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Abby and the Bachelor Cop / Misty and the Single Dad: Abby and the Bachelor Copy / Misty and the Single Dad
Marion Lennox


Abby and the Bachelor Cop Lawyer and bride-to-be Abigail had her life mapped out. Good job, wealthy fiancé – it was perfect…too perfect. Then gorgeous bad-boy-turned-cop Raff re-entered Abby’s life, landing her with an adorable homeless dog and a whole lot of trouble… Misty and the Single DadTeacher Misty cherishes a secret list of faraway dreams. Until tall, dark and delicious Nicholas turns up in her classroom, with his son Bailey and an injured stray spaniel in tow. Misty soon falls for all three. Yet will following her heart mean giving up her dreams?Lost Dogs Heal Lonely Hearts…












ABBY AND THE BACHELOR COP



MISTY AND THE SINGLE DAD





MARION LENNOX




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)








Dear Reader,

As I write my books, I work with what Edith Wharton described as ‘a heartbeat at my feet'. Mitzi is totally devoted. She’s often smelly, she’s sometimes scratchy, and she’s occasionally impatient. She doesn’t understand I need to finish the next scene—she wants walks. If you ask if I could write without a dog at my feet, I’ll confess I’ve never tried. Before Mitzi there was Harry. Before Harry, Chloe, Pete, Radar, Buster …

So finally, after years of writing with dogs, I’ve decided to write about dogs. Dogs I’ve known. Dogs I’ve loved. Only the names have been changed, to protect the not so innocent.

Kleppy is a kleptomaniac, a fabulous thieving dog. Living with him is a rollercoaster of a ride, always keeping just one tail-length from the law. But he charms my lovely heroine, lawyer Abigail Callahan, into rescuing him, and shows her how to follow her heart right into the arms of the man she hasn’t dared to love—gorgeous cop Raff Finn.

Welcome to Banksia Bay, where love is unleashed. Kleppy is the first of many. Enjoy.

Marion Lennox










ABBY AND THE

BACHELOR COP


MARION LENNOX














About the Author


MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a ‘very special doctor', Marion writes Medical Romances as well as Mills & Boon Romance (she used a different name for each category for a while—if you’re looking for her past Mills & Boon Romances, search for author Trisha David as well). She’s now had over eighty romance novels published.

In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost).

Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, she’s now stepped back from her ‘other’ career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally she’s reprioritised her life, figured what’s important, and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate.

Preferably all at the same time!








With huge thanks to the wonderful Kelly Hunter,

who gave me Kleppy, to the fabulous Anne Gracie,

and to all the Maytoners, whose friendship

brings my stories to life.

To Radar, who was Trouble. I look back on every

moment with laughter and with love.




CHAPTER ONE


IF YOU couldn’t be useful at the scene of an accident, you should leave. Onlookers only caused trouble.

Banksia Bay’s Animal Welfare van had been hit from behind. Dogs were everywhere. People were yelling at each other. Esther Ford was having hysterics.

Abigail Callahan, however, had been travelling at a safe enough distance to avoid the crash. She’d managed to stop before her little red sports car hit anything, and she’d done all she could.

She’d checked no one was hurt. She’d hugged Esther, she’d tried to calm her down and she’d phoned Esther’s son who, she hoped, might be better at coping with hysterics than she was. She’d carried someone’s crumpled fender to the side of the road. She’d even tried to catch a dog. Luckily, she’d failed. She wasn’t good with dogs.

Now, blessedly, Emergency Services had arrived. Banksia Bay Emergency Services took the shape of Rafferty Finn, local cop, so it was definitely time for Abby to leave.

Stay away from Raff Finn.

It wasn’t past history making her go. She was doing the right thing.

She tried to back her car so she could turn, but the crowd of onlookers was blocking her way. She touched her horn and Raff glared at her.

How else could she make people move? She did not need to be here. She looked down at her briefcase and thought about the notes inside that she knew had to be in court—now. Then she glanced back at Raff and she thought … She thought …

She thought Rafferty Finn looked toe-curlingly sexy.

Which was ridiculous.

Abby had fallen for Raff when she was eight. It was more than time she was over it. She was over it. She was so over it she was engaged to be married. To Philip.

When Raff had been ten years old, which was when Abby had developed her first crush on him, he’d been skinny, freckled and his red hair had spiked straight up. Twenty years on, skinny had given way to tall, tanned and ripped. His thick curls had darkened to burned copper, and his freckles had merged to an all-over tan. His gorgeous green eyes, with dangerous mischief lurking within, had the capacity to make her catch her breath.

But right now it was his uniform that was causing problems. His uniform was enough to make a girl go right back to feeling as she had at eight years old.

Raff was directing drivers. He was calm, authoritative and far more sexy than any man had a right to be.

‘Henrietta, hold that Dalmatian before it knocks Mrs Ford over. Roger, quit yelling at Mrs Ford. You drove into the dog van, not Mrs Ford, and it doesn’t make a bit of difference that she was going too slow. Back your Volvo up and get it off the road.’

Do not look at Raff Finn, she told herself. Do not.

The man is trouble.

She turned and tried again to reverse her car. Why wouldn’t people move?

Someone was thumping on her window. The door of her car swung open. She swivelled and her heart did a back flip. Raff was standing over her—six foot two of lethal cop. With dog.

‘I need your help, Abby,’ he growled and, before she could react, there was a dog in her car. On her knees.

‘I need you to take him to the vet,’ Raff said. ‘Now.’

The vet?

The local veterinary clinic was half a mile away, on the outskirts of town.

But she wasn’t given a chance to argue. Raff slammed her car door closed and started helping Mrs Ford steer to the kerb.

There was a dog on her knee.

Abby’s grandmother had once owned a shortbread tin adorned with a picture of a dog called Greyfriars Bobby. According to legend—or Gran—Bobby was famous for guarding his master’s grave for almost fourteen years through the bleakest of Edinburgh’s winters. This dog looked his twin. He was smallish but not a toy. His coat was wiry and a bit scruffy, sort of sand-coloured. One of his ears was a bit floppy.

His eyebrows were too long.

Did dogs have eyebrows?

He looked up at her as if he was just as stunned as she was.

What was wrong with him? Why did he need to go to the vet?

He wasn’t bleeding.

She was due in court in ten minutes. Help.

What to do with a dog?

She put a hand on his head and gave him a tentative pat. Very tentative. If she moved him, maybe she’d hurt him. Maybe he’d hurt her.

He wiggled his head to the side and she tried scratching behind his ear. That seemed to be appreciated. His eyes were huge, brown and limpid. He had a raggedy tail and he gave it a tentative wag.

His eyes didn’t leave hers. His eyes were … were …

Let’s cut out the emotion here, she told herself hastily. This dog is nothing to do with you.

She fumbled under the dog for the door catch and climbed out of the car. The dog’s backside sort of slumped as she lifted him. Actually, both ends slumped.

She carried him back to Raff. The little dog looked up at her and his tail still wagged. It seemed a half-hearted wag, as if he wasn’t at all sure where he was but he sort of hoped things might be okay.

She felt exactly the same.

Raff was back in the middle of the crashed cars. ‘Raff, I can’t …’ she called.

Raff had given up trying to get Mrs Ford to steer. He had hold of her steering wheel and was steering himself, pushing at the same time, moving the car to the kerb all by himself. ‘Can’t what?’ he demanded.

‘I can’t take this dog anywhere.’

‘Henrietta says it’s okay,’ Raff snapped. ‘It’s the only one she’s caught. She’s trying to round up the others. Come on, Abby, the road’s clear—how hard is this? Just take him to the vet.’

‘I’m due in court in ten minutes.’

‘So am I.’ Raff shoved Mrs Ford’s car another few feet and then paused for breath. ‘If you think I’ve spent years getting Wallace Baxter behind bars, just to see you and your prissy boyfriend get him off because I can’t make it …’

‘Cut it out, Raff.’

‘Cut what out?’

‘He’s not prissy,’ she snapped. ‘And he’s not my boyfriend. You know he’s my fiancé.’

‘Your fiancé. I stand corrected. But he’s definitely prissy. I’ll bet he’s sitting in court right now, in his smart suit and silk tie—not like me, out here getting my hands dirty. Case for the prosecution—me and the time I can spare after work. Case for the defence—you and Philip and weeks of paid preparation. Two lawyers against one cop.’

‘There’s the Crown Prosecutor …’

‘Who’s eighty. Who sleeps instead of listening. This’ll be a no-brainer, even if you don’t show.’ He shoved the car a bit further. ‘But I’ll be there, whether you like it or not. Meanwhile, take the dog to the vet’s.’

‘You’re saying you want me to take the dog to the vet’s—to keep me out of court?’

‘I’m saying take the dog to the vet’s because there’s no one else,’ he snapped. ‘Your car’s the only one still roadworthy. I’ll radio Justice Weatherby to ask for a half hour delay. That’ll get us both there on time. Get to the vet’s and get back.’

‘But I don’t do dogs,’ she wailed. ‘Raff …’

‘You don’t want to get your suit dirty?’

‘That’s not fair. This isn’t about my suit.’ Or not very. ‘It’s just … What’s wrong with him? I mean … I can’t look after him. What if he bites?’

Raff sighed. ‘He won’t bite,’ he said, speaking to her as if she were eight years old again. ‘He’s a pussycat. His name’s Kleppy. He’s Isaac Abrahams’ Cairn Terrier and he’s on his way to be put down. Put him on your passenger seat and Fred’ll take him out at the other end. All I’m asking you to do is deliver him.’

It was twelve minutes to ten on a beautiful morning in Banksia Bay. The sun was warm on her face. The sea was glittering beyond the harbour and the mountain behind the town was blue with the haze of a still autumn morning. The sounds of the traffic chaos were lessening as Raff’s attempts at restoring order took effect.

Abby stood motionless, her arms full of dog, and Raff’s words replayed in her head.

He’s Isaac Abrahams’ Cairn Terrier and he’s on his way to be put down.

She knew Isaac or, rather, she’d known him. The old man had lived a mile or so out of town, up on Black Mountain where … well, where she didn’t go any more. Isaac had died six weeks ago and she was handling probate. Isaac’s daughter in Sydney had been into the office a couple of times, busy and efficient in her disposing of Isaac’s belongings.

There’d been no talk of a dog.

‘Can you get your car off the road?’ Raff said. ‘You’re blocking traffic.’

She was blocking traffic? But she gazed around and realised she was.

Somehow, magically, Raff had every other car to the side of the road. Raff was like that. He ordered and people obeyed. There were a couple of tow trucks arriving but already cars could get through.

There was no problem. All she had to do was get in the car—with dog—and drive to the vet’s.

But … to take a dog to be put down?

‘Henrietta should do this,’ she said, looking round for the lady she knew ran the Animal Shelter. But Raff put his hands on his cop hips and she thought any minute now he’d get ugly.

‘Henrietta has a van full of dogs to find,’ he snapped.

‘But she runs the Animal Shelter.’

‘So?’

‘So that’s where he needs to go. Surely not to be put down.’

Raff’s face hardened. She knew that look. Life hadn’t been easy for Raff—she knew that, too. When he was up against it … well, he did what he had to do.

‘Abby, I know this dog—I’ve known him for years,’ he told her, and his voice was suddenly bleak. ‘I took him to the Animal Shelter the night Isaac died. His daughter doesn’t want him and neither does anyone else. The only guy who loves him is Isaac’s gardener, and Lionel lives in a rooming house. There’s no way he can keep him. The Shelter’s full to bursting. Kleppy’s had six weeks and the Shelter can’t keep him any longer. Fred’s waiting. The injection will be quick. Don’t drag it out, Abby. Deliver the dog, and I’ll see you in court.’

‘But …’

‘Just do it.’ And he turned his back on her and started directing tow trucks.

He’d just given Abigail Callahan a dog and she looked totally flummoxed.

She looked adorable.

Yeah, well, it was high time he stopped thinking Abby was adorable. As a teenager, Abby had seemed a piece of him—a part of his whole—but she’d watched him with condemnation for ten years now. She’d changed from the laughing kid she used to be—from his adoring shadow—to someone he no longer liked very much.

He’d killed her brother.

Raff had finally come to terms with that long-ago tragedy—or he’d accepted it as much as he ever could—but he’d killed a part of her. How did a man get past that?

It was time he accepted that he never could.

What sort of name was Kleppy for a dog?

He shouldn’t have told her its name.

Only she would have figured it. The dog had a blue plastic collar, obviously standard Animal Welfare issue, but whoever had attached it had reattached his tag, as if they were leaving him a bit of personality to the end.

Kleppy.

The name had been scratched by hand on the back of what looked like a medal. Abby set the dog on her passenger seat—he wagged his tail again and turned round twice and settled—and she couldn’t help turning over his tag.

It was a medal. She recognised it and stared.

Old Man Abrahams had done something pretty impressive in the war. She’d heard rumours but she’d never had confirmation.

This was more than confirmation. A medal of honour, an amazing medal of honour—hanging on the collar of a scruffy, homeless mutt called Kleppy.

Uh-oh. He was looking up at her again now. His brown eyes were huge.

Six weeks in the Animal Shelter. She’d gone there once on some sort of school excursion. Concrete cells with a tiny exercise yard. Too many dogs, gazing up at her with hope she couldn’t possibly match.

‘The people who run this do a wonderful job,’ she remembered her teacher saying. ‘But they can’t save every dog. If you ask your parents for a pet for Christmas you need to understand a dog can live for twenty years. Every dog deserves a loving home, boys and girls.’

She’d been what? Thirteen? She remembered looking at the dogs and starting to cry.

And she also remembered Raff—of course it was Raff—patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘Hey, it’s okay, Abby. There’ll be a fairy godmother somewhere. I reckon all these dogs’ll be claimed by tea time.’

‘Yeah, probably by your grandmother,’ someone had said, not unkindly. ‘How many dogs do you have, Finn?’

‘Seven,’ he’d said and the Welfare lady had pursed her lips.

‘See, that’s the problem,’ she said. ‘No family should have more than two.’

‘So you ought to bring five in,’ someone else told Raff and Raff had gone quiet.

You ought to bring five in. To be put down? Maybe that was what Philip would think, Abby decided, though she couldn’t remember Philip being there. But even then Philip had been a stickler for rules.

As were her parents.

‘We don’t want an abandoned dog,’ they’d said in horror that night all those years ago. ‘Why would you want someone else’s cast-off?’

She needed to remember her parents’ advice right now, for Isaac Abrahams’ cast-off was in her car. Wearing a medal of valour.

‘Move the car, Abby.’ Raff’s voice was inexorable. She glanced up and he was filling her windscreen.

‘I don’t want …’

‘You don’t always get what you want,’ he growled. ‘I thought you were old enough to figure that out. While you’re figuring, shift the car.’

‘But …’

‘Or I’ll get you towed for obstructing traffic,’ he snapped. ‘No choice, lady. Move.’

So all she had to do was take one dog to the vet’s and get herself to court. How hard was that?

She drove and Kleppy stayed motionless on the passenger seat and looked at her. Looking as if he trusted her with his life.

She felt sick.

