Page 133 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

A pillowcase followed. Then another.

Her phone rang. She reached over and picked it up from the folding table.

Nate. She answered. ‘Hi you.’

Nate’s voice came through fast, breath catching. ‘Sam . . . Sammy . . . come at once. I’ve called Magnus. The dog’s escaped.’

She bounced to her feet. ‘Where?’

The sound of pounding footsteps echoed down the line, followed by panting, ‘Orchards . . . he’s heading towards the road . . . I can’t . . .’ The line broke into movement, wind, the sound of him running.

‘I’m coming,’ she said, reaching for the plug.

Sammy ran between the rows of apple trees, ducking below branches, shoes squelching on fallen apples. ‘Stop It . . . Stop It!’ she cried.

Ahead of her the dog was fast becoming a dot in the distance.

The orchard stretched away, endless rows of apple trees, branches heavy with fruit, silver-green leaves wavering in the breeze, oblivious to the drama unfolding within it.

Nate’s voice broke across the rows. ‘Stop It!’

Ahead, through a gap in the hedge, she noticed the gates – open. Beyond them, the lane. No sign of the dog.

A car came fast around the corner . . . tyres hissing.

‘Stop It!’ she cried.

Sammy saw him then – darting between trees, white body flashing in and out of the shadows, back legs pumping.

Nate lunged but missed. The dog swerved and accelerated, heading straight for the gap in the hedge.

‘Stop It . . . !’ she yelled.

Magnus came, angling his path to cut the dog off from the gate. Nate moved in sync, trying to drive the dog back to safety between them.

It seemed to work. The dog slowed, as if deciding which man to play with first. Then he broke. A sharp twist, faster than either of his pursuers, slipping through the narrowing gap before they could close it.

‘Stop It . . . !’ shouted Magnus.

Sammy ran. Dodging around mole hills and slippery wind fall apples. Her breath hitched, the air catching in her throat. He’s going to reach the road.

The sound of another car accelerating – it shot past the gates in a blur of speed. She closed her eyes briefly. No . . . please don’t do this.

Sammy ran on. Her chest tightened painfully, she could barely catch enough breath to keep running.

‘Stop It . . .’ Nate said sounding further back now.

The dog didn’t hear him. Or didn’t want to. Blissfully unaware of the looming danger, he kept hurtling toward the open gate.

Sammy forced herself to slow down. Stop It was better at this game than the humans. That’s how he saw this. She took several deep breaths until she thought she could speak calmly. ‘Stop It,’ she said brightly. ‘Good bully boy . . . come here little one.’

The dog flicked an ear. Stopped. Turned its head, as if to say keep up . . . before bolting again.

Sammy dropped to her knees, both hands held out invitingly. ‘Come bully boy. Come boy . . .’ The dog hesitated. ‘Good boy,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady though her chest burnt with the effort. ‘That’s it.’

Behind her, no pounding feet, the men were holding back, the field around them stretching silent apart from the flutter of birds and the distant churn of a tractor.

Another car tore past the gates. The dog’s ears flicked backward, then upright. He started trotting – not running . . . towards Sammy.