Price of Passion (8 page)

‘Nobody’s accusing you of abandoning him. You got help, that’s as much as you could do.’ He swore. ‘Damn it, I don’t have time to argue—’

‘So stop arguing and start driving,’ ordered Kate, climbing in behind him and shutting the door with a snap. She eased herself down on the bench seat by the dog’s head and squirmed her way into the seat belt, being careful not to entangle the animal.

‘What if something happened on the way?’ she pointed out as Drake pulled onto the road. ‘You have to concentrate on your driving. The poor thing is probably scared out of its wits as well as being in pain. He could hurt himself again if he starts to panic. He might not be used to travelling in a car.’ Her tight voice dropped into a croon. ‘Someone’s got to be here to hold your paw, don’t they, boy?’

The dog was lying on its side, and its panting breath moistened her bare thigh below her khaki shorts. She fondled a floppy ear and brushed the woolly strands of fur away from the single visible eye, which glistened dolefully, making her feel even more guilty. For once she was grateful when he gave her leg a disgustingly gooey swipe.

‘Oh! He licked me. Do you think that’s a good sign?’ she said hopefully.

‘Licking you is always a sign that something good’s about to happen,’ came the mocking response.

Kate’s glare drilled into the back of his head above the headrest. ‘How can you make jokes at a time like this?’

‘What better time to try and deflect thoughts of doom and gloom?’ he said harshly. ‘Humour in the face of adversity is a very useful human defence mechanism.’

Of course it was, and particularly so for Drake, she realised. The dry wit, flirtatious wordplay and entertaining anecdotes with which he avoided intrusive questions were the perfect distraction from his real feelings. Didn’t she do exactly the same thing when trying to shield herself from caring too much?

She looked over at his hands on the wheel, and noticed them shifting with a rapidity and frequency that wasn’t necessary for the control of the vehicle. He was fighting frustration, charged with adrenalin-fuelled urgency that he had to control for the sake of driving them safely on the narrow, winding roads.

She felt a movement against her leg, the dog trying valiantly to shift its heavy head into her lap, as if attempting to comfort her with its trusting forgiveness. She squirmed closer so that she could help him lift his grazed muzzle across her thigh.

In between croonings she speculated about his ownership, undeterred by Drake’s clipped responses.

‘I wonder who owns him. Do you know? A dog with three legs…he must be well-known in the neighbourhood—’

‘He certainly strays around—’

Kate was quick to cut him off. ‘He’s not a stray! Are you, boy?’ she soothed the dog. ‘He’s got a collar, but every time I try to twist it around to look for the tag, he cringes. He has to belong to someone. Someone who doesn’t look after you properly, eh, boy? I don’t think he can be fed very much, he’s always pestering me for titbits—’

‘If you bend over him in that purple bikini I can understand why.’

She met his eyes in the rear-vision mirror above the dash. ‘Drake! I’m being serious. He always seems to be ravenous.’

‘He’s obviously a hardened scrounger.’ His eyes flicked carelessly back to the road.

‘Don’t say that; he can hear you!’ said Kate, putting a hand over the dog’s ear. ‘I told you he has a collar. If his owner’s not caring properly for him he’s got no choice but to scavenge. He can’t very well hunt for himself with only three legs.’

‘He seems to have managed to track down your bleeding heart.’

She frowned at his apparent callousness. ‘His coat seems very messy,’ she said, picking out a burr. ‘He could do with a brush.’

He lifted his chin to bring the dog into his line of sight. ‘Probably been rolling in the dirt. He’s a mutt, not a show-pooch.’

‘I wonder if he’s ever groomed? Owners like that should be shot!’

‘I thought you were a proponent of non-violence?’ His narrowed eyes met hers for a brief challenge before swerving away again.

‘It’s just a turn of phrase,’ she said impatiently. ‘Pet owners have a responsibility.’

‘He’s more like a nuisance than a pet.’

Now she was truly shocked. ‘It’s not his fault. He shouldn’t be allowed to wander.’