This wasn’t her responsibility. Kleppy belonged to an old guy who’d died six weeks ago. His daughter didn’t want him. No one else had claimed him, so the sensible, humane thing to do was have him put down.

But what if …? What if …?

Oh, help, what she thinking?

She was getting married on Saturday week. To Philip.

Nine days.

Her tiny house was full of wedding presents. Her wedding gown was hanging in the hall, a vision of beaded ivory satin. She’d made it herself, every stitch. She loved that dress.

This dog would walk past it and she’d have dog hair on ivory silk …

Well, that was a dumb thing to think. For this dog to walk past it, he’d have to be in her house, and this dog was headed to the vet’s. To be put down.

He looked up at her and whimpered. His paw came out and touched her knee.

Her heart turned over. Nooooo.

It took five minutes to drive to the vet’s. Kleppy’s paw rested against her knee the whole time.

She pulled up. Kleppy wasn’t shaking. She was.

Fred came out to meet her. The elderly vet looked grim. He went straight to the passenger door. Tugged it open.

‘Raff rang to say you were coming,’ he said, lifting Kleppy out. ‘Thanks for bringing him. Do you know when the rest are coming?’

‘I … Henrietta was trying to catch them. How many?’

‘More than I want to think about,’ Fred said grimly. ‘Three months from Christmas, puppies stop being cute. Not your call, though. I’ll deal with him from here.’

Kleppy lay limp in Fred’s arms. He looked back at her.

The paw on her knee …

Help. Help, help, help.

‘It’ll be quick?’

Fred glanced at her, brows snapping. Abby had gone to school with Fred’s daughter. He knew her well. ‘Don’t,’ he said.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Think about it. Get on with your life. Nine days till the wedding?’

‘I … yes.’

‘Then you’ve enough on your plate without worrying about stray dogs. Not that you and Philip would ever want a dog. You’re not dog people.’

‘What … what do you mean?’

‘Dogs are mess,’ he said. ‘Not your style. You guys might qualify for a goldfish. See you later, love. Happy wedding if I don’t see you before.’

He turned away. She could no longer see Kleppy.

She could feel him.

His eyes …

Help. Help, help, help.

She was a goldfish person? She’d never even had a goldfish.

A paw on her knee …

He reached the door before she broke.

‘Fred?’

The vet turned. Kleppy was still slumped.

‘Yes?’

‘I can’t bear this,’ she said. ‘Can you … can you take him in, check him out for damage and then give him back to me?’

‘Give him back?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want him?’

‘He’s my wedding present to me.’ She knew she sounded defiant but she didn’t care. ‘I’ve decided. How hard can one dog be? I can do this. Kleppy is mine.’

Fred did his best to dissuade her. ‘A dog is for life, Abigail. Small dogs like Kleppy live for sixteen years or longer. That’s ten years at least of keeping this dog.’

‘Yes.’ But ten years? That was a fact to give her pause.

But the paw …

‘He’s a mutt,’ Fred said. ‘Mostly Cairn but a bit of something else.’

‘That’s okay.’ Her voice was better, she decided. Firmer. If she was adopting a stray, what use was a pedigree?

‘What will Philip say?’

‘Philip will say I’m crazy, but it’ll be fine,’ she said stoutly, though in truth she did have qualms. ‘Is he okay?’

Fred was checking him, even as he tried to dissuade her. ‘He seems shocked, and he’s much thinner than when Isaac brought him in for his last vaccinations. My guess is that he’s barely eaten since the old man died. Isaac found him six years back, as a pup, dumped out in the bush. There were a few problems, but in the end they were pretty much inseparable.’

Inseparable? The word suddenly pushed her back to the scene she’d just left. To Raff.

Once upon a time, she and Raff had been inseparable, she thought, and inexplicably there was a crazy twist of her heart.

Inseparable. This dog. The paw …

‘He looks okay,’ Fred said, feeding him a liver treat. Kleppy took it with dignified politeness. ‘Just deflated from what life’s done to him. So now what?’

‘I take him home.’

‘You’ll need food. Bedding. A decent chain.’

‘I’ll stop at the pet store. Tell me what to get.’

But Fred was glancing at his watch, looking anxious. ‘I’m urgently needed at a calving. Tell you what, you’ll be seeing Raff again in court. Raff’ll tell you what you need.’

‘How did you know …?’

‘Everyone knows everything in Banksia Bay,’ Fred said. ‘I know where you’re supposed to be right now. I know Raff’s had the case set back half an hour and I hear Judge Weatherby’s not happy. He’s fed up with Raff though, not you, so chances are you’ll get Baxter off. Which no one in Banksia Bay will be happy about. But hey, if your fees go toward buying dog food, then who am I to argue? Get Baxter off, then talk to Raff about dog food. He gets a discount at the Stock and Station store.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Raff has one pony, two dogs, three cats, two rabbits and, at last count, eighteen guinea pigs,’ Fred said, handing her Kleppy and starting to clear up. ‘His place is a menagerie. It’s a wonder he didn’t take this one but I guess even Raff has limits. He has a lot on his plate. See you later, love. Happy wedding and happy new dog.’




CHAPTER TWO


SHE couldn’t go to the Stock and Station store now. That’d have to wait until she’d talked to Raff. Still, Kleppy obviously needed something. What? Best guess.

She stopped at the supermarket and bought a water bowl, a nice red lead with pictures of balls on it and a marrowbone.

She drove to the courthouse and Kleppy lay on the passenger seat and looked anxious. His tail had stopped wagging.

‘Hey, I saved you,’ she told him. ‘Look happy.’

He obviously didn’t get the word saved. He sort of … hunched.

What was she going to do with him while she was in court?

She drove her car into her personal parking space. How neat was this? She remembered the day her name had gone up. Her parents had cracked champagne.

It was a fine car park. But … it was in full sun.

She might not be a dog person but she wasn’t dumb. She couldn’t leave Kleppy here. Nor could she take him home—or not yet—not until she’d done something about dog-proofing. Her parents? Ha! They’d take him right back to Fred.

So she drove two blocks to the local park. There were shade trees here and she could tie him by her car. Anyone passing would know he hadn’t been abandoned.

She hoped Kleppy would know it, too.

She gave him water and his bone and he slumped on the ground and looked miserable.

Maybe he didn’t know it.

She looked at him and sighed. She took off her jacket—her lovely tailored jacket that matched her skirt exactly—and she laid it beside Kleppy.

He sniffed it. The paw came out again—and he inched forward on his belly until it was under him.

Her very expensive jacket was on dirt and grass, and under dog. Her professional jacket.

She didn’t actually like that jacket anyway; she preferred less serious clothes. She was five foot four and a bit … mousy. But maybe lawyers should be mousy. Her shiny brown hair curled happily when she let it hang to her shoulders but Philip liked it in a chignon. She had freckles but Philip liked her to wear foundation that disguised them. She had a neat figure that looked good in a suit. Professional. Lawyers should be professional.

She’d given up on professional this morning. She was so late.

Oh, but Kleppy looked sad.

‘I’ll be back at midday,’ she told him. ‘Two hours, tops. Promise. Then we’ll work out where we go from here.’

Where? She’d think of something. She must.

Maybe Raff …

There was a thought.

Fred had said Raff had a menagerie. What difference would one dog make? Once upon a time, he’d had seven.

Instead of advice, maybe she could persuade him to take him.

‘You’d like Rafferty Finn,’ she told Kleppy. ‘He’s basically a good man.’ Good but flawed—trouble—but she didn’t need to go into that with Kleppy.

But how to talk him into it? Or Philip into the alternative?

It was too hard to think of that right now. She grabbed her briefcase and headed to the courthouse without looking back. Or without looking back more than half a dozen times.

Kleppy watched her until she was out of sight.

Heart twist. She didn’t want to leave him.

It couldn’t matter. Her work was in front of her and what was more important than work?

What was facing her was the case of The Crown versus Wallace Baxter.

Wallace was one of three Banksia Bay accountants. The other two made modest incomes. Wallace, however, had the biggest house in Banksia Bay. The Baxter kids went to the best private school in Sydney. Sylvia Baxter drove a Mercedes Coupé, and they skied in Aspen twice a year. They owned a lodge there.

‘Lucky investments,’ Wallace always said but, after years of juggling, his web of dealings had turned into one appalling tangle. Wallace himself wasn’t suffering—his house, cars, even the ski lodge in Aspen, were all in his wife’s name—but there were scores of Banksia Bay’s retirees who were suffering a lot.

‘It’s just the financial crisis,’ Wallace had said as Philip and Abby had gone over his case notes. ‘I can’t be responsible for the failure of overseas banks. Just because I’m global …’

Because he was global, his financial dealings were hard to track.

This was a small case by national standards. The Crown Prosecutor who covered Banksia Bay should have retired years ago. The case against Wallace had been left pretty much to Raff, who had few resources and less time. So Raff was right—Philip and Abby had every chance of getting their client off.

Philip rose to meet her, looking relieved. The documents they needed were in her briefcase. He kept the bulk of the confidential files, but it was her job to bring day to day stuff to court.

‘What the …?’

‘Did Raff tell you what happened?’

Philip cast Raff a look of irritation across the court. There was no love lost between these two men—there never had been. ‘He said you had to take a dog to the vet, to get it put down. Isn’t that his job?’

‘He had cars to move.’

‘He got here before you. What kept you? And where’s your jacket?’

‘It got dog hair on it.’ That, at least, was true. ‘Can we get on?’

‘It’d be appreciated,’ the judge said dryly from the bench.

So she sat and watched as Philip decimated the Crown’s case. Maybe his irritation gave him an edge this morning, she thought. He was smooth, intelligent, insightful—the best lawyer she knew. He’d do magnificently in the city. That he’d returned home to Banksia Bay—to her—seemed incredible.

Her parents thought so. They loved him to bits. What was more, Philip’s father had been her brother Ben’s godfather. They were almost family already.

‘He almost makes up for our Ben,’ her mother said over and over, and their engagement had been a foregone conclusion that made everyone happy.

Except … Except …

Don’t go there.

She generally didn’t. It was only in the small hours when she woke and thought of Philip’s dry kisses, and thought why don’t I feel … why don’t I feel …?

Like she did when she looked at Rafferty Finn?

No. This was pre-wedding nerves. She had no business thinking like that. If she so much as looked at Raff in that way it’d break her parents’ hearts.

So no and no and no.

Raff was on the stand now, steady and sure, giving his evidence with solid backup. His investigation stretched over years, with so many pointers …

But all of those pointers were circumstantial.

She suspected there were things in Philip’s briefcase that might not be circumstantial.

Um … don’t go there. There was such a thing as lawyer-client confidentiality. Even if Baxter admitted dishonesty to them outright—which he hadn’t—they couldn’t use it against him.

So Raff didn’t have the answers to Philip’s questions. The

Crown Prosecutor didn’t ask the right questions of Baxter. It’d take a few days, maybe more, but even by lunch time no one doubted the outcome.

At twelve the court rose. The courtroom emptied.

‘You might like to go home and get another jacket,’ Philip said. ‘I’m taking Wallace to lunch.’

She wasn’t up to explaining about Kleppy right now. Where to start? But she surely didn’t want to have lunch with Wallace. Acting for the guy made her feel dirty.

‘Go ahead,’ she said.

Philip left, escorting a smug Wallace. She felt an almost irresistible urge to talk to the Crown Prosecutor, tell him to push harder.

It was only suspicion. She had no proof.

‘Thanks for taking Kleppy.’ Raff was right behind her, and made her jump. Her heart did the same stupid skittering thing it had done for years whenever she heard his voice. She turned to face him and he was smiling at her, looking rueful. ‘Sorry, Abby. That was a hard thing to ask you to do this morning, but I had no choice.’

Putting Kleppy down. A hard thing …

‘It was too hard,’ she whispered. The Crown Prosecutor was leaving for lunch. If she wanted to talk to him …

She was lawyer for the defence. What was she thinking?

‘Hey, but you’re tough.’ Raff motioned to the back of the courtroom, where Bert and Gwen Mackervale were shuffling out to find somewhere to eat their packed sandwiches. ‘Not like the Mackervales. They’re as soft a touch as any I’ve seen. They lost their house, yet you’ll get Wallace off.’

‘Raff, this is inappropriate. I’m a defence lawyer. You know it’s what I do.’

‘You don’t have to. You’re better than this, Abby.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Yeah, well …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m going to find me a hamburger. See you later.’

Uh-oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have snapped. Definitely she shouldn’t have snapped. Not when there was such a big favour to ask.

How to ask?

Just ask.

‘You couldn’t cope with another dog, could you?’ she managed and he stilled.

‘Another …’

‘I couldn’t,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t. He’s still alive. Raff, he … he looked at me.’

‘He looked at you.’ Raff was looking at her as if she’d just landed from Mars.

‘I couldn’t get him put down.’

Raff was carrying papers. He placed them on the nearest bench without breaking his gaze. He stared at her for a full minute.

She didn’t stare back. She stared at her shoes instead. They were nice black shoes. Maybe a bit high. Pert, she thought. Pert was good.

There was a smudge on one toe. She considered bending to wipe it and decided against it.

Still silence.

‘You’re keeping Kleppy?’ he said at last.

She shook her head. ‘I’m … I don’t think it’s possible. I’m asking if you could take him. Fred says you have a menagerie. One more wouldn’t … wouldn’t be much more trouble. I could pay you for his keep.’

‘Fred suggested …’ He sounded flabbergasted.

‘He didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘I thought of it myself.’

‘That I’d take Kleppy?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered and she thought that she sounded about eight years old again. She sounded pathetic.

‘No,’ he said.

She looked up at him then. Raff Finn was a good six inches taller than she was. More. He was a bit too big. He was a bit too male. He was a bit too … Raff?

He was also a bit too angry.

‘N … No?’

‘No!’ His expression was a mixture of incredulity and fury. ‘I don’t believe this. You strung out a dog’s life in the hope I’d take him?’

‘No, I …’

‘Do you know how miserable he is?’

‘That’s why I …’

‘Decided to give him to me. Thanks, Abby, but no.’

‘But …’

‘I’m not a soft option.’

‘You have all those animals.’

‘Because Sarah loves them. Do you know how much they cost to feed? I can’t go away. I can’t do anything because Sarah breaks her heart over each and every one of them. Don’t you dare do this to me, Abby. I’m not your soft option. If you saved Kleppy, then he’s yours.’

‘I can’t …’

‘And neither can I. You brought this on yourself. You deal with it yourself.’ His voice was rough as gravel, his anger palpable. ‘I need to go. I didn’t get breakfast and I don’t intend to miss lunch. I’ll see you back in court at one.’

He turned away. He strode to the court door and she chewed her lip and thought. But then she decided there wasn’t time for thinking. She panicked instead.

‘Raff?’

He stopped, not looking back. ‘What?’

Sometimes only an apology would do. She was smart enough to know that this was one of those times. Maybe a little backtracking wouldn’t hurt either.

‘Raff, I’m very sorry,’ she said. ‘It was just a thought—or maybe it was just a wild hope—but the decision to save Kleppy was mine. Asking you was an easy option and I won’t ask again. But, moving on, if I’m to keep him … I know nothing about dogs. Fred didn’t suggest you take him, but he did suggest I ask you for help. He said you’ll tell me all the things I need to care for him. So please …’

‘Please what?’

