Abby and the Bachelor Cop / Misty and the Single Dad: Abby and the Bachelor Copy / Misty and the Single Dad

She was bigger now, she conceded. Not so likely to be knocked over by a pack of dogs.

But there weren’t as many dogs, anyway. There was an ancient black Labrador, almost grey with age. There was a pug, and there was Kleppy bringing up the rear. Wagging his tail. Greeting her?

She knelt and hugged Kleppy. He licked her face. So did the old Labrador. The pug was young but this one … she even remembered the feel of his tongue. ‘Boris!’

‘Abby!’ Sarah burst out of the kitchen, her beam wide enough to split her face. She dived down onto the floor and hugged her friend with total lack of self-consciousness. ‘Abby, you’re here. I’ve made you honey jumbles.’

‘I … great.’ Maybe she should get up. Lawyer on floor hugging dog …

Boris was licking her chin.

‘Boris?’ she said tentatively and she included him in the hug she was giving Kleppy.

‘He is Boris,’ Raff said and she twisted and found Raff was watching them all from the doorway. ‘How old was he when you were last here, Abby?’

‘I … Three?’

‘He’s fourteen now. Old for a Labrador. You’ve missed out on his whole life.’

‘That’s not all I’ve missed out on,’ she whispered. ‘How could I ever come back?’ She shook her head and hauled herself to her feet. Raff made an instinctive move to help, but then pulled away. Shook his head. Closed down.

‘But you will stay for a bit,’ Sarah said, grabbing Abby’s hand to pull herself up. Movement was still awkward for Sarah; it always would be. ‘I’ve told the dogs they can have a honey jumble each,’ she told Abby. ‘But they need to wait until they’ve cooled down. You can’t take Kleppy home before he’s had his.’

‘I could take it with me.’

‘Abby,’ Sarah said in a term of such reproach that Abby knew she was stuck.

How long did honey jumbles take to cool?

Apparently a while because, ‘I’ve just put them in the oven,’ Sarah said happily. ‘I made a lot after tea but Raff forgot to tell me to take them out. They went black. Even the dogs didn’t want them. Raff never forgets,’ she said, heading back to the kitchen. ‘But he’s funny tonight. Do you think it’s because you’re here?’

‘I expect that’s it,’ Abby said, trying desperately to find something to say. Babbling because of it? ‘Maybe it’s because I’m a lawyer. Sometimes police don’t like lawyers ‘cos they ask too many questions.’

‘And sometimes they don’t ask enough,’ Raff growled.

‘Meaning …’

‘Baxter …’

Oh, for heaven’s sake … ‘Leave it, Raff,’ she said. ‘Just butt out of my life.’

‘I did that years ago.’

‘Well, don’t stop now.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sarah, love, I’m in a rush.’

‘I know you are,’ Sarah said and pushed her into a kitchen chair. ‘You sit down. Raff will make you a nice cup of tea and we’ll talk until the honey jumbles are ready. But don’t yell at Raff,’ she said disapprovingly. ‘Raff’s nice.’

Raff was nice? Okay, maybe a part of him was nice. She might want to hate Raff Finn—and a part of her couldn’t help but hate him—but she had to concede he was caring for Sarah beautifully.

The twelve months after the crash had been appalling. Even her grief for Ben hadn’t stopped Abby seeing the tragedy that was Sarah.

She’d lain unconscious for three weeks and everyone had mourned her as dead. At one time rumour had it that Raff and Gran were asked to stop life support.

At three weeks she’d woken, but it was a different Sarah.

She’d had to relearn everything. Her memory of childhood was patchy. Her recent memory was lost completely.

She’d learned to walk again, to talk. She coped now but her speech was slow, as was her movement. Gran and Raff had brought her home and worked with her, loved her, massaged, exercised, pleaded, cajoled, bullied …

When Gran died Raff had taken it on himself to keep on going. For over a year he hadn’t been able to work. They’d lived on the smell of an oily rag, because, ‘She’s not going into care.’

With anyone else the community would have rallied, but not with the Finns. Not when Raff was seen as being the cause of so much tragedy.

How he’d managed …

If the accident happened now the community would help, she thought. Somehow, in the last years, Raff had redeemed himself. He was a fine cop. He’d cared for Sarah with such love and compassion that the worst of the nay-sayers had been silenced. She’d even thought … it was time she moved on. Time she learned to forgive.

But over and over … He’d killed Ben.

How could she ever be friends with him again?

She didn’t need to be. She simply chose to be distant. So she sat in Raff’s kitchen while Sarah chatted happily, showing her the guinea pigs, explaining they’d had too many babies and that Raff had told her they had to sell some but how could she choose?

Smelling honey jumbles in a kitchen she loved.

Knowing Raff was watching her.

She found her fingers were clenched on her knees. They were hidden by the table. She could clench them as much as she wanted.

It didn’t help. This place was almost claustrophobic, the memories it evoked.

But Raff was watching her and how Raff was making her feel wasn’t a memory. This was no childhood crush. It was like a wave of testosterone blasting across the table, assaulting her from every angle.

Sarah was laughing.

Raff wasn’t laughing. He was simply watchful.

Judgemental? Because she was marrying Philip?

Why shouldn’t she marry Philip? He was kind, thoughtful, clever.

Her fallback?

Um … no. He was her careful choice.

She’d gone out with Philip before Ben had died, just for a bit, when the boys had left home, Raff to the Police Training College, Ben to university.

Philip had left for university, too, but he’d caught glandular fever and come home for a term.