Nikki and the Lone Wolf (4 page)

Silence.

Her guess was right, she thought. In that one short phone conversation she'd sensed friendship between the two men, and maybe the unknown cop was as tough as the guy standing in front of her.

‘I'm serious,' she said, jutting her jaw.

‘I'll be on the boat at dawn. This is nonsense.'

‘Being on the boat at dawn is nonsense. After a hit like that you should stay home.'

‘Butt out of my life!' It was an explosion and she backed as far as the little porch allowed. Which wasn't far, but something must have shown in her face.

‘Okay, sorry.' He raked his hand through his thatch of dark, unruly hair. He needed a haircut, Nikki thought inconsequentially. And then she thought, even more inconsequentially, what would he look like in a suit?

Like a caged tiger. This guy was not meant to be constrained.

That was what she was doing now, she thought. She was constraining him, but she wasn't backing down. There was no way she could calmly go to bed and leave him to die next door.

She met his gaze and jutted her chin some more and tried to look determined. She was determined.

‘Every two hours or Raff,' she said.

‘Fine.' He threw up his hands in defeat. ‘Have it your way. You can sleep tomorrow; I can't. I'm going to bed. If you shine your torch in my eyes every two hours I might well tell you what I think of you.'

‘Fine by me,' she said evenly. ‘As long as you're alive.'

‘Goodnight,' he snapped and turned away. But as he did she saw him wince again.

She really had hurt him.

 

She showered and tried not to think about dead landlords and starving dogs. What else?

Live landlords. Two-hourly checks. Pupil dilation?

Maybe not. Questions would have to do.

Her pipes gurgled.

She thought briefly about discussing antiquated pipes every two hours but decided, on balance, maybe not. Name and date. Keep it formal and brief.

She set her alarm for two hours on but she didn't sleep. Two hours later she tiptoed in next door.

She'd forgotten to ask which was his bedroom. It was a huge house.

There was a note on the floor in the passage, with an arrow pointing to the left.

‘Florence Nightingale, this way.'

She managed a smile. Her first smile of the night. Okay, he'd accepted her help.

She tiptoed in.

He was sprawled on a big bed, the covers only to his waist. Face down, arms akimbo.

Bare back. Very bare back.

She was using her torch. She should quickly focus on his head, wake him, make sure he was coherent, then slip away.

Instead, she took just a moment to check out that body.

Wow.

Double wow.

His shoulders were twice the size of Jon's, but there was no hint of fat. This was pure muscle. A lifetime of pulling in nets, of hauling cray-pots, of hard manual labour, had tuned his body to…

Perfection.

It wasn't often that Nikki let herself look at a guy and think sheer physical perfection but she did now.

The weathering of the man…a life on the sea…

There was a scar on his shoulder, thin and white. She wanted, quite suddenly, to reach out and trace…

‘I'm alive,' he snapped. ‘Gabriel Carver, Tuesday the fourteenth. Go away.'

She almost yelped again. Habit-forming?

‘Your…your head's hurting?'

‘Not if I close my eyes and think of England. Instead of thinking of women with pokers. Go away.'

She went.

At least he was alive.

And at least she hadn't touched him. She hadn't traced that scar.

She still wanted to.

Nonsense.

She didn't sleep for another two hours. She checked again. He was sprawled on his back. He looked as if he'd been fighting with the bed.

He was deeply asleep this time, but he looked…done. The bruise on his face looked awful.

She couldn't see the scar on his back. All she could see was his face, exhaustion—pain?

Something inside her twisted. A giant of a man.

Just a little bit vulnerable?

He wouldn't thank her for thinking it but, stupid or not, the thought was there.

It was two in the morning. She glanced at his bedside clock. His alarm was set for four.

She hesitated. Then, carefully, she removed the clock, flicked the alarm off and slipped it in her pocket. His phone was on the bedside table. Why not go all the way? She pocketed that, too.

Then she touched his face. The good side.

His eyes opened. He looked a bit dazed, but he did focus. This was nothing more than someone waking from deep sleep.