‘Just tell me what I need to buy at the Stock and Station store. I have a meeting with the wedding caterers after work, so I need to do my shopping now.’

‘You’re seriously thinking you’ll keep him?’

‘I don’t have a choice.’

He was facing her now, his face a mixture of incredulity and … laughter? Where had laughter come from? ‘You’re keeping Kleppy?’ He said it as if she’d chosen Kleppy above all others.

‘There’s no other dogs out there?’ she said, alarmed, and he grinned. His grin lit his face—lit the whole court. Oh, she knew that grin …

Trouble. Tragedy.

‘There’s thousands of dogs,’ he said. ‘So many needing homes. But you have to fall for Kleppy.’

‘What’s wrong with Kleppy?’

‘Nothing.’ He was still grinning. ‘I take it you haven’t told Philip.’

‘I … No.’

‘So where’s Kleppy now?’ His grin faded. ‘You haven’t left him in the car? The sun …’

‘I know that much,’ she said, indignant. ‘I took the car to the park and I tied him to a nice shady tree. He has water and feed. He even has my jacket.’

‘He has your jacket.’ He sounded bemused, as if there was some private joke she wasn’t privy to.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve tied him up … how?’

‘I bought a lead.’

‘Please tell me it’s a chain.’

‘The chains looked cruel. It’s webbing. Pretty. Red with pictures of balls on it.’

‘I don’t believe this.’

‘What’s wrong? ‘

But she didn’t have a chance to answer. Instead, he grabbed her hand, towed her out of the courthouse—practically at a run—and he headed for the park.

Dragging her behind him.

Kleppy was gone.

Her pretty red lead was chewed into two pieces—or at least she assumed it was chewed into two pieces. One piece was still tied to the tree.

Her jacket lay on the ground, rumpled. The water bowl was half empty. Apparently chewing leads was thirsty work. The marrowbone wasn’t touched.

No dog.

‘He doesn’t like being confined, our Kleppy,’ Raff said, taking in the scene with professional care.

‘You know this how?’ He’d chewed through a lead?

‘It’s always been a problem. I’m guessing he’ll make tracks up to the Abrahams place, but who knows where he’ll end up in the meantime.’

‘He’ll be up at Isaac’s?’

Isaac lived halfway up the mountain at the back of the town. Raff was looking concerned. ‘It is a bit far,’ he admitted. ‘And from … here. It’ll be off his chosen beat.’ He raked his hair. ‘Of all the stupid … I don’t have time to go look for a dog.’

‘I’ll look for him.’

‘You know where to look?’

‘Do you?’

‘Backyards,’ he said. ‘Never takes the fastest route, our Kleppy.’ He raked his hair again. Looking tired. ‘I need lunch. If I’m not back in court at one then Baxter’ll definitely get off. You need to do this, Abby. I can’t.’

Look for a dog all afternoon … ‘Philip’ll kill me.’

‘Then I guess the wedding’ll be off. Is that a good thing?’

Raff spoke absently, as if it didn’t bother him if her wedding was at risk. As indeed it didn’t. What business was it of his to care about the wedding? What business was it of his to even comment on it? She opened her mouth to say so, but suddenly his gaze focused, sharpened. ‘Is that …?’

She turned to see.

It was—and the change was extraordinary.

When she’d left him two hours ago, Kleppy had looked defeated and depressed. When he’d crawled onto her jacket he hadn’t had the energy to even rise off his stomach.

Now he was prancing across the park towards them, looking practically jaunty. His rough coat was never going to be pretty. One of his ears flopped down, almost covering his eye. His tail was a bit ragged.

But they could see his tail wagging when he was still a hundred yards away. And, as he got closer …

He had something in his mouth. Something pink and lacy.

What the …?

‘It’s a bra,’ Abby breathed as the little dog reached them. She bent down and the dog circled her twice, then came to her outstretched hand. He rubbed himself against her leg and his whole body shivered. With delight?

He was carrying the bra like a trophy. She touched it and he dropped it into her hand, then stood back as if he’d just presented her with a cheque for a million dollars. His body language was unmistakable.

Look what I’ve found for you! Aren’t I the cleverest dog in the world?

She dropped the bra and picked him up, hugging him close. He wriggled frantically and she put him back down. He picked up the bra again, placed it back in her hand and then allowed her to pick him up—as long as she kept the bra.

His meaning couldn’t be plainer. ‘I’ve brought you a gift. You appreciate it.’

‘You’ve brought me a bra,’ she managed and she felt like crying. ‘Oh, Kleppy …’

‘It could just as easily have been men’s jocks,’ Raff said. He lifted the end of the bra that was hanging loose. There was a price tag attached. ‘I thought so. He’s a bit small to rob clothes lines, our Kleppy. This has come from Main Street. Morrisy Drapers are having a sale. This will have come from the discount bin at the front of the store.’

Had it? She checked it out. Cop and lawyer for the defence, standing in the sun, examining evidence.

Pink bra. Nylon. White and silver frills. About an E Plus Cup. Room for about three of Abby.

‘Very … very useful,’ Abby managed.

‘You’ll need to pay for it.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s theft,’ Raff said, touching the bra’s middle with a certain degree of caution. It was looking a bit soggy. ‘He never hurts anything. He hunts treasures; he never destroys them. But they do get a bit … wet. Taking it back and apologising’s not going to cut it.’

‘Will they know he’s stolen it?’

‘He’s not a cat burglar,’ Raff said gravely, though the sides of his mouth were twitching. ‘Dog burglars don’t have the same finesse. He’s a snatch and grab man, our Kleppy. There’ll be a dozen people on Main Street who’ll be able to identify him in a line up.’

‘Oh, my …’ And then she paused. Kleppy.

Kleppy was a strange name but she’d hardly had time to think about it. Now … ‘Kleppy. Oh …’

Raff looked like a man starting to enjoy himself. ‘Got it,’ he said, grinning. ‘And there’s another reason you’re not offloading this mutt onto me. This is a dog who lives to present his master with surprises. No dead rats or old bones for his guy. It has to be interesting. Expensive is good. One of a set’s his favourite. Isaac gave up on him long since—he just paid for the damage and got on with it. So now here’s Kleppy, deciding you’re his new owner. Welcome to dog ownership, Abigail Callahan. You’re the proud owner of Banksia Bay’s biggest kleptomaniac—and also the littlest.’

A kleptomaniac … Kleppy.

She stared at Raff as if he was out of his mind. He gazed back, lips twitching, that dangerous smile lurking deep within.

She was about to present her fiancé with a kleptomaniac dog?

‘I don’t believe it,’ she managed at last. ‘There’s no such thing.’

‘You want to know how I know this dog?’ He wasn’t even trying to disguise his grin. ‘I’d like to say I’m personally acquainted with every dog in Banksia Bay but, even with Sarah’s help, I can’t manage that. Nope, I’m acquainted with Kleppy because I’ve arrested him.’

‘Arrested …’

‘I’ve caught him red-handed—or red-pawed—on any number of occasions. The problem is that he doesn’t know how to hide it. Like now. He steals and then he shows off.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘You’ve already said that.’

‘But …’

‘That’s why no one wants him,’ he said, humour fading. ‘He’s always been a problem. Henrietta’s had to be honest with everyone who came to the Shelter looking for the ideal pet. He isn’t ideal. Isaac paid out on Kleppy’s behalf more times than I can say. He’s hidden stuff and he’s been accused of stealing himself. Isaac never cared what people thought of him, which was just as well, as there’s been more women’s underwear end up at his house than you can imagine. He burned most of it—what choice did he have? Can you imagine wandering the town saying who owns this G-string? But he loved Kleppy, you see.’ The smile returned. ‘Like you will.’

‘I … This is appalling.’

‘I told you to get him put down.’

‘You know I’m a soft option.’ Anger hit then, fury, pure and simple. ‘You know me, Raff Finn. You put this dog in my car because you knew I wouldn’t be able to have him put down. You know I’m a soft touch.’

‘Now how would I know that?’ he said softly. ‘I haven’t known you for a very long time, Abby. You’ve grown up. You’ve got yourself engaged to Philip. The Abby I knew could no sooner have married Philip than fly. You’re a lawyer engaged in getting Wallace Baxter off. A lawyer doing cases like that—of course you can get a dog put down.’

His gaze met hers, direct, challenging, knowing he was calling a bluff she couldn’t possibly meet.

‘You still can,’ he told her. ‘Put Kleppy in the car and take him back to Fred. You’ve made his last hours happy by giving him the freedom for one last hoist. He’ll die a happy dog.’

You still can.

Say something.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

She was hugging Kleppy, who had a pink bra somehow looped around his ears.

She still hugged Kleppy.

What Raff was saying was sensible. Very sensible. There were too many dogs in the world. She’d done her best by this one. She’d let him have a happy morning—if indeed Raff was right and Kleppy did enjoy stealing.

But he was certainly a happier dog now than he’d been when she’d first met him. He was warm and nuzzly. He was poking his damp nose against her neck, giving her a tentative lick.

His backside was wriggling.

Take him back to Fred? No way.

She’d always wanted a dog.

Philip would hate a dog.

Her marriage suddenly loomed before her. Loomed? Wrong word, but she couldn’t think of another one.

Philip was wonderful. He was her rock. He’d looked after her and her family for ever. When Ben had died he’d held her up when her world seemed to be disintegrating.

Philip was right for her. Her parents loved him. Everyone thought Philip was wonderful. If she hadn’t married him …

She hadn’t married him, she reminded herself. Not yet. That was the point.

In nine days she’d be married. She’d move into the fabulous house Philip had bought for them, and she’d be Philip’s wife.

Philip’s wife would never bring home a kleptomaniac dog. She’d never bring home any sort of dog. So, if she wanted one …

She took a deep breath and she knew exactly what she’d do. Her last stand … Like it or leave it, she thought, and she sounded desperate, even to herself. But she had made up her mind.

‘I’m keeping him.’

‘Good for you,’ Raff said and the twinkle was back with a vengeance. ‘Can I be there when you tell Philip?’

‘Get lost.’

‘That’s not kind. Not when you need help to buy what Kleppy needs.’

‘I’m starting to get a very good idea of what Kleppy needs,’ she said darkly. ‘An eight-foot fence and a six-foot chain.’

‘He’ll mope.’

‘Then he’ll have to learn not to mope. It’s that or dead.’

‘You’ll explain that to him how?’

‘You’re not being helpful.’

‘No,’ he said and glanced at his watch. ‘I’m not. I need a hamburger and time’s running out before court resumes. You want a list?’

‘No. I mean …’ The afternoon suddenly stretched before her, long and lonely. Or not long and lonely for her. Long and lonely for the little dog squirming in her arms. Her thief. ‘I do need a list. I also need a chain.’ She hesitated. ‘But I can’t leave him here. This morning was only two hours. This afternoon’s four at least before I can collect him.’

‘So take him home.’

‘I can’t.’ It was practically a wail. She caught herself. Fought for a little dignity. ‘I mean … it’s not dog-proof. I need an hour or so there to get things organised.’

‘That’s fair enough.’ He paused, surveyed her face and then decided to be helpful. ‘You want me to ask Sarah to help?’

Sarah. Her eyes widened. Of course. Sarah loved dogs. And … Maybe her first suggestion was still possible. Maybe …

‘No,’ Raff said before she opened her mouth. ‘Sarah’s not taking ownership of another dog and if you ask her I’ll personally run you out of town. I mean that, Abby.’

‘I wouldn’t ask her.’

‘No?’

She managed a twisted smile, abandoning her last forlorn hope.

‘No.’

‘Good, then,’ he said briskly, moving on. ‘But she’ll enjoy taking care of him this afternoon. Kleppy’ll be tired after his excursion. We have a safe yard. The other dogs are quiet—they won’t overwhelm him—and you can come by this evening and pick him up.’

Go back to Raff’s? She couldn’t imagine doing that. But Raff was moving on.

‘It’s a good offer,’ Raff said. ‘Take it or leave it, but do it now. If you accept, then I’ll lock this convicted thief in my patrol car and take him out to Sarah. I may even do it with lights and sirens if it means getting back to court on time. You can take my list and go buy what you need and get back to court on time as well. Or I leave you to it. What’s it to be, Abby?’

‘I …’ She was starting to panic. Go out to Raff’s tonight? To Raff’s? She hadn’t been there since …

‘Unless you have another friend you can call on?’ he suggested, and maybe her emotions were on her face. Definitely her emotions were on her face.

‘All my friends work,’ she wailed.

‘Then it’s Sarah. Tonight, and you will collect him.’ That irrepressible grin emerged again. ‘Hey, you have a dog. What a wedding gift. To you and to Philip, one kleptomaniac dog. Happy wedding.’

He drove out to Sarah with Kleppy beside him and he found the smile inside him growing. Somewhere inside, the Abby he’d once known and loved was still there.

Once upon a time she’d loved him.

That had been years ago. A teenage romance. Yes, they’d felt as if they were truly, madly, deeply, but they were only kids.

At nineteen he’d headed off to Sydney to Police Training College. Abby had been stuck in Banksia Bay until she finished school, and she’d needed a partner for her debutante ball.

He still remembered the arguments. ‘You’re my boyfriend. How can I have anyone else as my partner? Why can’t you come home more often so we can practice?’

And more … ‘You and Ben are totally obsessed with that car. Every time you come home, that’s all you ever think about.’

They were kids. He hadn’t seen her need, and she hadn’t seen his. Philip had been home from university; he’d agreed to partner her for her ball and Raff was given the cold shoulder.

They’d been kids moving on. Changing.

They had changed, he conceded, only just now he’d seen a glimpse that the old Abby was still in there. Feisty and funny and gorgeous.

But still … unforgiving, and who could blame her?

He’d forgiven himself. He didn’t need Abigail Callahan’s forgiveness. He couldn’t need it.

If only she wasn’t adorable.




CHAPTER THREE


THE afternoon was interminable. The case was boring—financial evidence that was as dry as dust.

The courtroom was as dry as dust.

She couldn’t think of a way to tell Philip.

All afternoon she was aware of Raff on the opposite side of the courtroom. He was here this afternoon to present the police case. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be here for the rest of the week. He was called away twice, for which she was also thankful, but he wasn’t called away for long enough.

He was watching her.

He was waiting for her to tell Philip?

He was laughing at her. She knew he was. The man spelled trouble and he’d just got her into more.

Trouble? One small dog, easily contained in a secure backyard. How hard could this be?

So tell Philip.

There was lots of time. The police case went on for most of the afternoon—tedious financial details. She and Philip both knew it back to front. There were gaps while documents were given to the jury. She had time to tell him.

Philip would be civilised about it. He’d never raise his voice to her, especially not in a courtroom. But still …

She couldn’t.

Across the court, Raff still watched her.

Finally the court rose. Raff crossed the courtroom and Abby panicked. Don’t say anything.

‘You guys okay?’ he asked, and anyone who didn’t know him would think it was simply a courtesy question. They wouldn’t see that lurking laughter. Trouble.

‘Why wouldn’t we be?’ Philip demanded, irritated. He disliked Raff—of course he did. He showed no outright aggression—simply cool, professional interaction and nothing more.

