‘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 sh
owed 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.’
CHAPTER THREE
PICK a quiet town in rural Australia, the safest place you can imagine to raise a child. Rent a neat house on a small block without any trees to climb and with fences all around. Organise your work so you can be a stay-at-home dad, so you can take care of your son from dawn to dusk. Hunker down and block out the world.
His plan did not include inviting a strange woman home on day one.
The vet had obviously embarrassed her half to death. She emerged from the clinic, laughing but half horrified.
‘Fred’s the world’s worst busybody,’ she said. ‘You go home and choose your own couch.’
That was good advice-only Bailey’s face fell.
If she was old and plain it’d be fine, he told himself, but her blush was incredibly cute and when she laughed she had this kind of dimple… Danger signs for someone who wished to stay strictly isolated.
But maybe he was being dumb. Paranoid, even. Yes, she was as cute as a button, but in a girl-next-door way. She was Bailey’s schoolteacher.
Maybe they needed a couch, he told himself, and found himself reassuring her that, yes, he would like some advice. There were so many decisions to be made and he didn’t know where to start.
All of which was true, so he ushered her in the front door of their new home and watched her eyes light up with interest. Challenge. It was the way he felt when he had a blank
sheet of paper and a yacht to design.
For Fred was right. This place was one giant canvas. They’d set up camp beds in the front room and slung a sheet over the windows for privacy. They had a camp table and a couple of stools in the kitchen. They’d picked up basic kitchen essentials.
They had not a lot else.
‘You travel light,’ she said, awed.
‘Not any more, we don’t.’
‘We’re staying here,’ Bailey said, sounding scared again. The minute they’d walked in the door he’d grabbed his teddy from his camp bed and he was clutching it to him as if it were a lifeline. The house was big and echoey and empty. This was a huge deal for both of them.
Bailey had spent most of his short life on boats of one description or another, either on his father’s classic clinker-built yacht or on his grandparents’ more ostentatious cruiser. The last year or so had been spent in and out of hospital, then in a hospital apartment provided so Bailey could get the rehabilitation he needed. He had two points of stability-his father and his teddy. He needed more.
But where to start? To have a home…to own furniture… Nick needed help, so it was entirely sensible to ask advice of Bailey’s schoolteacher.
He wasn’t crossing personal boundaries at all.
‘You really have nothing?’ she asked.
‘We’ve been living on boats.’
‘Is that where Bailey was hurt?’
‘Yes. It’s also where Bailey’s mother was killed,’ he said briefly. She had to know that-as Bailey’s teacher, there was no way he could keep it from her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, sounding appalled.
‘Yeah, well, we’ve come to a safer part of the world now,’ he said. ‘All we need to make us happy is a couch.’
‘And a dog?’
‘No!’
‘No?’ she said, and she smiled.
She smiled ten seconds after he’d told her his wife had died. This wasn’t the normal reaction. But then he realised Bailey was still within hearing. She’d put the appalled face away.
Bailey had had enough appalled women weeping on him to last a lifetime. This woman was smart enough not to join their ranks.
Misty and the Single Dad Page 3
