She had twenty-four first graders looking at her-and Nicholas was looking at her as well. NYP? She had problems in all directions.

‘He’s hurt.’ It was a quavering query from Bailey. The little boy had sidled back to his father’s side and slipped his hand in his. His voice was full of horror. ‘Has he been shot?’

Shot? What sort of question was that?

‘He looks like he’s been hit by a car,’ she said, to the class as well as to Bailey. Every first grader was riveted to the little animal’s plight now. ‘He’s hurt his leg.’ Anything else? She didn’t know.

She looked down at him and he looked up at her, his eyes huge and pain-filled and hopeless. His shivering body pressed against hers, as if desperate for warmth.

She’d owned dogs since childhood. She loved dogs. She’d made a conscious decision not to have another one.

But this one… He was an injured stray and he was looking at her.

Uh oh.

‘Do you want me to call someone to deal with him for you?’ That was from Nicholas-with that question he surely wasn’t Adonis. This wasn’t a hero type of question. This the sort of response she’d expect from Frank.

Find someone to deal with him. Who?

Frank himself? If the Principal wasn’t in his office, she had no one to turn to. Every other teacher had their own class.

She could make a fast call to Animal Welfare. This was their dog. Their problem. They’d collect him.

That was the sensible solution.

But the dog quivered against her, huddling tight, as if he was desperate for the poor amount of warmth she could provide. His eyes were pools of limpid despair.

He looked at her.

NYP. NYP.

Since when had anything ever been Not Her Problem? There was no way this dog was going back to one of the Welfare cages.

She did not need a dog. She did not!

But in her arms the dog quivered and huddled closer. She felt the silkiness of his ears. She could feel his heart, beating so fast… He was so afraid. He was totally at the mercy of the decision she made right now.