Misty and the Single Dad

by Marion Lennox

  And she mustn’t forget Bailey, she told herself. She was asking a lot here-of both father and son.

  She looked down at Bailey and something in his expression caught her. Made her remember…

  Her mother, walking into her classroom on one of her fleeting visits. Misty might have been as old as Bailey, or maybe a little younger.

  Her mother staying for all of two minutes-‘just to see my kid’. Speaking gaily to her teacher as she walked out. ‘You look after my Misty; she’s such a good girl.’ Then leaving. As she always left. Sending postcards from a life that didn’t include Misty.

  Whoa. In the midst of this drama, where had that thought come from? But the memory of it was there, in Bailey’s eyes. She knew instinctively that his world wasn’t certain, and she was asking more of him.

  But, unfair or not, she had no choice. She couldn’t leave the classroom and she could hardly toss the dog outside untended. What to do?

  Give him the choice, as she’d never been given the choice.

  She stooped. ‘Bailey, we need your father’s help to take this dog to where he can get bandages on his cut leg. Will you go with your dad to the vet’s, or will you stay here with us and paint cows? Your dad will come back after he’s left the dog with the vet. Won’t you, sir? Is that okay with you, Bailey?’

  Big breath. She was asking so much. And if she was right in what she sensed…if this little boy had been left in the past…

  But it seemed Bailey trusted his father far more than she’d trusted her mother. He thought about it for a moment, looked up at the little dog wrapped in towels and then he gave a solemn nod, answering for both of them.

  ‘My dad can take the dog to the vet.’

  ‘That’s wonderful.’ It was indeed wonderful. ‘Aren’t dads great? Will you stay with us or will you go with him?’

  ‘Stay with us,’ Natalie said urgently, and Misty blessed Natalie’s bossy little boots. ‘I have heaps of paint.’

  ‘I’ll stay,’ Bailey said, giving a cautious smile to Natalie.

  ‘That’s excellent.’ She straightened and the look she gave Bailey’s father was pure pleading. This was outrageous. If Frank could hear what she was doing he’d sack her on the spot. But what choice did she have?

  ‘So will you do it for us?’ she asked, and the dog looked hopelessly out at her from where it was cradled against his chest and she knew she was pleading for all of them. For the kids in her classroom, too. Every single one of them wanted a happy outcome for this dog.

  ‘Please?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHAT had just happened?

  One minute he had been a father intent on enrolling his son in his new school. He’d been ready to fill in forms, reassure Bailey, do all the things a responsible dad did.

  The next he was standing in the sunshine, his arms full of bleeding dog, with a worried schoolteacher watching his rear. Making sure he followed directions.

  An army commander couldn’t have done it better.

  Bailey would be safe with her.

  That was a dumb thing to think at such a time-after all, what risk was there in leaving his son in a country primary school, in Australia, in a tiny seaside town where the most exciting thing to happen was…was…

  Well, a dog being run over, for a start. Even that was more excitement than Nick wanted.

  And it was a whole lot more excitement than this dog wanted. As Nick felt the dog tremble he put the me angle aside and focused on the creature he was carrying.

  There’d been no time to examine him in the classroom. Miss Lawrence had wanted him out of there.

  That was unfair. Her first responsibility must be to the children in her class and she’d put them first. If she’d taken the time to see exactly what was wrong, then the children, too, would have seen. Maybe that would have been distressing.

  So he did what he was told. He turned his back on the school and headed for the car.

  To the vet?

  That, at least, was easy. Banksia Bay’s commercial centre consisted of the one High Street running down to the harbour. Right on the town’s edge was a brick building set back from the road. There was a big tree out front, a large blue sign saying ‘Vet’ and a picture of a dog with a cocked leg, pointing to the tree.

  He and Bailey had smiled at it when they’d arrived in town. It was barely a block and a half from the house he’d rented.

  ‘We could get a dog,’ Bailey had said, but tentatively because maybe he’d already known the answer.

