Читать книгу Nikki and the Lone Wolf / Mardie and the City Surgeon: Nikki and the Lone Wolf / Mardie and the City Surgeon - Marion Lennox, Marion Lennox - Страница 9

NIKKI almost tripped and so did Gabe. They were focused on each other. Gabe’s face was dark with anger, and Nikki was just plain terrified. Gabe was still only wearing boxers and that didn’t help. Neither was looking at their feet and the dog was sprawled like a great wet floor mat.

Both of them stumbled and both had to grab the door jambs to keep their balance.

Both stared down in amazement.

The dog was even bigger than Nikki had thought last night. Four feet high? It was impossible to tell. All she knew was that, prone, he practically covered the small porch.

He was almost as flat as a doormat. He lay motionless, only the faint rise of his chest wall telling her he was alive.

‘It’s Horse,’ she said blankly.

The big dog stirred at her voice. He hauled his great head off the floor, as if making a Herculean effort. He gazed up at her and all the misery of the world was in that gaze. It was a ‘kill me now’ look.

She didn’t know a thing about dogs. If she’d been asked, she’d confess she probably didn’t like them much. But that look …

Her heart twisted. In the face of that look, she forgot her landlord and she sank to her knees. ‘Oh, my … Oh, Horse …’

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ Her landlord’s voice was like a whip above her. ‘You’ve brought him in here …’

She wasn’t listening. The big dog was so wet he couldn’t get any wetter. While she watched, a shudder ran though his big frame and she thought … she thought …

She had to help. There was no way she could walk away. Not your problem? Ha.

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ She ignored Gabe. She could only focus on the dog. She could only think about the dog.

‘You caught him.’ Gabe’s voice had lost its edge as he took in Horse’s condition.

‘I didn’t catch him. Maybe he found the meat and followed our scent. Pushed into the porch. Do you think he wants more?’

‘Has he been here all night?’

‘Are you nuts? Look at him. He’s soaking. Why doesn’t he move? Should we take him to the vet? Will you help me carry him to the car?’

‘Fred will put him down,’ Gable said bluntly.

‘Fred?’

‘The vet.’

That brought her up short. Last night’s phone conversation was suddenly replaying in her head.

This dog had been on his way to be put down when he’d escaped. If they took him to the vet, that was what would happen.

‘No,’ she said. It was all she could think of to say.

‘Do you want a dog?’

‘I …’

She swallowed. Did she want a dog?

She didn’t. She couldn’t. But she wasn’t thinking past now.

‘I’ll think about that later,’ she said. ‘He’s not going anywhere until he’s dry and warm and fed. Can you help me take him into my place?’ She looked up at Gabe, and then she thought …

Anger. Uh-oh.

Maybe there were a few unresolved issues to be addressed before he’d help her.

She was aware again of his body. That chest. Those shoulders.

Hormones.

Anger.

‘I slept,’ he said, carefully neutral. ‘Through my alarm. That might be because it was moved from my bedside table.’

‘I slept through it too,’ she confessed. ‘That’s because I forgot to set it.’

‘My crew …’

Act efficient, she decided. Brisk. As if she knew what she was doing. ‘Hattie’s on the … let me think … on the Mariette,’ she told him. ‘Because they’re short a crew member. Frank called in sick so the Lady Nell’s staying in port. You have the day off.’

He didn’t answer. He looked speechless.

‘So can you help me with the dog?’ she asked.

‘You took my alarm.’

‘You were sick. I thought I’d killed you. It was the least I could do.’

‘You took my phone.’

‘Yes, and I talked to Hattie. She agrees you need a day off.’

‘It’s not her business. It’s not your business.’

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘And neither is this dog but he’s freezing. Get over it and help me.’

Her gaze locked with his. She could feel his anger, his frustration, his shock.

His body …

His body was almost enough to distract her from his anger, his frustration, his shock.

But she couldn’t think of it now. She had the dog to think of. And, while she was chiding herself, Gabe stooped and touched the dog’s face.

The dog tried to raise his head again. Failed.

‘Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this,’ he said grimly. ‘But this guy’s done.’

‘Done.’ Nikki cringed. ‘He’s not dying.’

‘Close to.’ He’d moved on, she thought. All his attention was now on the dog. He seemed hesitant, as if he didn’t want involvement, but the dog stirred and moaned, and something in Gabe’s face changed. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘If you’re serious, let’s get him into my place. The fire’s going. Did you stoke it?’