‘It’s getting close to your wedding,’ Raff said. ‘No last minute nerves? No last minute hitches?’

‘We need to go,’ Abby said, feeling close to hysterics. ‘I have a meeting with the caterers in half an hour.’

‘I bet there’s lots of stuff you need to do.’ Raff’s voice was sympathy itself. ‘Messy things, weddings.’

‘Not ours,’ Philip snapped. ‘Everything’s under control. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?’

‘I … yes.’ Just go away, Raff. Get out of our lives. ‘Are you coming to the caterers with me, Philip?’

‘I can’t.’ Philip turned a shoulder on Raff, excluding him completely. ‘My dad and my uncles are taking me out to dinner and bowling. A boys only night. I thought I told you.’

He had.

‘That sounds exciting,’ Raff said, mildly interested. ‘Bowling, huh. I guess I won’t be untying you naked from in front of the Country Women’s Association clubrooms at dawn, then.’

‘My friends …’

‘Don’t do wild buck’s nights,’ Raff said approvingly. ‘I guessed that. You’ll probably be home in bed by eight. So you’re alone tonight, Abby? Organising caterers on your lonesome. And anything else you need to do.’

‘Could you please …’ she started and then stopped, the impossibility of asking another favour—asking him to bring Kleppy home—overwhelming her.

‘Nope,’ Raff said. ‘Not if you’re about to ask me anything that involves the wedding. Me and weddings keep far away from each other.’

‘We’re not asking you to be involved,’ Philip snapped. ‘Abby can cope with the caterers herself. Ready to go, sweetheart?’

‘Yes,’ she managed and allowed Philip to usher her out of the court.

She should have told Philip then. She had ten minutes while Philip went over the results of the day, what they needed to do to strengthen their case the next morning, a few wedding details he’d forgotten to cover.

Philip was a man at ease with himself. It was only when Raff was around that he got prickly and maybe … well, that did have to do with their past. Raff had messed with Philip’s life as well as hers.

Philip was a good man. He was looking forward to his wedding. His father and his uncles were taking him out for a pre-wedding night with the boys and he’d enjoy it.

She didn’t want to mess with that until she must, even if it did mean delaying telling him about Kleppy; even if it meant going to Raff’s alone. Maybe it’d be better going alone. Going with Philip. It could make things worse.

‘Come round tonight after bowling,’ she told him, kissing him lightly on the lips. Her fiancé. Her husband in nine days. She loved him.

And if he was a bit dull … He’d had his days of being wild, they all had, before life had taught them that caution was good.

‘We should get a good night’s sleep,’ he said.

‘Yes, but there are things we need to discuss.’ He’d like Kleppy when he saw him, she decided. Kleppy of the limpid eyes, wide and brown and innocent.

She should change his name. To Rover? Rover was a Philipish name for a dog.

But Kleppy suited him.

‘What do we need to discuss?’ he was asking.

Say it.

No. Introduce him to Kleppy as a done deal.

‘Just … caterers and things. I don’t want to make too many decisions on my own.’

He smiled and kissed her and she had to stop herself from thinking dry and dusty. ‘You need to have more self-confidence. Make your own decisions. You’re a big girl now.’

‘I … yes.’

‘Anything you decide is fine by me.’

‘But you will drop by?’

‘I’ll drop by. Night, sweetheart.’ And off he went for his night with the boys. His dad and his uncles. Bowling. Yeeha!

And that was the type of thinking that was getting her into trouble, she decided. So cut it out.

Philip was a lovely man. He was handsome. He was beautifully groomed. They’d had a very nice holiday last year—they’d gone to Italy and Philip had had four suits made there. They were lovely suits. He’d also had two briefcases made—matching ones, magnificent leather, discreetly initialled and fitted out to Philip’s specifications. She’d only been mildly irritated when he’d decreed—for the sake of the briefcases—her surname would be his.

What was the issue, after all? She was to be his wife.

But buying suits and briefcases had taken almost half of their holiday.

Cut it out!

It was just … Raff had unsettled her. This whole day had unsettled her.

‘So go home and organise your house for one small dog, then go organise caterers,’ she told herself. ‘Oh, and pay for Kleppy’s stolen goods. Just do what has to be done, one step at a time.’

And then go out to Raff’s?

Aargh.

She could do this.

She could visit Rafferty Finn.

She could do it. One step at a time.

The rest of the afternoon was full, but Abby and her dog were front and centre of his thoughts. He shouldn’t have offered to bring Kleppy home. Not this afternoon. Not ever.

He didn’t want her coming here.

After dinner, Raff washed and Sarah wiped, while Sarah told him about her day, the highlight of which had been minding Kleppy.

‘He’s a sweetheart,’ his sister told him, her face softening at the thought of the little dog. ‘He’s so cuddly. Why does he love his bra?’

‘He’s a thief. He likes stealing things. He’s a bad dog.’ He found himself smiling at the thought of strait-laced Abigail Callahan having to front up and pay for stolen goods.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to keep thinking of Abby. Not like this.

She was Philip’s fiancée. Anything between them was a distant memory. It had to be.

But Sarah was looking doubtful. She looked down at Kleppy, snoozing by the fire, his bra tucked underneath him. ‘He doesn’t look bad. He’s really cute and Abby’s very busy. Are you sure Abby wants him?’

Raff hardened his heart. ‘I’m sure.’

‘And Abby’s coming tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘Abby’s my friend.’

She was. The tension of the day lessened a little at that. No matter what lay between Raff and Abby, no matter how much she hated seeing him, Abby had always been Sarah’s friend.

They’d all been best friends at the time of the accident. Ben and Raff. Abby and Sarah. Two big brothers, two little sisters. Philip had been in there, too. A gang of five.

But one car crash and friendship had been blown to bits.

In the months that followed, no matter that Abby had loathed Raff so much that seeing him made her cry, she’d stuck by Sarah. She’d visited her in Sydney, despite her parents’ disapproval, taking the train week after week to Sydney Central Hospital and then later to the rehabilitation unit on North Shore.

Back home, Sarah’s friends had fallen away. Acquired brain injury was a hard thing for friends to handle. Sarah was still

Sarah, and yet not. She’d struggled with everything—relearning speaking, walking, the simplest of survival skills.

They’d come so far. She could now almost live independently—almost, but not quite. She had her animals and their little farm Raff kept for her. She worked in the local sheltered workshop three days a week, and twice a week Abby met her after work for drinks.

Drinks being milkshakes. Two friends, catching up on their news.

Raff would pick Sarah up and she’d be happy, bubbly about going out with her friend—but Abby would always have slipped away from the café just before Raff was due. Since the accident, Abby had never come back to their farm. She’d never talked to Raff unless she absolutely must, but she’d never taken that anger out on Sarah.

‘I’m glad Abby’s coming tonight,’ Sarah said simply. ‘And I’m glad she’s getting a dog. Abby’s lonely.’

Lonely? Sarah rarely had insights. This one was startling. ‘No, she’s not. She’s getting married to Philip.’

‘I don’t like Philip,’ Sarah said.

That was unusual, too. Sarah liked everyone. When Philip met her—as of course he did because this wasn’t a big town—he was unfailingly friendly. But still … In the times when Raff had been with her and they’d met Philip, Sarah’s hand had crept to his and she’d clung.

Was that from memories of the accident?

The accident. Don’t go there.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Philip,’ he told Sarah.

‘I want Abby to come,’ Sarah said, wiping her last pot with a fierceness unusual for her. ‘But I don’t want Philip. He makes me scared.’

Scared?

‘The man’s boring,’ Raff said. ‘There’s nothing to be scared about.’

‘I just don’t like him,’ Sarah said and, logical or not, Raff felt exactly the same.

She didn’t want to go.

She must.

She gazed round her little house with a carefully appraising eye. She’d hung her wedding dress in the spare room and she’d packed away everything else she thought a dog might hurt.

She’d bought a dog kennel for outside and a basket for inside.

She’d bought a chain for emergencies but she didn’t intend using it. Her back garden was enclosed with a four-foot brick fence, and she’d checked and rechecked for gaps.

She had dog food, dog shampoo, flea powder, worm pills, a dog brush, padding for his kennel and a book on training your dog. She’d had a quick browse through the book. There was nothing about kleptomania, but confinement would fix that.

She’d take him for a long walk every day. Kleppy might sometimes be lonely, she conceded, but surely loneliness was better than the fate that had been waiting for him.

And if he was lonely … She might sneak him into the office occasionally.

That, though, was for the future. For now, she was ready to fetch him. From Raff.

So fetch him. There’s not a lot of use staring at preparations, she told herself. It’s time to go claim your dog.

It was eight o’clock. Philip’s night out would be over by ten and she had to be back here by then.

Of course she’d be back. Ten minutes drive out. Two minutes to collect Kleppy and say hi to Sarah. Ten minutes back.

Just go.

She hadn’t been out there since …

Just go.

‘When will she be here?’

‘Any time soon.’

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even be here. There was bound to be something cop-like that needed his attention at the station—only that might look like he was running, and Rafferty Finn wasn’t a man who ran.

‘She never comes here.’

‘She likes going to cafés with you too much.’

Sarah giggled, hugging Kleppy close. This place was pretty relaxed for a dog. The screen door stayed permanently open and the dogs wandered in and out at will. The gate to the back garden was closed, but Kleppy seemed content to be hugged by Sarah, to watch television and to occasionally eat popcorn.

Raff watched television, too. Or sort of. It was hard to watch when every sense was tuned to a car arriving.

The Finn place hadn’t changed.

The moon was full but she hardly needed to see. She’d come here so often, to the base of Black Mountain, that she knew every bend. As kids, she and Ben had ridden their bikes here almost every day.

This had been their magic place.

Her parents had disapproved. ‘The Finns,’ her mother had told them over and over, ‘are not our sort of people.’ By that she meant they didn’t fit into her social mould.

Abby and Ben didn’t care.

Old Mrs Finn—everybody called her Gran—had been the family’s stability. Gran’s husband had died long before Abby had known her, and it was rumoured that his death had been a relief, for the town as well as for Gran. After his death, Gran had quietly got on with life. She ran a few sheep, a few pigs, a lot of poultry. Her garden was amazing. She seemed to spend her life in the kitchen and her baking was wonderful.

Abby barely remembered Raff and Sarah’s mother, but there had been disapproving whispers about her as well. She’d run away from home at fifteen, then come home unwed with two small children.

She’d worked in the local supermarket for a time. Abby had vague memories of a silent woman with haunted eyes, with none of the life and laughter of her mother or her children.

She’d died when Abby was about seven. Abby remembered little fuss, just a family who’d got on with it. Gran had taken over her grandchildren’s care. Life had gone on and the Finns were still disapproved of.

Abby and Ben had loved it here. They had always been welcome.

And now? She turned into the drive but her foot eased from the accelerator.

‘You’re always welcome.’ She could remember Gran saying it to her, over and over. She remembered Gran saying it to her after Ben’s death. As if she could come back here …

She had come back. Tonight.

This is only about a dog, she told herself, breathing deeply. Nothing else. The past is gone. There’s no use regretting—no use even thinking about it. Go get your dog from Raff Finn and then get off his land.

Raff never meant …

I know he didn’t, she told herself. Of course he didn’t. Accidents happened and it was only stupidity. Could she forgive stupidity? Ben was dead. Why would she want to?

He saw her stop at the gate. It was after eight—would Philip have finished his wild night out? Would she have him with her?

Maybe that was why they’d stopped. Philip would be doing his utmost to stop her keeping Kleppy.

Would she defy him? She’d need strength if she was going to stay married to Philip. She’d need strength not to be Philip’s doormat.

But the thought of Abby as a doormat made him smile. She’d never been a doormat. Abby Callahan was smart, sexy, sassy—and so much more. Or … she had been.

She’d followed him round like a shadow for years. He and Ben had scoffed at Abby and Sarah, the little sisters. They’d teased them, and had given them such a hard time. They’d loved them both. Until …

Until one stupid night. One stupid moment.

He closed his eyes as he’d done so many times. Searching for a memory.

Summer. Nineteen years old. Home from Police Training College. Ben home from university. They’d spent weekend after weekend tinkering with a car they were trying to restore. Finally they’d got it started, towards dusk on the day they were both due to go back to the city. They were pumped with excitement. Aching to see it go.

They couldn’t take it on the road—it wasn’t registered—but up on Black Mountain, just behind Isaac Abrahams place, there was a cleared firebreak, smoothed for access for fire trucks.

If they could get it out there, they could put it through its paces.

He remembered loading the car on the trailer behind Gran’s ancient truck, Ben’s dad watching them in disapproval. ‘You should be home tonight, Ben. Your mother’s expecting you.’

‘We need to see this working,’ Ben had told him and Mr Callahan had left in a huff.

Sarah was watching them, wistful. ‘Can I come?’

‘There’s not enough room in the truck.’

‘What if Philip brings me?’

‘Sure. Bring Abby.’

‘You know Abby’s mad at you—and she’s not talking to Philip, either.’

But neither Ben nor Raff were interested. They were only interested in getting their car going.

And it worked. Up on the mountain, he remembered Ben driving, yahooing, both of them high as kites. Months of work paying off.

He remembered getting out. Swapping drivers. Thinking it was too dark to be on this track, and it was starting to rain. Plus Ben had to get back to have dinner with his parents.

But Ben saying, ‘We have lights. If I can cope with Mum being fed up, you can cope with a bit of rain. Just do one turn to see for yourself how well she handles.’

Then … nothing. He’d woken in hospital. Concussion. Multiple lacerations. Broken wrist and broken ankle.

All he knew of the accident was what was written in the official reports.

Philip had driven Sarah onto the track to find them. He’d turned off the main road onto the firebreak, and ventured just far enough down the break to reach the crest …

Philip had been the only one uninjured. His recall was perfect, stark and bleak.

Raff had burst over the crest on the wrong side of the road, driving so fast he was almost airborne. Philip had nowhere to go. Both drivers swerved, but not fast enough.

Both cars had ended up in the trees. The rain and the mess from the emergency vehicles had washed the tracks away before the authorities could corroborate Philip’s story. Raff couldn’t be prosecuted—but he had punishment enough. He’d killed his best mate and he’d destroyed his sister. He missed Ben like he’d miss a twin—an aching, gut-destroying loss. He’d lost a part of Sarah that could never be restored.

His grandmother had died six months later.

And Abby?

Facing Abby had been the hardest thing he’d had to do in his life. The first time he’d seen her … she’d looked at him and it was as if he was some sort of black hole where her heart used to be.

‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said and she’d simply turned away. She’d stayed away for ten years.

Her brother was dead and sometimes Raff wished it could have been him.

Which was dumb. Who’d take care of Sarah, then?

Let it go.

Go greet Abby. And Philip?

Abby and Philip. Banksia Bay’s perfect couple.




CHAPTER FOUR


RAFF was waiting on the veranda and Abby felt her breath catch in her throat. She came close to heading straight back down the mountain.

What was it with this man? She was well over her childhood crush. She’d decided today that it was the uniform making him sexy, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform now.

He was in faded jeans and an old T-shirt, stretched a bit tight.

