Marion Lennox: Nikki and the Lone Wolf / Mardie and the City Surgeon: Nikki and the Lone Wolf / Mardie and the City Surgeon

And her clothes … The day she’d arrived she’d been wearing a black tunic with a diagonal slash of crimson across the hips. She’d added loopy silver earrings, red tights and glossy black boots that were practically thigh high. Low heels though. It was her moving day. She’d obviously thought low heels were workmanlike.

Tonight she’d been wearing jeans. Skin-tight jeans and a soft pink sweater. She must be roughing it, he thought, and his thoughts were bitter.

His head was thumping. He was trying hard not to think critical thoughts about ditzy air conditioning engineers who bush-bashed through the night with pokers.

And suddenly she was back again—practically running, though if she’d tried to run in those shoes she would have run right out of them. She was panting. Her eyes were still huge and the sculpted hair was … well, a lot less sculpted. She had a twig stuck behind one ear. A big twig.

‘Are you okay?’ she demanded, breathless, as if she’d expected to find him dead.

‘I’m fine,’ he growled and struggled to stand. Enough of lying round feeling sorry for himself. He shook away the hand she proffered, pushed himself to his feet—and the world swayed. Not much, but enough for him to grab her hand to steady himself.

She was stronger than he thought. She grabbed his other hand and held, hard, waiting for him to steady.

‘S … sorry.’ For a moment he thought he might throw up. He concentrated for a bit and decided no, he might keep his dignity.

‘Let me help you to the house.’

‘Dog first,’ he said.

‘You first.’

‘The dog’s standing up to his hocks in the water, howling. I’m not even whinging. I’m prioritizing.’ He made to haul his hands away but she still held.

He stopped pulling and let her hold.

Two reasons. One, he was still unsteady.

Two, it felt … not bad at all.

He worked with women. A good proportion of his fishing crews were female. They mostly smelled of, yeah, well, of fish. After a while, no matter how much washing, you didn’t get the smell out.

Nikkita smelled of something citrussy and tangy and outright heady. It didn’t make the dizziness worse, though. In truth it helped. He stood still, breathing in the scent of her, while the night settled around him.

She didn’t speak. She simply held.

Two minutes. Three. She wasn’t a talker, then. She’d figured he needed time to make the ground solid and she was giving it to him. It was the first decent thing he’d seen of her.

Maybe there were more decent things.

Her hands felt good. They were small hands for a tall woman. Soft …

Yeah, well, of course they’d be soft. For the last ten years any woman he’d ever gone out with was a local, one of the fishing crews, women who worked hard for a living. The only woman he’d ever gone out with who had soft hands …

Yeah. Lisbette. He’d married her.

So much for soft hands.

‘I’m right now,’ he said, finally, as another howl split the night. ‘Dog.’

‘Please let me take you home first.’

‘Are you good with dogs?’

‘Um … no.’

‘Then we both do the dog,’ he said. ‘Sure, I’m unsteady, so you do what I tell you. Exactly what I tell you. After the poker, it’s the least you can do.’

Was she out of her mind?

She was acting under orders.

Gabe was sitting in the shadows, watching, as she approached the dog with her hands full of steak. Upwind, according to Gabe’s directions, so he could smell the meat.

The dog was huge. Soaking wet, its coat was clinging to its skinny frame, so it looked almost like a small black horse.

Talk gently, Gabe had said. Soft, unthreatening.

So … ‘Hey, Horse, it’s okay,’ she told him. ‘Come out of the water and have some steak. Gabe’s gone to a lot of trouble to get it for you. The least you can do is eat it.’

Take one small step after another, Gabe had told her. Stop at the first hint of nervousness. Let the dog figure for himself that you’re not a threat.

‘Come on, boy. Hey, Horse, it’s okay. It’s fine. Come and tell me what your real name is.’

What was she doing, standing in the shallows with her hands full of raw meat? She’d tugged off her shoes but her jeans were soaked. To no avail. The dog was backing away, still twenty feet from her.

His coat was ragged, long and dripping. Fur was matted over his eyes.

He wasn’t coming near.

If Gabe wasn’t in the shadows watching she might have set the meat down on the sand and retreated.

But her landlord was expecting her to do this. He’d do it himself, only, despite what he told her, the thump on the head was making him nauseous. She knew it. He wasn’t letting her call for help but she knew it went against the grain to let her approach the dog. Especially when she was so bad at it.

‘Here, Horse. Here …’

A wave, bigger than the rest, came sideways instead of forward. It slapped into another wave, crested, hit her fair across the chest.

She yelped. She couldn’t help herself.

The dog backed fast into the waves.

‘It’s okay,’ she called and forgot to lower her voice.

The dog cast her a terrified glance and backed some more. The next wave knocked him sideways. He regained his footing and ran, like the horse he resembled. Along the line of the surf, away, around the bed in the headland and out of sight.

‘It’s okay.’

It wasn’t, but she hadn’t expected him to say it. She’d expected him to yell.

She’d coshed him. She’d scared the dog away.

A little voice at the back of her mind was saying, At least the howling’s stopped .

NYP , the same little voice in the back of her head whispered. Not your problem. She could forget the dog.

Only … He’d looked tragic. Horse …

Gabe was sitting where the sand gave way to the grassy verge before the bush began. At least he looked okay. At least he was still conscious.

‘You did the best you could.’ For a city girl . It wasn’t said. It didn’t have to be said.

‘Maybe he’s gone home.’

‘Does he look to you like he has a home?’ He flicked his cellphone from his top pocket and punched in numbers. Then he glanced at her, sighed, and hit loudspeaker so she could hear who he was talking to.

A male voice. Authoritive. ‘Banksia Bay Police,’ the voice said.

‘Raff?’ Gabe’s voice still wasn’t completely steady and the policeman at the end of the line obviously heard it. Maybe he was used to people with unsteady voices calling. He also recognised the caller.

‘Gabe? What’s up?’ She heard concern.

‘No problem. Or not a major one. A stray dog.’

‘Another one.’ The policeman sighed.

‘What are you talking about?’ Gabe demanded.

‘Henrietta’s Animal Welfare van was involved in an accident a few days back,’ the policeman explained. ‘We have stray dogs all over town. Describe this one.’

‘Big, black and malnourished,’ Gabe said. He was watching Nikki as he spoke. Nikki was trying to get the sand from between her toes before she put her shoes on. It wasn’t working.

She was soaking. She sat and the sand stuck to her. Ugh.

She was also unashamedly listening.

‘Like Great Dane big?’

‘Yeah, but he’s shaggy,’ Gabe said. ‘I’d guess Wolfhound with a few other breeds mixed in as well. And I don’t have him. He was down the beach below the house. We tried to catch him with a lump of steak but he’s headed round the headland to your side of town.’

‘We?’ Raff said.

‘Yeah,’ Gabe said dryly. ‘My tenant’s been helpful.’

‘But the two of you can’t catch him.’

‘No,’ Gabe said, and Nikki thought miserably that he sounded as if he could have done it if he was by himself. Maybe he could, but at least he didn’t say so.