Page 4 of D for Dead

He stared at Huckleberry who had sat his butt down a few feet away and was watching them, tongue hanging out, looking mightily pleased with himself.

‘He’s not actually mine,’ Amy protested, taking a sneaky step towards Huckleberry, hoping to get the collar back on him before he bolted again. The rain was getting heavier and she didn’t have a jacket.

The man wasn’t listening. He had turned his back to her and bent down to stroke the ears of the pale Labrador, as he clipped on the leash.

Amy’s temper rose a notch. She had apologised and didn’t appreciate being lectured at and then ignored. ‘He’s not my dog,’ she repeated.

The man turned back to face her, eyebrows raised. ‘So?’

‘So, I don’t appreciate being accused of not controlling him.’

‘Hey, he’s with you, he’s your responsibility.’ He glanced at Huckleberry, who grinned back. ‘You need to go on a training course, buddy.’

Huckleberry thumped his tail.

‘Look, I apologised. It was an accident. I didn’t expect anyone to be out here in the middle of the night.’

‘So now you’re saying it’s my fault for being out here?’

‘I never said–’

‘How come you’re out here in the middle of the night?’

‘He needed to pee.’

‘Not exactly the safest place to bring him.’

‘I didn’t come here on purpose. He got off his leash.’ Amy sighed, exasperated. It was late, she was tired and – good-looking guy or not – she did not need some stranger giving her grief in the middle of a dark park.

‘You might want to rethink your route and walk times if your dog is gonna keep running away. Never know who might be hanging around in these bushes late at night.’

‘Like you,’ Amy muttered under her breath.

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing. Look I’m tired. I’ve just finished work and I want my bed. If you’re done lecturing me, I’ll take my dog and get out of your hair.’

‘So he is your dog now?’

‘Come on, Huckleberry,’ she said to the dog, ignoring the man.

The collie made no attempt to move so Amy went to him. As she reached to slip the collar over his head, Huckleberry quickly moved out of her way.

‘Huckleberry!’

She made another couple of unsuccessful attempts to catch hold of him before glancing up to see the man watching her. The rain had slicked his dark hair down to his forehead and was soaking the shoulders of his T-shirt, but he didn’t appear to notice. He looked amused.

‘What’s so funny?’ Amy demanded.

Instead of answering her he gave a sharp whistle. Huckleberry’s ears pricked and to Amy’s surprise – and annoyance – he came charging over to where the man stood, sitting obediently before him.

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’

The man held out his hand for the collar. ‘Hey, you want me to help or not?’

Grudgingly, Amy passed it to him.

Good as gold, Huckleberry allowed the collar to be slipped over his head. He even had the nerve to glance up adoringly at the man who in turn bent down and scratched his ears. Meanwhile, the placid Labrador sat by patiently watching.