From any more complications.

Isabelle had been dead for little more than a year. Even though their marriage had been on the rocks well before that, it hadn’t made her death less shocking. Less gut-wrenching. It was far too soon to think that anyone, much less Bailey’s new schoolteacher, was cute.

Hard not to think it, though. And maybe it was okay. Normal, even. She was a country schoolteacher and her ability to intrude on his life would be limited to teaching his son.

And asking him to take a dog to the vet.

It took two minutes to drive the short distance to the vet’s. When he carried the dog in, an elderly guy with heavy spectacles and a grizzled beard emerged from the swing doors behind Reception. His glance at Nick was only fleeting; he focused straight away on the blood-stained towel. ‘What’s happened?’

A man after my own heart, Nick thought. Straight to the core of the problem.

‘Miss Lawrence from the local school asked me to bring this dog in,’ he said as the vet folded back an edge of the towel so he could see what he was dealing with.

‘Misty?’ The vet was touching the dog’s face, running his fingers down his neck. Feeling for his pulse. ‘Misty doesn’t have a dog.’

‘No, he ran into the schoolroom while…’

But the vet had found the collar. He fingered the nylon-checked the number, winced.

‘It’s the second.’

‘Sorry?’

‘From our local Animal Welfare Centre.’ The vet took the dog from him, holding him with practised ease. ‘Henrietta gives dogs every chance, only there are never enough homes. When the dogs have stayed there for…well, it’s supposed to be ten days but she stretches it as long as she has room…she brings them to me. Three months after Christmas, cute pups turn into unwanted dogs. Yesterday morning she had a van full and some driver ran into the back of her. Dogs went everywhere. This is one of them.’