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‘She hit me,’ he said before he could help himself.
‘Did she now.’ Raff thought about that for a bit. ‘She had her reasons?’
Nip that one in the bud. ‘She thought I was a bunyip. She was searching for the dog. I was searching for the dog. We collided. She was carrying a poker. And that goes no further than you,’ he said sharply, as he heard a choke of laughter on the end of the line.
‘Scout’s honour,’ Raff said.
‘We never made Scouts.’ Raff had been one of the town’s bad boys. Like him.
‘That’s what I mean. You need any help?’
‘No. We found the dog. That’s why I’m ringing.’
‘We found the dog? You and Miss Morrissy?’
‘Nikki,’ he said before he could help himself and he heard the interest sharpen.
‘Curiouser and curiouser. So you and Nikki …’
‘The dog’s here,’ he snapped. ‘Fed and watered and asleep by my fire. I’ll bring him down to Fred when I’ve had a sleep.’
‘You’re having a sleep?’
‘Nikki’s orders,’ he said and suddenly he had an urge to smile. Quickly suppressed. ‘She’s bossy.’
‘Well, well.’
‘And you can just put that right out of your head,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want a dog, and I don’t want a woman even more. Tell Henrietta the dog’s found and we’ll take him to Fred tonight.’
‘We?’
‘Go find some villains to chase,’ he growled. ‘My head hurts. I’m going to sleep.’
‘On Nikki’s orders?’
He told Raff where to put his interest, and he hung up. Stripped to his boxers again. Climbed into bed. Following orders.
His head really did hurt.
She was going to check on him every two hours. The thought was …
Nope. He didn’t know what the thought was.
He didn’t want her checking him every two hours.
‘I’d prefer you to leave your door open so I can make sure you’re not dead …’
He sighed and opened his door. Glanced across at Nikki, who glanced back. Waved. He glowered and dived under the covers.
He didn’t want a woman in his living room.
Nor did he want a dog.
What was he doing, in bed in the middle of the morning?
He put his head on the pillow and the aching eased. Maybe she had a point. A man had to be sensible.
He fell asleep thinking of the dog.
Trying not to think of Nikki.
It was so domestic it was almost claustrophobic. The fire, the dog, Gabe asleep right through the door.
The work she was doing was tidying up plans she’d already drawn—nothing complex, which was just as well the way she was feeling. Her head was all over the place.
Biggest thought? Gabe.
No. Um, no, it wasn’t. Or it shouldn’t be. Her biggest thought had to be—could she keep a dog?
As a kid she’d thought she might like a dog. That was never going to happen, though. Her parents were high-flyers, both lawyers with an international clientele. They loved her to bits in the time they could spare for her, but that time was limited. She was an only child, taken from country to country, from boarding school to international hotel to luxury resort.
And after childhood? University, followed by a top paying job, a gorgeous apartment. Then Jonathan.
Maybe she could get a small white fluff ball, she’d thought occasionally, when she was missing Jon. When he was supposedly working elsewhere. But where would a dog fit into a lifestyle similar to her parents’?
And now …
Her job still took her away.
Her job didn’t have to take her away. Or not for long. She could glean enough information from a site visit to keep her working for months. Most queries could be sorted online—there was never a lot of use stomping round construction sites.
She quite liked stomping round construction sites. It was the part of her job she enjoyed most.
It was the only part …
Salary? Prestige?
Both were less and less satisfying. Her parents thought her career was wonderful. Jonathan thought it was wonderful. But now …
Now was hardly the time to be thinking of a career change. She was good at what she did. She was paid almost embarrassingly well. She could afford to pay others to do the menial stuff.
So maybe a little white fluff ball?
Or Horse.
Horse was hardly a fluff ball. Ten times as big, and a lot more needy.
Maybe she could share parenting with Gabe, she thought. When she was needed on site, he could stay home from sea.
Shared parenting? Of a dog who looked like a mangy horse, with a grumpy landlord fisherman?
With a body to die for. And with the gentlest of hands. And a voice that said he cared.
She glanced across the passage. The deal was she wouldn’t check on him every two hours as long as he kept his door open.
If he dropped dead, she was on the wrong side of the passage.
There wasn’t a lot she could do if he dropped dead.