‘I'll live,' he said, slurred.

‘Say something bitter.'

‘I'm removing all fireside implements from rental properties.'

‘That'll do,' she said and let him go back to sleep.

 

At four she checked him again. Another slurred response but just as together. Excellent. One more check would get her in the clear, she thought. No more inspections of semi-naked landlords.

She wasn't sure whether to be glad or sorry.

Glad, she told herself, astounded where her thoughts were taking her. Of course, glad.

She went back to bed. Tried not to think of half naked landlords.

Didn't succeed.

At five-thirty Gabe's phone rang. She was on her side of the wall with Gabe's phone beside her bed. She answered. A woman's voice. ‘Gabe? Where are you?'

‘Hi,' she said cautiously. ‘This is Nikki, Gabe's next door neighbour.'

‘The city chick,' the woman said blankly.

‘That's me.'

‘Where's Gabe?'

‘I'm sorry, but Gabe had a bit of an accident last night. He won't be in this morning.'

‘He won't be in…'

‘He can't come to work.'

‘What sort of an accident?'

‘He fell. He almost knocked himself out. He's got a headache and a badly bruised face.' No need to mention he had the bruised face before he fell.

‘Gabe turns up for work when he's half dead.' The woman sounded stunned. ‘How bad is he?'

‘Determined to come in but I've taken his alarm and his phone and he hasn't woken up.'

There was a moment's awed silence. Then… ‘Well, good for you, love. You've got him in bed, you keep him there. When he wakes up, tell him Frank's rung in and his head cold's worse, so it would have only been me on board with him. The
Mariette
's short a crew member as well, so I'll go on the
Mariette
and the
Lady Nell
can stay in port. That'll play into your hands as well. He no longer has a crew. You keep him in bed with my blessings, for as long as you want. Go for it, girl.'

She disconnected. Laughing.

Nikki stared at the phone as if it stung.

This was a small town. This'd be all over town in minutes.

How would Gabe react?

Um…what had she done?

Whatever. It was done now. She had an hour before the next check.

She really was incredibly tired.

She put her head on her pillow and closed her eyes.

She forgot to set the alarm.

 

Gabe woke and sunshine was flooding his bedroom. This on its own was a novelty. If the weather was decent he was out fishing, as simple as that.

He opened one eye and tried to figure it out. Why the sunbeams?

His head hurt a bit, not too much, just a dull ache. If he lay still and only opened the one eye it didn't hurt at all.

The sun was streaming through his window. He felt…

Suddenly wide awake. He turned to the bedside table, looking for his clock in disbelief.

No clock.

He groped for his phone.

No phone.

What the…?

His watch.

It was eight o'clock. Eight! He'd slept for ten hours.

The boat. The crew. They'd be waiting.

Where were his…?

Nikkita.

Hitting him on the head was one thing; making him miss a day's fishing was another. She was so out of here.

He threw back the covers and headed for the door, thumping the wall as he went, just to make sure she was awake.

Anger didn't begin to describe what he was feeling. Women!

 

The thump on her bedroom wall was loud enough to wake the dead. She sat bolt upright. Stared at the clock.

Uh-oh. Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.

Eight o'clock. She might just have slept in.

She'd missed a check.

At least he wasn't dead, she thought. He should be grateful.

By the sound of the thump on her wall, he wasn't grateful.

By the sound of the thump, he wished for her undivided attention.

Her door was locked. A lesser woman might have tugged the duvet over her head and stayed where she was.

There were a lot of things a lesser woman might do. After
today she was going right back to being a lesser woman, but right now…

There wasn't a lot of choice.

She grabbed her robe and headed next door to face Gabe.

 

She opened her door right as he opened his.

The dog was lying right across the porch.

Her Hound of the Baskervilles.

Horse.

N
IKKI
almost tripped and so did Gabe. They were focused on each other. Gabe's face was dark with anger, and Nikki was just plain terrified. Gabe was still only wearing boxers and that didn't help. Neither was looking at their feet and the dog was sprawled like a great wet floor mat.

