fire, "I swear I've never seen him act that way before. I think you broke him."

"Well, I don't know what he expected going up against this baby." She laughed and leaned up against the door of the Chevelle, "You find a backup drummer?"

"No. But we're not going to do the show at the same time the races are going on. You gonna be good to go?"

"Yeah, always. Let me just park and then I'll get my kit set up. You got the keys to the van?"

"Yeah." He tossed them to her, "I'd better go check on Reid."

Vance found Reid in the break room minutes later, his muzzle pushed into the opening of a brown paper bag and his hand clamped around it. He sat hunched over, and looked as though he were about to be ill.

"Jeez, Reid. I mean, I've seen guys get a little worked up over a pretty girl before, but damn!"

"You don't understand." Reid pulled his face out of the bag and sat back and looked at Vance as though he'd seen a ghost, "Lucy. She's..."

The pit bull shook his head, confused.

"She's my daughter."

Vance wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly.

"I-I'm sorry, did you just say that Lucy is your daughter?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, so let me get this straight." Vance said, pacing around the break room and trying to process the information he'd just received, "You have a daughter? You're a father?"

"Yes. Josie Sanchez was my ex-wife's name. Mexican Wolf. If I had any pictures of her, you would see the resemblance. We had a child together, and we named her Lucy."

"Well, dude, it could just be a coincidence. Lots of Lucy's out there and Sanchez is a pretty common name around these parts. How old is your daughter?"

"She was born in 1997; it's 2015, so that would make her...eighteen."

"Oh, dude. Don't worry. Lucy's twenty-two." Vance said nonchalantly, "You're from Texas, right? I assume she is too?"

"Yep."

"Well,this Lucy is from Arizona, so you have nothing to be worried about."

Reid finished wringing his hands raw and brought them up to his face, rubbed his eyes and smoothed out the fur on his cheeks.

"I still just...I don't know. She looks so much like her!"

"Well,all you red heelers look the same." Vance joked, and pulled up a chair, "I take it uh...I take it you're not really a part of her life, then?"

He shook his head.

"No. I just wasn't cut out to be a father. I never had one, myself, you know?"

Beat.

"I took a step back and bowed out, when I realized that I was never going to be able to be the father she deserved to have. I thought she'd be better off without me."

"No regrets, huh?"

"Sometimes. I think about everything I'm going to miss out on. Going to her graduation, God, that's going to be this year...walking her down the aisle at her wedding...daddy things." Reid floated a brusque chuckle in the air between them, but his face sank in tow, "I do my best to put her out of my head. But I hope that wherever she is, she's doing okay."

"Hey. You did what you thought was best for her. I can't fault you for that."

"Nope. I can't either." Reid stood up and wadded up the paper bag, "Come on. We've got a lot of work to do."

***

The barbeque pit could be smelled from the highway. Hoyt tended the grill while Vance and his band got the stage set up for the evening show that would cap off the biggest racing event of the season. On the lawn just south of the track, bounce houses, face painting, and other entertainment venues for the children were being set up. Chris, Frank, and Hector busied themselves getting everyone registered for the races, collecting entry fees and marking windows with numbers. Paul however, was nowhere to be found, leaving Reid to run around like a chicken with his head cut off. He approached the stage.

"Vance!"

"Yo!"

"Have you seen Paul around?"

Vance stood up from the PA he was working with and brushed his glistening hair back with a hand, narrowing his eyes as he squinted into the sunlight.

"Ah, no. No, can't say I have. I saw him just a little while ago unloading the meat for the grill but I haven't seen him since. Hey! I should have the sound system fixed up in a jiff; you got a commencement speech ready?"

"Oh, shit." Reid cursed himself; he hadn't even thought to write one. In the rush he'd been in, he'd completely forgotten that by tradition, Paul had always gotten up in front of the crowd and given everyone a warm welcome. Where was Paul, anyway?

Vance spoke into the microphone, "Testing...sound check...testing, one, two..."

Reid watched as Lucy took a seat behind her drum kit, the hydraulic throne bouncing slightly. A Chuck Taylor-bound foot pumped the kick drum pedal, the bassy note emanating from the stage. She tested the snare with sharp pops and struck the crash cymbals, which resounded with their characteristic tone. She seemed satisfied, and exited stage left to return to her car, a '27' greased on the window just behind the driver's seat.