He looked good enough to …

To get away from fast.

He was leaning idly against the veranda post, big, loose-limbed, absurdly good-looking. He was standing with crossed arms, watching her walk towards him. Simply watching.

His eyes said caution.

She didn’t need the message. Caution? She had it in spades.

‘Where’s Kleppy?’ she asked, and she knew she sounded snappy but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

‘Phil’s still on his wild night out?’

‘Cut it out, Raff.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. Then he hesitated and his eyes narrowed. ‘Nope. Come to think of it, I’m not sorry. Why are you marrying that stuffed shirt?’

‘Don’t be insulting.’

‘He’s wealthy,’ Raff conceded. ‘Parents own half Banksia Bay. He’s making a nice little income himself. Or a big income. He’s already bought the dream home. He’s starting to look almost as wealthy as Baxter. You guys will be set for life.’

‘Stop it,’ she snapped. ‘Just because he’s a responsible citizen …’

‘I’m responsible now. Maybe even more responsible than you. What have you got on Baxter that I don’t know about?’

‘You think Philip and I would ever do anything illegal?’

‘Maybe not you. Philip, though …’

‘I don’t believe this. Of all the … I could sue. Give me my dog.’

‘Sarah has your dog,’ he said and stood aside, giving her no choice but to enter a house she’d vowed never to set foot in again.

He was standing on the top step of the veranda. He didn’t move.

She would not let him make her feel like this. Like she’d felt as a kid.

But her arm brushed his as she passed him, so slightly that with anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed.

She noticed. Her arm jerked as if she’d been burned. She glowered and stomped past and still he didn’t move.

She pushed the screen door wide and let it bang behind her. She always had. It banged like it always banged and she got the same effect … From the depths of the house came the sound of hysterical barking. She braced.

When she’d been a kid and she’d come here, the Finns’ dog pack would knock her over. She’d loved it. She’d be lying in the hall being licked all over, squirming and wriggling, a tadpole in a dog pond, giggling and giggling until Raff hauled the dogs off.

When she didn’t end up knocked over she’d felt almost disappointed.

She was bigger now, she conceded. Not so likely to be knocked over by a pack of dogs.

But there weren’t as many dogs, anyway. There was an ancient black Labrador, almost grey with age. There was a pug, and there was Kleppy bringing up the rear. Wagging his tail. Greeting her?

She knelt and hugged Kleppy. He licked her face. So did the old Labrador. The pug was young but this one … she even remembered the feel of his tongue. ‘Boris!’

‘Abby!’ Sarah burst out of the kitchen, her beam wide enough to split her face. She dived down onto the floor and hugged her friend with total lack of self-consciousness. ‘Abby, you’re here. I’ve made you honey jumbles.’

‘I … great.’ Maybe she should get up. Lawyer on floor hugging dog …

Boris was licking her chin.

‘Boris?’ she said tentatively and she included him in the hug she was giving Kleppy.

‘He is Boris,’ Raff said and she twisted and found Raff was watching them all from the doorway. ‘How old was he when you were last here, Abby?’

‘I … Three?’

‘He’s fourteen now. Old for a Labrador. You’ve missed out on his whole life.’

‘That’s not all I’ve missed out on,’ she whispered. ‘How could I ever come back?’ She shook her head and hauled herself to her feet. Raff made an instinctive move to help, but then pulled away. Shook his head. Closed down.

‘But you will stay for a bit,’ Sarah said, grabbing Abby’s hand to pull herself up. Movement was still awkward for Sarah; it always would be. ‘I’ve told the dogs they can have a honey jumble each,’ she told Abby. ‘But they need to wait until they’ve cooled down. You can’t take Kleppy home before he’s had his.’

‘I could take it with me.’

‘Abby,’ Sarah said in a term of such reproach that Abby knew she was stuck.

How long did honey jumbles take to cool?

Apparently a while because, ‘I’ve just put them in the oven,’ Sarah said happily. ‘I made a lot after tea but Raff forgot to tell me to take them out. They went black. Even the dogs didn’t want them. Raff never forgets,’ she said, heading back to the kitchen. ‘But he’s funny tonight. Do you think it’s because you’re here?’

‘I expect that’s it,’ Abby said, trying desperately to find something to say. Babbling because of it? ‘Maybe it’s because I’m a lawyer. Sometimes police don’t like lawyers ‘cos they ask too many questions.’

‘And sometimes they don’t ask enough,’ Raff growled.

‘Meaning …’

‘Baxter …’

Oh, for heaven’s sake … ‘Leave it, Raff,’ she said. ‘Just butt out of my life.’

‘I did that years ago.’

‘Well, don’t stop now.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sarah, love, I’m in a rush.’

‘I know you are,’ Sarah said and pushed her into a kitchen chair. ‘You sit down. Raff will make you a nice cup of tea and we’ll talk until the honey jumbles are ready. But don’t yell at Raff,’ she said disapprovingly. ‘Raff’s nice.’

Raff was nice? Okay, maybe a part of him was nice. She might want to hate Raff Finn—and a part of her couldn’t help but hate him—but she had to concede he was caring for Sarah beautifully.

The twelve months after the crash had been appalling. Even her grief for Ben hadn’t stopped Abby seeing the tragedy that was Sarah.

She’d lain unconscious for three weeks and everyone had mourned her as dead. At one time rumour had it that Raff and Gran were asked to stop life support.

At three weeks she’d woken, but it was a different Sarah.

She’d had to relearn everything. Her memory of childhood was patchy. Her recent memory was lost completely.

She’d learned to walk again, to talk. She coped now but her speech was slow, as was her movement. Gran and Raff had brought her home and worked with her, loved her, massaged, exercised, pleaded, cajoled, bullied …

When Gran died Raff had taken it on himself to keep on going. For over a year he hadn’t been able to work. They’d lived on the smell of an oily rag, because, ‘She’s not going into care.’

With anyone else the community would have rallied, but not with the Finns. Not when Raff was seen as being the cause of so much tragedy.

How he’d managed …

If the accident happened now the community would help, she thought. Somehow, in the last years, Raff had redeemed himself. He was a fine cop. He’d cared for Sarah with such love and compassion that the worst of the nay-sayers had been silenced. She’d even thought … it was time she moved on. Time she learned to forgive.

But over and over … He’d killed Ben.

How could she ever be friends with him again?

She didn’t need to be. She simply chose to be distant. So she sat in Raff’s kitchen while Sarah chatted happily, showing her the guinea pigs, explaining they’d had too many babies and that Raff had told her they had to sell some but how could she choose?

Smelling honey jumbles in a kitchen she loved.

Knowing Raff was watching her.

She found her fingers were clenched on her knees. They were hidden by the table. She could clench them as much as she wanted.

It didn’t help. This place was almost claustrophobic, the memories it evoked.

But Raff was watching her and how Raff was making her feel wasn’t a memory. This was no childhood crush. It was like a wave of testosterone blasting across the table, assaulting her from every angle.

Sarah was laughing.

Raff wasn’t laughing. He was simply watchful.

Judgemental? Because she was marrying Philip?

Why shouldn’t she marry Philip? He was kind, thoughtful, clever.

Her fallback?

Um … no. He was her careful choice.

She’d gone out with Philip before Ben had died, just for a bit, when the boys had left home, Raff to the Police Training College, Ben to university.

Philip had left for university, too, but he’d caught glandular fever and come home for a term.

She’d needed a date for her debutante ball and was fed up with Raff being away, with the boys being obsessed with their junk-pile car when they did come home.

Philip had the most wonderful set of wheels. He had money even then. But he wasn’t Raff.

She’d made her debut and she’d found an excuse to break up. The decision wasn’t met with regret. Philip had immediately asked Sarah out.

Maybe if the accident hadn’t happened … Maybe Sarah and Philip …

Where was she going? Don’t even think it, she decided. They were different people now.

Philip especially was different. After the crash … he was so caring. Whenever she needed him, he was there. He’d encouraged her to take up law as well. ‘You can do it,’ he’d said. ‘You’re bright, organised, meticulous. Do law and we’ll set up the best law firm Banksia Bay’s ever seen. We can care for our parents that way, Abby. Your parents miss Ben so much. We can be there for them.’

And so they were. It was all working out. All she needed to do was avoid the judgement on Raff’s face. And avoid the way Raff made her … feel.

How could he bear her here?

One night, one car crash.

And it stood between him and this woman for ever.

How could she marry Philip?

But he knew. It was even reasonable, he conceded.

Philip was okay. Once he’d even been a friend. Yes, the man made money and Raff did wonder how, but that was just his nasty cop mind. Yes, he took on cases Raff wouldn’t touch with a bargepole. If he got Baxter off …

He would get him off, but Raff also knew a portion of Philip’s fee would end up as a cheque to the pensioners Baxter had ripped off. Not all of it—Philip was careful, not stupid with his charity—but the town might end up being grateful. Baxter would think he was great as well.

It was only Raff who’d feel ill, and maybe that was part of ancient history as well. If Philip hadn’t been there that night …

How unfair was that?

‘Tell us about your wedding dress,’ he said, and Abby shot him a look that was both suspicious and angry.

‘You want to know—why?’

‘Sarah would like to know.’

‘I’m going to the wedding,’ Sarah said and pointed to the invitation stuck to the fridge. ‘You should come, too. Did you get an invitation? Where did you put it? Raff’s coming, too, isn’t he, Abby?’

‘I’m on duty that day,’ Raff told her before Abby was forced to answer. ‘We talked about it, remember? Mrs Henderson’s taking you.’

‘It’d be more fun if you were there.’

No, it wouldn’t, Raff thought, but he didn’t say so. He glanced at his watch. ‘I reckon they’ll be cooked, Sares.’

‘Ooh,’ Sarah said, happily distracted. ‘My honey jumbles. I could make you some more for your wedding present, Abby. Does Philip like honey jumbles?’

‘Sure he does,’ Abby said. ‘Who wouldn’t?’

Honey jumbles. A big cosy kitchen like this. Dogs.

Would Philip like honey jumbles?

Maybe not.

Abby ate four honey jumbles and Sarah beamed the whole time, and how could a girl worry about how tight her wedding dress was going to be in the face of that beam?

Sarah wasn’t the only one happy. This morning Kleppy had been due for the needle. Tonight he was lying under her chair licking the last of Sarah’s honey jumbles from his chops.

And Sarah’s beam, and Kleppy’s satisfaction, and Raff’s thoughtful, watchful gaze made her feel … made her feel …

Like she needed to leave before things got out of hand.

She needed to go home to Philip. To tell him she had a dog.

‘What’s wrong?’ Raff asked and he sounded as if he cared. That scared her all by itself. She pushed her chair back so fast she scared Kleppy, which meant she had her dog in her arms and she was at the door before she meant to be.

She hadn’t meant to look like she was rushing.

She was rushing.

‘Will you take some jumbles in a bag?’ Sarah asked and she managed to calm down a little and smile and agree. So Sarah bagged her some jumbles, but she was holding Kleppy, she didn’t have a hand free, which meant Raff carried her jumbles down to the car while she carried her dog.

Kleppy was warm and fuzzy. His heart was beating against hers. He was a comfort, she thought, and even as she thought it he stretched up and licked her, throat to chin.

She giggled and Raff, who’d gone before and was stowing her jumbles onto the back seat, turned and smiled in the moonlight.

‘Dogs are great.’

‘They are,’ she said and felt happy.

‘Philip will be okay with him?’

Why must he always butt into what wasn’t his business? Why must he always spoil the moment?

‘He will.’

‘So you’ll tell him tonight.’

‘Of course.’

‘I wish you luck.’

‘I won’t need it.’

‘No?’

‘Butt out, Finn.’

‘You’re always saying that,’ he said. ‘But it’s not in my power to butt out. It’s my job to intervene in domestic crises. Stopping them before they start is a life skill.’

‘You seriously think Philip and I would fight over a dog?’

‘I’m thinking you might fight for a dog,’ he said softly. ‘The old Abby’s still there somewhere. She’ll fight for this dog to the death.’

‘And how melodramatic is that?’

‘Melodramatic,’ he agreed. ‘Call the police emergency number if you need me.’

‘Why would I possibly need you?’

‘Just offering.’ He was holding the passenger door wide so she could pop Kleppy in.

‘You know Philip wouldn’t …’

‘Yeah, I know Philip wouldn’t.’ He took Kleppy from her and laid him on the passenger seat. ‘You’re giving him honey jumbles and Kleppy. Why wouldn’t the man be delighted?’

‘I don’t know when I hate it most—when you’re being offensive or you’re being sarcastic.’

‘Maybe they’re the same thing.’

‘Maybe they are. I wish you wouldn’t.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he said softly. ‘It helps you keep as far away from me as you want. Isn’t that right, Abby?’

‘Raff …’

‘It’s okay, I understand,’ he said. ‘How could I fail to understand? What you’re doing is entirely reasonable. I only wish your second choice wasn’t Philip.’

‘He’s not my second choice. He’s my first.’

‘That’s right,’ he said, sounding suddenly thoughtful. ‘I forgot. You went out with Philip when you were seventeen. For two whole months and then you dumped him. Don’t those reasons hold true now?’

‘I can’t believe you’re asking me …’

‘I’m a cop. I ask the hard questions.’

‘I don’t have to answer.’

‘Meaning you can’t.’

‘Meaning I don’t need to. Why are you asking this now?’

‘I’ve hardly had a chance until now. You back off every time you see me.’

‘And you know why.’

‘I do,’ he said harshly and she winced and thought she shouldn’t have said it. It was too long ago. The whole thing … It was a nightmare to be put behind them.

‘Yes, Philip and I broke up when I was seventeen,’ she managed. ‘But people change.’

‘I guess we do.’ He paused and then said, almost conversationally, ‘You know, once upon a time we had fun. We even decided we loved each other.’

They had. Girlfriend and boyfriend. Inseparable. Raff had shared her first kiss. It had felt … It had felt …

No. ‘We were kids,’ she managed. ‘We were dumb in all sorts of ways.’

He was too close, she decided. It was too dark. She should be back in her nice safe house waiting for Philip to come home. She shouldn’t be remembering being kissed by her first boyfriend.

‘I loved kissing you,’ he said and it wasn’t just her remembering.

‘It didn’t mean …’

‘Maybe it did. There’s this thing,’ he said.

‘What thing?’ But she shouldn’t have asked because, the moment she had, she knew what he was talking about. Or maybe she’d known all along.

This thing? This frisson, an electric current, an indefinable thing that was tugging her closer …

No. She had to go home. ‘Raff …’

‘You really want to be Mrs Philip Dexter? What a waste.’

‘Leave it! ‘

‘Choose someone else, Abby. Marrying him? You’re burying yourself.’

‘I am not.’

‘Does he make you sizzle?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Does he? You know, I can’t imagine it. Good old Philip, knocking your socks off. Are you racing home now to have hot sex?’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘You see, it’s such a waste,’ he said, and suddenly he was even closer, big and bad and dangerous.

Big, bad and dangerous? Certainly dangerous. His hand came up and cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and her sense of danger deepened. But she couldn’t pull away.