Both of them stumbled and both had to grab the door jambs to keep their balance.

Both stared down in amazement.

The dog was even bigger than Nikki had thought last night. Four feet high? It was impossible to tell. All she knew was that, prone, he practically covered the small porch.

He was almost as flat as a doormat. He lay motionless, only the faint rise of his chest wall telling her he was alive.

‘It's Horse,' she said blankly.

The big dog stirred at her voice. He hauled his great head off the floor, as if making a Herculean effort. He gazed up at her and all the misery of the world was in that gaze. It was a ‘kill me now' look.

She didn't know a thing about dogs. If she'd been asked, she'd confess she probably didn't like them much. But that look…

Her heart twisted. In the face of that look, she forgot her landlord and she sank to her knees. ‘Oh, my… Oh, Horse…'

‘What do you think you're playing at?' Her landlord's voice was like a whip above her. ‘You've brought him in here…'

She wasn't listening. The big dog was so wet he couldn't get any wetter. While she watched, a shudder ran though his big frame and she thought…she thought…

She had to help. There was no way she could walk away. Not your problem? Ha.

‘Hey, it's okay.' She ignored Gabe. She could only focus on the dog. She could only think about the dog.

‘You caught him.' Gabe's voice had lost its edge as he took in Horse's condition.

‘I didn't catch him. Maybe he found the meat and followed our scent. Pushed into the porch. Do you think he wants more?'

‘Has he been here all night?'

‘Are you nuts? Look at him. He's soaking. Why doesn't he move? Should we take him to the vet? Will you help me carry him to the car?'

‘Fred will put him down,' Gable said bluntly.

‘Fred?'

‘The vet.'

That brought her up short. Last night's phone conversation was suddenly replaying in her head.

This dog had been on his way to be put down when he'd escaped. If they took him to the vet, that was what would happen.

‘No,' she said. It was all she could think of to say.

‘Do you want a dog?'

‘I…'

She swallowed. Did she want a dog?

She didn't. She couldn't. But she wasn't thinking past now.

‘I'll think about that later,' she said. ‘He's not going anywhere until he's dry and warm and fed. Can you help me take him into my place?' She looked up at Gabe, and then she thought…

Anger. Uh-oh.

Maybe there were a few unresolved issues to be addressed before he'd help her.

She was aware again of his body. That chest. Those shoulders.

Hormones.

Anger.

‘I slept,' he said, carefully neutral. ‘Through my alarm. That might be because it was moved from my bedside table.'

‘I slept through it too,' she confessed. ‘That's because I forgot to set it.'

‘My crew…'

Act efficient, she decided. Brisk. As if she knew what she was doing. ‘Hattie's on the…let me think…on the
Mariette
,' she told him. ‘Because they're short a crew member. Frank called in sick so the
Lady Nell
's staying in port. You have the day off.'

He didn't answer. He looked speechless.

‘So can you help me with the dog?' she asked.

‘You took my alarm.'

‘You were sick. I thought I'd killed you. It was the least I could do.'

‘You took my phone.'

‘Yes, and I talked to Hattie. She agrees you need a day off.'

‘It's not her business. It's not your business.'

‘No,' she snapped. ‘And neither is this dog but he's freezing. Get over it and help me.'

Her gaze locked with his. She could feel his anger, his frustration, his shock.

His body…

His body was almost enough to distract her from his anger, his frustration, his shock.

But she couldn't think of it now. She had the dog to think of. And, while she was chiding herself, Gabe stooped and touched the dog's face.

The dog tried to raise his head again. Failed.

‘Don't think you've heard the last of this,' he said grimly. ‘But this guy's done.'

‘Done.' Nikki cringed. ‘He's not dying.'

‘Close to.' He'd moved on, she thought. All his attention was now on the dog. He seemed hesitant, as if he didn't want involvement, but the dog stirred and moaned, and something in Gabe's face changed. ‘All right,' he said. ‘If you're serious, let's get him into my place. The fire's going. Did you stoke it?'

