Marion Lennox - Bushfire Bride

‘Charming,’ Rachel said. ‘Great party trick.’

‘Digger doesn’t do party tricks.’

She nodded in sympathetic understanding. ‘I guess you need to be house-trained to be let into parties.’

The man’s grin matched hers. War hadn’t just been declared-the first shots had been fired. ‘Are you implying Digger’s not house-trained?’

‘Seeing is believing.’ This was OK, she decided. For the first time since she’d been conned into coming to this last bastion of civilisation, she was having fun. Guilt could be forgotten-for the moment. Penelope against Digger. It was a crazy conversation. She wasn’t sure how it had started but she didn’t intend to stop. ‘Breeding will out,’ she declared.

‘There’s been more gone into Digger’s breeding than your mutt’s.’

‘My mutt’s name is Penelope,’ she said haughtily. ‘And she’s no mutt. She comes from long line of Australian champions. Whereas your mutt…’

‘Digger also comes from a long line of champions,’ the stranger told her. He smiled again, and it was a heart-stopper of a smile. A real killer. ‘We’re sure there’s a piece of champion Border collie in there somewhere, and a champion kelpie…’

‘And a champion dachshund?’ Rachel watched as Digger’s tiny pointy tail stuck straight up. ‘Definitely dachshund.’

‘That’s silly,’ the little boy said. ‘Dachshunds are long and flat and Digger’s high and bouncy.’

‘Right.’ She was trying not to laugh. Both the man and the boy were entrancing. Two gorgeous smiles. Two sets of deep, dark eyes ready to spring into laughter. She was bored out of her brain and this pair were a diversion sent from heaven.

‘So what do we do with my hamburger?’ she asked, and the man’s smile deepened. Honestly, it was a smile to die for.

‘We put it under a feed dish.’

Rachel raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and handed over her burger. A fair amount of ketchup came, too.

The man looked down at his hand-ketchup with hamburger attached. Ugh. In truth it had been a very soggy hamburger and Rachel wasn’t all that sorry to lose it. ‘You like your burgers well sauced?’

‘Yes,’ she told him, and went back to glowering.

‘My Dad says tomato sauce has too much salt and salt’s bad for blood pressure,’ the little boy ventured.

‘People who say rude things about dogs are bad for blood pressure,’ Rachel retorted, and there was a general chuckle from their growing audience. ‘So what are you intending to do with my hamburger?’

‘Watch.’ The man stooped and placed a piece of hamburger underneath an upturned dog dish. Then he stood back and let Digger’s lead go slack.

‘Dinner,’ he said.

Digger looked up at him. Adoring. Then the skinny, brown dog gazed around the crowd as if ensuring each and every eye was on him. He sniffed, placed a paw on top of the dish, crouched down, pushed with the other paw…The dish toppled sideways to reveal the piece of hamburger.

Digger looked around again as if awaiting applause. It came. He received his due and then delicately ate the hamburger.

Uh-oh.

‘Now it’s Penelope’s turn.’

‘She’ll get dirty,’ Rachel said, and there was a trace of worry in her voice. Penelope might be lovely, but her opposition was seriously smart.

‘We’ll put it up on her platform.’ The stranger’s smile was growing broader. ‘I’ll even wipe the ketchup off. Or maybe you could do it on your T-shirt.’

Ouch! ‘Watch your mouth.’

Another grin, but the entire pavilion was watching now and he didn’t stop. He placed the dish in front of Penelope’s nose. He broke a second piece of hamburger, showed it to Penelope and popped it underneath.

He backed away and left her to it.

Penelope sniffed. She sniffed again.

She whined.

She lay down in front of the dish. She stood up and barked. She shoved the dish sideways with her nose and barked again.

Nothing happened. She lay down and whined, pathos personified.

‘So your dog’s hungrier than mine,’ Rachel told him with a touch of desperation, and there was general laughter. ‘You must starve Digger.’

‘Do I look like a man who’d starve a dog?’

No. He didn’t. He looked really nice, Rachel decided, and she wished all of a sudden that she wasn’t in soiled jeans and sauce-stained T-shirt, that her mass of deep brown curls were untangled and not full of the straw that the organisers had put down as bedding, and that she looked…

Oh, heck, what was she thinking of? This guy had a kid. She was here with Michael and…

‘Rachel, are you feeding Penelope?’

Unthinkingly, she’d raised the feed bowl, and Penelope was launching herself into the hamburger as if there was no tomorrow.

‘Um…Michael.’

Michael, silver-haired, suave and in charge of his world, was elbowing through the crowd and his face was incredulous. No one messed with Michael’s instructions. Pedigree dog food only. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’m proving Penelope’s intelligence,’ she told him, chin jutting. Enough was enough and she’d had more than enough of Dr Michael Levering.

Back at Sydney Central, Michael had seemed witty and charming and, as one of Sydney’s top cardiologists, he was extremely eligible. His invitation to go away with him for the weekend had half the staff in Casualty green with envy, and her friends and her family had finally pushed her to accept. ‘Come on,’ her mother-in-law had told her. ‘This is your chance. You know it’s time you moved on. A romantic weekend with a gorgeous bachelor… Rachel, love, you take some precautions and go for it!’

Precautions. Ha! That was the last thing she’d needed. They were supposed to be sharing dog duty. That was another joke. Michael had said he’d sleep in the car because he was too tall to fit in the dog box, but she was starting to have serious doubts about what car he’d slept in. When he’d appeared this morning, ten minutes before Penelope had been due to appear in the judging ring, he’d looked far too clean to have slept in any car. Then he’d said he’d had to make an urgent telephone call. She hadn’t seen him again.

So what had he been doing all this time? She looked at him suspiciously, checking for damp hair. If she could prove he’d been swimming while she’d dog-sat, she was going to have to kill him.

‘Our dog’s more intelligent than yours,’ the little boy piped up, and Michael stared down at the child in distaste.

‘What are you talking about?’

Rachel flinched. This weekend was definitely not going to plan. Sexy? Eligible? Ha! This man was a king-sized toad.

‘I’m Toby McInnes and this is my dad,’ the little boy told him, oblivious to the anger in Michael’s voice. ‘My dad’s Dr Hugo McInnes. Who are you?’

Michael opened his mouth but Rachel forestalled him. She knew what would come out and it wouldn’t be pleasant. ‘This is Michael and I’m Rachel,’ she told the little boy. She watched Hugo’s grip tighten on his son’s hand and she didn’t blame him; she was moving into protection mode herself. ‘Penelope is Michael’s dog.’

But Michael had moved on. He was talking only to Rachel. ‘Did you know there are bushfires out of town?’

‘Bushfires?’ Rachel knew nothing of any bushfires. She hadn’t been out of the pavilion all day.

‘They’re a long way from here.’ The man-the doctor?-called Hugo was gazing from Rachel to Michael and back again. His initial anger at Michael seemed to have faded and he now looked as if the whole scene held great interest for him.

‘The fires are threatening to block the road,’ Michael snapped. He shoved Penelope away from him and the big dog practically fell over. Fast thinking was not Penelope’s strong point. She whined a little and nuzzled Rachel, and Rachel gave her a hug. Stupid or not, she was still a very nice dog.