head on Connie’s foot, eyes alert as she peered up at her. Connie reached down a hand and stroked her gently, and Saffy groaned and rolled over, one leg lifted to reveal the vulnerable underside she was offering for a tickle.
‘Hussy,’ she crooned, rubbing the scarred tummy, and the dog’s tail wagged again. She licked Connie’s ankle, the contact of her warm, moist tongue cementing the already close bond between them. Almost as if she understood. No, of course she didn’t, Connie told herself. How could she, even though Connie had told her everything there was to tell about it all in excruciating detail.
‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ she murmured, straightening up and getting to her feet. ‘No time for cuddles, I’ve got too much to do.’
If she was going to see James tomorrow, she needed to pull herself together and get ready. Do some washing so she had something other than jeans and a ratty old T shirt to wear. Pack. Make sure the house was clean and tidy before they left.
Not that it was dirty or untidy, but now the decision was made and she was going to see him, to ask him the most monumental and massive favour, she needed to do something to keep herself busy or she’d go crazy.
She’d rehearsed her speech over and over again, gone through what she was going to say until she’d worn it out. There was nothing left to do but clean the house, so she cleaned it until it squeaked, and then she fell into bed and slept restlessly until dawn.
God, the place was a tip.
He’d been going to tackle it last night, but as usual he’d been held up by admin and hadn’t got home until ten, so he’d left it till this morning. Now, looking round it, he realised that had probably been a massive mistake.
He blitzed the worst of it, made up a bed for her and went back downstairs.
Better. Slightly. If he ever had any regular time off he might stand a chance, but right now that was just a distant dream. He glanced at his watch. Ten to ten. Supermarket now, or later, after she’d arrived? She was an early riser but the journey would take her a good two hours.
Now, he decided, if he was quick, and ten minutes later he was standing there in the aisles and trying to remember what she liked. Was she a vegetarian?
No, of course she wasn’t. He recalled watching her eating a bun crammed with roast pork and apple sauce at the Suffolk Show, the memory still vivid. It must have been the first year he’d been in Yoxburgh, and Joe had been on leave.
And he’d been watching her eat, his body throbbing with need as she’d flicked out her tongue and scooped up a dribble of apple sauce on her chin. He’d dragged his eyes away and found Joe staring at him, an odd expression on his face.
‘Food envy,’ he’d explained hastily, and Joe had laughed and bought him another roll from the hog roast stand.
He’d had to force himself to eat it, because he hadn’t had food envy at all, just plain old envy. He was jealous of Joe, jealous of his best friend for being so ridiculously happy with his lovely wife. How sick was that? How lonely and empty and barren— Whatever. She wasn’t vegetarian, so he picked up a nice piece of fillet steak from the butchery counter, threw some other stuff into the trolley and headed home, wondering for the hundredth time what she wanted to say to him. She’d said she was ready to move on, and now it was in his head a disturbing possibility wouldn’t go away.
Was there someone new in her life?
Why not? It was perfectly plausible. She was a beautiful woman, she was alone, she was free to do whatever she liked—but even the thought of her replacing the best friend a man could wish for, the kindest and most courageous man he’d ever known, made him feel sick.
Dismissing the pointless speculation, he drove down Ferry Road towards the little community grouped around the harbour mouth, turned onto the gravel track that led past a little string of houses to his cottage and pulled up on the drive next to a four-wheel drive he’d never seen before, just as his phone pinged.
Damn. He’d meant to be here, but she hadn’t rung—or had she, while he’d been vacuuming the house?
Yup. There was a missed call from her, and a voice-mail.
‘I’ve arrived. Couldn’t get you on the phone earlier, but I’m here now so I’m walking the dog. Call me when you get home.’
He dialled her number as he carried the bags into the kitchen and dumped them on the worktop, and she answered on the second ring, sounding breathless.
‘Hi—did you get my message?’
‘Yeah. Sorry I wasn’t here, I went food shopping. I’m back now. Where are you?’
‘On the sea wall. I’ll be two ticks, I can see the cottage from here,’ she told him, so he opened the front door and stood on the porch step scanning the path, and there she was, blonde hair flying in the breeze, a huge sandy-coloured dog loping by her side as she ran towards him, her long limbs moving smoothly as she covered the ground with an effortless stride.
God, she was lovely.
Lovelier than ever, and that took some doing. His heart lurched, and he dredged up what he hoped was a civilised smile as he went to meet her.
She looked amazing, fit and well and bursting with energy. Her pale gold hair was gleaming, her blue eyes bright, her cheeks flushed with the sea breeze and the exertion as she ran up, her smile as wide as her arms, and threw herself at him. Her body slammed into his and knocked the breath from him in every way, and he nearly staggered at the impact.
‘Hey, Slater!’
‘Hey yourself, Princess,’ he said on a slight laugh as his arms wrapped round her and caught her tight against him. ‘Good to see you.’
‘You, too.’
She hugged him hard, her body warm and firm against his for the brief duration of the embrace, and he hugged her back, ridiculously pleased to see her, because he’d missed her, this woman of Joe’s. Missed her warmth and her humour, missed the laughter she carried with her everywhere she went. Or had, until she’d lost Joe.
Don’t tell me you’re getting married again—please, don’t tell me that …
Swearing silently, he dropped his arms and stepped back, looking down at the great rangy hound standing panting at Connie’s side, tongue lolling as it watched him alertly.
‘So—I take it this is your rescued dog? I’d pictured some little terrier or spaniel.’
Connie winced ruefully. ‘Sorry. Teensy bit bigger. This is Saffy—Safiya. It means best friend. Joe sort of adopted her in Afghanistan on his last tour. He was going to bring her home, but—well, he didn’t make it, so I brought her back.’
Typical Joe, he thought with a lump in his throat. Big tough guy, soft as lights. And he’d just bet she’d been his best friend, in the harsh and desolate desert, thousands of miles from home. A touch of humanity in the inhumanity of war.
He held out his hand for Saffy to sniff. She did more than sniff it. She licked it. Gently, tentatively, coming closer to press her head against his shoulder as he crouched down to her level and stroked her long, floppy ears. A gentle giant of a dog. No wonder Joe had fallen for her.
He