"You keep staring like that and she's going to know you're interested." Vance chuckled, earning himself a look of reprove from the heeler.

"I'm still just not convinced it isn't her." Reid said, watching her start that machine up and take off for the staging area. If she was his daughter, he was proud as hell.

Vance hopped off the stage, "And what if she is?"

Reid stared out into the distance.

"Are you going to try to be a part of her life now that she's all grown up? How do you think she's going to react to that?"

He shifted his gaze to the pit bull.

"Hey, Lucy! It's me, Dad! Sorry I was never around when you were growing up, but now that you're here, let's bond and be a family now!" The pit bull said mockingly, wide-eyed and gesticulating. Reid shook his head. Vance had a point. How could he ever want to be a part of her life when he hadn't wanted her to begin with? To watch her grow up? He didn't deserve her. She certainly deserved better than him. He could only hope that Josie had remarried, that she had found a man with goals, and a future, and enough love in his heart to carry them both through a life together as a family. He opened his mouth to speak, but Vance's pocket began to ring, and the younger dog excused himself to take the call.

Chris, Frank, and Hector finished with registering the last of the entries, and began to herd everyone over towards the stage. Delectable smells wafted over from the barbeque pit, where smokestacks belched pungent, wood and meat-scented, white smoke skyward. Reid made his way up onto the stage and turned to face a crowd of almost three hundred. He stood in front of the microphone and took a deep breath.

"Well...good afternoon, everyone." He started, and immediately felt awkward the moment he heard his own voice over the PA. He received scattered responses from the audience, followed by silence. He was going to have to wing it.

"Some of you might know me. Um, I'm Reid Travis, owner and operator of Doghouse Performance Engineering. Most of you probably know Paul. Well, after more than three decades of service to the automotive tuning industry, Paul has retired, yes." He added, and people began to applaud, congratulating the absent bear on his retirement.

"Myself, and my crew here, we're all committed to providing you all with the same level of service that you're used to. We hope that even in lieu of Paul's retirement, you will all continue to be regular customers here. It's an honor to be here today, hosting this event for all of you, and I want you all to know, we've got a very special guest here with us."

Reid turned to face stage left where a mother and child stood. He beckoned them kindly to center stage, and the older vixen held onto her kit's hand while the four year-old gazed nervously out at the audience.

"This is Amber. Amber has leukemia, and I'm pleased to announce that one hundred percent of the proceeds from today's event will go toward her treatment!" He smiled as everyone erupted in applause.

"Not only that," Reid added, "We will be accepting donations on behalf of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and DPE will _match_whatever is raised today!" He smiled, and was met with cheering and applause as he knelt down in front of the kit and wrapped her in a hug, then stood up and hugged her mother. They exited the stage, and the heeler turned back to the audience.

"Thank you all for being here today. We'll begin momentarily. In the meantime, enjoy the festivities!"

***

Vance hung up and took off for a little jog around the building where Blaine had parked. With the staging area and the shoulders of the road leading up to it full, it was the only place she'd been able to find a spot. He approached from the passenger side and watched his girlfriend exit the car and turn to him. They never broke eye contact, and Vance knew what she was going to say before she even said it. She met him halfway around the back of the car and threw her arms around him.

"We're going to have a baby." She said. Vance felt his mind go blank, but he didn't need to say anything. He simply stood there holding her close, feeling her breath on his neck and the heat from her face as she cried. After a moment, he pulled back to look at her.

She was smiling.

"We are?"

She nodded, beaming, and tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. Vance allowed his muzzle to split into a grin, and he pulled her back for another hug and kissed her on the head.

"I love you." She whispered.

"I love you too."

"This is a big deal, you know. This kinda changes the game plan a little."

"How so?"

"Well, we probably won't be able to go down to Baja like we'd planned. We need to start saving up. Lot of stuff we're going to need. Baby furniture, diapers..." They began to head in the direction of the event, "...a stroller, a car seat-"

"Okay, just putting this out there, I am _not_trading in the Supra for a minivan." Vance asserted. Blaine shot him a smug look.

"You know I would never ask that of you."

"I think I'll keep her..." He responded, beamed, and put his arm around her shoulders, "You know, I think your Dad's gonna kill me when he finds out."

"Nah, you'll be fine."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I don't have a baby bump yet. We've got time."

