‘You stupid bitch. Can’t you control your effing dog?’ His red face burned with fury as he clambered up the steep bank.
Her hand tightened on the collar and she put the other hand on Tess’s head. Fright-induced adrenaline whooshed through her, leaving a sensation of light-headedness and wobbly legs.
‘I . . . er, I . . . ’
‘Your fucking dog just ate my fish.’ With broad shoulders, close-cut hair and a dirty complexion, the man loomed over her. What could she say, apart from sorry which even she could see was not going to cut it?
‘What you gonna do about it, you dumb bitch?’ He took a step forward. It took all her nerve to stand her ground, and not give into the urge to run away as fast as her shaky legs could carry her.
As she stood there gawping uselessly, probably like one of his ruddy fish, cold at first and then hot, she straightened. OK, so he had a right to be a tad pissed off that her dog had run off with his breakfast, but it was a fish and it wasn’t exactly up there in the statute books.
‘I’m really sorry but—’ her voice came with a shaky squeak.
‘Sorry!’ he roared, hot fetid breath washing over her face. Tess froze and Ella heard the deep rumble that came from her chest and its attendant vibration against her leg. The dog took several steady steps in front of the burly man.
Ella’s legs began to shake. Whoa, this was getting serious. Surely Tess wouldn’t attack him. Praying she could hold her, she grabbed the dog’s collar and laid what she hoped was a calming hand on her head and murmured, ‘It’s OK, Tess. It’s OK.’
What if Tess bit him? Or went for him? She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to hold her. It wasn’t even her dog. If Bets were here, she would know what to do.
‘Oi!’ came a shout from behind them.
Ella turned. Devon the vet. Out running. With early morning stubble, dark angry eyes and a baseball hat crammed onto his head, he looked an unlikely rescuer but very welcome all the same. He whipped off the cap to free just-got-out-of-bed tousled hair. He had a magnificently mean air about him. Angry sparks flared in his eyes.
‘John Wilkinson, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘This dumb bint’s dog nicked my fish. Ate the lot. Swallowed ’em down whole, little bastard.’
Without any fanfare or fuss, Devon insinuated himself between her and angry John, one gentle hand pushing her discreetly to one side. For the first time she noticed the breadth of his shoulders and just how tall he was. With the dark shadow dusting his chin he looked a lot meaner and harder than she remembered. And much more attractive. And where had that thought come from? He so wasn’t her type. Not with that dangerous edge to him. The way his chin jutted out as if daring the man to take a pop at him surprised her. This was a far cry from the man in the pub.
‘Fish, plural? And where were they?’
There was power in his stance and the testosterone in the air sizzled until Wilkinson suddenly seemed to deflate, shrinking in size, his voice becoming a mumbly growl against Devon’s taut, ice-laden words.
‘I think you owe the lady an apology, don’t you?’
The man nodded and grudgingly muttered ‘Sorry,’ in Ella’s direction. As apologies went it was hardly handsome but it was so unexpected she could hardly complain.
John Wilkinson marched back to his little tent on the shore, with one narky scowl over his shoulder.
She sagged in relief, realising how tense she’d been and how near easy tears were.
‘What was all that about?’ Her words only held the slightest quaver. ‘You the local Godfather or something?’
So he couldn’t see the sheen in her eyes, she looked down. A mistake. Up close, the tight thigh-length running shorts emphasized sleek corded muscles, biceps femoris, and outlined the full glorious definition of his gluteus maximus. Her mouth tightened and she swallowed. She’d done enough nudes to notice that he was well put together in a purely muscle, skin and bone type of way. That was all. But she couldn’t resist taking another peek.
‘Something.’ Devon grinned, the dark and mean pirate of seconds before vanishing in a flash of white teeth. He leant down and patted Tess. ‘Good girl.’
Ella’s heart did an unnecessary little skip which had her clenching her hands in denial.
‘Well, it’s an impressive something. Black belt in karate?’
‘No, just an understanding of fishing bylaws. On the reservoir here, you are supposed to put the fish back. Most fishermen catch them and put them in keep nets in the water. The fact that John had fish, plural, that Tess could get hold of, suggests perhaps he wasn’t playing by the rules. I think getting more than one fish out of a keep net without being spotted would be a tad difficult.’
‘Well, he got pretty angry.’ She bit her lip and reached for Tess, patting her on the head.
‘Are you OK? You look a bit shaken up.’ His eyes met hers, assessing, gentle. She’d missed that before; he had kind eyes. ‘I’m sorry about John, he can be a bit of a thug. We’re not all like that round here.’ He winced. ‘Shouting at complete strangers.’
She raised an eyebrow. He blushed before his face blossomed into a disarming rueful smile and as she smiled back, their eyes held for a fraction longer than normal. A fraction where they stared at each other, as if seeing something completely new. A fraction that made her heart flip just a tiny bit and her lungs stutter out a breath.
