Marion Lennox - Prescription-One Bride

Teenagers…

Jessie’s flush faded. Teenagers…How old did he take her for, for heaven’s sake? She drew herself up to her full five feet five inches and her brown eyes glared.

‘I’m twenty-seven,’ she snapped.

He shrugged. ‘Fascinating, I’m sure.’ The man’s cold gaze raked Jessie’s slim form, from her filthy sneakers to her dust-caked face. His disdain only seemed to increase. ‘If you’re speaking the truth-’ his tone suggested such a thing was as plausible as the moon being made of cheese ‘-then I suggest you’re too old to be crawling round my property on what, I must assume, to be some sort of infantile game. Now collect this Harry-or whoever it is you’re calling-and get the hell out of here. Now!’

Harry…

‘Harry’s a dog,’ Jessie managed.

‘You brought dogs onto my property?’ The man looked as if he was preparing to explode in fury. His fingers whitened on the gun and Jessie blenched. What on earth had she got herself into?

‘I didn’t bring him…He’s not my dog and I can’t find him,’ she stammered, striving desperately for calm.

The man visibly fought for self-control. His leather-booted foot stirred the ground, like a bull before a charge, and his face was cold as ice.

‘So you didn’t bring him? He’s not your dog but you’re looking for him,’ he said coldly. ‘I see.’ He raised his gun slightly. ‘Then I suggest you leave my land now-and let me do the looking.’

The gun’s slight movement was so suggestive that Jessie blenched. He wouldn’t shoot Harry…

‘No!’

Instinctively Jessie’s hand reached out to the gun and held on hard. She pulled it towards herself, swinging the point away from her body.

The man didn’t release it. He stood like stone, immovable.

‘Are you playing games with me?’ the man said slowly. The foot had stopped its movement. He stood rigidly, his hand locked on the gun and his cold eyes staring down at her. Jessie had never felt such anger-such a blaze of hostility…

Or had she…?

Once…

A wave of such dreadful remembrance hit her that Jessie stepped back in horror. Her hands dropped from the gun as if burned.

Jessie’s face drained of what little colour she had left and instinctively her hands came up before her face-to ward off a blow…

It was a futile gesture. This man hadn’t threatened her with a gun-or with a raised hand for that matter-but the fury was there…

And suddenly it wasn’t.

The man’s face changed. The aggression died as he stared down at her and his hand came out as if to touch…

Jess stepped back in panic. ‘N-no…’

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said harshly.

There was a long silence. The morning sun glimmered through the canopy of leaves above them. Their eyes stayed locked, the man’s harsh stare changing to a look of confusion-as if, suddenly, his aggression was weakening.

Jessie’s fear remained.

How could it not?

The man swore suddenly. He took another step towards her and Jessie flinched again.

He stopped.

And swore again.

And, then, in a gesture of impatience the man broke the barrel of his gun. The cartridge fell out onto his palm and he let it fall further onto the ground. Then he let the gun fall, too.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said again and this time he spoke as though he meant it. The blazing anger was gone.

Jessie took a deep breath. The memory receded-a little. This man wasn’t John Talbot. He had no cause to hurt her.

‘I…I guess…’ she said, but she couldn’t make her voice steady.

‘Are you running from someone?’ Niall Mountmarche’s dark brow was creased in sudden concern. Clearly her reaction had him puzzled. He looked around as if expecting to see others. ‘Are you hiding? Who’s Harry?’

‘I told you-Harry’s a dog.’ It was all Jessie could do to get her voice above a whisper.

‘But not your dog?’

‘No.’

‘But you’re scared stiff?’

Jessie took a deep breath. ‘No. Not…not any more.’

‘Because I put the gun down.’

‘That might have something to do with it,’ Jessie stammered, her equilibrium returning by degrees. The man still unsettled her badly-but at least the ogre image was fading. For the moment…

‘Well, would you care to tell me?’

‘Yes.’ Jessie closed her eyes, still fighting for calm. When she opened them she had herself almost under control.

‘Harry is your neighbour’s dog,’ she said at last. ‘Frank Reid owns land on your north boundary. I guess you don’t know him-as you keep to yourself so much-but Frank is elderly and diabetic. He’s ill at the moment and has been in hospital for over a week.’

‘So?’ This was of supreme disinterest, Niall Mountmarche’s face told her.

‘The girl who’s been looking after his farm told Frank today that Harry’s been missing for almost a week,’ Jess stammered. ‘Frank asked me to look…’

‘A week…’

‘She didn’t want to worry him.’ Jessie’s voice trailed away. The girl’s actions were almost inexcusable, she thought, remembering the elderly farmer’s distress when she’d seen him that morning.

‘So he asked you to look because you’re a friend?’ Niall Mountmarche was watching her as if she was a specimen he just couldn’t make out.

‘Because I’m the island vet,’ Jessie said bluntly and watched his reaction.

It was all she could have hoped for.

The man’s eyes widened in incredulity-and then disbelief.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said flatly.

‘That’s fine.’ Jessie bit her lip and shrugged. ‘Just let me get on with finding the dog and there’s no need for you to believe anything.’

‘How long have you been qualified?’

‘Look!’ Jessie’s voice exploded into anger. ‘How long I’ve been qualified has nothing to do with anything. The only thing that matters at the moment is that there’s an injured dog on your property and I need to find him. Fast!’

Niall Mountmarche was still watching her-assessing her. With his eyes still on her, he stooped to pick up his gun and snap it together. As Jessie’s face changed again he flicked the cartridge with his booted toe so that it lay almost at her feet.

‘You keep the cartridge,’ he said harshly. ‘I won’t shoot your precious dog. But I want to know why you think he’s on my property.’

The air whooshed out of Jessie’s lungs in a rush. She stooped to retrieve the cartridge and shoved it deep into her pocket-before the man changed his mind.

‘There are rabbit traps set near your boundary fence,’ she told him, fingering the cartridge as security. ‘Some of the local kids must have set their traps on Frank’s land while he’s in hospital. They know he’d never let them, otherwise. The traps are set in a pattern and one trap seems to be missing-and the place where it should be is marked with blood and fur. Not brown rabbit fur. It’s the black and white fur of a collie.’

‘Collie?’

‘Harry-Frank’s dog-is a Border collie. A good one.’

He was certainly a lovely dog, Jessie knew, and if anything happened to Harry Frank Reid would break his heart.

‘You haven’t said why you believe he’s here.’ The booted toe was tapping again on the leaf-strewn ground. Patience, it seemed, was not one of Niall Mountmarche’s strong points.

‘There’s a trail of drag marks and blood leading through your fence. At a guess, the dog still has the trap on his foot. If he’s too injured to drag himself home then he won’t have gone far.’

‘If he’s been missing a week then he’ll be dead.’

‘No.’ Jessie shook her head. ‘I heard him,’ she said flatly. ‘He’s somewhere here.’