"Mm. Oh, looks like the races are starting."

Out at the track ahead of them, two racers spun their radials in the water box and rolled up to the starting line. Hector was on the intercom, sharing commentary with Frank on the race.

"Why do they do that? To show off?"

"No, the water cleans the tires of any debris they might have picked up on the way to the track, and it heats them up for better traction. It's like chalking the end of your pool cue before you make a shot."

"Oh." She answered quietly. Vance stopped and turned to look at her while the first two racers greased the quarter mile.

"This was a little unplanned, you know." He said at last. He thought about Reid, how he wasn't ready to be a father when he and his wife at the time had become pregnant, and how he'd waived his rights as a parent for what waited out west. It made him have doubts about himself.

Blaine looked at him concernedly, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that, well, let me just say that this isn't something that I thought was going to happen for a while yet. I mean I'm not necessarily unprepared, I'm thirty years old now, but..." Vance looked up at the sky and wiped his face with a hand, "I know I haven't exactly been the kind of guy who's really, y'know, dad material, but I just want you to know that now that this is happening, that I'm committed to it. I'm going to step up to the plate."

She smiled.

"Vance, you're going to make a great dad. I know our lives are about to change in a big way and it's a little scary, but we're going to be there together every step of the way."

He smiled a little and blushed. He wet his lips. The ring was in his pocket. He opened his mouth, but the question's escape was abruptly halted by Reid.

"Vance!"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Races are starting, and Hoyt's got some stuff ready on the grill. You'd better eat now if you want to, I don't know that we'll have a chance to later." The heeler jerked a thumb over his shoulder and turned to head back to the track, where two more racers were exiting the water box. The pit bull turned back to his girlfriend and shrugged.

"You hungry?"

"I'm starving." She rubbed her belly, "Besides, I've got two mouths to feed now!"

"Well, let's not tell your Dad just yet, huh?"

"Deal."

***

Rotgut Rob's had been the venue of choice for several of SoCal's outlaw motorcycle clubs for decades. Rotgut Rob himself was an Alsatian, grey in the muzzle and long in the tooth, a bit of a misnomer considering he had none left. To quote the old dog, you didn't need any teeth for drinking beer or smoking dope, both of which often took place within the rustic, timber walls of his infamous establishment.

Dallas O'Dell sat across the bar from the Alsatian, chuckling over the top of his beer mug at a joke the old bastard had just told. He too was laughing raucously along with everyone, his toothless smile on display.

"That's a good one." Dallas said, and upended his mug. Outside, amidst a sea of leather and chrome, a Ford pickup truck pulled up into the one handicap parking spot outside. Paul dismounted from the truck, one leg out, followed by another, a surgically locked knee keeping it straight and lending to his characteristic loping gait. He made his way up the steps and onto the porch, crossing it and entering into the haze of cigarette smoke.

Ernest Tubb was on the jukebox. From the smell, it seemed as though Marlboros were the choice cigarette of the Bitten. Paul could feel the eyes upon him as he walked up to the bar, catching the gaze of the half-blind, cantankerous old shepherd.

"Well I'll be damned." He said. Paul did not respond. Behind him, the crack of billiard balls rang out. Rob walked over and stared at the old bear, "The usual?"

"The usual." Paul answered gruffly. Rob smiled quietly and eyed the ursine through his cloudy, cataract-afflicted eyes. He grabbed a mug and pulled the tap, slid the glass underneath it and watched it fill with Milwaukee's best. A coaster on the bar. A mug on that. Paul tossed him a fiver and told him to keep the change. Two seats down, the cougar drained his tankard.

"Paul Owen." He said staring straight ahead, "How are things at the old auto shop?"

"You ought to know. Word has it you've been by."

"I have." The cat agreed, watching the Alsatian set another beer down in front of him, "You and I have some business to take care of, don't we?"

"My debts are paid, Dallas. We're even now."

"Oh-ho, no, my friend. Your interest charge just came through."

Dallas was known in the Bitten Motorcycle Club for carrying a nickel-plated, forty-five caliber Colt Single Action Army revolver in his belt underneath his riding leathers. Paul knew that much. There was just one problem - Dallas was already drunk. So when the bear saw the cougar move out of the corner of his eye, he swung his beer mug by the handle, smashing it against the side of the Dallas' skull. Beer sprayed everywhere, and Paul grabbed the gun by the barrel and yanked it out of his hand, sliding it down the bar to Rob, who while a wild and crazy individual himself, did not condone gunplay in his bar.