  The answer would be no. Nick wanted nothing else that would tear their hearts. He was totally responsible for Bailey now, and for Bailey to have any more tragedy…

  Look at this dog, for instance-running away, being hit by a car. He didn’t know how badly it was injured. In all probability, there was still a tragedy here.

  If there was then he’d lie to Bailey, he decided. This dog obviously belonged to a nice farmer who lived a long way out of town. The farmer would come and collect him. No, it’d be too far to visit…

  The dog in question quivered again in his arms-the trembling was coming in waves-and he stopped thinking of difficulties. The sensible thing would be to set the dog on the car seat beside him but when he went to put him down he shook so much he thought okay, if it’s body warmth he needs, then why not give it to him?

  If Miss Lawrence was here she’d hold him. She’d expect him to hold him too.

  She was one bossy woman.

  Strong? Independent? Like Isabelle?

  Not like Isabelle. She was a country schoolteacher. She wasn’t a risk-taker.

  She was…cute?

  Now there was a dumb thing to think. He’d come here to set himself and Bailey up as safe and immune from any more risk-from any more tragedy.

  From any more complications.

  Isabelle had been dead for little more than a year. Even though their marriage had been on the rocks well before that, it hadn’t made her death less shocking. Less gut-wrenching. It was far too soon to think that anyone, much less Bailey’s new schoolteacher, was cute.

  Hard not to think it, though. And maybe it was okay. Normal, even. She was a country schoolteacher and her ability to intrude on his life would be limited to teaching his son.

  And asking him to take a dog to the vet.

  It took two minutes to drive the short distance to the vet’s. When he carried the dog in, an elderly guy with heavy spectacles and a grizzled beard emerged from the swing doors behind Reception. His glance at Nick was only fleeting; he focused straight away on the blood-stained towel. ‘What’s happened?’

  A man after my own heart, Nick thought. Straight to the core of the problem.

  ‘Miss Lawrence from the local school asked me to bring this dog in,’ he said as the vet folded back an edge of the towel so he could see what he was dealing with.

  ‘Misty?’ The vet was touching the dog’s face, running his fingers down his neck. Feeling for his pulse. ‘Misty doesn’t have a dog.’

  ‘No, he ran into the schoolroom while…’

  But the vet had found the collar. He fingered the nylon-checked the number, winced.

  ‘It’s the second.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘From our local Animal Welfare Centre.’ The vet took the dog from him, holding him with practised ease. ‘Henrietta gives dogs every chance, only there are never enough homes. When the dogs have stayed there for…well, it’s supposed to be ten days but she stretches it as long as she has room…she brings them to me. Three months after Christmas, cute pups turn into unwanted dogs. Yesterday morning she had a van full and some driver ran into the back of her. Dogs went everywhere. This is one of them.’

  ‘So…’ Nick said, and paused.

  ‘So,’ the vet said heavily. ‘Thank you for bringing him in.’ He paused and then craggy eyebrows raised. ‘It’s okay,’ he said gently. ‘I promise it’ll be painless.’ And then, as Nick still hesitated, ‘Unless you want a dog?’

  ‘I…no.’


  ‘You’re not a local.’ It was a statement.

  ‘My son and I have just moved here.’

  ‘Have you just? Got a house with a yard?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Every kid needs a dog.’ It was said neutrally, probing a possible reprieve.

  ‘No.’ Yet still he hesitated.

  ‘No pressure,’ the vet said. ‘The last thing this guy needs is another place that doesn’t want him.’

  ‘Miss Lawrence says she’ll pay,’ Nick said. ‘For you to treat him.’

  ‘Misty said that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She wants to keep him?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  The vet seemed confused. ‘Misty’s dog died last year. She’s sworn she won’t get another.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know any more than you do.’

  ‘She won’t have realised he’s due to be put down. Or maybe she has.’ The vet sighed. ‘Trust Misty. Talk about a soft touch…’ He glanced at his watch. Grimaced. ‘I need to talk to her, but I won’t be able to catch her until after school. That’s almost three hours.’ He looked at the dog again and Nick could see what he was thinking-that three hours was too long to make a dog suffer if the end was inevitable.

