‘What will you do?’ Niall Mountmarche was looking down at the dog’s leg and the expression on his face was pretty much how Jess was feeling. Sick.

‘Put him down.’

Niall’s face swung from dog to girl.

‘I thought you said the dog wasn’t yours?’ he demanded.

‘He’s not. Could I have my bag, please?’

Niall didn’t move. He looked back to the dog’s leg. ‘Doesn’t the owner have the cash or inclination to pay for your services then, Dr Harvey?’

The emphasis on the word ‘Doctor’ was almost a sneer.

Jessie flushed.

‘I can’t operate,’ she said stiffly.

‘But you said you were a vet.’

‘Yes. I’m a vet. And I need to stop Harry suffering even more. Could you pass the bag, please?’

‘But you could operate.’ Gently Niall Mountmarche moved forward and lifted the dog’s leg from where it lay across Jessie’s bare knee. The dog hardly stirred. Niall examined the leg with caution, touching the pad with infinite care.

‘There’s warmth in his pad,’ he told Jessie. ‘There’s still some circulation. I don’t think he’d even have to lose his leg. Once we get the trap off…’

‘I don’t think you understand,’ Jessie said flatly. ‘I haven’t the facilities to operate.’

‘But you are a qualified vet?’

‘Yes.’

Niall’s face stilled. ‘Then you’ll be the vet who put my uncle’s dog down. The easy way out-is that it, Dr Harvey? You didn’t wait for my permission before killing my uncle’s dog.’

Jess closed her eyes. Her hands still stroked the dog’s matted fur and she fought to keep her voice calm so as not to frighten Harry even more.

‘Your uncle’s dog was an old, old Dobermann,’ she said softly, trying not to look up at those accusing eyes. ‘He’d been trained to attack to kill anything and anybody who wasn’t his owner. He was starving and near death when we found him; he had some sort of arthritic debility in his back legs and even if I’d saved him he was too old to form a bond with a new owner.