‘Stay behind me,’ Rowan said quietly.
It took Marcus a second to realise Rowan meant him as well as the child.
The spaniel skidded to a stop a few feet away, tail wagging furiously, tongue lolling out as if everyone on the beach had been invited to take part in the most wonderful game.
Atlas did not move, but every muscle in his body seemed to lock.
Marcus crouched slowly, keeping his hands visible and his voice light. ‘Hello there, Pudding. You are a little escape artist, aren’t you?’
The little girl stumbled to a halt, breathless and pink-cheeked. ‘Sorry. He pulled away.’
Rowan did not look at her. His entire focus remained on Atlas.
Marcus reached for the spaniel’s lead, keeping his movement slow and easy. ‘No harm done. But let’s keep him close, sweetheart. Not every dog likes surprises.’
The girl’s eyes widened as she looked at Atlas. ‘Is he a police dog?’
Rowan flinched.
Marcus saw it. Felt it, almost.
‘He used to do very important work,’ Marcus said gently, clipping his fingers around Pudding’s lead and passing it back to her. ‘Now he’s enjoying a quieter life. Aren’t you, Atlas?’
Atlas’s gaze flicked briefly to Marcus.
Only briefly.
But it was enough to send an absurd little spark of triumph through him.
The girl nodded solemnly, as if Marcus had shared something of great importance. ‘My mum says Pudding’s only job is eating socks.’
‘A noble profession,’ Marcus said with a soft chuckle.
The child giggled and ran back towards her mother, Pudding bouncing beside her.
When Marcus straightened, Rowan was looking at him.
Really looking.
‘That was well handled,’ Rowan said, although his face was hard to read.
Marcus’s chest warmed at the praise. He tried not to let it show and failed completely. ‘Careful. Compliments make me unbearable.’
For the first time, Rowan’s mouth twitched. It was barely there. A tiny almost-smile that vanished as quickly as it came.
But Marcus saw it. And because he was apparently a fool, he wanted another one immediately.
Rowan turned back towards the stretch of beach. ‘A quiet zone could work.’
Marcus stilled.
‘Not a rescue-rehab category,’ Rowan added. ‘Not unless owners choose it and it’s worded carefully. No pity. No spectacle.’
‘No pity,’ Marcus agreed at once.
‘But a calm area for dogs who need space. Shade. Water. Clear signs. No children running in and out. No dogs on extending leads. And volunteers who understand not to touch without asking.’
Marcus nodded quickly, already picturing it. ‘Yes. That’s good. That’s really good.’
