Misty and the Single Dad

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT had just happened?

One minute he had been a father intent on enrolling his son in his new school. He’d been ready to fill in forms, reassure Bailey, do all the things a responsible dad did.

The next he was standing in the sunshine, his arms full of bleeding dog, with a worried schoolteacher watching his rear. Making sure he followed directions.

An army commander couldn’t have done it better.

Bailey would be safe with her.

That was a dumb thing to think at such a time-after all, what risk was there in leaving his son in a country primary school, in Australia, in a tiny seaside town where the most exciting thing to happen was…was…

Well, a dog being run over, for a start. Even that was more excitement than Nick wanted.

And it was a whole lot more excitement than this dog wanted. As Nick felt the dog tremble he put the me angle aside and focused on the creature he was carrying.

There’d been no time to examine him in the classroom. Miss Lawrence had wanted him out of there.

That was unfair. Her first responsibility must be to the children in her class and she’d put them first. If she’d taken the time to see exactly what was wrong, then the children, too, would have seen. Maybe that would have been distressing.

So he did what he was told. He turned his back on the school and headed for the car.

To the vet?

That, at least, was easy. Banksia Bay’s commercial centre consisted of the one High Street running down to the harbour. Right on the town’s edge was a brick building set back from the road. There was a big tree out front, a large blue sign saying ‘Vet’ and a picture of a dog with a cocked leg, pointing to the tree.

He and Bailey had smiled at it when they’d arrived in town. It was barely a block and a half from the house he’d rented.

‘We could get a dog,’ Bailey had said, but tentatively because maybe he’d already known the answer.

The answer would be no. Nick wanted nothing else that would tear their hearts. He was totally responsible for Bailey now, and for Bailey to have any more tragedy…

Look at this dog, for instance-running away, being hit by a car. He didn’t know how badly it was injured. In all probability, there was still a tragedy here.

If there was then he’d lie to Bailey, he decided. This dog obviously belonged to a nice farmer who lived a long way out of town. The farmer would come and collect him. No, it’d be too far to visit…

The dog in question quivered again in his arms-the trembling was coming in waves-and he stopped thinking of difficulties. The sensible thing would be to set the dog on the car seat beside him but when he went to put him down he shook so much he thought okay, if it’s body warmth he needs, then why not give it to him?

If Miss Lawrence was here she’d hold him. She’d expect him to hold him too.

She was one bossy woman.

Strong? Independent? Like Isabelle?

Not like Isabelle. She was a country schoolteacher. She wasn’t a risk-taker.

She was…cute?

Now there was a dumb thing to think. He’d come here to set himself and Bailey up as safe and immune from any more risk-from any more tragedy.

From any more complications.

Isabelle had been dead for little more than a year. Even though their marriage had been on the rocks well before that, it hadn’t made her death less shocking. Less gut-wrenching. It was far too soon to think that anyone, much less Bailey’s new schoolteacher, was cute.

Hard not to think it, though. And maybe it was okay. Normal, even. She was a country schoolteacher and her ability to intrude on his life would be limited to teaching his son.

And asking him to take a dog to the vet.

It took two minutes to drive the short distance to the vet’s. When he carried the dog in, an elderly guy with heavy spectacles and a grizzled beard emerged from the swing doors behind Reception. His glance at Nick was only fleeting; he focused straight away on the blood-stained towel. ‘What’s happened?’

A man after my own heart, Nick thought. Straight to the core of the problem.

‘Miss Lawrence from the local school asked me to bring this dog in,’ he said as the vet folded back an edge of the towel so he could see what he was dealing with.

‘Misty?’ The vet was touching the dog’s face, running his fingers down his neck. Feeling for his pulse. ‘Misty doesn’t have a dog.’

‘No, he ran into the schoolroom while…’

But the vet had found the collar. He fingered the nylon-checked the number, winced.

‘It’s the second.’

‘Sorry?’

‘From our local Animal Welfare Centre.’ The vet took the dog from him, holding him with practised ease. ‘Henrietta gives dogs every chance, only there are never enough homes. When the dogs have stayed there for…well, it’s supposed to be ten days but she stretches it as long as she has room…she brings them to me. Three months after Christmas, cute pups turn into unwanted dogs. Yesterday morning she had a van full and some driver ran into the back of her. Dogs went everywhere. This is one of them.’

‘So…’ Nick said, and paused.