‘I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t Philip,’ he told her and she wondered if he knew the effect he was having on her. She wondered if he could sense how her body was reacting. ‘I’ve known since Ben died that nothing could bring back what was between you and me. But there are men out there who could bring you alive again. Men who’d like Kleppy.’

‘Philip will like Kleppy.’

‘Liar.’

He was gazing down into her eyes, holding her to truth.

She should break away. She could break away, she thought wildly. He was only holding her chin—nothing more. She could step back, get into the car and drive home.

To Philip.

She could. But he was gazing down into her eyes and he was still asking questions.

‘So tell me he makes you sizzle.’

‘I …’

‘He doesn’t, does he?’ Raff said in grim satisfaction. ‘But there are guys out there who could—who could find out what you’re capable of—what’s beneath your prissy lawyer uniform. Because you’re still there, somewhere. The Abby I … ‘

He paused. There was a moment’s loaded silence when the whole world stilled. The Abby I …

She should push away. She should …

She couldn’t.

She tilted her face, just a little.

The moment stretched on. The darkness stretched on.

And then he kissed her. As inevitably as time itself, he kissed her.

She couldn’t move. She didn’t move. She froze. And then.

Heat. Fire. The contact, lips against lips, was a tiny point but that point sizzled, caught, burned and her whole body started heating. Her face was tilted to his but he had no need to hold her. It was as if she was melting against him—into him.

Raff …

He broke away, just a little, and his eyes blazed in the moonlight. ‘Abby,’ he said and it was a rough, angry whisper. ‘Abby.’

‘I …’

‘Does he do this?’ he demanded. He snagged her arms and held them behind her but this was no forceful hold. It was as if her arms might get in the way, could interfere, and nothing must. Nothing could.

She was paralysed, she was burning, but she couldn’t escape. She didn’t want to escape. What was between them … It sizzled. Tugged as if searching for oxygen.

He was watching her in the moonlight, his eyes questioning. She wouldn’t answer. She couldn’t.

She was being held by Raff. A man she’d once loved.

She found herself lifting herself, tiptoe.

So her mouth could meet his again.

This morning she’d fantasised about Raff Finn. Sex on legs. But this …

If she’d expected anything it was a kiss of anger, a kiss of sexual tension, passion, nothing more. And maybe it had started like that. But it was changing.

His kiss was tender, aching, even loving. It was as unexpected as ice within a fire, heating, cooling, sizzling all at once. She’d never felt anything like this—she’d never known sensations like this could exist.

Raff.

He’d released her hands and they were free to do as she willed. Her will was that her hands were behind his back, drawing him closer, for how could she not want him close?

Sense had flown. Thoughts had flown. There was only this man. There was only this need.

There was only now.

Raff.

Did she say his name?

Maybe she did, or maybe it was just a sigh, deep in her throat, a sound of pure sensual pleasure. Of taking something she’d never dreamed she could have. Of sinking into the forbidden, of the longed for, of a memory she’d have to put away quite soon but not yet, please, not yet.

Oh, but his mouth … Clever and warm and beguiling, it was coaxing her to places she had no business going, but she wanted, oh, she wanted to be there. She was helpless, melting into him, degree by achingly wonderful degree.

He was irresistible.

She was … appalled.

Somehow, she had to break this. Her head was screaming at her, neon danger signs flashing through her sensual need. No!

‘No!’ It came out a muffled whisper. If he didn’t hear … if he ignored it, how could she say it again?

Did she want him to hear it?

But he did, he had, and the wrench as he put her away from him was indescribable. He let her go. He stepped back from her and his eyes in the moonlight were almost as dazed as hers.

But then his face hardened, tightened, and she knew he was moving on.

As she must.

Her mother’s voice…. Keep away from the Finn boy. He’s trouble.

He surely was. She was kissing him nine days before her wedding. She was risking all—for the Finn boy?

‘I …’

‘Just go, Abby,’ he said and she didn’t recognise his voice. It was harsh and raw and she could even imagine there was pain. ‘Get out of here. You know you don’t want this.’

‘Of course I don’t.’

‘Then take your dog and go. I’ll see you in court.’

Of course she would. She’d see him and he’d be back to being the local cop and she’d be a lawyer sitting beside her fiancé, trying to pretend tonight had never happened.

But it had happened. The feel of his mouth on hers was with her still.

She caught herself, gasped and thumped down into the driver’s seat before she could change her mind.

‘That was ridiculous,’ she managed. ‘How…. how dare you …?’

‘You wanted it as much as I did.’

‘Then we’re both stupid.’

‘We are,’ he said gravely. ‘We were. But heaven help us, Abby, if we’re stupid still.’




CHAPTER FIVE


ABBY drove home in a daze. She felt ill. The feel of Raff’s mouth on hers wouldn’t go—it felt as if her lips were surely bruised and yet she knew they couldn’t be.

There had been tenderness in his kiss. It hadn’t been onesided. He hadn’t been brutal.

It had been a kiss of …

No. Don’t even think about it.

Kleppy put out his paw in a gesture she was starting to know. Giving comfort as well as taking it. The feel of him beside her was absurdly comforting.

Almost as if he was a little part of Raff …

And there was a dopey thing to think. The whole night had been dopey, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Imagine if she ever thought there could be anything between herself and Raff. Imagine the heartbreak.

Her heart clenched down. No! Just because the man was a load of semi-controlled testosterone … Just because he had the ability to push her buttons …

She turned into her street and Philip’s car was out the front. Her heart sank.

Philip, she told herself. Not a load of semi-controlled testosterone. A good, kind man who’d keep her happy—who’d keep her safe.

I might get tired of safe, she whispered to herself and then she let herself open her mind to the rush of memory that was

Ben and she felt the concept of safe, the need for safe, close around her again. Safe was the only way.

‘Hi,’ she said, climbing from the car. ‘The buck’s night finished early, then?’

‘Hardly a buck’s night.’ He took her hands and kissed her and she had to stop herself from thinking dry as dust. ‘Just my dad and uncles and cousins.’

‘Why aren’t you having a buck’s night?’

‘Tonight was enough,’ Philip said contentedly. ‘I’m busy right up to the honeymoon. Where have you …’

But then he paused. Inside the car, Kleppy had stirred and yawned and whimpered a little.

‘What’s that?’

Deep breath. ‘It’s Kleppy.’

‘Kleppy?’

‘He’s my dog,’ she said and she had a really good shot at not sounding defensive. Maybe she even succeeded. ‘You know Raff gave me a dog this morning and asked me to take him to be put down? I couldn’t. He’s Isaac Abrahams’ dog, he needs a new home and I’ve decided to keep him. Sarah’s been looking after him for me.’

There was no need to mention Raff again. ‘So we have a dog,’ she said and she surprised herself by sounding cheerful. ‘Philip, meet Kleppy. Kleppy, meet Philip. I just know you two are going to be best of friends.’

He didn’t like it, but she wouldn’t budge; she didn’t budge and finally he conceded.

‘It’ll have to sleep outside.’

‘He, not it.’

‘He’ll have to sleep outside,’ he conceded—no mean concession.

‘Okay,’ she said with her fingers crossed behind her back. He could sleep outside for a little, she thought, until Philip got used to the idea and then she could sort of sneak him in. And for the next nine nights he could sleep inside at her place.

‘And what about our honeymoon?’

‘I’ll get Mrs Sanderson to feed and walk him.’

‘She’ll charge.’

‘We can afford it.’

‘I don’t want Eileen Sanderson snooping in our backyard.’

‘I’ll figure something else out, then. But you’ll love him.’

‘If you want a dog, then why don’t we get a pure-bred?’ he asked, checking Kleppy out with suspicion.

‘I like Kleppy.’

‘And Finn dumped him on you.’

‘It was my decision to keep him.’

‘You’re too soft-hearted.’

‘I can’t do a thing about that,’ she admitted, knowing the hurdle had been leaped and she was over the other side. ‘You want to come in for coffee and get acquainted with our new pet?’

‘I have work to do. I’m not confident about tomorrow.’

He would be confident, Abby knew, but he’d still go over his notes until he knew them backwards. And once again she wondered—why had he come back to Banksia Bay? He was smart, he was ambitious, he could have made serious money in the city.

‘I came back for you,’ he’d told her, over and over, but she knew it was more than that. He spent time with her parents. He worked at the yacht club where Ben had once sailed. Every time a challenge occurred that might draw him to the city, he looked at it with regret but he still turned back to Banksia Bay.

She kissed him goodnight and carried Kleppy inside, thinking every time she laid down an ultimatum Philip caved in.

This dog or no wedding?

This dog.

‘He loves me,’ she told Kleppy, sitting down on the hearth rug and allowing her scruffy dog to settle contentedly on her knee. ‘He’ll take you because he loves me.’

But she’d seen Philip’s ruthless behaviour in court. He could be ruthless. He’d never liked dogs.

Why didn’t he just say no?

‘I’m so lucky he didn’t,’ she whispered and she hugged

Kleppy a bit tighter and then gazed towards the spare room door. Her wedding dress lay behind.

She was lucky?

Of course she was.

She was gone and Raff stayed outside, staring sightlessly into the moonlit night.

Abby Callahan.

Right now there was nothing in the world he wanted but Abby Callahan.

Oh, but there was. Inside, Sarah would be snuggling into bed, surrounded by dogs and cats, dreaming of the day she’d just had—her animals, her honey jumbles. Her big brother.

He loved Sarah.

He also loved this place. He loved this town. But love or not, he’d leave if he could. To stay in this place with so many memories …

To stay in this place and watch Abby married …

But leaving wasn’t an option. He’d stay and he wouldn’t touch her again. Tonight had been an aberration, as stupid as it was potentially harmful. He didn’t want to upset Abby. It wasn’t her fault she was the way she was.

It was his.

He was thirty years old and he felt a hundred.

He hardly needed to see her again before the wedding. His participation in the Baxter trial was almost over. He’d given the prosecutor all the help he could manage, even if it wasn’t enough to convict the guy. There might be another couple of times he was called to the stand, but otherwise he could steer well clear.

So … He’d drop Sarah off at the church next Saturday, pick her up afterwards and it’d be done.

Abby Callahan would be married to Philip Dexter.

Abby spent until midnight making Kleppy hers. She bathed him and blowed him dry with her hairdryer. He was never going to be a beautiful dog, but he was incredibly cute—in a shambolic kind of way. He was a very individual dog, she decided.

He tolerated the hairdryer.

He ate a decent dinner, despite his pre-dinner snack of honey jumbles.

He investigated her bedroom as she got ready for bed. And, curiously, he fell in love with her jewellery box.

It was a beautiful cedar box with inlaid Huon pine. Philip’s grandfather had made it for her when she and Philip had announced their engagement. She loved its craftsmanship and she also loved the wood’s faint and beautiful perfume, stronger whenever she opened it.

She also loved Philip’s grandpa, she thought, as she removed Kleppy’s paw from where it had been resting proprietorially on the box. His woodwork was his passion. He’d made these beautiful boxes for half the town. ‘It’ll last for hundreds of years after I’m gone, girl,’ he’d told her and she suspected it would.

Philip’s grandpa was part of this town. Philip’s family. Her future.

More people’s happiness than hers was tied up in next week’s wedding. That should make her feel happy, but right now it was making her feel claustrophobic. Which was dumb.

‘Do you like the box or the jewels?’ she asked Kleppy, deliberately shifting her thoughts. She opened the lid so he could see he couldn’t make millions with a jewel heist.

Kleppy nosed the trinkets with disinterest, but looked longingly at the box. He sniffed it again and she thought it was its faint scent he liked.

‘No!’ she said and put it further back on the chest.

Kleppy sighed and went back to his bra. The bra she’d paid for and given to him. Yes, he shouldn’t benefit from crime but today was an exception.

He made a great little thief.

He slept on her bed, snuggled against her, and she loved it. He snored. She loved his snore. She didn’t even mind that he slept with his bra tucked firmly under his left front paw.

‘Whatever makes you happy, Klep,’ she told him, ‘but that’s the last of your loot. You belong to a law-abiding citizen now.’

One who needs to stay right away from the law.

From Raff.

Don’t think of Raff. Think of the wedding.

Some hope. She slept, thinking of Raff.

She woke feeling light and happy. For the past few weeks she’d woken with the mammoth feeling that her wedding was bursting in on her from all sides. Her mother was determined to make it perfect.

It was starting to overwhelm her.

But not this morning. She loved that Kleppy woke at dawn and stuck his nose in her face and she woke to dog breath and a tail wagging.

It was lucky Philip wasn’t here. He’d have forty fits.

He wouldn’t mind being here. Or rather … he’d be happy if she was there. As far as Philip was concerned, she was wasting money having her own little house when he already had a wonderful house overlooking the sea.

Her parents had said that, too. When she’d moved back to Banksia Bay after university they’d welcomed her home and even had her bedroom repainted. Pink.

She had a choice. Philip’s house or her old bedroom.

But her grandparents had left her a lovely legacy and this little house was her statement of independence. As she let Kleppy outside to inspect her tiny garden she thought how much she was going to miss it.

Philip’s house was fabulous. She’d been blown away that he could afford to build it, and it had everything a woman could possibly want.

So get over it.

She left Kleppy to his own devices and went and checked on her wedding dress—just to reassure herself she really was getting married.

She should be excited.

She was excited. It was a gorgeous dress. It was exquisite.

It had taken her two years to make.

The pleasure was in making it. Not in wearing it.

This was dumb. She felt a cold spot on her leg and there was Kleppy, wagging his tail, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Looking hopefully at the front door.

Looking for adventure?

‘I’ll take you round the block before I go to work,’ she told him. ‘And I’ll come home at lunch time. I’m sorry, Klep, but you might be bored this morning. I can’t help it, though. It’s the price you’ve paid for me bailing you out of death row.

‘And I’m going to be in court this morning, too,’ she told him as he looked doleful. ‘You’re a lawyer’s dog and I’m a lawyer. I’m a lawyer with a gorgeous, hand-beaded wedding dress and you’re a lawyer’s dog with a new home. We need to be grateful for what we have. I’m sure we are.’

She was grateful. It was just, as she left for work and Kleppy looked disconsolately after her, she knew how Kleppy felt.

Raff wasn’t in court.

Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t need to be. He was a cop, not a prosecutor, and he had work to do elsewhere. He’d given his evidence yesterday. Philip wouldn’t call him back but she’d sort of hoped the Crown Prosecutor would.

There were things the Crown Prosecutor could ask …

It wasn’t for her to know that or even think that—she was lawyer for the defence—and it also wasn’t for her to have her heart twist because Raff wasn’t here.

She slid into the chair beside Philip and he smiled and kissed her and then said, ‘Second thoughts about the dog? He really is unsuitable.’

This was what would happen, she thought. He’d agree and then slowly work on her to come round to his way of thinking.

He wasn’t all noble.

‘No, and I won’t be having any,’ she said.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Safely in my garden.’ Four-foot fence. Safe as houses.

‘He’ll make a mess.’

‘I walked him before I left. Walking’s good. I’m going to do it every morning from now on. Maybe you can join us.’

‘Gym’s far better aerobic exercise,’ he said. ‘You need a fully planned programme to get full cardiac advantage. Walking’s …’

She was no longer listening.

Her morning had begun.

