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.
‘I’ll check from the headland in the morning,’ Raff was saying. ‘You okay? You sound odd.’
‘Nothing I can’t handle. If he comes back … you want me to take him to the shelter?’
‘You might as well take him straight to the vet’s,’ Raff said. ‘He was on his way there to be put down. If he’s the one I think he is, someone threw him off a boat a couple of weeks back. We found him on the beach, starving. He’s well past cute pup stage. He’s huge and shabby. Old scars and not a lot of loveliness. He looks like he’s been kicked and neglected. No one will rehouse a dog like that, so Henrietta made the decision to get him put down. But if he doesn’t come back to your beach it’s not your worry, mate. Thanks for letting me know. ‘Night.’
‘‘Night.’
Gabe repocketed his phone.
Nikki flicked more sand away.
A starving dog. Kicked and neglected. Thrown from a boat. She hadn’t even managed to give him a meal, and now he was lost again.
Plus a landlord who was still sounding shaken because she’d thumped him.
Was there a scale for feeling bad? Bad, terrible, appalling.
‘Leave the steak just above the high tide mark,’ Gabe said, his voice gentle. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Nice of you to say so.’
‘Yeah, well, the bang on the head was your fault,’ he conceded, and he even managed a wry smile. ‘But there’s nothing more we can do for the dog. He’s gone. If he smelled the steak he might come back, but he won’t come near if he smells us. We’ve done all we can. Moving on, I need an aspirin. Do you have those toes sand-free yet?’
‘I … yes.’ No. She was crusted in sand but she stood up and prepared to move on.
She glanced along the beach, half hoping the dog would lope back.
Why would he?
‘Raff’ll find him,’ Gabe said.
‘He’s the local cop?’
‘Yes.’
‘He won’t look tonight?’
‘There’s no hope of finding him tonight. The beach around the headland is inaccessible at high tide. We’ll find him tomorrow.’
‘You’ll look, too?’
‘I’m leaving at dawn,’ he said. ‘I have fish to catch, but you’re welcome to look all you want. Now, if you want to stay here you’re