‘So,’ the vet said heavily. ‘Thank you for bringing him in.’ He paused and then craggy eyebrows raised. ‘It’s okay,’ he said gently. ‘I promise it’ll be painless.’ And then, as Nick still hesitated, ‘Unless you want a dog?’

‘I…no.’

‘You’re not a local.’ It was a statement.

‘My son and I have just moved here.’

‘Have you just? Got a house with a yard?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Every kid needs a dog.’ It was said neutrally, probing a possible reprieve.

‘No.’ Yet still he hesitated.

‘No pressure,’ the vet said. ‘The last thing this guy needs is another place that doesn’t want him.’

‘Miss Lawrence says she’ll pay,’ Nick said. ‘For you to treat him.’

‘Misty said that?’

‘Yes.’

‘She wants to keep him?’

‘I’m not sure.’

The vet seemed confused. ‘Misty’s dog died last year. She’s sworn she won’t get another.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know any more than you do.’

‘She won’t have realised he’s due to be put down. Or maybe she has.’ The vet sighed. ‘Trust Misty. Talk about a soft touch…’ He glanced at his watch. Grimaced. ‘I need to talk to her, but I won’t be able to catch her until after school. That’s almost three hours.’ He looked at the dog again and Nick could see what he was thinking-that three hours was too long to make a dog suffer if the end was inevitable.

This wasn’t Nick’s problem. He should walk away. But…

But he had to face Misty, the bossy little schoolteacher with the pleading eyes. Did she see this as her dog?

She’d said she’d cover the expenses. He had to give her the choice.

‘I’m going back to the school anyway,’ he said diffidently. ‘I was enrolling my son when we found the dog. I could talk to her and phone you back.’

The vet’s face cleared. ‘Excellent. Let’s do a fast assessment of this guy’s condition so Misty knows what we’re dealing with. She’s not a girl to mess me around-it’ll be yes or no. Can you give me a hand? I’ll give him some pain relief and we’ll tell her exactly what she is or isn’t letting herself in for.’

Bailey drew a great cow. Misty gazed down at the child’s drawing with something akin to awe. He was six years old, and his cow even looked like a cow.

‘Wow,’ she said as she stamped his picture with her gold elephant stamp-gold for Effort, elephant for Enormous. ‘You must really like drawing, Bailey.’

‘My dad can draw,’ Bailey said. ‘People pay him to draw pictures of boats.’

His father was an artist?

‘Then you’ve come to the right place,’ she said, glancing out of the window towards the distant harbour.

Nicholas Holt didn’t look like an artist, she thought, but then, what did she know of artists? What did she know of anything beyond the confines of this town?

Don’t think it. There was no point going down that road. For now, Banksia Bay was her life.

And for how much longer? She’d just offered to pay for a dog.

How long did dogs live?

‘Story time,’ she said determinedly. ‘Tell you what, Bailey, as you’re the new boy today, you can choose the story. Any book from the rack. Take a look.’

Bailey looked at her dubiously but he’d obviously decided this was an okay environment-this was somewhere to be trusted. And chubby little Natalie was right beside him, his new Friend For Life. ‘Choose Poky Little Puppy,’ Natalie whispered as only a six-year-old could whisper. “Cos it’s all about a puppy getting into trouble, like your new dog.’

Like your new dog…

Uh oh.

‘He’s not Bailey’s new dog,’ Misty said as she settled on the reading stool with the kids around her.

‘Then whose is he, miss?’ Natalie asked, and she knew the answer. She’d known it as soon as she’d seen the plastic collar.

She sighed. She was stuck here anyway. Why keep fighting the odds? Her dreams had already stretched a lifetime and it seemed they needed to be stretched a while longer.

‘I guess he’s mine.’

And ten minutes later when Nick walked back into the classroom the thing was settled. He entered the room, Natalie’s hand shot up and she asked before Misty could give permission.

‘Please, sir, how’s Miss Lawrence’s dog?’

Miss Lawrence’s dog. He flashed a look at Misty and she met his gaze with every evidence of serenity. As if she picked up stray dogs all the time.

Why? Dogs must give her heartache upon heartache, he thought. The lifespan for a dog was what? Sixteen years? The mutt in question was around ten years old already and battered, which meant he was sliding towards grief for all concerned. He had six years, at most-if he made it through the next twenty-four hours.

