‘She says not.’
‘Likely story,’ he fumed.
They’d had visits like this before, when a stranger had arrived with a mistreated animal they insisted was not their responsibility.
‘Let me see.’
Stepping into Reception with Anne at his heels, Alex was hit by the atrocious odour of animal faeces and wet dog first. The next shock came from the sight of the small, curvy woman holding an old-fashioned wicker basket while a sick-looking Papillon sat at her feet.
‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Alex said, not about to be sucked in by the pretty female or the way her blue eyes widened at his words.
The number one thing he hated was people who ill-treated animals, and by the state of the dog this woman was obviously worse than most. The fact that she caused an odd sensation to flip inside his chest was irrelevant, and probably nothing more than a bout of acid thanks to the bacon and cheese sandwich he’d eaten for breakfast.
‘I—I beg your pardon?’ the woman stammered, her cheeks turning pink as she stared at him.
Alex set his fists on his hips and continued to glare at her, ignoring the increase in his heartbeat. Let her try and sweet-talk her way out of this. He had the number of a friend who worked for the RSPCA on his mobile, and he intended to use it in the next few minutes.
‘You heard fine.’
The way she drew herself up reminded him of an irritated kitten, ready to pounce and dig in her claws. If he hadn’t been so angry over the dog’s condition he might almost have admired the determined gleam that entered her eyes. Most women tended to simper around him, but he suspected this fair-haired beauty would do anything but.
‘Then you’re the one with the blocked ears,’ she snapped, the colour in her cheeks deepening. ‘Because I’ve already explained that this is not my dog—’
‘Of course it’s not,’ he interrupted sarcastically, forcing his thoughts to focus on the situation and not the female.
‘I suppose you found it in a bin or along the roadside? I’ve heard both many times. I’ve noticed that dog abusers are rarely imaginative.’
He frowned when, instead of defending herself further, she hugged the basket closer and took a step towards him.
‘Actually, I discovered her in my godmother’s barn.’
‘Doubtful, seeing as you’re not a local,’ Alex snorted.
‘How do you know I’m not?’
His eyes raked her from her head to her toes, taking in the fancy green padded coat, the designer jeans and pink whale-patterned wellingtons. They were a definite giveaway. No one around these parts wore anything but green or floral boots.
‘I can tell.’
‘Are you always this rude and judgemental?’ she asked.
Her eyes had narrowed, but she reached down and stroked the Papillon gently, to soothe its whimpering. He begrudgingly liked it that she put the dog’s feelings before her own anger.
‘Oh, no,’ Anne piped up from his side. ‘This is him being quite pleasant. Tell me more about where you found this poor soul?’
‘She didn’t find her,’ he dismissed, not believing a word the woman said.
‘Listen, you arrogant oaf.’ The woman stepped closer, though she kept her voice to a low hiss. ‘The dog is not mine. I discovered her and several others in a barn.’
‘What barn?’ he asked, determined to find fault with her tale. Anything to keep his attention diverted from the softness of her skin and the fullness of her lips.
‘The place is called Fingle Lodge. It’s about a mile from here. It used to be the lodge house on the old Cattleson Estate.’
Alex’s suspicions hiked up a level. Fingle Lodge was a property he’d secretly set his heart on owning one day. Once he tracked down who actually owned it now. Surrounded by an ancient wood, it sat in a rare unspoilt band of nature. There was an air of history to the area that intrigued him.
‘I know the place. No one has lived there for years.’
‘Well, at least you’re right about something,’ she agreed. ‘My godmother owns the property and she’s asked me to visit and check on its condition. When I searched the barn I discovered seven dogs and three puppies locked in a room and living in squalid conditions. I suspect someone is using it as a small-scale puppy farm. Why else would they keep them locked up? No one who loves dogs would keep them in such vile surroundings.’
‘Puppies?’ Alex repeated.
The woman nodded, and gently peeled back the green jumper covering the basket. Three sleepy puppies wriggled inside.
Alex reached into the basket and lifted one out, judging it to be no more than a week old. He gently returned it to the basket with its canine siblings.
‘You’ve only brought Mum and her pups with you,’ he pointed out, still not sure he believed or trusted her. Even with the recent introduction of new laws, and the hope of cutting out third party dealers, it didn’t mean there weren’t still people prepared to ignore it and continue with that side of the appalling puppy trade.
‘I couldn’t carry them all and fit them into my car,’ she explained, in a far from patient tone. ‘It’s only small and one of my suitcases takes up half of the back seat. I thought it important to bring these four first.’
He searched her face, lingering over her full pink mouth for signs to prove she was lying. But no matter how hard he looked nothing but innocence and truth stared back at him.
Had he judged her wrong? Was there really a puppy farm on his doorstep? The idea made him sick. What monstrosities had these dogs endured so some crook could make easy money. Easy for them, but not for the dogs.
He reached for the dog at the woman’s feet, touched when the filthy hound wagged its matted tail and stared at him with hopeful brown eyes. Each of her rib bones protruded through her dirty fur.
Handing