‘Yes. I did it for you.’ Or not exactly. In her night-time prowls she’d tossed a couple of logs on the fire at each pass. It had seemed comforting. She’d been in need of comfort, and the thought of taking the dog in there now was a good one.

‘Can you get up, big boy?’ Gabe asked. ‘Come on, mate, let’s see you live.’

Gabe was fondling him behind the ears, speaking softly, and the dog responded. He gave Gabe another of those gut wrenching looks, another moan, then heaved. He managed to stand.

Standing up, he looked like a bag of bones with a worn rug stretched over him. Only his ears were still full fur. They hinted at a dog who’d once been handsome but that time was long past.

He swayed and Gabe stooped and held him, still fondling him, while the dog leaned heavily against him.

‘So you decided to come and find some help?’ he said softly. ‘Great decision. You’re safe here. You even seem to have found a friend. Mind, you need to beware of pokers.’ But he wasn’t glancing up to see how she took the wisecrack; he was totally focused on the dog. ‘Let’s get you warm. Miss Morrissy, could you fetch us some towels, please? A lot of towels. Put some in the tumble dryer to warm them.’

‘It’s Nikki,’ she said numbly.

‘Nikki,’ he repeated, but he still didn’t look up.

The dog took a staggering step forward and then stopped. Enough. Gabe lifted him into his arms as if he were a featherweight, and the dog made no objection. Maybe he knew he was headed for Gabe’s fireside.

Nikki headed for towels.

But, as she went, she carried the image of Gabe, a big man with his armful of dog.

He was making her heart twist.

It was the dog, she told herself fiercely. Of course it was the dog.

Only the dog. Anything else was ridiculous.

She did not need hormones.

Horse was freezing. It hadn’t been raining, yet he was soaked—had he been standing in the water all night?

Nikki fetched her hairdryer. Gabe sponged the worst of the salt crust from his coat, then towelled him dry as she ran warm air over his tangled fur. The big dog lay passive, hopeless, and Nikki felt an overwhelming urge to pick him up and hug him.

He was so big … She’d have to hug him one end at a time.

She also wanted to kill whoever had abandoned him. To do something so callous …

‘Your cop friend said he was thrown from a boat.’

‘He’ll still feel loyal to the low-life who did it to him,’ Gabe said grimly. ‘I’d guess that’s why he’s been standing in the shallows howling.’

She sniffed. She sniffed more than once while she wielded her hairdryer, and she had to abandon her work for a bit to fetch tissues. She couldn’t help herself. The emotions of the night, the emotions of the past two months, or maybe simply the emotions of now, were enough to overwhelm her. This gentle giant being betrayed in such a way …

She’d set towels by the fire for Gabe to lay him on. With her hairdryer and Gabe’s toweling, they dried one side of him. Then Gabe lifted him. She replaced the sodden towels with warm ones and they dried his other side.

Gabe spoke to him all the time. Slow, gentle words of comfort. While Nikki sniffed.

Gabe’s words were washing over her, reassuring her almost as much as the dog. His kindness was palpable. How could she ever have thought he’d ignore a dog in trouble on the beach? His hands stroking the dog’s coat … his soft words …

He was a gruff, weathered fisherman but he cared about this dog.

He’d been rude and cold to her the day they’d met. Where was that coldness now?

She tried to imagine Jonathan doing what Gabe was doing now, and couldn’t. And then she thought … what was she thinking? Comparing Gabe and Jon? Don’t even think of going there.

Um … she was going there. Gabe’s body was just a bit too close.

Gabe’s body was making her body feel …

No. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Focus on dog.

The big dog’s body had been shuddering, great waves of cold and despair. As the warmth started to permeate, the shaking grew less. Gabe was half towelling, half stroking, all caring.

‘It’s okay, mate. We’ll get you warm on the inside as well.’

‘Do you think he got the steak?’

‘I’m guessing not,’ he said. ‘Not in the state he’s in—the food would have warmed him and he wouldn’t be so hopeless. There’s all sorts of predators on the beach at night—owls, rats, the odd feral cat. I’m guessing that’s why he’s here. He came back round the headland looking for the steak, then when we were gone he followed our scent. There was nowhere else to go.’