‘Maybe he
needs
to roam.’

Kate gritted her teeth at his stubborn refusal to share her sensible concerns. How could she love such a hard-hearted man? And how could such a hard-hearted man ever make room in his petrified organ for the love of a child? She leaned across the dog’s head, her tee-shirt tickling its nose into a messy snuffle. ‘But it’s dangerous—’

‘This is the countryside; risks are assessed differently in remote areas,’ he said as she quickly leaned back again. ‘People here don’t keep their dogs penned up.’

‘But he could at least be kept in a fenced yard—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake—get real!’ He looked daggers at her in the mirror. ‘He hates being shut in. He goes berserk if you try to tie him up or keep him behind the fence; he nearly kills himself trying to get loose.’

Kate’s hands stilled their restless stroking, her eyes widening as the certainty hit her like a freight train.

‘He belongs to you!’

His eyes whipped back to the road. ‘He’s a stray.’

It all came together. The shocked curse. The grim examination. Having the vet’s phone number handy on his desk. And, most telling of all, the hard carapace of flinty self-control.

‘Maybe he was a stray, once. But he’s your dog now, isn’t he?’

‘Nobody wanted a hopeless mongrel like him.’ He shrugged. ‘He would have been put down.’

She took that as a yes. ‘Because he only had three legs?’

‘He had all four when he first landed on my doorstep,’ he said drily. ‘He lost his back leg when he practically shredded it ripping his way through a chain-link dog-fence I put up to keep him “safe”.’ He glanced back just long enough to see her wince. ‘Which of course only made him even more unattractive to your average dog-lover who either wants a purebred or something useful or cute.’

‘So when did you adopt him?’

‘I didn’t adopt him.’ He sounded as if she had accused him of an iniquity. The muscles at the back of his neck stiffened. ‘The vet says he was probably abused in a confined space as a pup—which makes him very much of an outside dog. I’ve never owned an animal, but said I’d let him hang around at my place until something could be arranged that didn’t involve a lethal injection. That was five years ago, just after I built the house. Unfortunately no one ever answered the ads, and I’m still stuck with him.’

And still deep in denial about it!

He had built the house with the proceeds of that first book, she realised. Prior to that he had been a wanderer, spending his money as he went. But as soon as he’d had the means, he had made a place for himself, and, although he might categorise it purely as a place to write, a temporary refuge, it was more than that—it was
home
. He had been secretly putting down roots.

‘What happens to him when you go away?’ she asked curiously. ‘If he hates being shut up he obviously can’t go into a kennel.’

‘I usually drop him off with a mate of the vet’s, who has a lifestyle block up in the hills. In the shorter term I pay a local to come and live in the house,’ he admitted gruffly. In other words he firmly kept a foot in both camps—the dog owner and the rootless wanderer. And, of course, he also had his town mistress on a completely separate string!

‘Doesn’t he pine?’

‘Not noticeably. He likes company but he’s not particular. He doesn’t like to be owned. Mostly he needs the freedom to come and go.’

He could be talking about himself, thought Kate, struck by the stunning psychological similarity. They both had attachment issues. She had often wondered about Drake’s family background, but he had never responded to her tentative comments, and she knew only the vague details—that he had been orphaned as a teenager by the death of his mother, and had no contact with his father. She suspected abuse, but had known better than to ask.

She did have one more question, however, that did urgently require an answer: ‘So what’s his name?’

‘He didn’t come with a birth certificate.’

‘You must have given him a proper name.’

‘Since he never comes when I call him, it seems a bit pointless.’

‘So what is it?’ She could see he was relishing her frustration at his evasions. She could also see that his hands were more relaxed on the wheel and the muscles in his jaw were no longer clenched. ‘Let me guess.’ She pretended to think. ‘Rumpelstiltskin!’

He almost smiled.

‘No? How about Rover? Very appropriate to his nature.’

There was no response from dog or man.