"Let me tell you something. I didn't go into retirement to hide from you. If we've got problems to settle, then we'll settle them like men. What you will not do is go to the garage and harass Reid or his employees."

"You're not the one who killed him." Dallas grunted, wiping himself off with some napkins from the bar while Paul got up and started to leave. "Just turn over the asshole that did and you won't have to worry about us!"

"I don't worry about you as it is." He answered quietly, turning and heading for the door.

"This isn't over Paul!" Dallas shouted at his back, "You take from me, I take from you!"

***

Frank's voice echoed out over the staging area and bleachers.

"We've got a new racer on the scene, here for the first time is Lucy Sanchez from Tucson, Arizona! Lucy's in the green '69 Chevelle out there and would you just listen to that engine roar? Everybody give her a warm, SoCal welcome!"

Everyone in the bleachers clapped for the girl in the green 1969 Chevelle with the blown, 454 big-block motor. It did indeed sound beastly, but the opponent she was up against had a leg up on the competition. A jet-black Chevy Camaro of the same year sat cranking on the track right beside her, its bored-out 509 pumping with the heat of 1600 horses.

Reid stood with his arms folded just behind the barricade of the track, watching Lucy as she performed the preliminary burnout in the water box, easing up to the starting line. The Camaro followed suit, its roar noticeably louder.

"You think she'll be able to take him?" Chris asked.

"I don't know. It's going to be tough, that's for sure. What did we end up getting on the dyno when you and Frank tuned it?"

"About fourteen-forty to the crank. But he's got her by at least a hundred."

"Well, that's not too bad. She's got a shot, I would say!" Reid had to yell by that point, as both Lucy and her opponent were now revving their engines.

"I'd sure hope so! I know that Camaro, the driver's from San Diego, had it tuned down there at Weigand Motorsports!"

On the track, the light turned green, and both Lucy and the competing driver took off for the finish line. Just like before, the Chevelle's front came up off the ground, its rear wheels carrying it forward alone. A little less than a hundred yards down the line, the front tires finally found the pavement, and Lucy shifted, keeping it true and pushing forward, the exhaust bellowing menacingly. The Camaro, on the other hand, was taking the race. Seconds after the Chevelle touched down from its impressive wheel stand, the Camaro followed suit, and was pulling ahead by a staggering amount. Seconds felt like hours. Shifting felt like pulling teeth. Lucy began to sweat in her helmet, and with the Camaro a car's length ahead of her, she was willing to resort to whatever measures were necessary.

Her thumb hovered over a red button on the steering wheel. She bit the bullet and mashed it, injecting a 100-shot of nitrous oxide into the engine. The tires squealed. The RPM's skyrocketed, and Lucy went wide-eyed as she felt herself pushed back into the racing seat. The Chevelle eased ahead, but it was too little, too late. The Camaro sped past the finish line and down to the turnaround, running the quarter in 6.45 seconds. Less than a half second's time later, Lucy crossed it, clearing at 6.88.

"Oh, what a close one! Lucy Sanchez beat by point-four-three seconds!"

Losing wasn't so bad. Blowing your engine was. Lucy passed the first turnaround, and for a moment, it looked like she was going to run the full mile to the farthest U-turn. Suddenly, there was a metallic _POW_followed by some clanking, and lots and lots of blue smoke bellowing from the now-dead engine as the Chevelle started vomiting oil all over the track. A chorus of disapproving groans came from the bleachers.

"Uh-oh, folks, it looks like Ms. Sanchez might be having a problem with her vehicle, can we get someone out there to check it out?"

_ _

_ _ "Shit..." Reid hung his head and headed for his car. Moments later, he was at the scene of the crime, where Lucy was sitting in the driver's seat, her helmet beside her, her forehead on the steering wheel as she lamented her embarrassing and terminal failure on the track.

"What happened?" Reid asked, bailing out of his car.

"I hit the nitrous and blew something! Hopefully just the transmission!"

The heeler waved a hand in front of his face to waft the smoke away as he knelt down, getting on all fours to take a look underneath the car. It was worse than he thought.

"Looks like you threw a rod. Blew out your crankcase." He groaned as he stood up, "You want the good news first or the bad news?"