‘He has a broken leg,’ he said, aware of a classroom of eyes, but aware most acutely of Bailey. Bailey, who’d seen far too much horror already. Because of his father’s stupidity…

‘Is Dr Cray fixing him?’ Misty asked from the front of the room, and his gaze locked on hers. He could reply without speaking; he knew this woman was intelligent enough to get it.

‘It’s an extremely expensive operation to fix his leg,’ he said, trying for a neutral tone. ‘He’s already an elderly dog, so there may be complications. Apparently he’s from the Animal Welfare Centre-a stray-but Dr Cray says he’s willing to take care of him for us. All he needs is your permission. I can phone him now and let him know it’s okay.’

She got the message. He saw her wince.

The vet was letting her off the hook. All she had to do was nod and go back to reading to the children. Nicholas would relay her decision and the problem would be solved.

But this woman didn’t work like that. He sensed it already and her response was no surprise. ‘How expensive?’

So she couldn’t save the dog at any cost. She was a schoolteacher, after all.

What to say? He ran over the options fast.

Could they talk outside? Could he say, Let’s talk without the children hearing. Let’s give you the cold facts-that this dog’s going to cost a mint; he’s a stray with a limited lifespan. No one wants him; the kindest thing is to let Dr Cray do what he thinks best, which is to put him down.

He’d come to Banksia Bay to be sensible. He had to be sensible.

But then…Bailey was looking up at him with huge eyes. Bailey would want details about what happened to the dog. Could he tell him the story about the distant farmer?

Could he lie?

All the children were looking at him. And their teacher?

Their teacher was looking trapped.

She had a dog.

The dog had trembled and cringed against her. He’d looked up at her, and she’d disappeared into those limpid eyes. His despair had twisted her heart.

But reality had now raised its ugly head and was staring her down.

How much was extremely expensive?

Becky, her best friend from school days, had just spent twelve thousand dollars on her Labrador’s hip. But then, Becky had a property developer husband. Money was no problem. How badly was this dog’s leg damaged?

Was she being totally stupid?

She thought of her wish list-twelve lovely things for her to dream about. To replace her list with a dog…

‘I might not be able to aff…’ But she faltered, knowing already that she would afford-how could she not? The moment she’d seen those eyes she knew she was hooked.

But then, amazingly, Nick stopped her before she could say the unsayable.

‘He’s a stray,’ he said gently. ‘But if you’re offering to keep him, then Bailey and I will pay for his operation. We left the school door open. It may even have been our fault that he was run over-maybe he saw the open door from across the street and ran here for shelter. You tell me that in Banksia Bay parents are asked to volunteer for jobs? This, then, is our job. If he’s your dog, then we’ll pay.’

Misty stared up at him, astounded. Her thoughts were whirling.

Extremely expensive was suddenly no cost at all.

No cost except putting her dreams on hold yet again.

How could she not?

Nicholas was looking at her. Her whole class was looking at her.

‘Fine,’ she said weakly. ‘I do need a dog.’

Dreams were just that-dreams.

Frank arrived then, blustering away his absence, playing the School Principal to Nicholas and to Bailey. Misty used the time to excuse herself and phone Dr Cray to say she was accepting Nicholas’s very kind offer.

‘Misty, love, are you out of your mind?’ the vet demanded. ‘You need this dog like a hole in the head. He’s old, neglected and he’ll need ongoing treatment for the rest of his life.’

‘He’s got lovely eyes. His ears… He’s a sweetheart, I know he is.’

‘You can’t save them all. You swore you didn’t want another dog. What about your list?’

‘You know that’s just a dream.’

Of course he did. This was Banksia Bay. The whole town knew everyone else’s brand of toothpaste. So the town knew about her list, and they’d know her chances of achieving it had just taken another nosedive.

She cringed, but she couldn’t back down now. It’d be like tearing away a part of herself-the part that said, Good old Misty; you can always depend on her. The part where her heart was. ‘I’ve fallen for him,’ she said, softly but determinedly. ‘Now that Mr Holt’s paying…’

‘And that’s something else I don’t understand. Who is this guy?’

‘I don’t know. A painter. New to the town.’

A pause. Then… ‘A painter. I wonder how he’d go painting props.’

Fred Cray was head of Banksia Bay Repertory Society. There was a lot more to moving to Banksia Bay than just emptying a moving van. Did Nicholas realise it?