‘Spot? Montmorency de Waverley Assortment?’

That got her a human snicker. She raised her eyebrows and he gave in to her persistence, his worried eyes wary as they reflected his surrender.

‘Prince.’

‘Prince,’ she repeated. There was suddenly a huge lump in the middle of her throat. It could have been a mocking appellation, but from his shifty expression she guessed otherwise. It was the wry and wistful choice of a boy for his first dog. Drake had called his shambling, shabby, shock-haired goof ‘Prince’, and now at least something about the woolly hound would have the dignity that genetics had cruelly denied him.

She looked down to hide the sting of tears. Drake might act as if he had no desire for commitment, but the existence of Prince suggested that at some level he
did
want to establish emotional ties in his life. He may not
choose
to love, but he
could
and
did
love.

And if one love could force its way into his well-guarded heart, why not another?

‘I’m very sorry I hurt Prince,’ she said quietly. Would he ever be able to forgive her if she caused the death of his dog? ‘I should have been more careful.’

He didn’t rush to absolve her with soothing lies, but he did offer her comfort to ease her guilt. ‘So should he. He makes a sport of pretending to chase cars. He’s been knocked about before. It was an accident, Kate.’

He sounded fatalistic, but Kate knew better. He had simply internalised his fear. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

‘We’ll soon find out. The clinic is just up ahead.’

The white-coated vet who came out to greet them with a metal gurney was a tall, thin man about Drake’s age, with a long-suffering expression on his bright and humorous face. ‘You’re lucky I hadn’t gone out on rounds yet, Drake. At this rate I should get a royal warrant to stick on my door. What on earth has Prince done to himself now?’

‘Not him—me—’ Kate began, only to have her explanations pre-empted by Drake’s terse account as he lifted the whining dog onto the gurney. The vet’s friendly air didn’t dilute his brisk professionalism and he kept up his patter as he pushed the gurney through the doors and past the reception desk in the waiting room.

‘We’ll take him straight through to the surgery and I’ll assess whether he needs a scan. But we’ll start off with the cheap option.’ He cast a smile into Kate’s anxious face. ‘That’s me. Hands and eyes are a vet’s most valuable tools.’

‘I’ll be paying, so I don’t care how much it costs,’ she blurted. ‘Just do everything you can—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Drake said roughly, stroking the dog’s head. ‘I can afford any treatment he needs—just send the bill to me as usual, Ken.’

‘But—’

‘For God’s sake, Kate, stop making it such a drama. I don’t need your guilt money!’ he snapped as they paused for the vet to open the surgery door.

Kate’s hand fell away from the gurney. She knew it was fear making him lash out, but it still hurt to hear him declare he wanted nothing from her, and she had to steady herself against the wall.

‘Are you all right?’ said the vet, his eyes suddenly sharp on her pale face.

She stared at the name badge pinned to his coat as she fought for composure.

‘Ken Cartwright B.V.Sc.’ the black lettering said as it moved briefly in and out of focus, making her feel as if she were standing on shifting ground. ‘I’m just a little dizzy,’ she excused herself.

‘She threw up before we left,’ added Drake unnecessarily.

Ken’s sharp gaze became speculative as it ran over her from head to toe. Oh, God, she hoped that vets didn’t have any special instinct for detecting early pregnancy in humans!

‘Perhaps you should sit down for a few minutes—Christy!’ Ken called out to his receptionist. ‘Would you get a glass of water for Kate here, while Drake and I see to Prince?’

‘Oh, really, I’m fine…’ she murmured, but Ken was already disappearing into his surgery with the gurney, while Drake hesitated outside.

Kate braced herself, but when he frowned it wasn’t to issue another rejection. ‘Are you sure it’s only dizziness? Are you feeling sick again?’ He glanced restlessly over his shoulder at the closed door and back at Kate, his eyes black with inner turmoil, clearly torn.

Drake never vacillated. He always knew what his priorities were and was never afraid to make harsh decisions.