It was very, very boring.

The hands on the clock moved at a snail’s pace.

How bored would Kleppy be?

How bored was she?

Malcolm, the Crown Prosecutor, should do something about his voice, she thought. It was a voice designed to put a girl to sleep.

Ooh, Wallace looked smug.

Ooh, she was bored …

Lunch time. All rise. Hooray.

And then the door of the court swung open.

All eyes turned. As they would. Every person in the room, with the possible exception of Wallace and Philip, was probably as bored as she was.

And suddenly she wasn’t bored at all. For standing in the doorway was … Raff.

Full cop uniform. Grim expression. Gun at his side, cop ready for action. At his side—only lower—was a white fluff ball attached to a pink diamanté lead. And in his arms he was carrying Kleppy.

‘I’m sorry, Your Honour,’ he said, addressing the judge. ‘But I’m engaged in a criminal investigation. Is Abigail Callahan in court?’

Of course she was. Abby rose, her colour starting to rise as well. ‘K … Kleppy,’ she stammered.

‘Could you come with me, please, Miss Callahan?’ Raff said.

‘She’s not going anywhere,’ Philip snapped, rising and putting his hand on Abby’s shoulder. ‘What the …’

‘If she won’t come willingly, I’m afraid I need to arrest her,’ Raff said. ‘Accessory after the fact.’ He looked down at his feet, to where the white fluff ball pranced on the end of her pink diamanté lead. A lead that led up to Kleppy’s jaw. Kleppy had a very tight hold. ‘Abigail Callahan, your dog has stolen Mrs Fryer’s peke. You need to come now and sort this out or I’ll have to arrest you for theft.’

The courtroom was quiet. So quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Justice Weatherby’s face was impassive. Almost impassive.

There was a tiny tic at the side of his mouth.

Raff’s face was impassive, too. He stood with Kleppy in his arms, waiting for Abby to respond.

Kleppy looked disgusting. He was coated in thick black dust. His tail was wagging, nineteen to the dozen.

In his mouth he held the end of the pink lead and his jaw was clamped as if he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

On the other end of the lead, the white fluff ball was wagging her tail as well.

‘He was locked in my backyard,’ Abby said, eyeing the two with dismay.

‘My sharp investigative skills inform me that the dog can dig,’ Raff said, shaking Kleppy a little so a rain of dirt fell onto the polished wood of the courtroom door. ‘Will you come with me, please, ma’am?’

‘Just give the dog back to whoever owns it,’ Philip snapped, his hand gripping Abby’s shoulder tightly now. ‘Tie the other one up outside. Abigail’s busy.’

‘Raff, please …’ Abby said.

‘Mrs Fryer’s hopping mad,’ Raff said, unbending a little. ‘I’ve waited until court broke for lunch but I’m waiting no longer. You want to avoid charges, you come and placate her.’

She glanced at Philip. Uh-oh. She glanced at Justice Weatherby. The tic at the corner of his mouth had turned into a grin. Someone was giggling at the back of the court.

Philip’s face looked like thunder.

‘Sort the dog, Abigail,’ he snapped, gathering his notes. ‘Just get it out of here and stop it interfering with our lives.’

‘Right this way, ma’am,’ Raff said amiably. ‘The solicitor for the defence will be right back, just as soon as she sorts her stolen property.’

Abby walked out behind Raff, trying to look professional, but she didn’t feel professional and when she reached the outside steps and the autumn sun hit her face she felt suddenly a wee bit hysterical. And also … a wee bit free?

As if Raff had sprung her from jail.

Which was a dumb thing to think. Raff had attempted to make her a laughing stock.

‘I suppose you think you’re funny,’ she said and Raff turned and looked at her, and once again she was hit by that wave of pure testosterone. He was in his cop uniform and my, it was sexy. The sun was glinting on his tanned face and his coppery hair. He was wearing short sleeves and his arms … They were twice as thick as Philip’s, she thought, and then she thought that was a very inappropriate thing to think. As was the fact that his eyes held the most fabulous twinkle.

Her knees felt wobbly.

What was she doing? She was standing in the sun and lusting after Raff Finn. The man who’d destroyed her life …

She needed to get a grip, and fast.

‘You’re saying Kleppy dug all the way out of my garden?’ she snapped, trying to sound disbelieving. She was disbelieving.

‘You’re implying I might have helped?’ Raff said, still with that twinkle. ‘You think I might have hiked round there and loaned him a spade?’

‘No, I …’ Of course not. ‘But the fence sits hard on the ground. He’d have had to go deep.’

‘He’s a very determined dog. I did warn you, Abigail.’

‘Why don’t you just call me ma’am and be done with it,’ she snapped. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’

‘Apologise.’

‘To you?’

He grinned at that and his whole face lit up. She’d hardly seen that grin. Not since … Not since …

No. Avoid that grin at all costs.

‘I can’t imagine you apologising to me,’ he said. ‘But you might try Mrs Fryer. I imagine she’s apoplectic by now. She rang an hour ago to say her dog had been stolen from outside the draper’s. I did think we were looking at dog-napping—she’d definitely pay a ransom—but we have witnesses saying the napper was seen making a getaway. It seems Kleppy decided to go find another bra and found something better.’

She closed her eyes. This was not good, on so many levels.

‘You caught him?’

‘I didn’t have to catch him,’ he said, and his smile deepened, a slow, smouldering smile that had the power to heat as much as the sun. ‘I found the two of them on your front step.’

‘On my …’

‘He seems to think of your place as home already. Home of Abby. Home of Kleppy. Or maybe he was just bringing this magnificent gift to you.’

Oh, Kleppy.

She stared at her scruffy, kleptomaniac, mud-covered dog in Raff’s arms. He stared back, gazing straight at her, quivering with hope. With happiness. A dog fulfilled.

Why did her eyes suddenly fill?

‘Why … why didn’t you just take Fluffy back to Mrs Fryer?’ she managed, trying not to sniff. She had a dog.

‘Watch this.’ He set Kleppy down and tugged the diamanté lead, trying to dislodge it from Kleppy’s teeth.

Kleppy held on as if his life depended on it.

Raff tugged again.

Kleppy growled and gripped and glanced across at Abby—and his appeal was unmistakable. Come and help. This guy’s trying to steal your property.

Her property.

Raff released him. The little dog turned towards her, his whole body quivering in delight. She stooped and held out her hand and he dropped the lead into it.

Oh, my …

She was having trouble making herself speak. She was having trouble making herself think. This disreputable mutt had laid claim to her.

She should be horrified.

She loved it.

‘You could have just taken Fluffy off the other end of the lead,’ she managed.

‘Hey, your dog growled at me,’ Raff said. ‘You heard him. He could have taken my hand off.’

‘He was wagging his tail at the same time.’

‘I’m not one to take chances,’ Raff said. ‘I might be armed but I’m not a fast draw. Too big a risk.’

She looked up at him, big and brawny and absurdly incongruous. Cop with gun. He’d shoot to kill?

‘You don’t have capsicum spray?’ she managed.

‘Lady, you think this vicious mutt could be subdued by capsicum spray?’

She ran her fingers down the vicious mutt’s spine. He arched and preened and waggled his tail in pleasure.

The fluff ball moved in for a back scratch as well.

She giggled.

‘Abigail …’ It was Philip, striding down the steps, looking furious.

Philip. Dignity. She scrambled to her feet and the dogs looked devastated at losing her.

‘I’m just settling the dogs down,’ she managed. ‘Before Raff takes them away.’

‘Before we take them away,’ Raff said. He motioned to his patrol car.

‘You can cope with this yourself, Finn,’ Philip snapped.

‘No,’ Raff said, humour fading. He lifted Kleppy in one arm and Fluff Ball in the other. ‘You cope with getting Wallace off,’ he told Philip. ‘Abigail copes with the dogs.’

‘I need …’



‘You’re getting as little help as I can manage to get that low life off the hook,’ Raff snapped. ‘Abigail, come with me.’

She went. Raff was not giving her a choice, and she knew Mrs Fryer would be furious.

Behind her, Philip was furious but right now that seemed the lesser of two evils.

She sat in the front of Raff’s patrol car with two dogs on her knee and she tried to stare straight ahead; to think serious thoughts. She still wanted to giggle.

‘Kleppy should be in the back,’ Raff said gravely. ‘A known criminal.’

‘You’ve accused me of being an accessory. Why don’t you toss me in the back as well?’

‘I like you up front,’ he said. ‘You do my image good.’

‘I need dark glasses,’ she said, glowering. ‘Carted round town in a police car.’

‘You will keep a kleptomaniac dog. It might well push you over to the dark side. Spoil that good-girl reputation. Send you into the shadowy side, like me.’

Her bubble of laughter faded at that. He’d spoken lightly, but there was truth behind his words.

The shadowy side …

Raff’s grandfather and then his mother had given the family a bad name. A drunk and then a woman who’d broken society’s rules … If Raff’s mother had had the strength to defend herself, to ride out community criticism, then maybe it would have been different but she’d been an easy target. The family had been an easy target.

Raff, though … He had defended himself. He’d come back here after the accident, he’d made a home for Sarah, he’d looked on community disdain with indifference.

Did it hurt?

It wasn’t anything to do with her, she thought, but, as they pulled up outside Louise Fryer’s, she watched the middle-aged matron greet Raff with only the barest degree of civility. It must still hurt.

After the accident … There’d been no trial.

She remembered the investigators talking to her parents. There’d been insufficient evidence to charge him.

‘Is Raff denying it?’ That had been Abby, whispering from the background. She barely remembered those appalling days after the crash but she did remember that. She did remember asking. ‘What does Raff say?’

‘He can’t remember a thing,’ the investigator told her. ‘His blood alcohol’s come back zero and frankly that’s a surprise. He was just a stupid kid doing stupid things.’

‘Our Ben wasn’t stupid,’ her mother said hotly.

‘Led astray, more like,’ the investigator said and the fair part of Abby, the reasonable part, thought no, Ben hadn’t been wearing his seat belt. It wasn’t all Raff’s fault.

He’d been stupid. He had been on the wrong side of the dirt road and he’d been speeding.

He’d killed Ben and injured his sister.

Maybe that was enough punishment for anyone. The authorities seemed to think so. Even though her parents wanted him thrown in jail, it had simply been left as an accident.

Raff had come back as the town cop, he’d cared for his sister and he’d worked hard to rid himself of that bad boy reputation. For the most part he now had community respect, but there were those—her parents’ friends … people with long memories … He was still condemned.

Louise Fryer, coming out now with her mouth pursed into a look of dislike, was one of the more vocal of the condemners.

‘Haven’t you found her yet?’ Her voice was an accusation. ‘I’ve had five phone calls. People have seen her. Don’t you know how valuable she is?’

Abby was trying to untangle leads to get out of the car.

‘You don’t care,’ Mrs Fryer said. ‘We need a decent police presence in this … Oh …’

For, finally, Abby was out. She set Fluff Ball on the ground. Fluff Ball headed over to Mrs Fryer.

But … Uh-oh. Kleppy was out of the car and after his prize. He grabbed the lead and Fluff Ball stopped in her tracks.

Fluff Ball looked at Mrs Fryer, then looked at Kleppy. She wagged her pompom and proceeded to check out Kleppy’s rear.

‘She’ll catch something … Get it away …’ Louise was practically screeching.

Abby sighed. She picked up both dogs and tucked them firmly under her arms. ‘Thank you, Kleppy, but no,’ she said severely. She took the lead from Kleppy and handed over Fluff Ball.

And finally Mrs Fryer realised who she was. ‘Abigail!’

‘Hi, Mrs Fryer.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘My dog stole your dog.’

‘Your dog?’ Louise’s eyes were almost popping out of her head. ‘That’s never your dog.’

‘He is. His name’s Kleppy. He’s lovely but I’ve only had him for a day so he’s not exactly well trained. But he will be.’ Just as soon as she installed fences down to bedrock.

‘Has this man foisted him onto you?’ Her glare at Raff was poisonous.

‘No.’ Not exactly. Or actually … yes. But that was what the woman was expecting her to say, she thought. Raff Finn—town’s bad boy. One of those Finns.

Capable of anything.

Which was what she thought, too, she reminded herself, so why was she standing here figuring out how to defend him?

‘He didn’t foist …’ she started.

‘Yes, I did,’ Raff said before she could get any further. ‘Have you forgotten already? I definitely foisted. And that’s exactly what you’d expect of someone like me, isn’t it, Mrs Fryer? And here I am, messing up your front garden. But it’s okay. Your dog’s been restored. Justice has been done so I can step out of your life again. If you’ll excuse me … Abby, when Mrs Fryer’s given you a nice cup of tea so you can both recover from your

Very Nasty Experience, could you walk back to court yourself, do you think?’

I …’ She stared at him, speechless. He gave her his very blandest smile.

‘I bet Louise wants to hear all about the wedding preparations. She’ll be invited, though, won’t she?’

‘Yes,’ Louise said, a bit confused but mostly belligerent. Her dislike for Raff was unmistakable. ‘Of course I am. I’m a friend of dear Philip’s mother.’

‘There you are; you’re practically family.’ Raff’s gaze met hers and there was laughter behind his eyes—pure trouble. ‘All it takes for you to be friends for life is for your two dogs to bond, which they’re doing already. Me, I have other stuff to do. Murderers and rapists to chase.’

‘Or the police station lawn to mow,’ Abby snapped and then wished she hadn’t.

‘I was just saying that to Philip’s mother the other night,’ Louise said. ‘Old Sergeant Troy used to keep the Station really nice.’

‘Yeah, but he wasn’t a Finn,’ Raff said. ‘The place has gone to hell in a handbasket since I arrived. Did you think of the lawn yourself, Abigail, or did Philip mention it? A tidy man, our Philip. But enough. Murderers, rapists—and lawn!’ He sighed. ‘A policeman’s lot is indeed a tough one. See you ladies later. Have a nice cup of tea.’

He turned and walked away. Louise put her hand on Abby’s arm, holding her back.

The toad. Raff Finn knew she wouldn’t be able to get away from here for an hour.

‘Make sure you plant some petunias when you’re finished,’ Abby called after him. ‘It’d be a pity if we saw our police force bored.’

‘Petunias it is,’ he said and gave her an airy wave. ‘Consider them planted. In between thefts. How long till the next snatch and grab?’ He shook his head. ‘Keep off the streets, Abigail, and keep a tight hold on that felon of yours. Next time, I might have to put you up for a community corrections order. The pair of you might find yourself planting my petunias for me.’




CHAPTER SIX


ABBY didn’t go back to court. Philip phoned to find out where she was and she decided she had a headache. She did have a headache. Her headache was wagging his tail and watching as she dog-proofed her fence.

According to the Internet, to stop foxes digging into a poultry pen you had to run wire netting underground from the fence, but flattening outward and forward, surfacing about eighteen inches from the fence. The fox would then find itself digging into a U-shaped wire cavity.

That meant a lot of digging. Would it work when Kleppy The Fox was sitting there watching?

‘Don’t even think about it,’ she told him. ‘Philip’s being very good. We can’t expect his patience to last for ever.’

Philip.

She was expecting him to explode. He didn’t.

