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‘You were sick. I thought I’d killed you. It was the least I could do.’
‘You took my phone.’
‘Yes, and I talked to Hattie. She agrees you need a day off.’
‘It’s not her business. It’s not your business.’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘And neither is this dog but he’s freezing. Get over it and help me.’
Her gaze locked with his. She could feel his anger, his frustration, his shock.
His body …
His body was almost enough to distract her from his anger, his frustration, his shock.
But she couldn’t think of it now. She had the dog to think of. And, while she was chiding herself, Gabe stooped and touched the dog’s face.
The dog tried to raise his head again. Failed.
‘Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this,’ he said grimly. ‘But this guy’s done.’
‘Done.’ Nikki cringed. ‘He’s not dying.’
‘Close to.’ He’d moved on, she thought. All his attention was now on the dog. He seemed hesitant, as if he didn’t want involvement, but the dog stirred and moaned, and something in Gabe’s face changed. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘If you’re serious, let’s get him into my place. The fire’s going. Did you stoke it?’
‘Yes. I did it for you.’ Or not exactly. In her night-time prowls she’d tossed a couple of logs on the fire at each pass. It had seemed comforting. She’d been in need of comfort, and the thought of taking the dog in there now was a good one.
‘Can you get up, big boy?’ Gabe asked. ‘Come on, mate, let’s see you live.’
Gabe was fondling him behind the ears, speaking softly, and the dog responded. He gave Gabe another of those gut wrenching looks, another moan, then heaved. He managed to stand.
Standing up, he looked like a bag of bones with a worn rug stretched over him. Only his ears were still full fur. They hinted at a dog who’d once been handsome but that time was long past.
He swayed and Gabe stooped and held him, still fondling him, while the dog leaned heavily against him.
‘So you decided to come and find some help?’ he said softly. ‘Great decision. You’re safe here. You even seem to have found a friend. Mind, you need to beware of pokers.’ But he wasn’t glancing up to see how she took the wisecrack; he was totally focused on the dog. ‘Let’s get you warm. Miss Morrissy, could you fetch us some towels, please? A lot of towels. Put some in the tumble dryer to warm them.’
‘It’s Nikki,’ she said numbly.
‘Nikki,’ he repeated, but he still didn’t look up.
The dog took a staggering step forward and then stopped. Enough. Gabe lifted him into his arms as if he were a featherweight, and the dog made no objection. Maybe he knew he was headed for Gabe’s fireside.
Nikki headed for towels.
But, as she went, she carried the image of Gabe, a big man with his armful of dog.
He was making her heart twist.
It was the dog, she told herself fiercely. Of course it was the dog.
Only the dog. Anything else was ridiculous.
She did not need hormones.
Horse was freezing. It hadn’t been raining, yet he was soaked—had he been standing in the water all night?
Nikki fetched her hairdryer. Gabe sponged the worst of the salt crust from his coat, then towelled him dry as she ran warm air over his tangled fur. The big dog lay passive, hopeless, and Nikki felt an overwhelming urge to pick him up and hug him.
He was so big … She’d have to hug him one end at a time.
She also wanted to kill whoever had abandoned him. To do something so callous …
‘Your cop friend said he was thrown from a boat.’
‘He’ll still feel loyal to the low-life who did it to him,’ Gabe said grimly. ‘I’d guess that’s why he’s been standing in the shallows howling.’
She sniffed. She sniffed more than once while she wielded her hairdryer, and she had to abandon her work for a bit to fetch tissues. She couldn’t help herself. The emotions of the night, the emotions of the past two months, or maybe simply the emotions of now, were enough to overwhelm her. This gentle giant being betrayed in such a way …
She’d set towels by the fire for Gabe to lay him on. With her hairdryer and Gabe’s toweling, they dried one side of him. Then Gabe lifted him. She replaced the sodden towels with warm ones and they dried his other side.
Gabe spoke to him all the time. Slow, gentle words of comfort. While Nikki sniffed.
Gabe’s words were washing over her, reassuring her almost as much as the dog. His kindness was palpable. How could she ever have thought he’d ignore a dog in trouble on the beach? His hands stroking the dog’s coat … his soft words …
He was a gruff, weathered fisherman but he cared about this dog.
He’d been rude and cold to her the day they’d met. Where was that coldness now?
She tried to imagine Jonathan doing what Gabe was doing now, and couldn’t. And then she thought … what was she thinking? Comparing Gabe and Jon? Don’t even think of going there.
Um … she was going there. Gabe’s body was just a bit too close.
Gabe’s body was making her body feel …
No. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Focus on dog.
The big dog’s body had been shuddering, great waves of cold and despair. As the warmth started to permeate, the shaking grew less. Gabe was half towelling, half stroking, all caring.
‘It’s okay, mate. We’ll get you warm on the inside as well.’
‘Do you think he got the steak?’
‘I’m guessing not,’ he said. ‘Not in the state he’s in—the food would have warmed him and he wouldn’t be so hopeless. There’s all sorts of predators on the beach at night—owls, rats, the odd feral cat. I’m guessing that’s why he’s here. He came back round the headland looking for the steak, then when we were gone he followed our scent. There was nowhere else to go.’
‘Oh, Horse.’
Grown women didn’t cry. Much. She concentrated fiercely on blow-drying—and realised Gabe was watching her.
‘Horse?’ he said.
‘I’ve been thinking of him all night,’ she said. ‘In between worrying that I killed you. A dog that looks like a horse. A landlord who might have been dead.’
