She was also distracted.

‘Look at her hair,’ the voice was saying. ‘It’d cost a fortune to keep it like that, and what for? She’s a blonde bimbo, Toby, mark my words. A gorgeous piece of fluff.’

‘But she’s got lovely legs.’ The child’s words were a thoughtful response to the man’s deep rumble. ‘And she’s got really nice eyes.’

‘Never be taken in by appearances, Toby,’ the deep voice decreed. ‘Under that gorgeous exterior, she’s nothing but a twit.’

Enough! Rachel might be a reluctant protector, but she was here to defend and defend she would. She hitched back the curtain and faced the world.

Or, to be precise, she faced the Cowral dog show.

The pavilion was packed and she’d retreated with her hamburger for a little privacy. The cubicles behind each dog weren’t big enough to swing a cat-or a dog-but at least they were private.

Who was criticising Penelope?

‘Hey!’ she said, and a man and a child turned to stare. She wiped a smudge of tomato sauce from her chin and stared right back.

Penelope’s detractor was in his mid-thirties, she guessed. Maybe he was a farmer? That’s what he looked like. He was wearing moleskins and a khaki shirt of the type that all the farmers around here seemed to wear. His curly black hair just reached his collar. He had deep brown, crinkly eyes and, with his deeply tanned skin, he looked…

Nice, Rachel decided. In fact, if she was being critical-and she was definitely in the mood for being critical-he looked more than nice. He looked gorgeous! The small boy beside him was aged about six, and he was a miniature replica. They had to be father and son.

Father and son. Family. The man was therefore married.

Married? Why was she wondering about married?

She gave herself a swift mental swipe for thinking of any such thing. Dottie had been doing her work too well. Why would Rachel possibly be interested in whether a complete stranger had a partner?