LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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