‘Happy endings all round,’ Gabe said wryly and she cast him a scared look. She knew what he was going to say. She was way in front of him.
The vet.
‘Do you have any more steak?’ She couldn’t quite get her voice to work. She couldn’t quite get her heart to work. But she wasn’t going to say the vet word.
‘No. You?’
‘I have dinners for one. Calorie controlled.’
‘Right, like Horse needs a diet.’
‘I’ll bring four.’
They worked on. Gabe hauled on a T-shirt and jeans and so did she, but the attention of both was on the dog. Hostilities were suspended.
The dog was so close to the edge that the sheer effort of eating seemed too much. By the look of his muzzle, he’d been sick. ‘Sea water,’ Gabe said grimly as he cleaned him. ‘There’s little fresh water round here. If he’s been wandering since the van crashed he’s had almost a week of nothing.’
That was a lot of speech for Gabe. They should take him to the vet, Nikki thought, but with the vet came a decision that neither of them seemed able to face. Not yet.
Save him and then decide. Dumb? Maybe, but it was what her gut was dictating, and Gabe seemed to be following the same path.
Gabe was encouraging the dog to drink, little by little. He found some sort of syringe and gently oozed water into the big dog’s mouth. Once they were sure he could swallow, Nikki shredded chicken, popping tiny pieces into Horse’s slack mouth and watching with satisfaction as he managed to get it down.
Slowly.
‘If we feed him fast he’ll be sick and we’ll undo everything,’ Gabe said. He sounded as if he knew what he was doing. How come he had a syringe on hand? Had he coped with injured animals before?
He was an enigma. Craggy and grim. A professional fisherman. Broad, but with muscles, there was not an inch of spare flesh on him.
He flashed from silence and anger, to caring, to tender, just like that. His hands as he cared for the big dog were gentle as could be; rough, weathered fisherman’s hands fondling the dog’s ears, holding the syringe, waiting with all the patience in the world for Horse to open his mouth.
Horse.
Why name a stray dog?
Why look at her landlord’s hand and think … and think …?
Nothing.
She should be back on her side of the house right now, enmeshed in plans for the air conditioning system for a huge metropolitan shopping centre. The centre had been the focus of an outbreak of legionnaires’ disease. Their air conditioning system needed to be revamped, and the plans needed to be finalised. Now.
Her plans were urgent—even if they bored her witless.
And Gabe should be fishing. He obviously thought that was urgent.
But nothing seemed more important than sitting by the fireside with Gabe and with Horse, gradually bringing the big dog back to life.
They were succeeding. The shuddering ceased. The dog was still limp, but he was warm and dry, and there was enough food and water going in to make them think the worst was past.
So now what?
The dog was drifting into sleep. Nikki glanced briefly at Gabe and caught a flash of pain, quickly suppressed. His head? Of course it was his head, she thought. That bruise looked horrible. What was she doing, letting him work on the dog?
‘You need to sleep, too,’ she told him.
‘We should make a decision about this guy. Take him …’
‘Let him sleep,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘For a bit. Then … maybe we could clean him up a bit more. If we take him back to the shelter looking lovely, then he has a better chance …’
‘He’s never going to look lovely,’ Gabe said. ‘Not even close.’
Maybe he wouldn’t. The dog was carrying scars. Patches of fur had been torn away, wounds had healed but the fur hadn’t grown back. An ugly scar ran the length of his left front leg. And what was he? Wolfhound? Plus the rest.
‘It’s drawing it out,’ Gabe said and Nikki flinched. She looked down at the dog and felt ill—and then she looked at Gabe and felt her own pain reflected in his eyes.
‘Not yet,’ she said, suddenly fierce. ‘Not until he’s slept. And not until you’ve slept. You have the day off work. I know you’re angry, and you can be as angry as you like with me, but what’s done’s done. Your head’s hurting. Go back to bed and sleep it off, and let Horse sleep.’
‘While you play Florence Nightingale to us both?’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice even. ‘A nurse is the last thing I could ever be, but it doesn’t take Florence to see what you need. You and Horse both. I need to do some work …’
‘You and me both.’
‘Get over it,’ she snapped. ‘You’re wounded, I’m not. So what I’m suggesting is that I bring my paperwork in here and do it at your dining table so I can keep an eye on Horse. I’ll keep checking the fire, I’ll keep offering Horse food and drink, and you go back to bed and wake up when your body lets you.’
‘You’ll check on me, too?’
‘Every two hours,’ she said firmly. ‘Like a good Florence. Though I’d prefer you to leave your door open so I can make sure you’re not dead all the time.’
‘This is nonsense. I need to mend cray-pots.’
‘You’ve got the day off,’ she snapped. ‘I told Hattie you were ill. Don’t make a liar of me.’
‘You really will look after the dog?’
‘I’ll look after both of you, until you wake up. Then …’ She glanced down at Horse and looked away. ‘Then we’ll do what comes next.’
He rang Raff from the privacy of his bedroom. The Banksia Bay cop answered on the first ring. ‘Why aren’t you at sea?’ Raff demanded. ‘Hattie says you hit your head. I thought you sounded bad last night. You want some help?’
This town, Gabe thought grimly. Banksia Bay was a great place to live unless you hankered for privacy. He did hanker for privacy, but he loved the place and intrusion was the price he paid.
‘And Hattie says your tenant’s looking after you. Mate …’ Raff drew the word out—maaate. It was a question all by itself.
