One Intimate Night
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised distantly, averting his eyes as she scrabbled to retrieve her nightdress. ‘That was...’
‘It’s all right,’ Georgia told him breathlessly, praying inwardly that she could stop him before he explained to her that he had momentarily been overwhelmed by his male sexual drive; that his reaction to her had simply been that of a normal healthy male to the presence of a semi-naked woman. ‘I understand. We’re both upset about Ben... I know you just intended to comfort me... I...’
As he viewed her downbent head Piers’s mouth twisted wryly.
‘It wasn’t exactly comfort that was uppermost in my mind just now when I—’ he began.
But Georgia interrupted him in a choked voice, begging him, ‘Please don’t say any more. I’m not... I don’t...’
She didn’t love him; that was what she was finding so hard to say, Piers guessed.
‘I guess you’re right,’ he agreed heavily. ‘We’re both acting somewhat out of character.’
Well, that was true enough in his case. He had certainly never come anywhere near telling any other woman that he loved her, but then he had never loved any other woman, had never felt about anyone else the way he felt about Georgia. His feelings for her were out of character...or, at least, outside his experience.
Outside, dawn proper was now peaching the sky. If Ben had survived the night, once the police had been able to interview the youths who had taken his car, perhaps they might be able to narrow down an area where they could begin searching for him. If he had survived the night. If he hadn’t... If he hadn’t, Georgia would never forgive him, and neither would he ever forgive himself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KEEPING his body low to the ground, Ben followed the sound of the bleating sheep. He could see them now—white dots breaking up the darkness of the night-cloaked hills. They were high-country sheep, still with not yet fully grown lambs, and with his sharp senses Ben could see and smell the vixen shadowing an isolated group of three ewes, all with lambs, on the outskirts of the flock, her cubs at her heels.
As he watched the vixen carefully marking out her prey Ben growled deep in his throat. He wasn’t a country dog, but both Mrs Latham and Georgia had strong views about such things, and Ben, who loved a good brisk run after a rabbit, knew much better than to try and catch one.
Ben did his best to growl a warning to the ewe, but he was too far away to prevent the inevitable. Even so... Cautiously he made his way towards the flock, but when he got there it was too late. Where there had been triplets now there were only two small lambs, both of them being hurried anxiously away by the ewe. Cautiously Ben dipped his head fastidiously, sniffing the scent of fresh blood.
The farmer, alerted to the intrusion by the sound of the farm dogs barking, was already halfway up the hill, gun at the ready, when he saw Ben. Immediately he took aim...
* * *
‘Lost another lamb last night,’ Harry Bowles complained to his brother-in-law grumpily as his wife poured both her husband and her brother a cup of strong Yorkshire tea. Her brother was in the police force and often called round to have breakfast with them at the end of his shift if he was working in the area.
‘Fox?’ Brian Jessop asked him sympathetically as he took his tea from his sister.
Harry Bowles shook his head.
‘No,’ he told him shortly. ‘Dog. Saw him as plain as day. Incomer’s dog, by the looks of him. Some fancy breed that—’
‘What exactly did he look like?’ Brian Jessop asked him sharply, putting down his tea.
Briefly Harry described Ben.
‘You didn’t shoot him, did you?’ Brian asked him. ‘Only it sounds to me like he’s this dog that’s been reported as being stolen, and there’s a reward being offered for his safe return.’
‘Tried, but I missed him, Brian,’ Harry told him grimly.
‘Come on; let’s go and see if he’s still around,’ Brian Jessop suggested. ‘If he’s still about perhaps we can coax him down to the farm and get a proper look at him.’
* * *
Ben saw the two men from the small safe place he had found for himself in the shelter of an outcrop of rock overgrown with ferns and other vegetation. Warily he watched them. He recognised the farmer and stiffened anxiously. They were calling his name but he didn’t know them, and in the last twenty-four hours Ben had learned that not all human beings were like his owners.
Cautiously he watched the two men, only relaxing when, nearly half an hour later, they turned their backs on him and started to walk back in the direction they had come.