Lucy sighed as she pulled off her gloves and tossed them into the passenger seat. "Bad news."

"Bad news is, you won't be racing any more today. Good news is we can fix this, but you're going to need a whole new block."

She looked up at him with pale, powder-blue eyes that were unmistakably his. Either Vance didn't have his facts straight about how old she was or where she was from or she was lying through her teeth.

"Well, that might as well be bad news, too. I don't have the money for a whole new block!"

"I'm sure we can figure something out. In the meantime, let's get it off the track and we'll get this cleaned up." He looked down at the oil all over the ground, "Are you okay?"

She paused, as though she were assessing herself just to make sure, "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just a little shaken up."

"Yeah, no doubt. Here, I'll take you back. Watch your step..."

Moments later, a tow truck was on the scene, pulling the ruined vehicle up onto the flatbed while Chris threw litter onto the oil spill. The event was only suspended for half an hour, giving people time to use the restroom, get something to eat, or watch their children play in the inflatable bounce houses and slides. Reid and Lucy had taken a break from the madness to get something to eat over at the pit.

"There you go, young lady." Hoyt smiled his friendly, old, wrinkled-at-the-eyes cowboy smile at her and handed her a plate of brisket, sausage, ranch-style beans and potato salad, the latter lovingly and meticulously prepared by his wife, Darla. Reid took a plate as well, thanked the wiry old man, and they headed over to the large canopy under which sat several picnic tables. They chose one, and took seats across from each other. Reid decided to do a little probing to see if he could obtain any information that would prove she was, in fact, his daughter, though he was sure of it already.

"So tell me a little bit about yourself, what brought you to Cali?"

"Well," She started between bites, "I moved here about a year ago. Had to get away from my family." She finished with a roll of her eyes. Reid's face darkened with concern.

"Why's that?"

"Well, I never knew my biological father. I lived in a single parent household for the first half of my life, and then my Mom got married to this guy she'd been dating off and on for a couple of years and had two more kids. I was thirteen by then, so naturally, I had to help out with them."

"I know how you feel," Reid started, his tone laden with empathy, "My Dad left me and my Mom and my little brother when we were very young. I practically had to raise my little brother myself because our Mom was always working."

"Ah, yeah. Deadbeat dads, gotta hate 'em, right?" She laughed, shoveling in another bite of brisket. Reid joined in awkwardly with her chuckle, coughing a bit to cover up just how forced it sounded. Inside, he wanted to shrivel up and die.

"I wasn't allowed to go out with my friends from school during my teenage years, you know? Not often, at least. I was always busy helping out around the house, picking up slack for my good-for-nothing stepdad. He worked, but he never helped us out with anything around the house. That was 'women's work'." She rolled her eyes again, and brushed a strand of hair behind her cheek, "As soon as I could, I got a job at the local grocery store. I figured if I was going to bust my ass, I might as well get paid for it, right?"

"Definitely."

"Worked there for years. Worked every hour they'd let me have. And I just saved, and saved, and saved. Finally, I saved up enough money to get that Chevelle running. I gave my stepdad 4,500 dollars for it. How many eighteen year olds you know that have done that?"

"Not many."

"Worked a couple more years, and I set my sights for the coast. Been here ever since."

Reid nodded, "You like it better out here?"

"Oh yeah. Definitely. I love the scenery, the people, the food, it's just so...me. What about you, have you always lived out here?"

"No, I'm originally from Texas." Reid answered, and watched her eyes light up with a furtive glint of familiarity. "Deer Park, specifically."

"Ah." Lucy resumed eating. He followed suit. After a brief silence, she changed the subject.

"You know, I think it's really honorable of you to donate all of the proceeds from the race to that little girl with cancer."

"Oh, well, you know, I always try to do the right thing. She gets her treatment paid for, I get some good publicity, so it's a win-win situation."

"Yeah. So what about you, you have any kids?"

Reid stopped chewing. He didn't know how to answer her question. If he answered honestly, he'd open the door to another set of questions about his offspring, the one of whom he was sure was sitting right across from him. If there was a time to tell her, it wasn't there at the lunch table. He would have to know for sure. Finally, he finished chewing and swallowed.

"No."

"Hm. That's too bad, I think you'd make a great dad."

He chuckled a little, "Thanks."