Maybe he already had.

‘Give him a day or so before you ask,’ she pleaded. ‘Just save my dog.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

So she had a dog again. At one time she’d been responsible for Gran, for Grandpa and for four dogs. Her heart had been stretched six ways. Now she was down to just Gran.

But who was wishing Gran away? She never would, and maybe taking this dog was simply accepting life as it was.

Banksia Bay. What more could a girl want?

New blood, at least, she thought, moving her thoughts determinedly to a future. With a dog.

And, with that, she decided she wouldn’t mind a chance to get to know Nicholas Holt. She at least needed to thank him properly. But when she returned to the classroom Frank ushered Nicholas straight out to his office, and that was the last she saw of him for the day.

Bailey stayed happily until the end of school-any hint of early terror had dissipated in the face of Natalie’s maternal care-and then Frank declared himself on gate duty, probably so he’d be seen by this new parent to be doing the right thing.

For there was something about Nicholas…

See, that was the problem. There was something about Nicholas Holt that made Frank think maybe he ought to stick around, be seen, just in case Nicholas turned out to be someone important.

He had the air of someone important.

A painter?

It didn’t seem…right, Misty thought. He had an air of quiet authority, of strength. And he also had money. She knew now what the little dog’s operation would cost and he hadn’t hesitated. This was no struggling single dad.

She cleared up the classroom and headed out to find a deserted playground. What did she expect? That he’d stick around and wait for her?

He’d made one generous gesture and he’d moved on. He had a house to move into. A future to organise.

Boats to paint?

She headed for the car and then to where she always went after school, every day without fail. Banksia Bay’s nursing home.

Gran was in the same bed, in practically the same position she’d been in for years. One stroke had robbed her of movement. The last stroke had robbed her of almost everything else. Misty greeted her with a kiss and settled back and told her about her day.

Was it her imagination or could she sense approval? Gran would have rescued the little dog. She’d probably even have accepted money from a stranger to do it.

‘It’s not like I’m accepting welfare,’ she told Gran. ‘I mean, he’s saving the dog-not paying me or anything. It’s me who has to pay for the dog’s ongoing care.’

Silence.

‘So what shall we call him?’

More silence. Nothing new there. There’d been nothing but silence from Gran for years.

‘What about Nicholas?’ she asked. ‘After the guy who saved him.’

But it didn’t seem right. Nicholas seemed suddenly…singular. Taken.

‘How about Ketchup, then?’ she asked. ‘On account of his broken leg. He’ll spend the next few months ketching up.’

That was better. They both approved of that. She just knew Gran was smiling inside.

‘Then I’d best go see how Ketchup’s getting on,’ she told her grandmother. ‘He’s with Dr Cray. I’m sorry it’s a short visit tonight, but I’m a bit worried…’

She gave her grandmother’s hand a squeeze. No response. There never was.

But dogs had been her grandmother’s life. She’d like Ketchup, she thought, imagining herself bringing a recuperating Ketchup in to see her. Who knew what Gran could feel or sense or see, but maybe a dog on her bed would be good.

It had to be good for someone, Misty thought. Another dog…

Another love?

Who needed freedom, after all?

Nick and Bailey had the house sorted in remarkably short time, probably because they owned little more than the contents of their car. The house was only just suitable, Nick thought as they worked. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to rent via the Internet. The photographs he’d seen appeared to have been doctored. The doors and windows didn’t quite seal. The advertised view to the sea was a view towards the sea-there’d been a failure to mention a fishermen’s co-op in between. There were no curtains, bare light bulbs, sparse floor coverings.

But at least it was a base to start with. They could make it better, and if the town worked out they’d buy something of their own. ‘It’s like camping,’ he told Bailey. ‘We’ll pretend we’re explorers, living rough. All we need is a campfire in the backyard.’

Bailey gave him a polite smile. Right. But the school experience had made them both more optimistic about the future. They set up two camp beds in the front room, organised the rudiments of a kitchen so they could make breakfast, then meandered down to the harbour to buy fish and chips for tea.

They walked for a little afterwards, past the boats, through the main street, then somehow they ended up walking past the vet’s.

Misty had just pulled up. She was about to go in.

He should stay clear, he thought. Paying for the dog was one thing, but he had no intention of getting personally involved.

But Bailey had already seen her. ‘Miss Lawrence,’ he called, and Misty waved. She smiled.

