So he did what he was told. He turned his back on the school and headed for the car.

To the vet?

That, at least, was easy. Banksia Bay’s commercial centre consisted of the one High Street running down to the harbour. Right on the town’s edge was a brick building set back from the road. There was a big tree out front, a large blue sign saying ‘Vet’ and a picture of a dog with a cocked leg, pointing to the tree.

He and Bailey had smiled at it when they’d arrived in town. It was barely a block and a half from the house he’d rented.

‘We could get a dog,’ Bailey had said, but tentatively because maybe he’d already known the answer.

The answer would be no. Nick wanted nothing else that would tear their hearts. He was totally responsible for Bailey now, and for Bailey to have any more tragedy…

Look at this dog, for instance-running away, being hit by a car. He didn’t know how badly it was injured. In all probability, there was still a tragedy here.

If there was then he’d lie to Bailey, he decided. This dog obviously belonged to a nice farmer who lived a long way out of town. The farmer would come and collect him. No, it’d be too far to visit…

The dog in question quivered again in his arms-the trembling was coming in waves-and he stopped thinking of difficulties. The sensible thing would be to set the dog on the car seat beside him but when he went to put him down he shook so much he thought okay, if it’s body warmth he needs, then why not give it to him?

If Miss Lawrence was here she’d hold him. She’d expect him to hold him too.

She was one bossy woman.

Strong? Independent? Like Isabelle?

Not like Isabelle. She was a country schoolteacher. She wasn’t a risk-taker.

She was…cute?

Now there was a dumb thing to think. He’d come here to set himself and Bailey up as safe and immune from any more risk-from any more tragedy.