She scooped up the last of the beans on a spoon and popped it into her mouth, chewing for a bit and washing it down with a sip of Coca-Cola. After piling everything onto her tray, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of gum, offering a stick to Reid, who graciously accepted. She took one herself and pocketed the pack.

"I don't know what I'm going to do about my car." She said wistfully, resting her chin on her palm, her elbow on the table.

"We'll get it fixed, don't worry."

"I don't have the money right now, that's the thing. I'm not working at the moment."

"Where are you staying?"

"I live with my boyfriend, right now. We've got an apartment, little one-bedroom shack, you know. I need to get a job, but I want to do something more than work retail or sack groceries. Job market just isn't as friendly to those of us without college degrees."

"Well, you sure seem to have an interest in cars."

"Yeah, but I have no experience working on them. That's why I brought it here!" She winked at him, "I heard Doghouse is the best tuner shop in the United States. It's part of why I came to Los Angeles."

"Just to have your car worked on here?" Reid asked incredulously, "I'm flattered."

"Yeah, too bad I went and fucked it all up."

"Well, don't beat yourself up. We all make mistakes, hell, even I stall my car out every now and then when I'm not on point."

"No one's perfect, I guess." She said. Reid smiled.

"You know something, you sound like someone who knows what it means to work hard and get things done. I think you've got a good work ethic." He said, gazing at her calculatingly, "That's pretty rare, these days."

"You gonna ask me if I want to come work here?" Her voice brimmed with excitement.

"Ah...the thought had crossed my mind. We're a little shorthanded around here, and you sound like you at least know the basics. A few months' worth of hands-on training and you should be ready to start fixing up cars all on your own."

"When can I start?"

"As soon as you're ready to."

"How's tomorrow sound?"

"We're closed on Sundays, Monday okay with you?"

"Nine o'clock?"

"Let's make it eight-thirty."

"See you then." She answered in her characteristic go-getter fashion, extending a hand over the red and white checked tablecloth. Reid smiled and took it in his own, giving it a firm shake and just like that, the crew at Doghouse was one more strong.

***

The driver of the black 1969 Camaro, an orange cat, bested every other racer, beating the final opponent by a mere tenth of a second. When the day was through, DPE and its fans had raised over one hundred thousand dollars to contribute to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and Amber. Everyone clapped as pictures were taken, perhaps the most touching of which, the picture of little Amber accepting a comically large cardboard check from a smiling Reid.

Vance stood around the back of the stage with his Gretsch 6120 slung and massaged Brylcreem hair grease into his dark mop, combing it back in the typical greaser fashion consistent with his rockabilly genre of music.

"That actually looks really good; you should wear it like that around the shop."

The pit bull looked over to see Reid standing by the corner of the stage, leaning up against it with his arms folded.

"Oh," He laughed, "I would if I wasn't too lazy to do it up every morning."

Reid laughed quietly through his nose and watched the other dog finish with his hair. He looked like John Travolta in Grease.

"Lucy tells me you hired her?"

"Sure did."

"What's with that?"

"We need the help. We've all been putting in some serious overtime lately, and he was talking about how she didn't have a job and was having some trouble finding one. I figured I would open up my hand and help her out. That's what I'm supposed to do as a father, right?"

Vance glanced at him briefly before fiddling with his guitar.

"Since we're on the subject, I don't know if you heard or not, but Blaine's pregnant."

Reid's face lit up, "Dude, congratulations!"

"Thanks."

Reid watched him for a couple of seconds, "You don't seem all that excited about it."

Vance drew in a breath and paused with his hand on the neck of the guitar, "I am and I'm not. It was a little unexpected, so now I've got this huge thing looming ahead of me. I've got nine months to prepare. Nine months to get in the right frame of mind and get everything prepared for a baby."

"I know what you're feeling, man. I've been there."

"Yeah." Vance answered quietly. Just then, Lucy stuck her head around the back of the stage and called to him.

"Hey, we're on in five." She said. He nodded to her, and then turned back to Reid.

"I hope that whatever happens with Lucy being here, that you've got your best interests at heart. The _shop's_interests." He reiterated the last part, never taking his eyes from the heeler's.

"Always." Reid said, nodded to him, and left for parts unknown.