She smiled at Bailey, Nick told himself sharply, because a man had to do something to defend himself in the face of a smile like that.

He didn’t have any intention of smiling back. Distance, he told himself harshly. He’d made that resolution. Stay clear of any complication at all. The only thing-the only one-who mattered was his son.

He’d messed things up so badly already. How many chances did a man have to make things right?

But Misty was still smiling. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Are you here to see how Ketchup is?’

‘Ketchup?’ Bailey was beaming, and Nick thought back to the scared little boy of this morning and thought, What a difference a day makes. ‘Is that what his name is?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s a hopalong. He’ll spend his life ketching up.’

Bailey frowned, his serious little brow furrowing as he considered this from all angles. Then his face changed, lit from within as he got it. ‘Ketchup,’ he said and he giggled.

Nick had no intention of smiling, but somehow… This felt good, he thought. More. It felt great that Bailey giggled. Maybe he could afford to unbend a little.

‘Great name,’ he told her.

‘He’ll be a great dog,’ Misty said.

‘How is he?’

‘He was still under anaesthesia last time I rang. Did you know his leg was broken in three places?’

‘That’s bad,’ Bailey said, his giggle disappearing. ‘When I got shot my arm was only broken in one place.’

Misty stilled. ‘You were shot?’

‘I’m better now,’ Bailey said and tugged up his sleeve, revealing a long angry scar running from his wrist to his shoulder. ‘I had plaster and bandages on for ages and it hurt a lot. Dad and I stayed at the hospital for ages and ages while the doctors made my fingers wiggle again but now I’m better. So we came here. Can we see Ketchup?’

‘Of course,’ she said, but her voice had changed. He could well imagine why. She’d have visions of drug deals, underworld stuff, gangsters… For a small boy to calmly say he’d been shot…

So maybe that was okay, he thought. Maybe it’d make her step back and it suddenly seemed important that she did step back.

Why did he think this woman might want to get close?

What was he thinking? He wanted her to think he was a gangster? What sort of future was he building for his son? Maybe he needed to loosen up.

‘Now?’ Bailey was asking.

Misty glanced at Nick. Okay, he didn’t want to be a gangster, and he had to allow Bailey to form a relationship with his teacher. He nodded. Reluctantly.

And, even if she was thinking he might be carrying a sawn-off shotgun under his jacket, despite his curt, not particularly friendly nod, Misty smiled down at his son and her face showed nothing but pleasure.

‘Wow, wait until we tell Ketchup you’ve had a broken arm,’ she said. ‘You’ll be able to compare wounds.’ She took Bailey’s hand and tugged open the screen door. ‘Let’s see how he’s doing.’

And she didn’t even care if he was a gangster, Nick thought, feeling ashamed. All she cared about was his son.

Ketchup had looked bad this morning but he looked a lot worse now. He lay on towels in an open cage. His hind quarters were shaved, splinted and bandaged. He had a soft collar around his neck, presumably to stop him chewing his bandages, but he wasn’t about to chew any time soon. He looked deeply asleep. The tubes attached to his foreleg looked scary.

‘I have him heavily sedated,’ Dr Cray said. ‘Pain relief as well as something to calm him down. He’s been deeply traumatised.’

‘Do we know anything about him?’ Misty looked down at the wretched little dog and she felt the same heart twist she’d felt this morning. Yes, it was stupid, taking him on, but there was no way she could help herself. This dog had come through so much… He had to have a second chance.

‘He was at the Shelter for two weeks,’ Fred Cray said, glancing at his card. ‘No one’s enquired about him. Rolf Enwhistle found him and another dog prowling round his poultry pen but they weren’t exactly a threat to the hens. This one rolled over and whimpered when Rolf went near. They were both starving-no collars. They looked like they’d been dumped in the bush and been doing it tough for weeks.’

‘Oh, Ketchup,’ Misty breathed. She looked back to Nick then, and she smiled at him. Doubts about the wisdom of keeping this dog had flown. How could she consider anything else? ‘And you’ve saved him for me.’

‘It’s okay,’ Nicholas said, sounding uncomfortable.

‘Will he be your dog now?’ Bailey asked.

‘He certainly will,’ she said, still smiling, though her eyes were misting. ‘I have the world’s biggest couch. Ketchup and I can watch television together every night. I wonder if he likes popcorn.’

