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ABBY AND THE BACHELOR COP

MISTY AND THE SINGLE DAD

MARION LENNOX

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.