‘Oh, Horse.’

Grown women didn’t cry. Much. She concentrated fiercely on blow-drying—and realised Gabe was watching her.

‘Horse?’ he said.

‘I’ve been thinking of him all night,’ she said. ‘In between worrying that I killed you. A dog that looks like a horse. A landlord who might have been dead.’

‘Happy endings all round,’ Gabe said wryly and she cast him a scared look. She knew what he was going to say. She was way in front of him.

The vet.

‘Do you have any more steak?’ She couldn’t quite get her voice to work. She couldn’t quite get her heart to work. But she wasn’t going to say the vet word.

‘No. You?’

‘I have dinners for one. Calorie controlled.’

‘Right, like Horse needs a diet.’

‘I’ll bring four.’

They worked on. Gabe hauled on a T-shirt and jeans and so did she, but the attention of both was on the dog. Hostilities were suspended.

The dog was so close to the edge that the sheer effort of eating seemed too much. By the look of his muzzle, he’d been sick. ‘Sea water,’ Gabe said grimly as he cleaned him. ‘There’s little fresh water round here. If he’s been wandering since the van crashed he’s had almost a week of nothing.’

That was a lot of speech for Gabe. They should take him to the vet, Nikki thought, but with the vet came a decision that neither of them seemed able to face. Not yet.

Save him and then decide. Dumb? Maybe, but it was what her gut was dictating, and Gabe seemed to be following the same path.

Gabe was encouraging the dog to drink, little by little. He found some sort of syringe and gently oozed water into the big dog’s mouth. Once they were sure he could swallow, Nikki shredded chicken, popping tiny pieces into Horse’s slack mouth and watching with satisfaction as he managed to get it down.

Slowly.

‘If we feed him fast he’ll be sick and we’ll undo everything,’ Gabe said. He sounded as if he knew what he was doing. How come he had a syringe on hand? Had he coped with injured animals before?

He was an enigma. Craggy and grim. A professional fisherman. Broad, but with muscles, there was not an inch of spare flesh on him.

He flashed from silence and anger, to caring, to tender, just like that. His hands as he cared for the big dog were gentle as could be; rough, weathered fisherman’s hands fondling the dog’s ears, holding the syringe, waiting with all the patience in the world for Horse to open his mouth.

Horse.

Why name a stray dog?

Why look at her landlord’s hand and think … and think …?

Nothing.

She should be back on her side of the house right now, enmeshed in plans for the air conditioning system for a huge metropolitan shopping centre. The centre had been the focus of an outbreak of legionnaires’ disease. Their air conditioning system needed to be revamped, and the plans needed to be finalised. Now.

Her plans were urgent—even if they bored her witless.

And Gabe should be fishing. He obviously thought that was urgent.

But nothing seemed more important than sitting by the fireside with Gabe and with Horse, gradually bringing the big dog back to life.

They were succeeding. The shuddering ceased. The dog was still limp, but he was warm and dry, and there was enough food and water going in to make them think the worst was past.

So now what?

The dog was drifting into sleep. Nikki glanced briefly at Gabe and caught a flash of pain, quickly suppressed. His head? Of course it was his head, she thought. That bruise looked horrible. What was she doing, letting him work on the dog?

‘You need to sleep, too,’ she told him.

‘We should make a decision about this guy. Take him …’

‘Let him sleep,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘For a bit. Then … maybe we could clean him up a bit more. If we take him back to the shelter looking lovely, then he has a better chance …’

‘He’s never going to look lovely,’ Gabe said. ‘Not even close.’

Maybe he wouldn’t. The dog was carrying scars. Patches of fur had been torn away, wounds had healed but the fur hadn’t grown back. An ugly scar ran the length of his left front leg. And what was he? Wolfhound? Plus the rest.

‘It’s drawing it out,’ Gabe said and Nikki flinched. She looked down at the dog and felt ill—and then she looked at Gabe and felt her own pain reflected in his eyes.

‘Not yet,’ she said, suddenly fierce. ‘Not until he’s slept. And not until you’ve slept. You have the day off work. I know you’re angry, and you can be as angry as you like with me, but what’s done’s done. Your head’s hurting. Go back to bed and sleep it off, and let Horse sleep.’