‘He’s a lucky dog to have found you lot,’ Fred said-but Bailey was suddenly distracted.

‘We don’t have a couch,’ he said urgently to his father. ‘We need one.’

‘We’ll buy a couch,’ Nicholas said. ‘On Monday.’

‘Can we buy a couch big enough for dogs?’

‘We’ll buy a couch big enough for you and me.’

‘Can Miss Lawrence and Ketchup come over and sit on our couch?’

‘There won’t be room.’

‘Then we need to buy a bigger couch,’ Bailey said firmly. ‘For visitors.’

‘I suspect Ketchup might want to stick around home for a while,’ Misty said, seeing conflicting emotions on Nicholas’s face and deciding he’d paid for Ketchup’s vet’s fees-the least she could do was take the pressure off. ‘Ketchup needs to get used to having a home.’

‘That’s what Dad says we need to do,’ Bailey said.

‘I hear you’re moving into Don Samuelson’s old place,’ Fred said neutrally. ‘That’s a bit of a barn. You could fit a fair few couches in there.’

‘We don’t have anything except two camp beds and a kitchen table,’ Bailey said, suddenly desolate, using the same voice he used when he said he really, really needed a hamburger. ‘Our new house is empty. It’s horrid. We don’t have pictures or anything.’

‘Hey, then Misty’s your girl,’ the vet said, nudging Misty. ‘Give ’em your spiel, Mist.’

‘No, I…’

‘She wanted to be an interior designer, our Misty,’ the vet said before she could stop him. ‘Sat the exams, got great marks, she was off and flying. Only then her gran had the first of her strokes. Misty stayed home, did teaching by correspondence and here she is, ten years later. But we all know she does a little interior decorating on the side. Part-time, of course. There’s not enough interior decorating in Banksia Bay to keep a girl fed, eh, Mist? But if you’re in Don Samuelson’s place… There’s a challenge. A man’d need a good interior designer there.’

‘I’m a schoolteacher,’ Misty said stiffly.

‘But the man needs a couch.’ Fred could be insistent when he wanted to be, and something had got into him now. ‘New to town, money to spend and an empty house. It’s not exactly appealing, that place, but Misty knows how to make a home.’

‘You could come and see and tell us what to buy,’ Bailey said, excited.

‘Excellent idea. Why don’t you do it straight away?’ the vet said. He glanced down at the little dog and his eyes softened. Like Misty, Fred fell in love with them all. That Nick had appeared from nowhere with the wherewithal to pay…and that Misty had offered the dog a home…

Uh oh. Misty saw his train of thought and decided she needed to back off, fast. Fred Cray had been a friend of her Grandpa’s. He was a lovely vet but he was also an interfering old busybody.

‘I need to go home,’ she said.

‘You’ve visited your gran and you ate a hamburger at Eddie’s half an hour ago,’ Fred said, and she groaned inside. There was nothing the whole town didn’t know in Banksia Bay. ‘The little guy and his dad had fish and chips on the wharf, so they’ve eaten, too. So why don’t you go by his place now and give him a few hints?’

‘There’s no rush,’ Nicholas said, sounding trapped.

‘Yes, there is. We need a couch.’ Bailey was definite.

‘See,’ Fred said. ‘There is a rush. Misty, I’m keeping this little guy overnight. Come back in the morning and we’ll see how he is. Nine tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ she said, feeling helpless. She turned to Nicholas. ‘But there’s no need…I’m not really an interior decorator.’

‘Bailey and I could do with some advice,’ he admitted, looking as bulldozed as she felt. ‘Not just on what couch to buy but where to buy it. Plus a fridge and beds and a proper kitchen table. Oh, and curtains. We need curtains.’

‘And a television,’ Bailey said.

‘You really have nothing?’ Misty asked, astonished.

‘I really have nothing. But I don’t want to intrude…’

‘You’re not intruding. You’re the answer to her dreams,’ the vet said, chortling. ‘A man with a blank canvas. Go with him, Misty, fast, before some other woman snaffles him.’

‘I don’t…’ She could feel herself blush.

‘To give him advice, I mean,’ Fred said, grinning. ‘You’ll get that round here,’ he told Nicholas. ‘Advice, whether you ask for it or not. Like me advising you to use Misty. But that’s good advice, sir. Take it or leave it, but our Misty’s good, in more ways than one.’