  This wasn’t Nick’s problem. He should walk away. But…

  But he had to face Misty, the bossy little schoolteacher with the pleading eyes. Did she see this as her dog?

  She’d said she’d cover the expenses. He had to give her the choice.

  ‘I’m going back to the school anyway,’ he said diffidently. ‘I was enrolling my son when we found the dog. I could talk to her and phone you back.’

  The vet’s face cleared. ‘Excellent. Let’s do a fast assessment of this guy’s condition so Misty knows what we’re dealing with. She’s not a girl to mess me around-it’ll be yes or no. Can you give me a hand? I’ll give him some pain relief and we’ll tell her exactly what she is or isn’t letting herself in for.’

  Bailey drew a great cow. Misty gazed down at the child’s drawing with something akin to awe. He was six years old, and his cow even looked like a cow.

  ‘Wow,’ she said as she stamped his picture with her gold elephant stamp-gold for Effort, elephant for Enormous. ‘You must really like drawing, Bailey.’

  ‘My dad can draw,’ Bailey said. ‘People pay him to draw pictures of boats.’

  His father was an artist?

  ‘Then you’ve come to the right place,’ she said, glancing out of the window towards the distant harbour.

  Nicholas Holt didn’t look like an artist, she thought, but then, what did she know of artists? What did she know of anything beyond the confines of this town?

  Don’t think it. There was no point going down that road. For now, Banksia Bay was her life.

  And for how much longer? She’d just offered to pay for a dog.

  How long did dogs live?

  ‘Story time,’ she said determinedly. ‘Tell you what, Bailey, as you’re the new boy today, you can choose the story. Any book from the rack. Take a look.’

  Bailey looked at her dubiously but he’d obviously decided this was an okay environment-this was somewhere to be trusted. And chubby little Natalie was right beside him, his new Friend For Life. ‘Choose Poky Little Puppy,’ Natalie whispered as only a six-year-old could whisper. “Cos it’s all about a puppy getting into trouble, like your new dog.’

  Like your new dog…

  Uh oh.

  ‘He’s not Bailey’s new dog,’ Misty said as she settled on the reading stool with the kids around her.

  ‘Then whose is he, miss?’ Natalie asked, and she knew the answer. She’d known it as soon as she’d seen the plastic collar.

  She sighed. She was stuck here anyway. Why keep fighting the odds? Her dreams had already stretched a lifetime and it seemed they needed to be stretched a while longer.

  ‘I guess he’s mine.’

  And ten minutes later when Nick walked back into the classroom the thing was settled. He entered the room, Natalie’s hand shot up and she asked before Misty could give permission.

  ‘Please, sir, how’s Miss Lawrence’s dog?’

  Miss Lawrence’s dog. He flashed a look at Misty and she met his gaze with every evidence of serenity. As if she picked up stray dogs all the time.

  Why? Dogs must give her heartache upon heartache, he thought. The lifespan for a dog was what? Sixteen years? The mutt in question was around ten years old already and battered, which meant he was sliding towards grief for all concerned. He had six years, at most-if he made it through the next twenty-four hours.

  ‘He has a broken leg,’ he said, aware of a classroom of eyes, but aware most acutely of Bailey. Bailey, who’d seen far too much horror already. Because of his father’s stupidity…

  ‘Is Dr Cray fixing him?’ Misty asked from the front of the room, and his gaze locked on hers. He could reply without speaking; he knew this woman was intelligent enough to get it.

  ‘It’s an extremely expensive operation to fix his leg,’ he said, trying for a neutral tone. ‘He’s already an elderly dog, so there may be complications. Apparently he’s from the Animal Welfare Centre-a stray-but Dr Cray says he’s willing to take care of him for us. All he needs is your permission. I can phone him now and let him know it’s okay.’