‘While you play Florence Nightingale to us both?’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice even. ‘A nurse is the last thing I could ever be, but it doesn’t take Florence to see what you need. You and Horse both. I need to do some work …’

‘You and me both.’

‘Get over it,’ she snapped. ‘You’re wounded, I’m not. So what I’m suggesting is that I bring my paperwork in here and do it at your dining table so I can keep an eye on Horse. I’ll keep checking the fire, I’ll keep offering Horse food and drink, and you go back to bed and wake up when your body lets you.’

‘You’ll check on me, too?’

‘Every two hours,’ she said firmly. ‘Like a good Florence. Though I’d prefer you to leave your door open so I can make sure you’re not dead all the time.’

‘This is nonsense. I need to mend cray-pots.’

‘You’ve got the day off,’ she snapped. ‘I told Hattie you were ill. Don’t make a liar of me.’

‘You really will look after the dog?’

‘I’ll look after both of you, until you wake up. Then …’ She glanced down at Horse and looked away. ‘Then we’ll do what comes next.’

He rang Raff from the privacy of his bedroom. The Banksia Bay cop answered on the first ring. ‘Why aren’t you at sea?’ Raff demanded. ‘Hattie says you hit your head. I thought you sounded bad last night. You want some help?’

This town, Gabe thought grimly. Banksia Bay was a great place to live unless you hankered for privacy. He did hanker for privacy, but he loved the place and intrusion was the price he paid.

‘And Hattie says your tenant’s looking after you. Mate …’ Raff drew the word out—maaate. It was a question all by itself.

‘She hit me,’ he said before he could help himself.

‘Did she now.’ Raff thought about that for a bit. ‘She had her reasons?’

Nip that one in the bud. ‘She thought I was a bunyip. She was searching for the dog. I was searching for the dog. We collided. She was carrying a poker. And that goes no further than you,’ he said sharply, as he heard a choke of laughter on the end of the line.

‘Scout’s honour,’ Raff said.

‘We never made Scouts.’ Raff had been one of the town’s bad boys. Like him.

‘That’s what I mean. You need any help?’

‘No. We found the dog. That’s why I’m ringing.’

‘We found the dog? You and Miss Morrissy?’

‘Nikki,’ he said before he could help himself and he heard the interest sharpen.

‘Curiouser and curiouser. So you and Nikki …’

‘The dog’s here,’ he snapped. ‘Fed and watered and asleep by my fire. I’ll bring him down to Fred when I’ve had a sleep.’

‘You’re having a sleep?’

‘Nikki’s orders,’ he said and suddenly he had an urge to smile. Quickly suppressed. ‘She’s bossy.’

‘Well, well.’

‘And you can just put that right out of your head,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want a dog, and I don’t want a woman even more. Tell Henrietta the dog’s found and we’ll take him to Fred tonight.’

‘We?’

‘Go find some villains to chase,’ he growled. ‘My head hurts. I’m going to sleep.’

‘On Nikki’s orders?’

He told Raff where to put his interest, and he hung up. Stripped to his boxers again. Climbed into bed. Following orders.

His head really did hurt.

She was going to check on him every two hours. The thought was …

Nope. He didn’t know what the thought was.

He didn’t want her checking him every two hours.

‘I’d prefer you to leave your door open so I can make sure you’re not dead …’

He sighed and opened his door. Glanced across at Nikki, who glanced back. Waved. He glowered and dived under the covers.

He didn’t want a woman in his living room.

Nor did he want a dog.

What was he doing, in bed in the middle of the morning?

He put his head on the pillow and the aching eased. Maybe she had a point. A man had to be sensible.

He fell asleep thinking of the dog.

Trying not to think of Nikki.

It was so domestic it was almost claustrophobic. The fire, the dog, Gabe asleep right through the door.

The work she was doing was tidying up plans she’d already drawn—nothing complex, which was just as well the way she was feeling. Her head was all over the place.

Biggest thought? Gabe.

No. Um, no, it wasn’t. Or it shouldn’t be. Her biggest thought had to be—could she keep a dog?

As a kid she’d thought she might like a dog. That was never going to happen, though. Her parents were high-flyers, both lawyers with an international clientele. They loved her to bits in the time they could spare for her, but that time was limited. She was an only child, taken from country to country, from boarding school to international hotel to luxury resort.

