Seven-Day Love Story. Nikki Logan

but the thought of having him in her house overwhelmed her, despite the uniform. ‘I’ll meet you round the back.’

      He frowned, but nodded. Jayne pushed the eager dogs back from the front door and closed it securely behind her, then hurried through the house to the back. Fergus, Dougal and Jazmine perked up again as soon as they realised her intention. Ollie found his favourite chair and curled up on it, looking miserable.

      Three would suffice.

      They burst from the back door like shot from a rifle and bounded over to where the stranger stood, examining a pile of materials and an old, rickety aviary. He ignored them in exactly the way someone who knew dogs would, and that gave them the confidence to busy themselves scavenging around his feet.

      Jayne cleared her throat. ‘Is there some kind of paperwork I can fill out to get the fourth dog approved?’

      Todd shook his head. ‘State limits. Why do you have so many?’

      Jayne called Jaz close to her and petted her head. ‘They’re all abandoned. They have no one else. And they’re…security for me. I live here alone.’

      Nice one, genius! Why not tell him where you keep the spare key while you’re at it? She monitored the dogs closely. She trusted them to let her know if his mood changed. If at any stage this became more than bureaucracy.

      New habits died hard.

      He nodded, and a thick, dark lock fell down over his reassuringly square brow. Stupid that a forehead should make her feel more comfortable, but it did. Maybe because the smooth, tanned flesh accentuated the deepest blue eyes she’d seen outside of a magazine advertisement. Somewhere deep inside she was sure anyone up to no good would be less … remarkable.

      The eyes in question watched the hovering dogs. ‘They’re good protection. I can see that,’ he said.

      â€˜And they’re a pack now. Splitting them up is not an option.’

      â€˜You may not have a choice, Ms Morrow.’

      A double shot of alarm surged through her. Of course he knew her name—he was from the Shire, and she’d included her details on the registrations. But the thought that he might be leaving here today with one of her four-legged kids chained up in his vehicle … Her chest rose and fell with tight, sudden pain.

      â€˜Please don’t take them.’ It galled her to beg, but the alternative was unthinkable.

      â€˜I can see that you have them well trained,’ he said. ‘That’s a positive in your favour. And you have been very honest in declaring them.’ That broad brow crinkled as his dark eyebrows lowered in concentration. He slid his glance to the materials lying piled a few feet away. ‘What’s all this for?’

      Panic bubbled up further and disguised itself as frustration. ‘Is that in breach of something, too?’

      He smiled, utterly bemused. ‘No. I’m just thinking …’ He wandered over to the old aviary in the shade of an ancient gum tree. A giant corrella blinked at him from the high perch and a possum peered suspiciously out of a nest-box in the corner. On the ground, a bandicoot picked off the corrella’s cast-off food scraps. ‘You have quite a little zoo going here.’

      Jayne stared at him, wondering what to say. ‘More of a halfway house. The plan is for most of these guys to go back to the bush when they’re rehabilitated.’

      He turned back to her. ‘You have a carer’s licence?’

      Her heart sank. ‘I wasn’t aware I needed one.’

      That smile dissolved rapidly into a thin line. He stared at her hard, his mind ticking over visibly in his expressive blue eyes. ‘If you’re dabbling in wildlife rehab, yes, you’ll definitely need one. But it will also solve your dog dilemma. A licence provides for more than three dogs, provided at least one of them is being rehabbed.’

      The first genuine glimpse of hope burst into life deep inside her. ‘Oh! But they all are. How do I apply?’

      â€˜You just fill out a form at the Shire office and pay the licence fee.’

      The flicker extinguished in a gush of sudden dread. ‘Is it not available online?’

      His deep chuckle worked its way under her skin. ‘Welcome to Banjo’s Ridge. Hard copy and carbon-copy triplicate—the old-fashioned way.’

      She didn’t have a hope of stopping the fingers of her right hand compulsively touching her thumb. They did it of their own accord, over and over in order, bringing their odd, cell-deep comfort. The best she could do was tuck her whole hand out of view.

      Those extraordinary eyes followed the brief move.

      â€˜Tell you what,’ he said, his tone changing instantly to the overly loud one she’d used at her book signings when particularly frail fans queued up for her signature. ‘I’ll bring the form back out to you on my rounds tomorrow. We’ll get you all signed up.’

      It meant him coming back, but it saved her the agony of a trip into town. Even if town consisted of only one hundred and thirty-two people. And only a third of them around at any one time. Thoughts of gift horses flitted through her mind.

      â€˜That would be kind. Thank you.’ She took a breath. ‘What time?’

      She turned to walk towards the house. He took the not so subtle hint and followed her. ‘I couldn’t say. I’m rostered first thing, so it will be in the morning some time—whenever I’m out this way. That’s the best I can do.’

      Oh, lovely. A surprise visit. Nothing she liked more. Her finger-counting started over. ‘Yes, that will be good. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She turned from him stiffly and retreated to the house, calling the yipping dogs with her.

      Todd lifted his eyebrows as he watched her go. Not the friendliest of locals. But then she wasn’t local. She’d only been in the Queensland hinterland a short time, judging by that accent. A pretty young American woman living alone had a way of standing out, but for all the townsfolk had to say about her no one seemed to know much other than her cracking impersonation of Greta Garbo. I want to be alone.

      Yep. He got that loud and clear.

      â€˜So … guess I’ll be going!’ he called pointlessly at the cottage door which had closed quietly in his face, then shook his head and turned to walk around to the front of the house.

      Possibly the touchiest woman he’d ever met, and certainly the most unwelcoming. It would never fly on this mountain. Neighbours needed each other. If she was being that cool to him—practically the law out here—he could bet there wasn’t a single family this side of the ridge that would drop in to see if she needed anything in an emergency. Gorgeous or not.

      And she most definitely was.

      That ghost of an almost-smile stuck in his mind. Hair like spun gold. And the most unusual grey eyes, with a bit of every other colour in them. Fine pointed chin, smooth, pale skin. Soft, small lips. Everything about her seemed … refined. There was no one like her on this ridge.

      Todd climbed into his truck and buckled up. He saw the tiniest shimmy in curtains that told him she was still watching. Waiting for him to go.

      Nope, absolutely no one like her.

      Never mind; he had bigger fish to fry than a recalcitrant licence-breacher. Old Tom Hardy had reported seeing that black panther in his far paddock again—claimed to have a footprint this time.

      The fact he’d swung by Miss Prickly’s refuge first said a lot about his belief in a mythical wildcat down on the Hardy farm. Still, it