‘Yes. I did it for you.' Or not exactly. In her night-time prowls she'd tossed a couple of logs on the fire at each pass. It had seemed comforting. She'd been in need of comfort, and the thought of taking the dog in there now was a good one.

‘Can you get up, big boy?' Gabe asked. ‘Come on, mate, let's see you live.'

Gabe was fondling him behind the ears, speaking softly, and the dog responded. He gave Gabe another of those gut wrenching looks, another moan, then heaved. He managed to stand.

Standing up, he looked like a bag of bones with a worn rug stretched over him. Only his ears were still full fur. They hinted at a dog who'd once been handsome but that time was long past.

He swayed and Gabe stooped and held him, still fondling him, while the dog leaned heavily against him.

‘So you decided to come and find some help?' he said softly. ‘Great decision. You're safe here. You even seem to have found a friend. Mind, you need to beware of pokers.' But he wasn't glancing up to see how she took the wisecrack; he was totally focused on the dog. ‘Let's get you warm. Miss Morrissy, could you fetch us some towels, please? A lot of towels. Put some in the tumble dryer to warm them.'

‘It's Nikki,' she said numbly.

‘Nikki,' he repeated, but he still didn't look up.

The dog took a staggering step forward and then stopped. Enough. Gabe lifted him into his arms as if he were a featherweight, and the dog made no objection. Maybe he knew he was headed for Gabe's fireside.

Nikki headed for towels.

But, as she went, she carried the image of Gabe, a big man with his armful of dog.

He was making her heart twist.

It was the dog, she told herself fiercely. Of course it was the dog.

Only the dog. Anything else was ridiculous.

She did not need hormones.

 

Horse was freezing. It hadn't been raining, yet he was soaked—had he been standing in the water all night?

Nikki fetched her hairdryer. Gabe sponged the worst of the salt crust from his coat, then towelled him dry as she ran warm air over his tangled fur. The big dog lay passive, hopeless, and Nikki felt an overwhelming urge to pick him up and hug him.

He was so big… She'd have to hug him one end at a time.

She also wanted to kill whoever had abandoned him. To do something so callous…

‘Your cop friend said he was thrown from a boat.'

‘He'll still feel loyal to the low-life who did it to him,' Gabe said grimly. ‘I'd guess that's why he's been standing in the shallows howling.'

She sniffed. She sniffed more than once while she wielded her hairdryer, and she had to abandon her work for a bit to fetch tissues. She couldn't help herself. The emotions of the night, the emotions of the past two months, or maybe simply the emotions of now, were enough to overwhelm her. This gentle giant being betrayed in such a way…

She'd set towels by the fire for Gabe to lay him on. With her hairdryer and Gabe's toweling, they dried one side of him. Then Gabe lifted him. She replaced the sodden towels with warm ones and they dried his other side.

Gabe spoke to him all the time. Slow, gentle words of comfort. While Nikki sniffed.

Gabe's words were washing over her, reassuring her almost
as much as the dog. His kindness was palpable. How could she ever have thought he'd ignore a dog in trouble on the beach? His hands stroking the dog's coat…his soft words…

He was a gruff, weathered fisherman but he cared about this dog.

He'd been rude and cold to her the day they'd met. Where was that coldness now?

She tried to imagine Jonathan doing what Gabe was doing now, and couldn't. And then she thought…what was she thinking? Comparing Gabe and Jon? Don't even think of going there.

Um…she was going there. Gabe's body was just a bit too close.

Gabe's body was making her body feel…

No. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Focus on dog.

The big dog's body had been shuddering, great waves of cold and despair. As the warmth started to permeate, the shaking grew less. Gabe was half towelling, half stroking, all caring.

‘It's okay, mate. We'll get you warm on the inside as well.'

‘Do you think he got the steak?'

‘I'm guessing not,' he said. ‘Not in the state he's in—the food would have warmed him and he wouldn't be so hopeless. There's all sorts of predators on the beach at night—owls, rats, the odd feral cat. I'm guessing that's why he's here. He came back round the headland looking for the steak, then when we were gone he followed our scent. There was nowhere else to go.'