And after childhood? University, followed by a top paying job, a gorgeous apartment. Then Jonathan.

Maybe she could get a small white fluff ball, she’d thought occasionally, when she was missing Jon. When he was supposedly working elsewhere. But where would a dog fit into a lifestyle similar to her parents’?

And now …

Her job still took her away.

Her job didn’t have to take her away. Or not for long. She could glean enough information from a site visit to keep her working for months. Most queries could be sorted online—there was never a lot of use stomping round construction sites.

She quite liked stomping round construction sites. It was the part of her job she enjoyed most.

It was the only part …

Salary? Prestige?

Both were less and less satisfying. Her parents thought her career was wonderful. Jonathan thought it was wonderful. But now …

Now was hardly the time to be thinking of a career change. She was good at what she did. She was paid almost embarrassingly well. She could afford to pay others to do the menial stuff.

So maybe a little white fluff ball?

Or Horse.

Horse was hardly a fluff ball. Ten times as big, and a lot more needy.

Maybe she could share parenting with Gabe, she thought. When she was needed on site, he could stay home from sea.

Shared parenting? Of a dog who looked like a mangy horse, with a grumpy landlord fisherman?

With a body to die for. And with the gentlest of hands. And a voice that said he cared.

She glanced across the passage. The deal was she wouldn’t check on him every two hours as long as he kept his door open.

If he dropped dead, she was on the wrong side of the passage.

There wasn’t a lot she could do if he dropped dead.

At least the dog was breathing. She watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. He was flopped as close to the fire as he could be without being burned. Gabe had set the screen so no ember could fly out, but she suspected he wouldn’t wake even if it did.

He looked like a dog used to being hurt.

Maybe he’d be vicious when he recovered.

Maybe her landlord wouldn’t let her keep a dog.

Was she really thinking about keeping him?

It was just …

The last few weeks had been desolate. It was all very well saying she wanted a sea change, but there wasn’t enough work to fill the day and the night, and the nights were long and silent. She’d left Sydney in rage and in grief, and at night it came back to haunt her.

She also found the nights, the country noises … creepy.

‘Because of guys like you howling on beaches,’ she said out loud, and Horse raised his head and looked at her. Then sighed and set his head down again, as if it was too heavy to hold up.

How could someone throw him off a boat?

A great wounded mutt.

Her new best friend?

She glanced across the passage again. Gabe was deeply asleep, his bedding barely covering his hips.

He was wounded too, she thought, and with a flash of insight she thought it wasn’t just the hit over the head with the poker. He was living in a house built for a dozen, a mile out of town, on his own. Not even a dog.

‘He needs a dog, too,’ she told Horse.

Shared parenting was an excellent solution.

‘Yes, but that’s complicated.’ She set down her pen and crossed to Gabe’s bedroom door to make sure his chest was rising and falling. It was, but the sight of his chest did things to her own chest …

There went those hormones again. She had to figure a way of reining them in.

Return to dog. Immediately.

She knelt and fondled the big dog’s ears. He stirred and moaned, a long, low doggy moan containing all the pathos in the world.

She put her head down close to his. Almost nose to nose. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve given up on White and Fluffy. And I think I do like dogs. You’re not going to the vet.’

A great shaggy paw came up and touched her shoulder.

Absurdly moved, she found herself hugging him. Her arms were full of dog. His great brown eyes were enormous.

Could she keep him?

‘My parents would have kittens,’ she told him.

Her mother was in Helsinki doing something important.

Her father was in New York.

‘Yes, and I’m here,’ she told Horse, giving in to the weirdly comforting sensation of holding a dog close, feeling the warmth of him. ‘I’m here by the fire with you, and our landlord’s just over the passage. He’s grumpy, but underneath I reckon he’s a pussycat. I reckon he might let you stay.’

The fire was magnificently warm. She hadn’t had enough sleep last night.

She hesitated and then hauled some cushions down from the settee. She settled beside Horse. He sighed, but it was a different sigh. As if things might be looking up.

‘Perfect,’ said Nikkita Morrissy, specialist air conditioning engineer, sea-changer, tenant. She snuggled on the cushions and Horse stirred a bit and heaved himself a couple of inches so she was closer. ‘Let’s settle in for the long haul. You and me—and Gabe if he wants to join us. If my hit on the head hasn’t killed him. Welcome to our new life.’