Minutes later, Vance was on stage, playing for a live audience while Lucy rocked the tubs to his rear. Scorching, ear-searing psychobilly riffs pumped through the Marshall amplifiers as the pit bull sawed across the strings with his pick, his shining hair bouncing and spilling down over his face while he bobbed his head with the beat of the music. He struck a chord and held it, using his picking hand to smooth his hair back over his head with a flair that made several girls in the audience cheer. Reid just smirked, watching from the back. Vance stepped up to the vintage-style microphone and the show was kicked off. He sang like Brian Setzer, and played like The Reverend Horton Heat. Nimble fingers danced over the fretboard, mashing and bending at the steel strings for the desired effects.

Reid had never been to one of Vance's shows before, but he had to admit, for all the talking the pit bull did about his abilities as a musician, he could really back it up. Vance was good, but even more surprising to the heeler was Lucy's prowess on the drums. She was no Neil Peart, but for as young as she was, she definitely had skills that would take her far were she to choose music as a career path. She definitely seemed to enjoy it, to the point that she was bouncing on the throne and for lack of a better word, going nuts on the drum kit to the point that Reid couldn't be sure if the audience was cheering for her or Vance.

The pit bull pulled away from the microphone as he tore into the song's guitar solo, a staccato, tremolo-picked sawing of the top strings combined with barre chords and pulloffs that added to the song's rockabilly roots. Up and down the frets he went, until Lucy's rhythm told him it was time to stop. With one final riff, the trio's song came to a dead stop, answered by a thunderous round of applause from the audience. Vance rolled the volume knob on the guitar back to one.

"Thank you! Thank you Los Angeles!" He said, panting slightly and smoothing his hair back once again. Looking down into the audience, he saw Blaine standing there in the front row, smiling up at him.

"Ladies and gents, we've got a very special young lady here tonight, and before we continue the show, I'd like to invite her to come up on the stage with me."

Blaine blushed profusely and smiled as she walked around to the steps leading up to the stage amongst another round of applause. For what, she didn't know, but she was willing to do anything if it meant helping her boyfriend out with his show. Vance lifted his guitar strap over his head and set the instrument down on a nearby stand. He turned to face her, and he smiled.

"Blaine..."

"Yes?" She asked quietly. She knew what was coming the moment he took off the guitar.

"I wanted to uh...I wanted to say a big thing about how much you mean to me. How much I love you, and want to spend the rest of my life with you. But...I can't remember any of what I rehearsed."

Blaine laughed good-naturedly. So did some of the audience.

"The thing is I think you already know." He followed up with a smile, and she nodded. Vance reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, red velvet box. He dropped down to one knee gazing forlornly up at her, and Blaine clapped both hands over the end of her muzzle when he opened it to display a white gold, diamond-encrusted engagement band.

"Blaine. Will you marry me?"

She answered without missing a beat. Happy tears rolled down her cheeks, and she nodded, whispering an inaudible 'yes' through her hands. Realizing this, she pulled her hands away and answered again, the nearby microphone catching her answer and broadcasting it over the crowd, which began to applaud for them. Vance stood up and plucked the ring from its silk cushion, slipping it onto her finger where he hoped it would find a permanent home.

***

The Sunday that followed was quiet for everyone but Paul and family. Randal had invited his parents over for a Sunday dinner at his quiet, Beverly Hills home earlier in the week with Sunday having been the decided date.

As usual, Terri prepared a side dish to go with that night's dinner. They made the short drive to Randal's house and pulled into the driveway next to his bright red Ferrari 458 Scudiera, piling out of the pickup truck and heading for the door.

"Hello!" Terri called, trying the doorknob, pleased to see that it was open, "Randal?"

Paul furrowed his brow, and peered into the house. It was dark, cold, and there was no evidence that anything had been prepared in the kitchen, smell or otherwise. Terri turned to him.

"He_did_ say we were having dinner at the house, right? We're not supposed to meet him somewhere first?"

"He definitely said to meet him here. I'm sure he's around here somewhere...Randal!"

No answer.

"Maybe he's cooking something on the grill outside." Paul suggested, "I'll check."

"Oh, you know Randal, he's probably in that man-cave of his, playing video games." Terri said, and walked around to where the garage entrance was. Holding the dish with one hand, she pushed the door open with the other and fumbled for the light switch on the wall.

Paul had almost made it to the back door when he heard the dish shatter and his wife scream.