‘Oh, Horse.'

Grown women didn't cry. Much. She concentrated fiercely on blow-drying—and realised Gabe was watching her.

‘Horse?' he said.

‘I've been thinking of him all night,' she said. ‘In between worrying that I killed you. A dog that looks like a horse. A landlord who might have been dead.'

‘Happy endings all round,' Gabe said wryly and she cast
him a scared look. She knew what he was going to say. She was way in front of him.

The vet.

‘Do you have any more steak?' She couldn't quite get her voice to work. She couldn't quite get her heart to work. But she wasn't going to say the vet word.

‘No. You?'

‘I have dinners for one. Calorie controlled.'

‘Right, like Horse needs a diet.'

‘I'll bring four.'

 

They worked on. Gabe hauled on a T-shirt and jeans and so did she, but the attention of both was on the dog. Hostilities were suspended.

The dog was so close to the edge that the sheer effort of eating seemed too much. By the look of his muzzle, he'd been sick. ‘Sea water,' Gabe said grimly as he cleaned him. ‘There's little fresh water round here. If he's been wandering since the van crashed he's had almost a week of nothing.'

That was a lot of speech for Gabe. They should take him to the vet, Nikki thought, but with the vet came a decision that neither of them seemed able to face. Not yet.

Save him and then decide. Dumb? Maybe, but it was what her gut was dictating, and Gabe seemed to be following the same path.

Gabe was encouraging the dog to drink, little by little. He found some sort of syringe and gently oozed water into the big dog's mouth. Once they were sure he could swallow, Nikki shredded chicken, popping tiny pieces into Horse's slack mouth and watching with satisfaction as he managed to get it down.

Slowly.

‘If we feed him fast he'll be sick and we'll undo everything,' Gabe said. He sounded as if he knew what he was doing. How come he had a syringe on hand? Had he coped with injured animals before?

He was an enigma. Craggy and grim. A professional fisherman. Broad, but with muscles, there was not an inch of spare flesh on him.

He flashed from silence and anger, to caring, to tender, just like that. His hands as he cared for the big dog were gentle as could be; rough, weathered fisherman's hands fondling the dog's ears, holding the syringe, waiting with all the patience in the world for Horse to open his mouth.

Horse.

Why name a stray dog?

Why look at her landlord's hand and think…and think…?

Nothing.

She should be back on her side of the house right now, enmeshed in plans for the air conditioning system for a huge metropolitan shopping centre. The centre had been the focus of an outbreak of legionnaires' disease. Their air conditioning system needed to be revamped, and the plans needed to be finalised. Now.

Her plans were urgent—even if they bored her witless.

And Gabe should be fishing. He obviously thought that was urgent.

But nothing seemed more important than sitting by the fireside with Gabe and with Horse, gradually bringing the big dog back to life.

They were succeeding. The shuddering ceased. The dog was still limp, but he was warm and dry, and there was enough food and water going in to make them think the worst was past.

So now what?

The dog was drifting into sleep. Nikki glanced briefly at Gabe and caught a flash of pain, quickly suppressed. His head? Of course it was his head, she thought. That bruise looked horrible. What was she doing, letting him work on the dog?

‘You need to sleep, too,' she told him.

‘We should make a decision about this guy. Take him…'

‘Let him sleep,' she said, cutting him off. ‘For a bit. Then…
maybe we could clean him up a bit more. If we take him back to the shelter looking lovely, then he has a better chance…'

‘He's never going to look lovely,' Gabe said. ‘Not even close.'

Maybe he wouldn't. The dog was carrying scars. Patches of fur had been torn away, wounds had healed but the fur hadn't grown back. An ugly scar ran the length of his left front leg. And what was he? Wolfhound? Plus the rest.

‘It's drawing it out,' Gabe said and Nikki flinched. She looked down at the dog and felt ill—and then she looked at Gabe and felt her own pain reflected in his eyes.