At least the dog was breathing. She watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. He was flopped as close to the fire as he could be without being burned. Gabe had set the screen so no ember could fly out, but she suspected he wouldn’t wake even if it did.
He looked like a dog used to being hurt.
Maybe he’d be vicious when he recovered.
Maybe her landlord wouldn’t let her keep a dog.
Was she really thinking about keeping him?
It was just …
The last few weeks had been desolate. It was all very well saying she wanted a sea change, but there wasn’t enough work to fill the day and the night, and the nights were long and silent. She’d left Sydney in rage and in grief, and at night it came back to haunt her.
She also found the nights, the country noises … creepy.
‘Because of guys like you howling on beaches,’ she said out loud, and Horse raised his head and looked at her. Then sighed and set his head down again, as if it was too heavy to hold up.
How could someone throw him off a boat?
A great wounded mutt.
Her new best friend?
She glanced across the passage again. Gabe was deeply asleep, his bedding barely covering his hips.
He was wounded too, she thought, and with a flash of insight she thought it wasn’t just the hit over the head with the poker. He was living in a house built for a dozen, a mile out of town, on his own. Not even a dog.
‘He needs a dog, too,’ she told Horse.
Shared parenting was an excellent solution.
‘Yes, but that’s complicated.’ She set down her pen and crossed to Gabe’s bedroom door to make sure his chest was rising and falling. It was, but the sight of his chest did things to her own chest …
There went those hormones again. She had to figure a way of reining them in.
Return to dog. Immediately.
She knelt and fondled the big dog’s ears. He stirred and moaned, a long, low doggy moan containing all the pathos in the world.
She put her head down close to his. Almost nose to nose. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve given up on White and Fluffy. And I think I do like dogs. You’re not going to the vet.’
A great shaggy paw came up and touched her shoulder.
Absurdly moved, she found herself hugging him. Her arms were full of dog. His great brown eyes were enormous.
Could she keep him?
‘My parents would have kittens,’ she told him.
Her mother was in Helsinki doing something important.
Her father was in New York.
‘Yes, and I’m here,’ she told Horse, giving in to the weirdly comforting sensation of holding a dog close, feeling the warmth of him. ‘I’m here by the fire with you, and our landlord’s just over the passage. He’s grumpy, but underneath I reckon he’s a pussycat. I reckon he might let you stay.’
The fire was magnificently warm. She hadn’t had enough sleep last night.
She hesitated and then hauled some cushions down from the settee. She settled beside Horse. He sighed, but it was a different sigh. As if things might be looking up.
‘Perfect,’ said Nikkita Morrissy, specialist air conditioning engineer, sea-changer, tenant. She snuggled on the cushions and Horse stirred a bit and heaved himself a couple of inches so she was closer. ‘Let’s settle in for the long haul. You and me—and Gabe if he wants to join us. If my hit on the head hasn’t killed him. Welcome to our new life.’
CHAPTER FOUR
GABE woke and it was still daylight. It took time to figure exactly why he was in bed, why the clock was telling him it was two in the afternoon, and why a woman and a dog were curled up on cushions on his living room floor.
Horse.
Nikki.
Nikki was asleep beside Horse?
The dog didn’t fit with the image of the woman. Actually, nothing fitted. He was having trouble getting his thoughts in order.
He should be a hundred miles offshore. Every day the boat was in harbour cost money.
Um … he had enough money. He needed to forget fishing, at least for a day.
He was incredibly, lazily comfortable. How long since he’d lain in bed and just … lain? Not slept, just stared at the ceiling, thought how great the sheets felt on his naked skin, how great it was that the warm sea breeze wafted straight in through his bedroom window and made him feel that the sea was right here.
Lots of fishermen—lots of his crew—took themselves as far from the sea as possible when they weren’t working. Not Gabe. The sea was a part of him.
He’d always been a loner. As a kid, the beach was an escape from the unhappiness in the house. His parents’ marriage was bitter and often violent. His father was passionately possessive of his much younger wife, sharing her with no one. If Gabe spent time with his mother, his father reacted with a resentment that Gabe soon learned to fear. His survival technique was loneliness.
As he got older, the boat became his escape as well.
And then there was his brief marriage. Yeah, well, that had taught him the sea was his only real constant. People hurt. Solitude was the only way to go.
Even dogs broke your heart.
