‘Like I got my dog back. Call him.’
‘Well, short of borrowing a bugle, I can’t get a sound as loud as yours. And he’ll be halfway across the showground by now.’ Bryony paused and gave Jack a small, placating smile. ‘Actually, even if I’m six feet away Harry doesn’t come when I call. Unless I’m eating. Then he does a back flip to get to me.’
‘You feed your dog what you eat yourself—?’ Jack broke off in disgust. ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake... Look, just get your dog and clear out of here, Miss...Miss Whatever-your-name-is.’
‘I’m Bryony,’ she said again, and this time she forced him to take her hand by simply reaching out and grasping his. ‘I knew you weren’t listening last time.’ She took his fingers between hers and shook, regardless. ‘Bryony Lester.’
Jack did a mental back flip. Bryony’s hand was firm yet soft, and she smelled of something fragrant... Something really good.
‘Bryony...’ Jack said her name automatically—as if he was saying it despite himself.
‘I’ll go and find Harry,’ Bryony said apologetically, disengaging her fingers. ‘I guess he’ll have sheep up trees by now. But don’t worry, Mr Morgan. He won’t hurt them. He brought me one of Myrna’s ducklings last week and when he put it down the little thing waddled straight back to its mother. Wasn’t that clever of him to be so gentle?’
‘Brilliant.’ Jack had recovered a smidgen of his equilibrium—and his bad temper. His voice said Harry was anything but brilliant.
Bryony sighed and turned away. Hopeless. This man was so good-looking he could make her toes curl, but hopeless!
‘Jack!’
A shout from the sidelines made her hesitate. A middle-aged man in a suit—incongruous in a land of denim jeans and moleskins—was heading straight for them. A large badge proclaimed him: Brian McKenzie. Judge-Working Dog Trials. He looked brimful of self-importance, and despite the discomfiture Jack Morgan was making her feel Bryony waited to hear what he had to say.
‘Jack, I’m sorry, mate, but we’ve had to disqualify you,’ the man told Jack. He directed a lingering look at Bryony and then turned his attention reluctantly back to Jack. ‘It’s rules,’ he said shortly. ‘Your dog should be able to cope with distractions.’
Jack’s look, stormy before, turned to thunder.
‘Another dog launching himself into the mob while Jess works is hardly just a distraction.’
‘The rule book doesn’t say anything about that,’ the man told him. ‘We checked. Sorry, mate.’
‘Hell...’
‘There’s always next month,’ the man assured him, not meeting his eyes. ‘And Tom Higgins will enjoy getting first prize for a change.’
Then the man cast one last appreciative look at Bryony—and headed for his judges’ stand before Jack could argue.
‘Oh,’ Bryony said in a small voice, watching Jack’s face. ‘That doesn’t seem fair.’
‘No.’ Jack’s voice was stretched like fencing wire, almost to breaking point. ‘It’s not.’
‘Do you think if I went and explained...apologised...?’
‘It wouldn’t make any difference. I can appeal, but it’ll be fought every inch of the way and it’s just not worth it. That man is Tom Higgins’ father-in-law.’
‘Tom Higgins... The competitor who’ll win now?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I see.’ Bryony looked doubtfully up at Jack. Then her face cleared a little. ‘Well, I guess it’s not like it’s money or anything. Harry and I were watching you and I thought your Jessica was gorgeous. The best. Harry thought so too. That’s why he tried to meet her. So you still have the best dog, with or without first prize.’
And then, as Jack’s expression still stayed stormy, she tried again. ‘Actually. Harry and I didn’t win first prize either. In fact, we didn’t win any prize. Harry cocked his leg on the judge’s lovely shoes. Edna McKenzie. Do you know her? The poor lady nearly had kittens.’
Jack’s eyes widened. Edna McKenzie...wife of Brian. It couldn’t have happened to a more satisfactory person.
A tiny muscle at the side of Jack’s mouth quivered—so slightly that Bryony thought she might have imagined it. His jaw clamped back down straight away, though. Clearly Jack Morgan was intent on nursing his grievance.
‘You weren’t here for obedience trials?’ Jack’s voice was frankly incredulous.
‘Well, no.’ Bryony smiled up at him, refusing to be daunted by his grouchiness. ‘We were trying for champion schnauzer. Harry’s a pedigree. Myrna said I should show him and maybe someone would pay a stud fee for his services.’ She chuckled. ‘Harry would love that. At the moment he practises on cushions and on my leg and on anything else he can find. It’d be nice to channel his interest into a more natural direction.’
Once more, there was that almost imperceptible twitch.
This man was really something, Bryony thought. If she could only get him to smile...
And then she paused as a child materialised at Jack’s side. The child was about six years old, and she was thin to the point of emaciation. Her fair hair was dragged off her face in two long, uneven pigtails and her denim dungarees hung loose on her body. She looked like an escapee from an Orphan Annie movie.
‘Jack, Jessie didn’t win.’
A thin, reedy voice. Flat. Intensely disappointed. And, for the first time, Bryony felt a surge of real guilt. It hadn’t been too bad up until now. Bryony had reasoned that she hadn’t meant to let Harry slip his collar and, even if Jack Morgan had missed out on first prize, it couldn’t be so important. This was a small country show and everyone knew Jessica was far and away the best dog.
But this little one had wanted Jess to win. The loss was aching in her voice, and Bryony felt just dreadful, so she dropped to her knees again, her leggings making two cups in the dust. She had supreme disregard for her white leggings.
As well she might, Jack thought. Even coated six inches thick in dust, Bryony’s leggings would look wonderful on Bryony.
‘I’m afraid that was all my dog’s fault,’ Bryony confessed to the little girl, oblivious of Jack watching her. ‘He chased Jessica’s sheep. Did you see him? Harry’s a bad dog and I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.’
‘Jessie won’t be Australian champion now.’
The child’s voice wasn’t accusing. She was just telling the facts.
‘How do you mean?’ Bryony looked up at Jack. ‘I... This is only a small show. I mean, surely it’s not like it’s the Australian championships or anything.’
‘It is,’ the child said sadly. ‘You get points for every show you win, but you have to get all your points in a year. Jack said Jess only needed one more show and this was it. And we were going to put Jessie’s trophy in my room because Jack lets Jessie sleep on my bed...’
She stopped, her huge brown eyes filled with tears, and Bryony felt about two inches tall.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Bryony’s voice fell uselessly away. One look at this little girl told Bryony there was more at stake here than a trophy. The child had every appearance of a waif—a waif who’d wanted a trophy so much it hurt.
‘Hey, Maddy, there’s one more show. One more show before we run out of time.’ Ignoring Bryony, Jack stooped to lift the child into his arms, but the little girl refused to be comforted. She held herself ramrod-stiff, refusing to sink into his hold.
‘But