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

‘Do you?’

‘Backyards,’ he said. ‘Never takes the fastest route, our Kleppy.’ He raked his hair again. Looking tired. ‘I need lunch. If I’m not back in court at one then Baxter’ll definitely get off. You need to do this, Abby. I can’t.’

Look for a dog all afternoon … ‘Philip’ll kill me.’

‘Then I guess the wedding’ll be off. Is that a good thing?’

Raff spoke absently, as if it didn’t bother him if her wedding was at risk. As indeed it didn’t. What business was it of his to care about the wedding? What business was it of his to even comment on it? She opened her mouth to say so, but suddenly his gaze focused, sharpened. ‘Is that …?’

She turned to see.

It was—and the change was extraordinary.

When she’d left him two hours ago, Kleppy had looked defeated and depressed. When he’d crawled onto her jacket he hadn’t had the energy to even rise off his stomach.

Now he was prancing across the park towards them, looking practically jaunty. His rough coat was never going to be pretty. One of his ears flopped down, almost covering his eye. His tail was a bit ragged.

But they could see his tail wagging when he was still a hundred yards away. And, as he got closer …

He had something in his mouth. Something pink and lacy.

What the …?

‘It’s a bra,’ Abby breathed as the little dog reached them. She bent down and the dog circled her twice, then came to her outstretched hand. He rubbed himself against her leg and his whole body shivered. With delight?

He was carrying the bra like a trophy. She touched it and he dropped it into her hand, then stood back as if he’d just presented her with a cheque for a million dollars. His body language was unmistakable.

Look what I’ve found for you! Aren’t I the cleverest dog in the world?

She dropped the bra and picked him up, hugging him close. He wriggled frantically and she put him back down. He picked up the bra again, placed it back in her hand and then allowed her to pick him up—as long as she kept the bra.

His meaning couldn’t be plainer. ‘I’ve brought you a gift. You appreciate it.’

‘You’ve brought me a bra,’ she managed and she felt like crying. ‘Oh, Kleppy …’

‘It could just as easily have been men’s jocks,’ Raff said. He lifted the end of the bra that was hanging loose. There was a price tag attached. ‘I thought so. He’s a bit small to rob clothes lines, our Kleppy. This has come from Main Street. Morrisy Drapers are having a sale. This will have come from the discount bin at the front of the store.’

Had it? She checked it out. Cop and lawyer for the defence, standing in the sun, examining evidence.

Pink bra. Nylon. White and silver frills. About an E Plus Cup. Room for about three of Abby.

‘Very … very useful,’ Abby managed.

‘You’ll need to pay for it.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s theft,’ Raff said, touching the bra’s middle with a certain degree of caution. It was looking a bit soggy. ‘He never hurts anything. He hunts treasures; he never destroys them. But they do get a bit … wet. Taking it back and apologising’s not going to cut it.’

‘Will they know he’s stolen it?’

‘He’s not a cat burglar,’ Raff said gravely, though the sides of his mouth were twitching. ‘Dog burglars don’t have the same finesse. He’s a snatch and grab man, our Kleppy. There’ll be a dozen people on Main Street who’ll be able to identify him in a line up.’

‘Oh, my …’ And then she paused. Kleppy.

Kleppy was a strange name but she’d hardly had time to think about it. Now … ‘Kleppy. Oh …’

Raff looked like a man starting to enjoy himself. ‘Got it,’ he said, grinning. ‘And there’s another reason you’re not offloading this mutt onto me. This is a dog who lives to present his master with surprises. No dead rats or old bones for his guy. It has to be interesting. Expensive is good. One of a set’s his favourite. Isaac gave up on him long since—he just paid for the damage and got on with it. So now here’s Kleppy, deciding you’re his new owner. Welcome to dog ownership, Abigail Callahan. You’re the proud owner of Banksia Bay’s biggest kleptomaniac—and also the littlest.’

A kleptomaniac … Kleppy.

She stared at Raff as if he was out of his mind. He gazed back, lips twitching, that dangerous smile lurking deep within.

She was about to present her fiancé with a kleptomaniac dog?

‘I don’t believe it,’ she managed at last. ‘There’s no such thing.’

‘You want to know how I know this dog?’ He wasn’t even trying to disguise his grin. ‘I’d like to say I’m personally acquainted with every dog in Banksia Bay but, even with Sarah’s help, I can’t manage that. Nope, I’m acquainted with Kleppy because I’ve arrested him.’

‘Arrested …’

‘I’ve caught him red-handed—or red-pawed—on any number of occasions. The problem is that he doesn’t know how to hide it. Like now. He steals and then he shows off.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘You’ve already said that.’

‘But …’

‘That’s why no one wants him,’ he said, humour fading. ‘He’s always been a problem. Henrietta’s had to be honest with everyone who came to the Shelter looking for the ideal pet. He isn’t ideal. Isaac paid out on Kleppy’s behalf more times than I can say. He’s hidden stuff and he’s been accused of stealing himself. Isaac never cared what people thought of him, which was just as well, as there’s been more women’s underwear end up at his house than you can imagine. He burned most of it—what choice did he have? Can you imagine wandering the town saying who owns this G-string? But he loved Kleppy, you see.’ The smile returned. ‘Like you will.’

‘I … This is appalling.’

‘I told you to get him put down.’

‘You know I’m a soft option.’ Anger hit then, fury, pure and simple. ‘You know me, Raff Finn. You put this dog in my car because you knew I wouldn’t be able to have him put down. You know I’m a soft touch.’

‘Now how would I know that?’ he said softly. ‘I haven’t known you for a very long time, Abby. You’ve grown up. You’ve got yourself engaged to Philip. The Abby I knew could no sooner have married Philip than fly. You’re a lawyer engaged in getting Wallace Baxter off. A lawyer doing cases like that—of course you can get a dog put down.’

His gaze met hers, direct, challenging, knowing he was calling a bluff she couldn’t possibly meet.

‘You still can,’ he told her. ‘Put Kleppy in the car and take him back to Fred. You’ve made his last hours happy by giving him the freedom for one last hoist. He’ll die a happy dog.’

You still can.

Say something.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say.