He arrived to see how she was just after she’d finished cleaning up after fence digging. They were supposed to be going out to dinner. Two of Philip’s most affluent clients had invited them out to Banksia Bay’s most prestigious restaurant as a pre-wedding celebration.

When Abby thought of it her headache was suddenly real—and, surprisingly, she didn’t need to explain it to Philip.

‘You look dreadful,’ he said, hugging her with real sympathy. ‘White as a sheet. You should be in bed.’

‘I … yes.’ Bed sounded a good idea.

‘Where’s the mutt?’

‘Outside.’ Actually, on her bed, hoping she’d join him.

‘You can’t keep him,’ Philip said seriously. ‘He’s trouble.’

‘This morning wasn’t his fault.’

‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ Philip said darkly. ‘The dog might be trouble but Finn’s worse. It’s my belief he set the whole thing up. Look, Abby, the best thing would just be for you to take the dog back to the Animal Shelter.’

‘No.’

He sighed but he held his temper.

‘We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better. I’m sorry you can’t make tonight.’

‘Will you cancel?’

‘No,’ he said, surprised. ‘They’ll understand.’

Of course they would. They’d hardly notice her absence, she thought bitterly. They’d talk about their property portfolios all night. Make some more money.

‘What will you eat?’ he asked, solicitous, and she thought she wouldn’t have to eat five courses and five different wines. Headaches had their uses.

‘I’ll make eggs on toast if I get hungry.’

‘Well, keep up your strength. You have a big week ahead of you.’

He kissed her and he was off, happily going to a wedding celebration without her.

The moment the door shut behind him, her headache disappeared. Just like that.

Why was she marrying him?

Uh-oh.

The question had been hovering for months. Niggling. Shoved away with disbelief that she could think it. But, the closer the wedding grew, the bigger the question grew. Now it was the elephant in the room. Or the Tyrannosaurus Rex. What was the world’s biggest dinosaur?

Whatever. The question was getting very large indeed. And very insistent.

Philip was heading to a dinner she’d been dreading. He was anticipating it with pleasure.

Worse. Philip’s kiss meant absolutely nothing. Last night … Raff’s kiss had shown her how little Philip’s kisses did mean.

And worse still? She’d almost been wanting him to yell at her about Kleppy.

How had she got into this mess?

It had just … happened. The car crash. Philip, always here, supporting her parents, supporting her. Interested in everything she was doing. Throwing himself, heart and soul, into this town. Throwing himself, heart and soul, into her life.

She couldn’t even remember when she’d first realised he intended to marry her. It was just sort of assumed.

She did remember the night he’d formally asked. He’d proposed at the Banksia Bay Private Golf Club, overlooking the bay. The setting had been perfect. A full moon. Moonbeams glinting on the sea. The terrace, a balmy night, stars. A dessert to die for—chocolate ganache in the shape of a heart, surrounded by strawberries and tiny meringues. A beautifully drawn line of strawberry coulis, spelling out the words ‘Marry Me'.

But there’d been more. Philip had left nothing to chance. The small town orchestra had appeared from nowhere, playing Pachelbel’s Canon. The staff, not just from the restaurant but from the golf club as well, crowding into the doorways, applauding before she even got to answer.

‘I’ve already asked your parents,’ Philip said as he lifted the lid of the crimson velvet box. ‘They couldn’t be more pleased. We’re going to be so happy.’

He lifted the ring she now wore—a diamond so big it made her gasp—and slid it onto her finger before she realised what was happening. Then, just in case she thought he hadn’t got it completely right, he’d tugged her to her feet, then dropped to his knees.

‘Abigail Callahan, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

She remembered thinking—hysterically, and only for the briefest of moments—what happens if I say no?

But how could she say no?

How could she say no now?

Why would she want to?

Because Rafferty Finn had kissed her?

Because Raff made her feel …

As he’d always made her feel. As if she was on the edge of a precipice and any minute she’d topple.

The night Ben died she’d toppled. Philip had held her up. To tell him now that she couldn’t marry him …

What was she thinking? He was a good, kind man and next Saturday she’d marry him and right now she was going to sit in front of the television and stitch a last row of lace onto the hem of her wedding gown. The gown should be finished but her mother and Philip’s mother had looked at it and decreed one more row.

‘To make everything perfect.’

Fine. Lace. Perfect. She could do this.

She let Kleppy out of the bedroom. He seemed a bit subdued. She gave him a doggy chew and he snuggled onto the couch beside her.

She’d washed him again. He was clean. Or clean enough. So what if the occasional dog hair got on her dress? It didn’t have to be that perfect. Life didn’t have to be that perfect.

Marriage to Philip would be okay.

The doorbell rang. Kleppy was off the couch, turning wild circles, barking his head off at the door.

He hadn’t stirred from his spot on her bed when Philip had rung the bell. Different bell technique?

She should tuck Kleppy back in her bedroom. This’d be her mother. Or Philip’s mother. Philip would have reported the headache, gathered the troops. It was a wonder the chicken soup hadn’t arrived before this.

Her mother would be horrified at the sight of Kleppy. She’d just have to get used to him, she decided. They’d all have to get used to him. The chicken soup brigade.

But it wasn’t the chicken soup brigade.

She opened the door. Sarah was standing on her doorstep holding a gift, and Raff was right behind her.

See, that was just the problem. She had no idea why her heart did this weird leap at the sight of him. It didn’t make sense. She should feel anger when she saw him. Betrayal and distress. She’d felt it for ten years but now … Somehow distress was harder to maintain, and there was also this extra layer. Of… hope?

She really didn’t want to spend the rest of her life running into this man. Maybe she and Philip could move.

Maybe Raff should move. Why had he come back to Banksia Bay in the first place?

But Sarah was beaming a greeting—Raff’s sister—Abby’s friend—and Abby thought there were so many complexities in this equation she couldn’t get her head around them. Raff was caught as well as she was, held by ties of family and love and commitment.

His teenage folly had killed his best mate. He was trapped in this judgemental town, looking after the sister he loved.

For ten years she’d felt betrayed by this man but she looked at him now and thought he’d been to hell and back. There were different forms of life sentence.

And he’d lost … her?

He’d never had her, she thought fiercely. She’d broken up with him before the crash. If she even started thinking of him that way again …

The problem was, she was thinking. But the nightmare if she kept thinking …

Her parents … Philip … The way she felt herself, the aching void where Ben had been …

She was dealing with it. She had been dealing with it. If only he hadn’t kissed her …

‘You’re home,’ Sarah said. She was holding a silver box tied with an enormous red ribbon. ‘You took ages to answer. Raff said you probably weren’t home. He said you’d be out gall. Gall …’

‘Gallivanting? ‘

‘It’s what I said but I guess that’s the wrong word,’ Raff said. ‘You wouldn’t gallivant with Philip.’

She ignored him. She ignored that heart-stopping, dare-you twinkle. ‘Hi, Sarah. It’s lovely to see you. What do you have there?’

‘We’re delivering your present,’ Sarah said. ‘But Raff said you’d be out with Philip. We were going to leave it on the doorstep and go. But I heard Kleppy. Why aren’t you out with Philip?’

‘I had a headache.’

‘Very wise,’ Raff said, the gleam of mischief intensifying in those dark, dangerous eyes. ‘Dinner with the Flanagans? I’d have a headache, too.’

‘How did you know we were going out with the Flanagans?’ She sighed. ‘No. Don’t tell me. This town.’

‘Sorry.’ Raff’s mischief turned to a chuckle, deep and toe-curlingly sexy. ‘And sorry about the intrusion, but Sarah wrapped your gift and decided she needed to deliver it immediately.’

‘So can we come in while you open it?’ Sarah was halfway in, scooping up a joyful Kleppy on the way. But then she faltered. ‘Do you still have a headache?’ Sarah knew all about headaches—Abby could see her cringe at the thought.

‘Abby said she had a headache,’ Raff said. ‘That’s past tense, Sares. I reckon it was cured the minute Philip went to dinner without her.’

‘Will you cut it out?’

‘Do you still have a headache?’ he asked, not perturbed at all by her snap.

‘No, but.’

‘There you go. Sares, what if I leave you here for half an hour so you can watch the present-opening and play with Kleppy? I’ll pick you up at eight. Is that okay with you, Abby?’

It wasn’t okay with Sarah.

‘No,’ she ordered. ‘You have to watch her open it. It was your idea. You’ll really like it, Abby. Ooh, and I want to help you use it.’

So they both came in. Abby was absurdly aware that she had a police car parked in her driveway. That’d be reported to Philip in about two minutes, she thought. And to her parents. And to everyone else in this claustrophobic little town.

What was wrong with her? She loved this town and she was old enough to ignore gossip. Raff was here helping Sarah deliver a wedding gift. What was wrong with that?

Ten minutes tops and she’d have him out of here.

But the gift took ten minutes to open. Sarah had wrapped it herself. She’d used about twenty layers of paper and about four rolls of tape.

‘I should use you to design my police cells,’ Raff said, grinning, as Abby ploughed her way through layer after layer after layer. ‘This sucker’s not getting out any time soon.’

‘It’s exciting,’ Sarah said, wide-eyed with anticipation. ‘I wonder what it is?’

Uh-oh. Abby glanced up at Raff at that and saw a shaft of pain. Short-term memory. Sarah would have spent an hour happily wrapping this gift, but an hour was a long time. For her to remember what she’d actually wrapped.

There was no way Raff could leave this town, she conceded. Sarah operated on long-term memory, the things she’d had instilled as a child. A new environment … a new home, new city, new friends … Sarah would be lost.

Raff was as trapped here as she was.

But she wasn’t trapped, she told herself sharply, scaring herself with the direction her thoughts were headed. She loved it here. She loved Philip.

She was almost at the end. One last snip and …

Ooooh …

She couldn’t stop the sigh of pure pleasure.

This was no small gift. It was a thing she’d loved for ever.

It was Gran Finn’s pasta maker.

Colleen Finn had been as Irish as her name suggested. She was one of thirteen children and she’d married a hard drinking bull of a man who’d come to Australia to make a new start with no intention of changing his ways.

As a young bride, Gran had simply got on with it. And she’d cooked. Every recipe she could get her hands on, Irish or otherwise.

Abby was about ten when the pasta maker had come into the house. Bright and shiny and a complete puzzle to them all.

‘Greta Riccardo’s having a yard sale, getting rid of all her mother’s stuff.’ Gran was puffed up like a peahen in her indignation. ‘All Maria’s recipes—books and books—and here’s Greta saying she never liked Italian food. That’s like me saying I don’t like potatoes. How could I let the pasta maker go to someone who doesn’t love it? In honour of my friend Maria, we’ll learn to be Italian.’

It was in the middle of the school holidays and the kids, en masse, were enchanted. They’d watched and helped, and within weeks they’d been making decent pasta. Abby remembered holding sheets of dough, stretching it out, competing to see who could make the longest spaghetti.

Pasta thus became a staple in the Finn house and it was only as she grew older she realised how cheap it must have been. With her own eggs and her home grown tomatoes, Gran had a new basic food. But now …

‘Don’t you use this any more?’ she ventured, stunned they could give away this part of themselves, and Raff smiled, though his smile was a little wary.

And, with the wariness, Abby got it.

She remembered Sarah as a teenager, stretching dough, kneading it, easing it through the machine with care so it wouldn’t rip, making angels’ hair, every kind of the most delicate pasta varieties.

She thought of Sarah now, with fumbling fingers, knowing what she’d been able to do, knowing what she’d lost.

‘We don’t use it any more,’ Sarah said. ‘But we don’t want to throw it away. So Raff said why don’t we give it to you and I can come round and remind you how to do it.’

‘Will you and I make some now?’ she asked Sarah before she could stop herself. ‘Can you remember how to make it?’

‘I think so,’ Sarah said and looked doubtfully at her big brother. ‘Can I, Raff?’

‘Maybe we could both give Abby a reminder lesson,’ Raff said. ‘As part of our wedding present. If your headache’s indeed better, Abigail?’

Both? Whoa. No. Uh-uh.

This was really dumb.

The police car would be parked outside for a couple of hours.

‘You want me to drive the car round the back?’ he asked.

She stared at him and he gazed straight back. Impassive. Reading her mind?

This was up to her. All she had to do was say her headache had come back.

They were all looking at her. Sarah. Kleppy.

Raff.

Go away. You’re complicating my life. My wedding dress is right behind that door. My fiancé is just over the far side of town.

Sarah’s eyes were wide with hope.

‘I guess it’ll still get around that my car was round the back for a couple of hours,’ Raff said, watching the warring emotions on her face. ‘Will Dexter call me out at dawn?’

‘Philip,’ she said automatically.

‘Philip,’ he agreed. Neutral.

‘He won’t mind,’ she said.

‘I’d mind if I was Philip.’

‘Just lucky you’re not Philip,’ she said and she’d meant to sound snarky but she didn’t quite manage it. ‘Why don’t you go do what you need to do and come back in a couple of hours?’

‘But Raff likes making pasta, too,’ Sarah said and Abby looked at his face and saw … and saw that he did.

There was a lot of this man to back away from. There was a lot about this man to distrust. But watching him now. It was as if he was hungry, she thought. He was disguising it, with his smart tongue and his teasing and his blatant provocation, but still.

He’d just given away his grandmother’s pasta maker. He’d given it to her.

She’d love it. She’d use it for ever. The memories. She and Sarah, Raff and Ben, messing round in Gran’s kitchen.

If it wasn’t for this man, Ben would still be here.

How long did hate last?

For the last ten years, every time she’d looked at Raff Finn she’d felt ill. Now. She looked at Sarah and at the pasta maker. She thought of Mrs Fryer’s vitriol. She thought that Ben had been Raff’s best friend. Ben had loved him.

She’d loved him.

She couldn’t keep hating. She just … couldn’t.

She felt sick and weary and desperately sad. She felt. wasted.

‘Hey, Abby really isn’t well,’ Raff said and maybe he’d read the emotions—maybe it was easy because she was having no luck disguising them from herself, much less from him. ‘Maybe we should go, Sares, and let her recover.’

‘Do you really have a headache?’ Sarah put her hand on her arm, all concern. ‘Does it bang behind your eyes? It’s really bad when it does that.’

Did Sarah still have headaches? Did Raff cope with them, take care of her, ache for his little sister and all she’d lost?

Maybe she should have invited Raff to her wedding.

Now there was a stupid thing to think. She might be coming out the other side of a decade of bitterness but her parents. they never would. They knew that Raff had killed their son, pure and simple.

Philip would never countenance him at their wedding. Her parents would always hate him.

Any bridges must be her own personal bridges, built of an understanding that she couldn’t keep stoking this flame of bitterness for the rest of her life.

They were watching her. Sarah’s hand was still on her arm. Concerned for her headache. Sarah, whose headaches had taken away so much …

‘Not a headache,’ she whispered and then more strongly, ‘it’s not a headache. It’s just … I’m overwhelmed. I loved making pasta with you guys when I was a kid. I can’t believe you’re giving this to me. It’s the most wonderful gift—a truly generous gift of the heart. It’s made me feel all choked up.’

And then, as Sarah was still looking unsure, she took her hands and tugged her close and kissed her. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.




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