Um…no. This dog couldn’t look attractive in a million years. No matter what the care.

Would Erin take her?

But he’d watched Erin’s face as he’d said she shouldn’t move the dog tonight, the inference being when she moved so would the dog. He’d seen dismay.

‘So it’s up to me again,’ he told Marilyn, but then he gave himself a mental swipe to the side of the head. ‘Hey, that’s me being despondent. There’ll be all sorts of people just aching to give you a good home. A nice brick bungalow with room to romp, a couple of dog-loving kids, balls to chase, a pile of dog food so high you can’t see the top…’

He glanced into the sitting room toward the sleeping Erin. Was she the girl to provide it?

Maybe not. But, then, he thought, still hopeful, he’d really liked what he’d seen. For now he’d indulge his very own personal philosophy. Which was to worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

Finding homes for puppies was for tomorrow. Flat Easter buns were for tomorrow. Tonight-or what was left of it-was for sleep.

And maybe for letting himself think just a little bit about what sort of woman carried an injured dog so far…

CHAPTER THREE

SHE woke and she was being watched. She opened one eye, looked sideways at the door and two small heads ducked for cover.

She closed her eyes and waited for a bit. Testing herself out. She wiggled everything, really cautiously. Various protests started up in response, but compared to the pain of last night they were minor.

Then she wiggled her left foot and thought, no, not minor.

She opened her eyes again. Once more, two heads, but this time they didn’t withdraw.

One head was bright, carrot red, really curly. The other was mousy brown, dead straight.

Five or six years old, she guessed, and then she thought they didn’t look one bit like the man who’d helped her last night.