surprised. ‘I don’t follow,’ she hedged warily.
‘This taking off to London to nurse a broken heart. It’s dangerous. You’re leaving yourself wide open for the worse sort of guy to take advantage of you. Away from friends and family, all alone in the bit city, you’ll be incredibly vulnerable.’
He made her sound like Little Orphan Annie. She stared at him for a moment before she said stiffly, ‘I’m thirty-two years old, Harry. Not sweet sixteen.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Everything.’
His mouth set in the stubborn pout he did so well. It made her toes curl, but she wasn’t about to betray that to this big, hard, sexy man. Just occasionally—like now—she caught a glimpse of what the boy Harry must have looked like, and it was intoxicating. But Harry was no callow youth. He was an experienced and ruthlessly intelligent man who would capitalise on any weakness an opponent revealed. She’d seen him too often in action on the business front to be fooled.
‘I don’t think you’ve thought this through,’ he said flatly, after a few tense moments had ticked by.
‘Excuse me?’ She couldn’t believe the cheek of it. She hadn’t thought it through? She’d done nothing else for months. Months when he’d been busy getting up close and personal with some blonde or other. He clearly didn’t only see her as unattractive and sexless, but stupid as well. ‘What on earth would you know about it?’ she said stonily.
‘Don’t get on your high horse.’ He seemed unaffected by her obvious rage. ‘I’m merely pointing out you’re on the rebound, because anyone who is on the rebound never makes allowance for it.’
Agony aunt as well—there was no limit to his attributes. Gina glared at the man she loved with every fibre of her being. ‘So, you’ve pointed it out,’ she said frostily. ‘Feel better?’
‘If you’ve taken it on board?’
‘Oh, of course I have,’ she said sarcastically. ‘You said it, after all.’
‘Very funny.’ He started the car engine. ‘I’m only trying to look out for a friend. What’s wrong with that?’
A grey bleakness settled on her. ‘Nothing,’ she said flatly. ‘Thanks.’
‘My pleasure.’ He swung the car out of the tiny car park and on to the road, the darkness settling round them as only country darkness can.
Gina sat absolutely still, staring out of the windscreen, but without seeing the road in front of them. She felt shattered, emotionally, mentally and physically. The countless sleepless nights she’d endured over the last months as she’d agonised about Harry, the build up to today which she’d been dreading, the surprise invitation to have dinner with him—and not least their conversation throughout—had all served to bring her to a state of exhaustion. And of course all the wine she’d drunk had added to the overall stupor she was feeling, she thought drily, shutting her eyes and relaxing back against the seat.
She didn’t know if she had actually dropped off or not when she became aware Harry had brought the car to a halt. She opened her eyes to find they were still deep in country and darkness. ‘What is it?’ she asked in some alarm as he began to reverse along the narrow lane they’d been travelling down.
‘I’m not sure.’ He glanced at her. ‘Go back to sleep. This isn’t a “I’ve run out of petrol” scenario.’
No, more’s the pity. ‘I never thought it was,’ she said, her voice holding the ring of truth.
He reversed some hundred yards or so before pulling up. ‘I saw a car start off from this point, and as we passed I saw a cardboard box by the side of the verge. I just want to look in it.’
‘Look in it?’
He nodded, his voice somewhat sheepish as he said, ‘I don’t know why, but I’ve got a funny feeling about it. Stay in the car.’ He opened the driver’s door and climbed out, Gina following a second later. He was already bending over the box, and before he opened it he said, ‘I said stay in the car.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She came round the bonnet. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Hell.’ He’d lifted the lid as she had been speaking, and now as she reached him and looked down she saw several tiny shapes moving and squeaking.
‘Oh, Harry.’ She clutched his sleeve, her eyes wide and horrified. ‘Someone’s dumped some puppies. Out here, in the middle of nowhere. How could they?’
‘Quite easily, it seems,’ he said grimly.
‘Are they all right?’ They were both crouching down by the box now, and could make out four puppies in the moonlight, wriggling about on folded newspaper and smeared with their own excrement. ‘Oh, poor little things.’ Gina was nearly crying. ‘What are we going to do?’
Harry stood up. ‘If I put the car blanket over your knee, could you have the box on your lap?’
‘Of course. Anything, anything.’ She couldn’t believe someone had actually been so heartless as to put the puppies in a box, bring them to a deserted spot and just drive off. Not with all the sanctuaries that took unwanted litters these days.
Once they were back in the car again, the box on her lap, Gina peered in. ‘They’re very small,’ she said shakily. ‘Do you think there’s something the matter with them?’
‘Not with the racket they’re making,’ Harry said drily.
‘Where are we going to take them?’
‘There must be a vet somewhere around here, but I haven’t got a clue where. Look, my cleaner, Mrs Rothman, has dogs. Do you mind if we retrace our footsteps so to speak, and call on her? If nothing else she might be able to point us in the right direction. It’ll mean you’re late back, though. We’re halfway back to your place.’
She hadn’t realised they’d travelled so far. He was right. She had been asleep. ‘It doesn’t matter about being late. I haven’t got to get up for work in the morning, remember? It’ll be a cleaning and sorting day, so please do go and see your Mrs Rothman.’ At least she’d have extra time with him. Not that she would have wished it at the cost of someone dumping the puppies, but still …
The puppies quietened down as the warmth of the car kicked in, but this had the effect of causing Gina to check them every couple of minutes, terrified they’d died. It was a huge relief when eventually they came to the small village, which was a stone’s throw from Harry’s secluded cottage, and drew up outside a neat terraced house.
Mrs Rothman proved to be a plump, motherly type who drew them into the warmth of her smart little house and insisted on her husband making them all a cup of tea while she oohed and ahhed over the contents of the box. ‘Jack Russell crosses, by the look of it,’ she announced once she’d inspected the puppies. ‘All females. I bet whoever owned the bitch could get rid of the males but not the females. Happens like that sometimes. Or maybe it was just a huge litter.’
After cleaning the four little scraps up, Mrs Rothman lined the box with fresh newspaper while her husband mushed up some of their dog food. The puppies made short