  She got the message. He saw her wince.

  The vet was letting her off the hook. All she had to do was nod and go back to reading to the children. Nicholas would relay her decision and the problem would be solved.

  But this woman didn’t work like that. He sensed it already and her response was no surprise. ‘How expensive?’

  So she couldn’t save the dog at any cost. She was a schoolteacher, after all.

  What to say? He ran over the options fast.

  Could they talk outside? Could he say, Let’s talk without the children hearing. Let’s give you the cold facts-that this dog’s going to cost a mint; he’s a stray with a limited lifespan. No one wants him; the kindest thing is to let Dr Cray do what he thinks best, which is to put him down.

  He’d come to Banksia Bay to be sensible. He had to be sensible.

  But then…Bailey was looking up at him with huge eyes. Bailey would want details about what happened to the dog. Could he tell him the story about the distant farmer?

  Could he lie?

  All the children were looking at him. And their teacher?

  Their teacher was looking trapped.

  She had a dog.

  The dog had trembled and cringed against her. He’d looked up at her, and she’d disappeared into those limpid eyes. His despair had twisted her heart.

  But reality had now raised its ugly head and was staring her down.

  How much was extremely expensive?

  Becky, her best friend from school days, had just spent twelve thousand dollars on her Labrador’s hip. But then, Becky had a property developer husband. Money was no problem. How badly was this dog’s leg damaged?

  Was she being totally stupid?

  She thought of her wish list-twelve lovely things for her to dream about. To replace her list with a dog…

  ‘I might not be able to aff…’ But she faltered, knowing already that she would afford-how could she not? The moment she’d seen those eyes she knew she was hooked.

  But then, amazingly, Nick stopped her before she could say the unsayable.

  ‘He’s a stray,’ he said gently. ‘But if you’re offering to keep him, then Bailey and I will pay for his operation. We left the school door open. It may even have been our fault that he was run over-maybe he saw the open door from across the street and ran here for shelter. You tell me that in Banksia Bay parents are asked to volunteer for jobs? This, then, is our job. If he’s your dog, then we’ll pay.’

  Misty stared up at him, astounded. Her thoughts were whirling.

  Extremely expensive was suddenly no cost at all.

  No cost except putting her dreams on hold yet again.
r />   How could she not?

  Nicholas was looking at her. Her whole class was looking at her.

  ‘Fine,’ she said weakly. ‘I do need a dog.’

  Dreams were just that-dreams.

  Frank arrived then, blustering away his absence, playing the School Principal to Nicholas and to Bailey. Misty used the time to excuse herself and phone Dr Cray to say she was accepting Nicholas’s very kind offer.

  ‘Misty, love, are you out of your mind?’ the vet demanded. ‘You need this dog like a hole in the head. He’s old, neglected and he’ll need ongoing treatment for the rest of his life.’

  ‘He’s got lovely eyes. His ears… He’s a sweetheart, I know he is.’

  ‘You can’t save them all. You swore you didn’t want another dog. What about your list?’

  ‘You know that’s just a dream.’

  Of course he did. This was Banksia Bay. The whole town knew everyone else’s brand of toothpaste. So the town knew about her list, and they’d know her chances of achieving it had just taken another nosedive.

  She cringed, but she couldn’t back down now. It’d be like tearing away a part of herself-the part that said, Good old Misty; you can always depend on her. The part where her heart was. ‘I’ve fallen for him,’ she said, softly but determinedly. ‘Now that Mr Holt’s paying…’

  ‘And that’s something else I don’t understand. Who is this guy?’

  ‘I don’t know. A painter. New to the town.’

  A pause. Then… ‘A painter. I wonder how he’d go painting props.’

  Fred Cray was head of Banksia Bay Repertory Society. There was a lot more to moving to Banksia Bay than just emptying a moving van. Did Nicholas realise it?

  Maybe he already had.

  ‘Give him a day or so before you ask,’ she pleaded. ‘Just save my dog.’